Ripperologist 138

No.
138 June 2014
Alice McKenzie HELENA WOJTCZAK

on the descendants of
through the George Chapman

BRETT BUSANG
looking glass on Walter Sickert’s blues

PAUL WILLIAMS
on The Red Flag and the Ripper
JON SIMONS with a detailed look JAN BONDESON reopens
at the Castle Alley victim his Murder
Ripperologist House
118 January 2011 Casebook
1
Quote for the month
“I met the young man and he refused to give his name and address.
All he informed me was that he was ‘Jack the fucking Ripper’.”
Garda Tim O’Leary tells Cork District Court how he arrested a drunken Joseph Murphy at Cork University Hospital.
www.irishexaminer.com/ireland/man-said-name-is-lsquojack-the-ripperrsquo-271966.html
Ripperologist 138
June 2014
EDITORIAL: CARRY ON RIPPING
by Eduardo Zinna EXECUTIVE EDITOR
Adam Wood
ALICE McKENZIE THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
EDITORS
by Jon Simons
Gareth Williams
THE DESCENDANTS OF GEORGE CHAPMAN, Eduardo Zinna
AKA SEWERYN KLOSOWSKI
by Helena Wojtczak REVIEWS EDITOR
Paul Begg
WALTER SICKERT’S BLUES
by Brett Busang EDITOR-AT-LARGE
Christopher T George
DID JACK THE RIPPER WRITE THE RED FLAG?
by Paul Williams COLUMNISTS
Nina and Howard Brown
FROM THE CASEBOOK OF A MURDER HOUSE DETECTIVE:
Mike Covell
THE PLAISTOW HORROR and
Chris Scott
ILFORD’S LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS
The Gentle Author
by Jan Bondeson
ARTWORK
COINS AND COINING
Adam Wood
From The Strand Magazine, April 1894
AMERICAN WHITECHAPEL
by Howard and Nina Brown
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Januaryand may constitute copyright
2011 2
infringement as defined in domestic laws and international agreements and give rise to civil liability and criminal prosecution.
Carry on Ripping
EDITORIAL by EDUARDO ZINNA
In the old days it was believed that human beings were set apart from other entities – animal,
vegetal or mineral – by their possession of an immortal soul. You could love your dog, nurture your
roses and treasure your diamonds, but were not likely to meet them again in the afterlife. Yet
plain beliefs seldom endure. When soul ownership proved inadequate to demonstrate on its own
the superiority of the human race, other criteria were brought into play.
In The Garden of Eloquence (1577), Henry Peacham wrote that ‘we do so far pass and
excel all other creatures in that we have the gift of speech and reason, and not they,
for we see what difference there is between those men in whom those virtues do smally
appear and brute beasts that have no understanding.’ (By ‘smally’ Peacham meant, of
course, ‘very little’.) One century later, Descartes held that there is no thought without
language and maintained that ‘dumb’ (ie, mute) animals are mere automata whose
behaviour is explicable solely in terms of stimulus and response. This notion has come
under assault by cognitive disciplines within the behavioural sciences which ascribe high-
level cognitive capacities to non-linguistic creatures.
Joseph Addison wrote that man – by which he meant, of course, the human being
– ‘is distinguished from all other creatures by the faculty of laughter.’ His friend Sir
Richard Steele agreed. ‘There is, perhaps,’ he wrote, ‘no better index to point us to the
particularities of the mind than [laughter], which is in itself one of the chief distinctions
of our rationality. For, as Milton says,
Smiles from reason flow,

to brutes denied.’
Steele seems not to make a distinction between laughing and smiling. Yet most consider them as quite different.
Laughter is earthly, loud and often boisterous, while the smile, playing subtly upon the lips, is seen as denoting detached
amusement. A near contemporary of Addison and Steele, the Earl of Chesterfield, wrote to his son: ‘I could heartily wish
that you may often be seen to smile, but never heard to laugh. Frequent and loud laughter is the characteristic of folly
and ill manners: it is the manner in which the mob express their silly joy at silly things; and they call it being merry. In
my mind, there is nothing so illiberal and so ill-bred as audible laughter.’
The Reverend Alfred G K L’Estrange thought that the smile might in fact have evolved from laughter. In his History of
English Humour (1878), he wrote: ‘In these less emotional ages, in which the manifestations of joy and sorrow are more
subdued, [laughter] is mute, and has subsided into a smile. It is difficult to say when the change took place, but our
finding smiles mentioned in Homer, though not in Scripture, might suggest their Greek origin, if they were at first merely
a modification of the early laughter of pleasure, betokening little more than kindly or joyous emotions…The smile may
have preceded laughter, as the bud comes before the blossom, but it may, on the other hand, have been a reduction of
something more demonstrative.’
We may laugh or we may smile to show joy, amusement, or other emotions. But what makes us laugh? What makes
us smile? Many have attempted to answer these questions - Henri Bergson and Freud, among others – with little success.
L’Estrange wrote ‘The ludicrous is in its character so elusive and protean, and the field over which it extends is so
Ripperologist 138 June 2014 1

vast, that few have ever undertaken the task of examining it systematically. Many philosophers and literary men have
made passing observations upon it, but most writers are content to set it down as one of those things which cannot be
understood, and care not to study and grapple with a subject which promises small results in return for considerable
toil.’ Years later, the American journalist E B White said much the same thing, though not in so many words: ‘Analyzing
humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.’
It is generally accepted that everybody has

a sense of humour, although not everybody finds
the same things amusing or displays amusement in
the same way. Religious beliefs, moral standards,
cultural references and social affiliations
influence the manner in which people express
their merriment. Some societies, some races,
may be known for their joie de vivre though not
for their wit. Some may be known for both, some
for neither. The French are famous for their esprit
and the English for their sense of humour, typified
by sarcasm, understatement, self-deprecation,
deadpan delivery, a feeling for irony and an
appreciation for the absurd. The much admired
English humour – dry, refined, lingering in the taste
buds like a good port - will always elicit a smile,
seldom a whole-hearted laugh. But there is a flip side: the comedy of burlesque and the music hall, of smut, innuendo
and double entendre, of the bawdy song, the wink and the nudge, Donald McGill and seaside postcards, George Formby,
Benny Hill and the Carry On films.
Between 1958 and 1992, a motley team of producer and director, seven beleaguered writers, a long-suffering crew
and an unlikely pleiad of thespians made 31 films, three Christmas specials, a thirteen-episode television series and
three stage plays collectively known as the Carry On series. Their regular leading man was Sid James, a homely, Walter
Matthau look-alike in his fifties who before becoming an actor had been a ladies’ hairdresser in Johannesburg. Their
paragon of pulchritude was tiny, huge-breasted Barbara Windsor. The group included the camp, querulous Kenneth
Williams, the even camper Charles Hawtrey, 6-foot-7 Bernard Bresslaw, Joan Sims, Hattie Jacques, Jim Dale and Kenneth
Connor, whose last memorable role was as Monsieur Alphonse, the undertaker with a dicky ticker in Alló Alló.
The Carry On films took on British institutions

including the National Service (Carry On Sergeant)
the police (Carry On Constable) the Empire (Carry
On Up the Khyber), the Navy (Carry On Jack) the
trade unions (Carry On at Your Convenience) and,
repeatedly, the medical profession (Carry On
Nurse, Carry On Doctor, Carry On Again Doctor
and Carry On Matron). Other films satirized
the Hammer horror films (Carry On Screaming),
Westerns (Carry On Cowboy), the James Bond films
(Carry On Spying), camping (Carry On Camping),
foreigners (Carry On Abroad), beauty contests
(Carry On Girls), and caravan holidays (Carry On
Behind). In Carry On Cleo, Sid James was a pale
reflection of Richard Burton as Mark Antony, but in
Carry On Henry he played Henry VIII as a Cockney
long before Ray Winstone did and in Carry On Dick
he played Dick Turpin the highwayman with at least
as much conviction as Laurence Olivier put into his
Macheath.

Barbara Windsor as Annie Chapman in A Study in Terror
Twenty-two years after the demise of the Carry On series, its visible heritage consists of some catchphrases, some
striking images and some unforgettable moments, such as Sid James as Sir Sidney Ruff-Diamond and his fellow Brits
composedly eating dinner under fire in Carry On Up the Khyber, Wilfrid Hyde-White as a patient sporting a daffodil
where he thinks a thermometer has been inserted in Carry On Nurse, Kenneth Williams as Julius Caesar blabbing ‘Infamy,
infamy, they’ve all got it in for me’ in Carry On Cleo and a celebrated exchange in, again, Carry On Up the Khyber: The
Khasi (Kenneth Williams): ‘May the radiance of the God Shivoo light up your life!’ Sir Sidney (Sid James): ‘And up yours.’
The last few films in the series were unremarkable and the very last one, Carry On Columbus, is best forgotten.
Political correctness and changing mores will not let any new Carry Ons be made. But, every now and then, one lets
one’s imagination run free. Suppose they had made Carry On Star Wars with Sid James as Han Solo, Barbara Windsor
as Princess Leia, Kenneth Williams as C-3PO, Kenneth Connor as R2-D2 and Bernard Bresslaw as Chewbacca? Suppose
they had made Carry On Lawrence with Charles Hawtrey as Lawrence of Arabia, Kenneth Williams as King Feisal and Sid
James in the Anthony Quinn role? Suppose they had made Carry On Planet of the Apes with the whole cast in masks?
Suppose they had made Carry On Pirates of the Caribbean? Carry On Harry Potter? Carry On Ripping?
Now that’s a thought. Carry On Ripping. Not the real Ripper of rubbish-strewn back alleys and dreadful murder but
the Ripper meme of opera cloak and top hat. Conjure up the cast: Sid James as plodding, down-to-earth Inspector
Abberline; Joan Sims as his old battleaxe of a wife; Kenneth Williams as a surgeon who may or may not be the Ripper
and in at least one scene whines ‘Oooohhhh Matron!’; Charles Hawtrey as Sir Charles Warren, sporting an improbable
moustache and ogling his constables; Barbara Windsor as Annie Chapman, a role she did play in A Study in Terror;
Amanda Barrie of Carry on Cleo as Mary Kelly; Bernard Bresslaw as Leather Apron; Jim Dale and Kenneth Connor as
Barnaby and Burgho. The mind boggles.
This is fun, but would be even more fun if some of you would join in. There must be many among Ripperologist readers
who have seen at least a few Carry Ons. Some may have seen all. How about giving it a try? Send us your suggestions for
casting Carry On Ripping. Send us a plot outline. Send us a couple of witty remarks, a few lines of putdown, a soupçon
of repartee. Let’s Carry On laughing.
Alice McKenzie
Through the Looking Glass
By JON SIMONS
On 17 July 1889 Alice McKenzie was murdered in Castle Alley,

Whitechapel, and became the ninth unsolved murder in the Jack
the Ripper files.
125 years later, and we will never know who murdered Alice McKenzie,
but we can get closer to the people and the events of the day. A study of
the official files, contemporary newspapers, maps, photographs and census
information will enable us to paint a clearer picture in our mind's eye.
So, let us go back to 1889, and our first possible sighting of Alice McKenzie.
Tuesday, 15 January 1889
9.45am
In Peterborough, Cambridgeshire, a woman wearing an old shawl enters
the shop of Caroline Popp, a German pork butcher on Long Causeway. The
woman is drunk and has the appearance of having been walking about all
night. She purchases a pennyworth of sausage she has seen in the shop
window and eats it immediately tearing at it with her teeth like a wild
beast. After devouring the sausage she asks Mrs Popp, “What are you going
to give me gratis?” The woman is refused and becomes abusive. Mrs Popp
calls for the assistance of PC Smith and the woman is taken to the police
station on a charge of begging, singing loudly as she is escorted down the
Contemporary illustration of Alice McKenzie
street. At the station the woman gives the name Alice McKenzie and her
address as Scotland. She is described in the charge book as being 28 years of age (although Mrs Popp thought her
age to be nearer 35 years), 5 feet high, brown hair, hazel eyes and fresh complexion.
At court the magistrate rules that the Bench could not see their way to convict her and she would be discharged.
Mrs Popp would later tell the press that although McKenzie was charged with begging she had only called the
police to get her out of the shop.1
Monday, 15 July 1889
6pm
In London, William Wallace Brodie, who would later confess to murdering Alice McKenzie, arrives at Waterloo
Station from Southampton where he has just returned from South Africa. Brodie was released early on license
from a 14-year penal servitude sentence in August 1888 and left for South Africa in September 1888.2
1 Peterborough Advertiser, 20 July 1889.

2 MEPO 3/140 ff 284-87.

7pm
Alice McKenzie returns to her room at Tenpenny’s lodging house, 52 Gun Street,
telling her partner John McCormack that she has been to work and goes straight to
bed. McCormack does not believe her and is told by others that she has not been to
work that day. McKenzie finds work as a washerwoman and charwoman.3
11pm
Brodie is seen by keeper George Salvage
arriving at 2 Harvey’s Buildings, Strand - Brodie’s
lodgings when last in England.4
Tuesday, 16 July 1889

Tenpenny’s lodging house, Gun Street,
1am from the Illustrated Police News, 27 July 1889
Brodie is very drunk and tells George Salvage

“I am going to stay with you.” He is so drunk Salvage has to help him to his
room.5
5.45am
John McCormack rises for work, and McKenzie is seen fetching him breakfast
Location of Harvey’s Buildings, The Strand by fellow lodger Margaret Cheek.6
10am
Brodie is seen by George Salvage having a small soda before leaving the house.7
11am-12pm
After reporting his return to the country to the Convict House, New Scotland Yard, Brodie is seen returning to
Harvey's Buildings, Strand by Rosina Salvage and her daughter Elizabeth.8
3pm
Alice McKenzie has spent the day smoking her pipe in the kitchen of the lodging house and between 3-4pm she
leaves to meet McCormack from work. Deputy keeper of the lodging house Elizabeth Ryder notices Alice has been
drinking.9
3.45-4pm
McKenzie and McCormack return to the lodging house together and go up to their room. McCormack gives
McKenzie 1s 8d: 8d to pay the rent and a shilling for herself to do with what she likes. They have a few words,
which upset McKenzie, and McCormack, who enjoys a drink after work, goes to lie down. McKenzie leaves the room
with the rent. McCormack would later tell the Coroner that McKenzie was perfectly sober when they parted.10
4.30pm
McKenzie is talking to Caroline Slade in Little Paternoster Row. Slade is the sister of Elizabeth Ryder, Tenpenny’s
deputy keeper. McKenzie appears to have been drinking and Slade jokes that she can see “her old man” coming
along with his barrow, McKenzie looks around and says “he isn’t”, and commences to dance before walking off.11
3 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889.

4 The Standard, 29 July 1889.
5 Ibid.
6 The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889; Echo, 18 July 1889.
7 Echo, 18 July 1889.
8 MEPO 3/140 f283; MEPO 3/140 ff 284-87.
9 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 18 July 1889.
10 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7.
11 Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 18 July 1889; The Standard, 18 July 1889.

4.45pm
Brodie is seen talking to his brother Thomas in the office of Messrs Brodie Brothers, lithographic printers of
Foresters' Hall Place, Clerkenwell Road.
That afternoon Brodie visits jeweller Peter Rigby Pratt of 28 Clerkenwell Road, telling him that he is to leave
for South Africa and would like to take some watches with him. He procures one gold watch on approbation by
claiming falsely that his brother, who is known to the jeweller, has his money. Brodie promptly pawns the watch.12
6pm
At Tenpenny’s, fellow lodger Isabella Hayes sees McKenzie in good spirits and smoking a pipe in the kitchen of
the lodging house.13
6.30pm
Isabella Hayes sees McKenzie leave the house. It is not unusual for McKenzie to go out for half a pint once she
has got McCormack to bed.14
7.10pm
McKenzie accompanies George Dixon, a young blind boy she is fond of, from Tenpenny’s to a public house
near the Royal Cambridge Music Hall. Dixon hears McKenzie ask someone to stand her a drink and a man replies
“yes.” After remaining a few minutes, McKenzie returns with Dixon to the lodging house. Dixon believes he would
recognise the voice of the person who spoke to McKenzie.15
7.30pm
Fellow lodger Margaret O’Brien speaks to McKenzie in the kitchen.
McKenzie is talkative and tells lodgers that she just had a pint of stout
and mild with a man she knew at Tottenham in the public house adjoining
the Royal Cambridge Music Hall and was going back to meet him. Just as
McKenzie is leaving she gives O’Brien the short, clay pipe she was smoking
asking her to “Keep it till I come home”.16
8-9pm
Elizabeth Ryder sees McKenzie pass silently through the kitchen of the
lodging house on her way out into the street. McKenzie appears sober and
has some money in her hand. Ryder thinks it strange to see her going out at
this time but does not say anything.17
10-11pm
At Harvey's Buildings, Brodie is very drunk and has to be helped up to his
Tenpenny’s lodging house
from the Boston Herald, 4 August 1889 bed by keeper George Salvage.18
10.30 -11pm
McCormack wakes and goes downstairs to ask Betsy Ryder if McKenzie has paid the rent. Ryder tells him that
she hasn’t and McCormack asks “What am I to do? Am I to go and walk the streets as well?” Ryder replies “No,
don’t you go. Don’t stay in the kitchen, go to bed.” McCormack returns to his bed as he has to be up at 5.45am
for work. Ryder would claim it was between 11pm and midnight when McCormack came downstairs.19
12 MEPO 3/140 f282; Times (London), Monday, 29 July 1889; Times (London), 13 August 1889; Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 18 August
1889; The Standard, 30 July 1889.
13 Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 19 July 1889.
14 Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 18 July 1889.
15 Daily Gleaner (Jamaica), 26 July 1889; MEPO 3/140f278.
16 Echo, 18 July 1889.
17 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; Echo, 18 July 1889.
18 MEPO 3/140 f283; Times (London), Monday, 29 July 1889.
19 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; MEPO 3/140 f275; Sheffield and Rotherham Independent, 19 July 1889.

11.30pm
A watchman in Castle Alley who is paid to watch the barrows till 1am by Mr Burrows, a man who owns a number
of barrows stored there, goes home at 11.30am this evening as he is not feeling well.
Lewis Jacobs would later tell the press that this service had been withdrawn two weeks earlier when the
barrows were removed to another location.20
11.40pm
Margaret Franklin, Catherine Hughes and
Sarah Mahoney are sitting on the steps of
Frederick Gill’s barber shop, 27 Brick Lane,
on the northern corner of Brick Lane and
Flower and Dean Street when McKenzie
passes them, hurriedly walking down Brick
Lane towards Whitechapel High Street.
Franklin shouts out “Hulloa, Alice!” to
which McKenzie replies “I am quite well.
How are you? I can’t stop”, but McKenzie
stops for a minute or two exchanging a few
words with them, asking Catherine Hughes
“How her boy was?” and then walks on.
They did not think she had been drinking
and had not seen her out so late for years. Looking south down Brick Lane. Osborn Place to left and northern corner of Flower and Dean Street to
right where McKenzie is last seen alive by Margaret Franklin, Catherine Hughes and Sarah Mahoney
They did not see her speak to anyone else in
Brick Lane. Franklin would later claim that
it had started raining slightly just after
McKenzie had passed them but Catherine
Hughes would disagree, claiming it started
raining at 12.45pm.21
Wednesday, 17 July 1889
12.15-12.30am
In her bedroom at the Bath and
Washhouses on Goulston Street, which
back on to Castle Alley, Sarah Frances
Smith, money-taker and wife of the
superintendent of the baths, retires to bed
but does not go to sleep straight away. Her
window overlooks the spot close to where
the body is found and her bedstead is up Rear of the Whitechapel Baths and Washhouses
against the wall. She reads in bed and

hears nothing until a police whistle twenty
minutes later.22
20 Daily Gleaner (Jamaica), 26 July 1889; Times (London), Saturday, 20 July 1889; Echo, 17 July 1889.
21 The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889; East London Advertiser, Saturday, 20 July 1889; 1889 Post Office Directory.
22 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; Woodford Times (Essex), Friday, 19 July 1889.

12.20am
Walking east down Whitechapel High Street on the left hand side, a short distance from Aldgate (East) Railway
Station one finds the opening of a passage leading into Castle Alley underneath a clothier’s shop between 124
and 125 Whitechapel High Street. It is a narrow passage, even for the East End, and two persons traversing it in
opposite directions cannot pass one another without shifting their positions to do so. The passage is about twenty
yards in length and opens into a roadway of more ample dimensions.
At 12.20am PC Allen 423H enters Castle Alley through the archway.
To his left are some houses in the course of demolition, and beyond
them is a row of buildings which include several workshops and the rear of
the Whitechapel Baths and Washhouses. On the right-hand side is a narrow
pavement bordered by a ten foot high hoarding spiked with nails, behind
which are the backs of a row of houses. The upper windows of these, some
with lights on, overlook the alley. Allen walks up the alley on the left side
and stands under the lamp post at the back of the Washhouses for five
minutes to eat his supper.23
12.30am
After finishing his supper PC Allen
423H leaves the alley, walking towards
Wentworth Street and passing James
Warren, the landlord of The Three
Crowns at 27 Newcastle Street, who
wishes PC Allen a good night as he
closes up for the night. PC Allen
meets PC Andrews 272H in Wentworth
Street. They speak briefly, Allen telling
Lamp post where PC Allen stopped for supper and where
Andrews about a man who needs to
the body was found 20 minutes later. From (top) be knocked up at 5am. Allen then
the National Police Gazette, 17 August 1889; and (bottom)
New York Herald, 11 September 1889 walks on towards Commercial Street
and Andrews continues his beat along
Wentworth Street, down Goulston
Street into Whitechapel High Street,
then down Middlesex Street and back Looking south down Old Castle Street towards
the Three Crowns public house. Castle Alley is
into Wentworth Street. He sees no-one in the distance to the right
in Goulston Street or Middlesex Street.
Andrews has been on 4th Section's Beat no. 11 for a fortnight.24
12.30am
Although the police would speak to the bar staff of the nearby public
houses, none of whom remember serving McKenzie, newspapers report
that at 12.30 a barman of a public house situated a quarter of a mile from
Castle Alley believes he turned McKenzie out into the street and that she
had been drinking but was not drunk. The barman watched the woman
leave the pub through the Wheler Street door and turning directly into
Commercial Street. This is very likely to be William Blumson Jr, barman at the Commercial Tavern public house,
25
a few doors north of the Royal Cambridge Music Hall on Commercial Street.
12.40-12.45am
It begins to rain.26
23 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; East London Observer, Saturday, 20 July 1889; East End News, Friday, 19 July 1889.
24 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 272-3; Sheffield and Rotherham Independent, 19 July 1889.
25 Decatur Daily Despatch, Illinois, USA, 19 July 1889.
26 The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889.

12.48am
PC Andrews 272H meets Sgt Badham 31H
on the corner of Old Castle Street leading
into Castle Alley, on the opposite corner to
the Three Crowns public house. Badham asks
Andrews “All right?”, Andrews replying “All
right, Sergeant.” Andrews proceeds into Castle
Alley checking the doors on the west side of
the alley. Whilst doing so he notices a woman
lying on the pavement about 2 feet away from
the foot of the lamp post. She is lying on her
back with a slight incline to the left. Her head
is lying eastward and is on the edge of the kerb
with her feet about 5 feet from the door of
builders Messrs Davis S. King and Sons. There
are two wagons chained together close by
the body, hiding it from view of the cottages
opposite. One wagon is a scavenger’s wagon,
the other a brewer’s dray. Her head is almost PC Andrews discovers McKenzie, from the Penny Illustrated Times, 27 July 1889
under the scavenger’s wagon.

The woman’s clothes are thrown up to her chin and blood is running from the left side of her neck. Andrews
touches her hand and notices she is quite warm. He then hears footsteps coming from the direction of Old Castle
Place.27
12.50am
Isaac Lewis Jacobs leaves his house at 12 New Castle Place with a plate in his hand
on an errand to fetch some cheese and pickles for his brother’s supper from McCarthy’s
in Dorset Street.
Jacobs walks from New Castle Place
into Old Castle Street and just as he
reaches Cocoanut Place, an arched
passageway at the top of the eastern
side of the street running off 115 Old
Castle Street which leads to a coconut
warehouse, PC Andrews runs up to him
and asks “Where have you been?”, to
Isaac Lewis Jacobs, from which Jacobs replies ““I have been
the National Police Gazette, 17 August 1889
nowhere, I am just going on an errand
and have just left my home.” The constable instructs Jacobs “Come
with me; there has been a murder committed.” PC Andrews and
Jacobs return to the bottom of Old Castle Street and Andrews blows
his whistle twice.28
27 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889; East
London Advertiser, Saturday, 20 July 1889; East London Observer, Saturday,
20 July 1889; Penny Illustrated Paper (London), 20 July 1889; Birmingham
Daily Post, 18 July 1889.
Old Castle Street looking north towards Wentworth Street.
28 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; Daily Gleaner (Jamaica), 26 July 1889.
Isaac Lewis Jacobs was stopped along here by PC Andrews

12.52am
Sgt Badham is about 150 yards away on the
corner of Bell Lane when he hears the first whistle.
He waits for the second whistle to ascertain which
direction it came from and runs up Wentworth
Street to Old Castle Street where he meets PC
Andrews and Jacobs. Andrews urges his Sergeant
to “Come quick” and Badham takes off his cape
and throws it to the ground and follows Andrews
down to the lamp post in Castle Alley where he
can see a woman lying on her right side. Badham
instructs PC Andrews to stay by the body and not
let anyone touch it until the Doctor arrives.29
12.54am
Sgt Badham obtains the assistance of nearby
constables to block both ends of the alley. He
Castle Alley. Black arrow: scene of murder. instructs PC Allen 423H to fetch Dr Phillips,
Red arrow: home of Isaac Lewis Jacobs. Blue arrow: Three Crowns public house acquaint the Inspector on duty and then to return
to search the area.30
12.55am
Sgt Badham meets PC Neve 101H in Commercial Street and tells him to search all around the area. Neve
searches New Castle Street, New Castle Place, and in the barrows and behind the hoarding in Castle Alley but can
see no trace of anyone about. PC Neve would later state that he recognised the woman and had seen her about
the place for about 12 months, sometimes worse for drink, “Often between 10 and 11 o’clock. It was my opinion
she was a prostitute. I have seen her talking to men. I have seen her in Gun Street, Brick Lane, and Dorset Street.
I did not know where she lived. I had not seen her before that evening. In fact, I had not seen her for about a
fortnight.”31
Sergeant Henry Herwin 21H on duty nearby in Commercial Street arrives in Castle Alley. Only PC Andrews, PC
Neve and Jacobs are in the alley.32
1am
Sgt Badham hails a passing cab to take him to Arbour Square to notify Superintendent Arnold of the murder.33
1.05am
At Commercial Street police station Inspector Reid receives the call to Castle Alley. He immediately dresses and
runs down there. He arrives at the Wentworth Street end where there is a policeman blocking the entrance. Upon
his arrival at the back of the Baths he sees the body of a woman, and then ensures, aided by Inspector Thomas
Hawkes, that the entrance to Castle Alley from Whitechapel High Street is blocked and that a search was been
made of the alley and immediate vicinity. Reid notes that during the whole time from the finding of the body that
except for Lewis Jacobs no other private person is present.34
1.10am
It is now raining very hard.
Dr Phillips arrives at Castle Alley in his carriage. On the way to Castle Alley the doctor is struck by the unusually
small number of people in the streets that morning, describing it as novel.
29 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 272-3; HO144/221/A49301I ff.7-10; Sheffield and Rotherham Independent, 19
July 1889.
30 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 272-3.
31 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; Sheffield and Rotherham Independent, 19 July 1889.
32 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; Echo, 18 July 1889.
33 MEPO 3/140 ff 272-3.
34 The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889; East London Advertiser, Saturday, 20 July 1889; New York Herald, 20 July 1889.

Phillips examines the body. Alice McKenzie is lying on her back, face turned sharply to the right. Her eyes are
open and pupils dilated. Her right arm, enclosed with her shawl which extended to her fingers, was lying flexed
across her chest. Her left arm, not covered with the shawl, was flexed on her shoulder. Her clothes were turned
up as far as the abdomen. There is a jagged wound on the left side of her neck, and scoring and wounding to the
abdomen. There is no arterial spray and about 1¾ pint of blood has clotted around the outline of her body and
partly washed by the rain down the slanted pavement into the gutter for several feet towards Wentworth Street,
before been halted by obstacles in the gutter where the blood clotted.35
Police knock up the inhabitants of the Baths and Wash houses, speaking to Richard Smith, his wife Sarah Frances
Smith, and the engineer of the premises. Sarah steps into the alley to look at the body whom she recognises as a
woman known to her as Kelly who regularly used the wash house and had been there last Saturday.36
A newspaper reported that an ex-member of the Metropolitan police who was standing talking with a friend at
the corner of Castle Alley not more than forty yards away at about the time of the murder neither saw nor heard
anything.37
2am
Tenpenny’s lodging house closes for the night.38
Sergeant Badham returns with Superintendent Arnold.39
After Dr Phillips has examined the body it is lifted onto the
ambulance. Under the body Inspector Reid finds an old clay pipe filled
with unburnt tobacco and a farthing with blood on it. The ambulance
is then conveyed by Sgt Badham to the mortuary, a wooden shed no
more than a small, lean to conservatory in Pavilion Yard, Eagle Place
off Old Montague Street. Dr Phillips, Superintendent Arnold, Chief
Inspector John West and Inspector Reid accompany the ambulance to
the mortuary.40
After the body is removed, Isaac Lewis Jacobs returns home and
the police throw several buckets of water over the footpath to wash
the blood away. Sawdust is scattered on the footway but stains remain
on the foot of the lamp post, in the gutter and under the scavenger’s
wagon.41
2.35am
Amongst the onlookers gathered at Castle Alley is John Larkin
Mills, who attracts the attention of the police. As he hurries away
with undue haste he is arrested and taken to Commercial Street
Police Station where he is searched. In his possession are a common
butcher’s knife and other small things.42 Whitechapel Mortuary, Pavilion Yard,
Eagle Place, Old Montague Street
3am
Chief Commissioner of Police James Monro leaves home for Castle Alley after receiving a telegram informing
him of the murder.43
35 The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889; East London Advertiser, Saturday, 20 July 1889; MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71; Sheffield and Rotherham
Independent, 19 July 1889.
36 Sheffield and Rotherham Independent, 19 July 1889; Sheffield and Rotherham Independent, 18 July 1889.
37 Decatur Daily Despatch Illinois, USA, 19 July 1889.
38 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889.
39 HO144/221/A49301I ff.7-10.
40 MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; 18 MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71.
41 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; Walthamstow and Leyton Guardian (UK), Saturday, 20 July 1889; Woodford Times (Essex),
Friday, 19 July 1889.
42 Walthamstow and Leyton Guardian (UK), Saturday, 20 July 1889; HO144/221/A49301I ff.7-10.
43 HO144/221/A4930 ff.5-6.

A number of Scotland Yard detectives are now on the scene assisting Inspector Reid, enquiring at lodging
houses, public houses and coffee shops to see if any suspicious men had arrived.44
3.30am
Elizabeth Ryder checks in the kitchen to see if McKenzie and another absent lodger, Margaret “Mog” Cheek,
have returned but neither have come home. At the inquest Cheek would explain that she had spent the night at
her sister’s.45
4am
Commissioner of Police James Monro and Chief Constable of the Metropolitan Police Force Colonel Bolton
Monsell arrive at Castle Alley.46
At the mortuary in the presence of Dr Phillips the body is searched by Inspector Reid. Sergeant Badham takes
down the description of the body as given by Reid.
After a further examination, Dr Phillips travels to Leman Street police station to communicate his initial
conclusions to Colonel Monsell.47
4.30am
Suspect John Larkin Mills is released after he refers the police to the keeper of the Victoria Lodging House,
situated just around the corner from Castle Alley, who identifies Mills as a man he has known for years. Owing to
this and other accounts received Mills is discharged.48
10.20am
Brodie leaves his lodgings at Harvey's Buildings and is later seen by manager Walter Slater speaking to his
brother Thomas at Foresters' Hall Place.
Sometime during the day Brodie is bound over at the Mansion House, Guildhall to keep the peace towards his
other brother James Brodie, who is away till Saturday.49
12pm
During the day a large number of persons connected with common lodging houses in the district are taken to
the mortuary for the purpose of identifying the body, and although many of them state that they know the woman
well by sight they do not know her name.50
A woman from Notting Dale arrives at Commercial Street police station with
a Police Sergeant from X Division. The woman claims that she knows a woman
known as Liverpool Liz who is missing a finger and had moved from Notting Dale
to Whitechapel in Easter. The woman is taken to the mortuary but does not
recognise the body.51
2pm
The excitement in the neighbourhood is considerable as soon as the news of
the murder spreads, and during the whole of Wednesday large crowds assemble
in Castle Alley and in front of the gates of the yard in which the mortuary is
housed.
44 East London Observer, Saturday, 20 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 272-3.

45 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889.
46 East London Observer, Saturday, 20 July 1889; HO144/221/A4930 ff.5-6; MEPO 3/140, ff
263-71.
Morning Scene in Castle Alley, 47 MEPO 3/140 ff 272-3; MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71.
from the National Police Gazette, 17 August 1889
48 HO144/221/A49301I ff.7-10
49 MEPO 3/140 f283; MEPO 3/140 f282; The Standard, 29 July 1889.
50 Times (London), Thursday, 18 July 1889.
51 Plymouth and Cornish Advertiser, 17 July 1889; Hull Daily Mail, 17 July 1889.

Elizabeth Ryder is taken to the mortuary to identify the body. She identifies McKenzie, recognising the striped,
odd stockings that she had given McKenzie.
She is followed by John McCormack, who is told by Ryder that his “Old woman was lying dead in the mortuary”.52
Dr Phillips returns to the mortuary to conduct the post mortem. He is joined by Chief Surgeon Alexander
McKellar and City Police Surgeon Dr Gordon Brown, who is accompanied by a friend. A Mr Boswick also gains
admission for a short while without Dr Phillips’ permission. Dr Percy Clark assists with the post mortem. Two
mortuary attendants from the workhouse, James Hatfield and another, strip the body in preparation. Workhouse
inmate and senior mortuary attendant Robert Mann is not present as he is ill.53
4pm
On hearing the woman has been identified, Inspector Henry Moore sends Sergeant Record D Division and
Sergeant Kuhrt G Division to Gun Street to speak to McCormack and Ryder.54
5pm
The inquest opens at the Working Lads Institute, Whitechapel Road. Before proceedings begin the jury are
taken to the mortuary to view the body. The doctors have only just completed the post mortem and the body is
hastily covered by some white calico, the neck, head, arms and feet only been visible. Several of the jury choose
to view the body through a window. A constable holds up the calico on one side displaying the wound in the
abdomen and the gash in the throat.
The witnesses who found and identified the body: John McCormack, Elizabeth Ryder, PC Allen, PC Andrews, Isaac
Lewis Jacobs, Sergeant Badham and PC Neve 101 are examined. Wynne Baxter is the Coroner and Superintendent
Arnold and Inspector Reid watch the case for the police. The inquest is adjourned until the following morning.55
During the day, Inspector John Regan of the Thames Police Division and a large number of detectives begin
boarding and inspecting all departing vessels from London Bridge to Gravesend. The press claim that the cattle
boats in particular are being scrutinised closely.56
Chief Commissioner James Monro informs the Home Office that “I am inclined to believe that the murderer
is identical with the notorious Jack the Ripper of last year.” He sanctions the retention of the 1 Inspector, 3
Sergeants and 30 Constables originally authorised for duty in Trafalgar Square, plus an additional 2 Sergeants and
20 Constables, all for Special Duty in Whitechapel for a period of two months.57
8pm
Brodie is extremely drunk on his return to Harvey's Buildings, falling asleep in the toilet he has to be carried
up to his room.58
Evening
Inspector Moore sends a report to Superintendent Arnold noting that during the day two men had been detained
at Commercial Police Station but released after enquiries were made.59
52 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; East London Observer, Saturday, 20 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; Sheffield and Rotherham
Independent, 19 July 1889.
53 East London Observer, Saturday, 20 July 1889; MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71.
54 MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7.
55 East London Advertiser, Saturday, 20 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; Birmingham Daily Post, 18 July 1889.
56 Pall Mall Gazette, 18 July 1889.
57 MEPO 3/141,f14.
58 MEPO 3/140 f283.
59 MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7.

During the night John Sullivan is arrested in his bed by PC Medhurst at 60 Wentworth Street and taken to
Commercial Street police station. They are accompanied to the station by the deputy keeper of the lodging
house, who insists that Sullivan went to bed at midnight on the night of the murder and was still in bed when he
closed the house at 2am. PC Medhurst claims to have seen Sullivan in Wentworth Street at 1.10am on the night
of the murder. Sullivan is moved to Leman Street police station where he is held until the morning when inquiries
can be made into his statement and his wife Kate can be found. PC Medhurst makes inquiries and it is found that
both John and Kate Sullivan are well known for the wrong reasons to the Leman Street police.60
Midnight, 17 July
Charles Henry Evison attracts attention to himself accosting women in Commercial Street and is reported to
a policeman by a respectably attired passerby, Mr Spooner of Thurlow Place, Wood Street, Bethnal Green, and is
taken to Commercial Street police station.61
Thursday, 18 July 1889
10am
Wynne Baxter re-opens the inquest. Superintendent Arnold and Inspector Reid watch proceedings on behalf of
the police and CID.
Inspector Reid, Dr Phillips, Mog Cheek, Margaret Franklin and Catherine Hughes give evidence and at 1pm the
inquest is adjourned until 14 August.62
6pm
Dr Thomas Bond examines the body in the company of Dr Phillips, whom he calls upon at Spital Square on his
way to the mortuary.63
Later that evening Dr Bond submits a report to Sir Robert Anderson stating that he is of the opinion that the
murder was performed by the same person who committed the former series of Whitechapel murders.64
8.50pm
Inspector Pinhorn is in charge at Leman Street Police Station
when Brodie comes up to the window of the office stating he
wished to give himself up for the murder of “That woman on
Tuesday night”, adding “I do not tell you anything about the other
eight or nine.” Pinhorn asks him “Let me hear what you have to say
about the one on Tuesday night”, to which Brodie replies “I shan’t
tell any more. You can find out.” Pinhorn questions him further but
can get nothing more from him due to Brodie being drunk and is
apparently suffering from delirium tremens.65
A newspaper reports that a boy who often stayed away from
home at night had told his father that he had slept in one of the
wagons kept in Castle Alley on the night of the murder and had
seen Jack the Ripper. His father at once informed the police but
when later pressed for the truth it seems the boy would only
confirm that he had been in Castle Alley recently.66
Wagons in Castle Alley, from Police and Public, 20 July 1889
60 Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 19th July 1889; Echo, 18 July 1889.

61 Echo, 18 July 1889.
62 The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889; East London Advertiser, Saturday, 20 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; Chicago Daily Tribune,
19 July 1889.
63 MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71; MEPO 3/140, ff 259-62.
64 MEPO 3/140, ff 259-62.
65 Times (London), Monday, 22 July 1889; Woodford Times (Essex), Friday, 26 July 1889.
66 Birmingham Daily Post, 22 July 1889.

In another newspaper, flower dealer Jeremiah Calden of 2 Enoch’s Court, Goodman's Yard claims to have seen
a man on the street he was sure was Jack the Ripper. Calden claims that “12 years ago I and the man I know as
Benjamin lived in the same house in Mulberry Row. Benjamin abused his wife, and the synagogue helped her to
sign articles of separation and start a small business. Benjamin disappeared shortly after this until I saw him on
Thursday 11th July. Benjamin is 45-years-old, slender, shabbily dressed, light complexion and chin whiskers. He
is accustomed to go with women of the streets.”67
A man named Ayers says that he passed through Castle Alley at 1.10am on the night of the murder on his way
from the High Street to Wentworth Street where he lodged. At the top of the Alley he sees several people sleeping
but none near the spot where the murder was committed, also claiming he saw a man and woman walking
together down Wentworth Street from Commercial Street. He could only describe the man, who was tall, wearing
a light dust coat and a felt hat.
It is reported that a few days earlier Albert Bachert, of 13 Newnham Street and chairman of the Vigilance
Committee, received a letter signed Jack the Ripper, threatening to recommence operations about the middle of
July. Crossed out at the top of the letter is the address of the Eastern Hotel, Poplar, a hotel near the docks which
is frequented by sailors on the East India Dock Road.68
Friday, 19 July 1889
1.30am
Charles Evison is released from Commercial Street police station.69
10am
At Leman Street a sobered-up Brodie gives a statement to Inspector Henry Moore in the presence of Inspector
Reid and Sergeant Nearn. After the interview Moore examines Brodie’s clothing but finds no traces of blood. In
his bundle they find a razor but no knife. Whilst being examined, Brodie admits that he has now committed nine
murders “But none of them has caused any trouble to my mind except the last one. What with that and a worm
in my head that wriggles about, I can’t stand it any longer.” Superintendent Arnold reports that Brodie is unsound
of mind.70
1pm
64-year-old John Harris, decrepit and miserable in appearance, is arrested near Commercial Street police
station on a charge of drunkenness by PC Dockart 486H. Harris had been shouting in the street that he was “The
Shah” and had drawn a crowd around him. Earlier that day Harris had to be pulled out of the Thames and had
only been released from jail two or three days previously after serving seven days for disorderly conduct. Harris
makes many rambling statements including confessing to the murder of McKenzie and is charged with being drunk
and disorderly.71
9.40pm
Albert Bachert, Chairman of the Vigilance Committee, is standing on the corner of Goulston Street when he
sees a fair woman dressed in a red bodice, white apron but no hat, shawl or jacket standing under the lamp post
at the corner of Goulston Street and Wentworth Street. She is approached by a man about 40-years-old, 5 ft 8 in
height, who is wearing a slouch hat and of foreign appearance. They walk towards Aldgate (East) Railway Station
and Bachert follows. He hears the woman say “No, I won’t”, and the man catches hold of her and they start to
struggle. The woman screams “Jack the Ripper!” and “Murder!”, attracting people from all directions. The man
seizes the woman and drags her by her hair for a short distance and flings her upon the kerb stone opposite Wood’s
the butchers. The mob close in on him and the man produces a dagger in his left hand and retreats but before he
has time to get far he is seized and a dreadful struggle ensues. He has a long bladed, pointed knife in his hand and
it is some time before he can be deprived of it, the woman crawling off to safety. Police whistles are heard in all
67 New York Herald, 20 July 1889.

69 Echo, 18 July 1889.
70 MEPO 3/140, ff 280-1; MEPO 3/140 ff 284-87; Woodford Times (Essex), Friday, 26 July 1889.

directions and both City and Metropolitan Police are quickly
on the spot. When the police reach the man he is cut and
bleeding profusely from wounds inflicted by the mob which
has raised the cry of “Lynch him!” and are throwing all kinds
of missiles at the prisoner. The crowd has now grown to about
800 strong and only with the aid of a strong police escort
is he eventually taken to Commercial Street police station.
Bachert, who has blood on his cuffs, shirt and tie, hands the
knife over to the Police Inspector claiming that it was he who
had disarmed the man.
In reply to a question, the prisoner said: “The woman
robbed me.” When asked why he drew the dagger, he replied
that he had done so in self defence. He gave a Scottish
sounding name, and that he was a sailor and had arrived
from South Shields about a week ago. When asked where he
was on the morning of the 17th he could not say. He did not
know where he had stayed while in London. A small knife was
found in his possession, together with his seaman’s discharge
papers. After careful inquiry into all the circumstances the
man is liberated, the woman having failed to come forward
to press charges.72
Contemporary illustration of the incident near Aldgate station and
Albert Bachert disarming the sailor. From the Illustrated Police News,
Saturday, 20 July 1889 27 July 1889
John Harris is brought before Mr Bushby at Worship Street police station charged with been drunk and disorderly.
Arresting officer PC Dockart 486H would say that contrary to reports Harris had not confessed to murders. The
gaoler, PC Game 108G, recognises Harris as an old visitor to the cells, and chief gaoler PS Connell remembers that
Harris had torn up all his clothing in the cell on his last visit, remaining naked until a suit was brought from the
workhouse. Harris is sentenced to 14 days hard labour.
12pm
Brodie is brought before Mr Frederick Lushington at the Thames Police Court charged with being a lunatic,
wandering at large. Mr Lushington advises Inspector Moore to re-charge Brodie on his own confession with the
wilful murder of Alice McKenzie. He is remanded till 27 July.73
Dr Phillips and Dr Brown re-examine the body to demonstrate the appearances of the abdomen.74

Dr Phillips submits a report stating that after careful and long deliberation, noting the mode of procedure
and character of the mutilations, he cannot satisfy himself on purely anatomical and professional terms that the
perpetrator of all the Whitechapel murders is one man.75
Wednesday, 24 July 1889
1.30pm
The day of Alice McKenzie’s funeral. Expenses are met by Isaac Solomon Parker, the proprietor of the Tower
public house and Thomas Tempany, the owner of the house where McKenzie lodged.
Inside the Tower on Artillery Street the low ceiling room is dark and the bar compartments are crowded to
their utmost capacity.
72 Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 19th July 1889; Times (London), Saturday, 20 July 1889; Decatur Daily Despatch, Illinois, USA, 21 July
1889; Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 20 July 1889.
73 MEPO 3/140 f288.
74 MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71.
75 Ibid.

In a small room adjoining the bar are the mourners. There are nine women from Tenpenny’s, all dressed in
black with crepe hats and among the men is John McCormack, dressed in black and crying, leaning against the
high desk near the door.
The mourners leave the pub and enter the two black funeral carriages which stand with the hearse outside the
pub and the procession moves on. The route to the cemetery in Plaistow passes Dorset Street, across Commercial
Street into Hanbury Street and past number 29 down to Baker's Row near the top of Buck's Row. A squad of H
Division police accompany the funeral cortege.
All the streets, courts, alleys, doorways and windows which command a view of the scene are crowded. On
Whitechapel Road the crowd thins and as the cortege passes through Turner Street into Commercial Road it has
disappeared. There the horses began their three-mile trot to Plaistow.
At Plaistow Cemetery there are hundreds outside the gates and thousands inside them. The procession walks up
the wide avenue to the small Gothic burial church, with its bare walls of grey stone, high windows, small diamond
panes and bare, open stone floor.
Inside there are two rows of small wooden seats at each side and at the upper end stands a reading stand of
brown wood. In front of this are two 4 ft high black wood frames which hold the coffin. The rector is an old man
in a white surplice with grey hair and spectacles who begins the service as soon as the mourners have reached the
seats on the right. After the Lord’s Prayer and benediction, the rector seizes his hat and walks briskly out, down
the avenue on the right side of the coffin. After a hundred yards they reach the small mound of clay and stones,
and it begins to rain steadily. Five gravediggers in corduroys and gingham shirts stand by the grave which is a
platform of boards and between them a narrow aperture in the earth eighteen feet deep and thirty inches wide.
The mourners gather on the edge and the women sob as the body of Alice McKenzie is committed to the grave.
One newspaper wrote, “Alice McKenzie, a poor unfortunate who a week ago was loved in Gun Street and
murdered in Castle Alley, was left at the place in Plaistow. Jack the Ripper is still in Whitechapel."76
Saturday, 27 July 1889
Morning
Brodie is once again brought before Lushington at the Thames Police Court. The prison surgeon who has kept
Brodie under observation has observed that he has been suffering from acute alcoholism, causing hallucinations.
Brodie is discharged but Inspector Moore directs Sergeant Bradshaw to re-arrest Brodie immediately upon the
warrant for fraud and he is taken to King's Cross Road police station.77

Brodie appears before the Magistrate at King's Cross Road police courts. The case is adjourned by Haden Corser
until 12 August.78
Monday, 12 August 1889

Brodie is brought before Sir P H Eldin on a charge of obtaining a watch worth nine guineas by false pretences
from Peter Rigby Pratt. Brodie pleads not guilty and angrily claims that a company has been formed to take
him round the country in an iron cage and show him as the Whitechapel murderer and that Rigby Pratt was the
secretary of the company. Brodie attempts to assault Rigby Pratt, the witness box being quite close to the dock
but is restrained by the warders. The trial is then postponed, Brodie’s mental state to be assessed by the prison
medical officers.79
76 Woodford Times (Essex), Friday, 26 July 1889; Penny Illustrated Paper, 3 August 1889; Omaha Daily Bee, 26 July 1889.
77 MEPO 3/140 ff 290-1.
78 MEPO 3/140 ff 290-1; The Standard, 30 July 1889.
79 Times (London), 13 August 1889.

Wednesday, 14 August 1889
10.10am
Wynne Baxter resumes the inquest at the Alexandra Room of the Working Lads Institute, Whitechapel Road.
Inspectors Reid and Moore represent the police. The jury are made up of the foreman Robert Ayton and Messrs
Benjamin, Goult, Hutchins, Thomas, Mattey, Karamelli, Tipper, Crowther, Courtney, Lovegrove, Barker, Barnes,
Quin, Ellis, Franklin, Bullock, Benn, Monte, Goldstein, and Johnson.
The inquest waits for Dr Phillips, who arrives ten minutes late. After a whispered conversation between Phillips,
Inspector Reid, Wynne Baxter and Mr Banks the coroner’s officer, Mr Chown, the officer’s assistant is sent to the
Whitechapel workhouse to fetch the eldest mortuary assistant, possibly referring to James Hatfield, as Robert
Mann is ill.
At the close the jury bring in an open verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, with
a recommendation to the Whitechapel District Board to open up Castle Alley to the Whitechapel High Street as
a thoroughfare.80
Monday, 9 September 1889

Brodie is sentenced to six months hard labour for obtaining goods by false pretences and ordered to serve out
the remainder of his sentence for larceny.81
Analysis of a Murder
Did the couple enter Castle Alley together?

McKenzie and her murderer must have entered Castle Alley together. The patrolling policemen never saw
anyone in the vicinity prior to the murder, and the time frame between the police beats was too small for a
scenario where the murderer waits for a potential victim to pass. Although, it is quite possible that the murderer
could have followed McKenzie it is most probable that they entered Castle Alley together.
From which direction did they enter Castle Alley?

Sergeant Henry Herwin 21H believed that the killer and victim entered the alley together from Whitechapel
High Street and was in no doubt the killer left the same way.
The spot where the murder occurred was unsupervised from 12.30am to 12.50am and it started raining just
after 12.40am, yet the ground beneath the body was dry, leading the police to believe the murder took place just
before the rain commenced.
The couple could have entered Castle Alley from Whitechapel High Street between 12.30am and 12.40am, but
there was only a small window of opportunity from 12.34am to 12.38am. for the couple to enter the alley from
Wentworth Street unseen between the patrolling policemen.
Of course, this was Whitechapel and there would always be connecting courts, passages and alleys that would
allow those who wished to, to pass unseen:
If approached from Whitechapel High Street, the murderer could escape down Castle Alley into Old Castle
Street, through to Wentworth Street and thence to Commercial Street or Brick Lane.
If approached from Old Castle Street he could escape through Castle Alley into Whitechapel High Street. This
way he did escape.
If hemmed in on both sides, he could still escape through the connecting court to Newcastle Street, and thence
to Whitechapel High Street or to Wentworth Street, as he chose.82
It would seem that the murderer would have been able to leave the thoroughfare either by way of its two
extremities or by way of one of the several courts to the right hand side.83
80 East London Advertiser, Saturday, 17 August 1889.

81 HO 27/213/240.
82 Daily Gleaner (Jamaica), 26 July 1889.
83 East End News, Friday, 19 July 1889.
The lamp post
Although the murder was committed directly under a lamp post it was later noted
that due to the two wagons parked close by, no person, unless they went along the
path, would have seen the body.84
On the opposite side of the street to the lamp post is a 10 foot hoarding, and over
this the windows of a row of dwelling houses look right down upon the place; but
the miscreant was slightly shielded from the light by a small hand cart which stood
between the body and the lamp.85
The bloody clay pipe and farthing

Inspector Reid: After the body had been examined by the doctor it was placed on
the police ambulance, and underneath the body of the deceased was found the short
clay pipe produced. The pipe was broken and there was blood on it, and in the bowl
was some unburnt tobacco. I also found a bronze farthing underneath the clothes of
the deceased. There was also blood on the farthing.86
Initially regarded by the newspapers as a possible clue, it was soon discovered that
the victim was known as “Clay Pipe Alice”, an enthusiastic pipe smoker who would also
borrow pipes from fellow lodgers. Indeed, another clay pipe was later discovered in
her clothing, and not forgetting the pipe that Margaret O’Brien claimed McKenzie gave
her to look after in the lodging house.
The murder
Through Dr Phillips’ post mortem notes we can break down and examine the
mechanics of this particular murder:
125 Whitechapel High Street and entrance
to Castle Alley, from the Forced down to the ground by the shoulders. Just below the left collar bone there
National Police Gazette, 17 August 1889
is a well defined bruise the size of a shilling, and on the right side, an inch below the
sternoclavicular articulation is another larger and more defined bruise.87
No sign of struggle but of holding down by hand as evidenced by bruising on upper chest and collar bone.
Greater pressure on right side.88
The bruises over the collar-bone may have been caused by finger pressure.89
Dr Bond saw two bruises high up on chest as if murderer made cuts with right hand and held her down with
left.90
No suggestion of strangulation
There were no marks suggestive of pressure against the windpipe.91
Throat cut with a pointed, short bladed knife

The great probability is that he was on the right side of the body at the time he killed her, and that he cut her
throat with a sharp instrument. I should think the latter had a shortish blade and was pointed.92
The instrument used was smaller than the one used in most of the cases of the Whitechapel murders that came
under my observation.93
84 Alderley and Wilmslow Advertiser, Friday, 19 July 1889.

85 Walthamstow and Leyton Guardian (UK), Saturday, 20 July 1889
86 The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889.
87 MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71.
88 Ibid.
89 The Times, Thursday, 15 August 1889.
90 MEPO 3/140, ff 259-62.
91 The Times, Thursday, 15 August 1889
93 MEPO 3/140, ff 259-62.
Was the instrument used similar to that used by butchers?
Well, butchers use so many different kinds that I could not
say. It certainly was not so large as the ordinary slaughter
knife.94
The throat cut

The wound in the neck was four inches long, reaching from
the top of the neck into the muscles, which were almost
entirely divided. It reached from the fore part of the neck
to a point four inches below the chin. It must have taken a
somewhat upward direction, and judging by various smaller
wounds, the first incision seemed to have been interrupted by
the prominence of the lower jaw. There was a second incision,
which he took it was commenced from behind, immediately
below the first described incision. The second incision joined
the first incision in its deepest part, which was immediately
over the carotid vessels, which were entirely severed down to
the spinal column. The second wound was about four inches
below the angle of the mouth.95
Mortuary photograph showing the wounds to the throat, and
under the chin which seems to have interrupted the path of the
first incision.
Too shocked to cry out

Mortuary photograph of Alice McKenzie showing cuts
I cannot tell whether it was the first or second cut that to throat and under chin
terminated the woman’s life. The first cut, whether it was the
important one or not, would probably prevent the woman from crying out on account of the shock. The whole
of the air passages were uninjured, so that if she was first forced on to the ground she might have called out.96
Killer had knowledge of how to kill

A knowledge of how effectually to deprive a person of life, and at that, speedily.97
Death almost immediately followed the incision in the neck.98
Scoring and wounds to abdomen

Seven inches below right nipple commenced a wound seven inches long, in a downwards direction inclining
first inwards then outwards. Deepest at upper part.99
Wound in abdomen but abdominal cavity not opened. Scoring the right side of abdomen are seven dermal
marks tailing inwards to the major wound, and seven similar scorings between this wound and the pubis, one
distinctly becoming deeper over the pubis.100
Wounds to genitals
A small cut an ⅛ inch deep and ¼ inch long on the mons veneris.101
94 East London Observer, Saturday, 17 August 1889.

95 Alderley and Wilmslow Advertiser, Friday, 19 July 1889.
98 MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71.
99 Ibid.
100 Ibid.
101 MEPO 3/140, ff 259-62.
Fingernail marks on the abdomen
There were five marks on the abdomen, and, with the exception of one, were on the left side of the abdomen.
The largest one was the lowest, and the smallest one was the exceptional one mentioned, and was typical of a
finger-nail mark. They were discoloured, and in my opinion were caused by the finger-nails and thumb nail of a
hand. I have on a subsequent examination assured myself of the correctness of this conclusion.102
Would the finger-nail marks on the body be those of her own hand or those or somebody else?
The conclusion I came to was that it was the pressure of another hand. I should think the lower nail mark was
produced by a broad nail. The typical mark must have been produced by a pointed nail. I think the marks were
caused after the throat was cut.103
The marks of the finger-nails were clearly not made by the woman herself, but by another hand, which had
broad fingers and a pointed fingernail.104
The finger nail marks on the body were not those of the woman herself. They were caused by a broad hand,
which he thought was not the hand of a woman.105
Bruising and bloodstains on abdomen

Marks and bloodstains on left side of abdomen.106
The superficial marks on left side of abdomen were characteristic of pressure with a thumb and fingers
compared in position to a right hand placed on the abdomen pinching up a fold of skin for at least 3 inches. The
smearing of blood was caused in this way.107
To the left side between umbilicus and pubis there are stains of blood surrounding a bruise the size of a four
penny piece corresponding with scoring on right side.108
The tight clothing around the abdomen

There are 5 small excoriating marks below and between umbilicus and pubis are red in colour and ¾ inch in
length.126
The scoring and cuts of skin on pubis were caused through the endeavour to pass the obstruction caused by the
tight fitting clothing over the abdomen. The clothing was fastened round the body somewhat tightly and only
could be raised so as to expose about one-third of the abdomen.109
Conclusion
Although Dr Phillips did not believe Alice McKenzie had fallen victim to Jack the Ripper it is easy to see why Dr
Bond, amongst others, disagreed.
McKenzie too, had died due to her left carotid artery being severed down to the spinal column whilst she was
lying on the ground. She had the same bruises, with emphasis on the right side, over the collar bone and on the
upper chest as seen on Elizabeth Stride. Her clothes had been raised and she had suffered the same long downward
cut from breast to navel as Nichols and Eddowes, with scoring to the abdomen and stabs to the genitals.
But, in the end, all theorising is futile. From the evidence at hand all we can say of Alice McKenzie’s killer is
that he was possibly left handed, had a broad hand and a pointed finger nail.
Of Alice McKenzie, we know just a little more.

103 East London Observer, Saturday, 17 August 1889.
104 Ibid.
105 Sheffield and Rotherham Independent, 15 August 1889.
106 MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71.
107 Ibid.
108 Ibid.
109 MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71.

Appendix: Through the Looking Glass -
A Little More About the Others
McKenzie and McCormack

They meet in Bishopsgate in 1882/83 and have since been living in the common lodging houses of Whitechapel.
Since the Summer of 1888 they have been living on and off at Tenpenny’s, Gun Street, without absence since
April 1889. When they were not there they occupied a room at Crossman’s [sic: Crossingham’s] in White’s Row.
McCormack “took up” with her because she was homeless, and appeared to be "a hardworking woman”, and they
appeared to live comfortably together. McCormack never saw any of her relations and had often heard her say
she was the last of her family.110
Alice McKenzie
39-year-old from Peterborough. 5 ft 5, strongly built and weighing about 140 pounds. Brown hair and eyes, pale
complexion, and freckles on face and forearms. She is missing an upper tooth, has a scar on her forehead and old
bruises and scars on her shins. She has lost the top of the thumb on her left hand on a machine in an industrial
accident.
Dr Philips would note that her right lung had old adhesions, and she had syphilitic condylomata of the vagina
(wart like lesions on the genitals, symptoms of the secondary phase of syphilis).
At the time of her death she is wearing a red stuff bodice with maroon patches under the arms and sleeves,
one black and one maroon stocking, a brown stuff kilted skirt, a brown linsey petticoat, a white chemise, a white
apron, a paisley shawl and button boots.
She enjoyed smoking her pipe, which earned her the name “Clay Pipe Alice” amongst her friends and
acquaintances.
She was much addicted to drink and had been at the Thames Police court on a charge of drunkenness. She was
well known to the police by sight, who regarded her as a prostitute.
Elizabeth Ryder would claim that McKenzie often mentioned she had sons abroad, one in America, although Dr
Phillips noted during the post mortem that her uterus was unimpregnated.
Margaret Franklin claimed that she had known McKenzie about the neighbourhood since 1874, and at one time
she used to live with a blind man who played a concertina in the streets for a living until he died in 1878. At one
time she was living at 11 Kate Street, and was now living with a man called Bryant in Gun Street.
Newspapers carried further uncorroborated details such as she was also known as Alice Riley or Alice Baxter,
and her father was a postman in Liverpool.
The Peterborough police claimed that McKenzie was not a native of that city but was arrested six months ago
on a charge of vagrancy, giving her address as “Scotland” and nothing was previously known of her, although the
Peterborough Express wrote “Alice McKenzie, who a few years ago resided at Peterborough, and will probably be
known to some of the residents of Boongate and its vicinity."111
John McCormack (M’Cormack, McCormac, Cormack, Bryant, Jim)

An elderly man of shabby appearance. A 63-year-old Irish porter employed by Jewish tailors in Hanbury Street
and wholesale clothiers Robert and Henry Parnall of 187 Bishopsgate Without since 1873.
For several years he served in the army and took part in the Crimean war (1854-67) after which he was
invalided out and received a pension for eighteen months.112
110 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; Illustrated Police News, 27 July 1889.
111 The Times, Friday, 19 July 1889; Walthamstow and Leyton Guardian (UK), Saturday, 20 July 1889; Daily Gleaner (Jamaica), 26
July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 272-3; MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; HO144/221/A49301I ff.7-10; MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71; Alderley and Wilmslow
Advertiser, Friday, 19 July 1889; Times (London), Thursday, 18 July 1889; The Aroha News New Zealand, 27 July 1889; Fresno
Weekly Republican (California, USA), 18 July 1889; Plymouth and Cornish Advertiser, 17 July 1889; Daily Alta California, 18 July
1889; Echo, 18 July 1889; Hull Daily Mail, 18 July 1889; Birmingham Daily Post, 18 July 1889; Peterborough Express, 18 July 1889.
112 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 19th July 1889; Decatur Daily Despatch Illinois, USA, 19 July 1889;
MEPO 3/140 ff 294-7; MEPO 3/140, ff 263-71; Illustrated Police News, 27 July 1889; 1884 Trade Directory.

Caroline Popp
42-year-old married to 43-year-old pork butcher George, both are from Murtenborg, Germany. They have a
shop on Long Causeway, Peterborough and premises at 24-26 Whalley Street, next door to the Nag's Head public
house.113
William Wallace Brodie

6ft tall, athletic, military looking Englishman wearing a light coat, dark trousers and a brown felt hat, of
respectable appearance. 33-years-old. Fair complexion with a slight moustache. At court he gives his occupation
as clerk.
On 7 May 1877 Brodie is sentenced to 14 years penal servitude for larceny in a dwelling house in the City. On 22
August 1888 he is released on license and lodges at 2 Harvey’s Buildings, Strand. On 6 September 1888 he sails on
board the SS Athenian as a 3rd class passenger for Kimberley, South Africa finding work on the Ashton Extension
Railway and the Sultfontein diamond mine. On the Saturday before, 29 June 1889, Brodie is brought before a Cape
Town Police court, after walking into a police station and confessing to the Whitechapel murders. He is discharged
by the Magistrate, advising Brodie to give up drinking.
Brodie’s brothers, James and Thomas, run Messrs Brodie Brothers. a Lithographic printing business at Foresters'
Hall Place, Clerkenwell Road managed by Walter Slater. William Brodie dies in Hampstead in 1892.114
George and Rosina Salvage

46-year-old George from Warley, Surrey, George is the keeper of 2 Harvey’s Buildings, Strand. Wife 49-year-old
Rosina, from Devon, is the deputy keeper. Daughter 22-year-old Elizabeth, born in Lambeth, helps with duties.
Margaret “Mog” Cheek

Of medium height, she wore a light dress and white apron with a typical East End hat ornamented with a large
black feather.
The 40-year-old from Bethnal Green has lodged at Tenpenny’s since December 1887. Married to 43-year-old
bricklayer Charles Cheek, living at 10 West Street, Bethnal Green but have been separated for three years. Absent
from the lodging house on the night of McKenzie’s murder, Mog would come forward to say she had been staying
at her sister’s.
At the inquest, Mog clears up whether her name is Cheek or Cheeks. The Court officials had some difficulty in
finding her. They called her name outside the door of the room, and then there was an exodus of constables in
search of her. At length she appeared.
“Margaret Cheek’s my name,” she asserted, standing akimbo in front of the Coroner. “Do you spell it with an
‘s’?" “No, you don’t, it’s Margaret Cheek. I’ve give it ye straight, you know I have.”115
Elizabeth “Betsy” Ryder

Deputy keeper of Tenpenny’s lodging house 52 Gun Street. 22-years-old from St George in the East and married
to cooper’s apprentice Richard John Ryder, aged 24 years. In 1881 she is living with her father William Dixon
at 9 Victoria Place, Stepney. When married in 1886 she lodges at 6 Little Paternoster Row, owned by Thomas
Tempany.116
Caroline Slade
Sister of Elizabeth Ryder. Lodges in Little Paternoster Row.117
Isabella Hayes
52-year-old charwoman. Lodges at Tenpenny’s. Has known McKenzie since 1881 and knows McCormack as Jim,
saying it was not unusual for the couple to have words and McKenzie to be out all night.118
113 Peterborough Advertiser, 20 July 1889.

114 The Aroha News New Zealand, 27 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 f282; MEPO 3/140 ff 284-87; Times (London), Monday, 29 July 1889; MEPO
3/140, f289; MEPO 3/140, f292; Decatur Daily Despatch Illinois, USA, 20 July 1889; The Standard, 30 July 1889.
115 Echo, 18 July 1889; Manitoba Daily Free Press, 20 July 1889.
116 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; LMA P93/CTC1 Item 034.
118 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889; Whitechapel Infirmary records 1888; Birmingham Daily Post, 18 July 1889.
George Dixon
A friend of Alice McKenzie, Dixon is a young blind boy who lodges at Tenpenny’s. When the police take his
statement his address is 29 Star Street, Commercial Road.
Possibly the younger brother of deputy keeper Elizabeth Ryder, whose maiden name is Dixon and has a 10-year
-old brother called George Dixon.
Margaret O’Brien
Possibly the 16-year-old Margaret O’Brien who is admitted to the Whitechapel Infirmary on 28 February 1888
from 16 Thrawl Street, with a swollen gland. She is listed as single and a prostitute.119
Margaret Franklin
A plainly clad, strong, pleasant featured person. 56-year-old who lodges at the White House 56 Flower and Dean
Street. Has known McKenzie since 1874. A costermonger’s porter’s widow, the following exchange takes place
between Wynne Baxter and Franklin at the inquest:
What is your husband? - He is a porter.
What is his name? - George.
Are you living with him now? - No, not now; he dropped down dead on the 31st March last (laughter in the
room).
Then you are a widow? - Yes; I believe that’s what you call it (renewed laughter).120
Catherine Hughes
Lodges at 58 Flower and Dean Street. Married to fish curer Thomas, and has known McKenzie since 1875.121
Sarah Mahoney (Marney)

37-year-old button holer from Whitechapel. Lodges at 57-58 Flower and Dean Street.122
Sarah Frances Smith

33-year-old from Woolwich married to retired policeman and Superintendent of the Whitechapel Baths and
Washhouses, 33-year-old Richard C Smith, from Gloucestershire. Sarah dies in Whitechapel in 1896.
PC Joseph Allen 423H

36-year-old married to 36-year-old Anna Maria. Both are from Cornwall, and they live in Shoreditch. By 1911 he
is a police pensioner living in Liskeard, Cornwall. Dies in July 1911.
James William Warren

41-year-old from Lambeth. Landlord of The Three Crowns, 27 Newcastle Street. Married to 35-year-old Lucy
from Boston, Lincolnshire.
PC Walter Andrews 272H

31-year-old from Suffolk, married to 29-year-old Ellen from Woolwich. They live at 33 Huntingdon Buildings, St
Matthews, Bethnal Green. By 1911 they have moved to Sawston, Cambridgeshire. Dies in June 1917.
William Blumson Jnr

17-year-old barman at the Commercial Tavern, 142 Commercial Street. From Spitalfields and son of William
Blumsom, landlord of the Commercial Tavern.
Sergeant Edward Badham 31H (Berry, Baugham, Betham)

27-year-old from Barnes, married to 21-year-old Eliza. They live at 63 Menotti Street, Bethnal Green. Pensioned
in 1905 he serves as a reserve. In 1912 he rejoins the Met as a reserve officer, and again in August 1914.123
119 Whitechapel Infirmary records 1888

120 Echo, 18 July 1889; The Standard, 19 July 1889.
123 MEPO 3/140 f 227-229 & MEPO 3/140 f 272-273 22.
Isaac Lewis Jacobs
21-year-old boot maker married to 17-year-old Leah. Both are from Russia, and they live at 12 Newcastle Place.
Jacobs claimed that blood was still spurting from the throat when the woman was found, indicating that the heart
had not ceased to beat. The clothes were all crushed upon the chest of the body and the legs were nude. There
were blood marks on the face and on the left thigh, as if a hand covered with blood had been placed there to
hold the woman down. Jacobs would add that a watchman had been employed at the Castle alley until two weeks
ago to look after the wheelbarrows, and when the barrows were removed the man was discharged. He thinks the
murderer knew all this.124
Dr George Bagster Phillips

He is of middle height, advanced in years, and has a slight stoop, his white hair and whiskers imparting to his
face almost a venerable appearance. Whitechapel Divisional Police Surgeon.
55-year-old son of an ironmonger from Camberwell, Surrey. Married to Eliza, and lives and practises at 2 Spital
Square. Dies in Whitechapel, December 1897.
PC George Neve 101H

38-year-old from Stoke Holy Cross, Norfolk and married to 36-year-old Lucy from Suffolk. In 1891 they are
living at 172 Columbia Square, Bethnal Green. By 1901 they have retired to run The Woodman Inn, Amwell,
Hertfordshire. Dies in 1918 in Ware, Hertfordshire.
Sergeant Henry Herwin 21H

32-year-old from St Luke’s, London. Married to 27-year-old Caroline, from Clerkenwell. They live at 13 Quilter
Street, Bethnal Green. By 1901 the family have moved to Bedfont, Middlesex.
Superintendent Thomas Arnold

Head of Whitechapel H Division. 50-year-old from Essex married to Mary Ann.They live at 36 Arbour Square.
Dies in West Ham in January 1907.
Inspector Edmund John James Reid

Local Inspector H-Division CID. 42-year-old from Canterbury, Kent and married to 41-year-old Emily. They live
at Commercial Street police station. Retires in 1896 and moves to Kent working as a private investigator, and then
as a publican. Emily dies in 1900 and Reid now lives at Merry Villa, Stanley Road, Herne Bay, Kent. Marries Lydia
in May 1917 and dies that December.
Inspector Thomas Hawkes

45-year-old from Warwickshire married to 35-year-old Anne. In 1881 they are living at Pope Street, 13 Brentwood
Cotts, Eltham.
Chief Inspector John West

47-year-old from Woodford, Essex married to 50-year-old Sarah from Leigh, Essex. They live at 7 Alfred
Buildings, Cartwright Street, London. In 1901 they have moved to Hastings, Essex and by 1911 they are in St
Leonards-on-Sea, Essex.
John Larkin Mills

A man who has seen better days. He is stated to be tall, wearing a long coat and a small cap. Dark, almost
black, hair, a small very dark moustache, and a small dark beard or goatee.
41-year-old clerk from St George in the East. His father is James and his mother is Eliza. Lodges at the Victoria
Home on Commercial Street, and the deputy keeper has known him for a number of years.
In 1871 he marries Esther Emma Taylor Cranmore in Hackney. From 1876-78 he lives in St Anne, Limehouse and
by 1891 he is lodging at 57-58 Old Nichol Street, Bethnal Green, returning to Whitechapel in 1896. Dies in Lambeth
in April 1898.125
124 Decatur Daily Despatch Illinois, USA, 19 July 1889.

125 Walthamstow and Leyton Guardian (UK), Saturday, 20 July 1889; Woodford Times (Essex), Friday, 19 July 1889.

Chief Commissioner of Police James Monro
51-year-old from Edinburgh. Serves as Inspector General of Police in India until 1884, when he returns to join
the Metropolitan Police as Assistant Commissioner. Dies in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire in 1920.126
Chief Constable Metropolitan Police Force Colonel Bolton Monsell

Bolton James Alfred Monsell. 48-year-old from Wicklow, Ireland married to 44-year-old Mary, from Tipperary.
In 1881 he is a Major in the army and lives in Hamble Le Rice, Hampshire. In 1891 they live at 25 Gordon, Square,
St Pancras. By 1911 they live at 1 Tedsworth Square, Chelsea where he dies in 1919.
Dr Alexander Oberlin McKellar

Chief Police Surgeon. 42-year-old, born in Bernice, British Guiana. He works at St Thomas’s Hospital, London.
He lives at 79 Wimpole Street.
Dr Frederick Gordon Brown

Surgeon of the City of London Police Force. 47-year-old from St Botolph married to 41-year-old Emily from
Essex. They live at 17 Finsbury Circus. By 1911 he is a widower living with his sisters-in-law and niece in Chigwell,
Essex where he dies in 1928.
Dr Percy John Clark

25-year-old son of a farmer from Ruckridge, Kent and assistant to Dr Phillips, the Divisional Surgeon at 2 Spital
Square. In 1881 he is a scholar lodging at 33 York Place, Marylebone. Registers as a Surgeon in 1887. In 1891 he
works for a period in Wolverhampton. In 1899 he marries Mildred Mary “Matilda” Christie Ray from St Pancras.
After the death of Dr Phillips in 1897, Clark becomes Divisional Surgeon for Whitechapel. Matilda dies in 1909 and
in 1912 he marries Eveline Sarah Atkinson in West Ham. On 4 September 1925 they sail to San Francisco to set up
practise at 2238 Mission Street, San Francisco, and in 1931 he is working in Planada, California. From 1935-39 he
is back in England living at Flat 2, Lordsbridge House, Shepperton, Middlesex. Dies in 1942 in Surrey.
James Hatfield
An old man, in the workhouse uniform. 60-year-old pauper inmate at the Whitechapel Workhouse. Along with
fellow inmate Robert Mann, serves as mortuary attendant. Spends his childhood in Stepney, and by 1881 he is a
pauper inmate giving his occupation as dock labourer. Dies in April 1892.
Wynne Edwin Baxter

Solicitor and Coroner for South Eastern Division of Middlesex.
45-year-old from Lewes in Sussex married to 40-year-old Kate from Northamptonshire. In 1881 they are living
at 208 High Street, Lewes, and by 1891 they have moved to Albion Street. In 1911 they live at 170 Church Street,
Stoke Newington, where he dies in 1920.
John Sullivan
5 ft 11, big and bulky Irish Cockney. Married to Kate and they lodge at 60 Wentworth Street.
Charles Henry Evison

30-year-old from Strand, London. Married to Emma and they live on Balls Pond Road, Hackney. On Wednesday,
the day of his arrest he insures himself for life for £100. In 1891 they are living at 46 Hazel Grove, Islington. Emma
would die in 1898 and Charles would marry Esther McNeil two months later at St Mary’s, Spital Square. Charles
would die in Holborn in 1925.
Dr Thomas Bond
Westminster Divisional Police Surgeon. 48-year-old from Taunton, Somerset married to Rosa, 45-years-old and
from Esher, Surrey. They live at 7 The Sanctuary, Westminster. Rosa dies in 1899, and suffering from ill health
Thomas commits suicide in June 1901.
126 HO144/221/A4930 ff.5-6.

Inspector Charles Pinhorn
40-year-old from Portsea, Hampshire married to 41-year-old Sarah Ann. In 1881 he is a Police Sergeant living at
33 Burgoyne Road, Lambeth. In 1891 living at 70 Seurab Street, Mile End Old Town. By 1911 he is a Secretary to
Police Pensions and living at 33 Carholme Road, Forest Hill, Lewisham. Dies in West Ham in 1920.
Albert Bachert (Backert)

27-year-old copper plate engraver. In 1889 he is chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, and lives
at 13 Newnham Street, Goodman's Fields, St Mary’s.
Sergeant James W Nearn

29-year-old from Woolwich. Married Ellen from Warwickshire, aged 37 years. In 1901 he is an Inspector and
living at 24 Chilsholm Road, Stoke Newington.
Isaac Solomon Parker

Landlord of the Tower public house, 19 Artillery Street. The 61-year-old from Whitechapel is married to 55-year-
old Sarah from Spitalfields. In 1881 they are running the Cock and Hoop at 17 Artillery Street, and by 1901 they
are living in Stoke Newington. Dies in Hackney in 1903.
Thomas Tempany
Owner of Tenpenny’s lodging house, 52 Gun Street. 59-year-old from Cambridgeshire is married to 39-year-old
Sarah from Shadwell.
DS Eugene Charles Bradshaw, K Division

32-year-old from Eames, Devon and married to 27-year-old Helena, from Shoreditch. They live at 261 Brunswick
Road, Bromley. In 1911 he is listed as an unemployed soldiers clerk living in Hull. Dies in Yorkshire in 1928.
Haden Corser
Barrister of Law and Police Magistrate at Worship Street Police Court. 43-year-old from Wolverhampton married
to 40-year-old Mary from Manchester. In 1881 they are living in Penkridge, Staffordshire and in 1891 they in
Berkswick, Staffordshire. By 1901 they are living at The Hyde, Handley Green, Ingateststone and Fryerning, Essex.
Dies in 1906 in Chelmsford, Essex.
Acknowledgements
Chris Scott for locating the National Gazette, New York 17 August 1889 illustrations; Robert Clack for maps,
photos and things; Stuart Orme for the Peterborough connection: 'Claypipe’ Alice McKenzie Jack the Ripper’s Last
victim?; Adam Wood; Howard Brown and JTRForums newspaper archive; Casebook: Jack the Ripper Press Reports;
The Ultimate Jack the Ripper Sourcebook by Stewart P Evans and Keith Skinner; The Complete History of Jack
the Ripper by Philip Sugden; pubhistory.com; ancestry.com.
J G SIMONS lives in Cheshire, England.

The descendants
of George Chapman, aka
Seweryn Klosowski
By HELENA WOJTCZAK
Ripper suspect Seweryn Kłosowski was a Pole who

moved to London about 1887, worked as a barber
and married Lucy Baderska in 1889. He later adopted
the name George Chapman and, between 1897 and
1902, murdered three consecutive live-in girlfriends
by poison. Just before Chapman was hanged in 1903,
retired Chief Inspector Abberline, who had investigated
the Whitechapel murders, named Chapman as Jack the
Ripper.
In the many short biographies of George Chapman in Ripper-
suspect books and during the numerous online discussions and
heated debates about his life, his wife Lucy and his son Władysław
are the focus of much attention. Lucy is often cited in relation to her
rather alarming statement that her husband threatened to hack off
her head with a knife identical to that used by Jack the Ripper, and
also in connection with her claim that, during the Autumn of Terror,
he would be out alone, stalking the mean streets of Whitechapel
until the early hours without ever accounting for his whereabouts.
Baby Władysław is also given a leading role in the Chapman story.
Not only does his birth certificate show that he took his first breath
in the White Hart pub, close to where Martha Tabram was murdered,
but one or two have speculated that he may have been Chapman’s
first victim, because he died, aged just six months, apparently with George Chapman
Chapman present.
But what is less well known is that Chapman went on to beget two more children, both of whom are rarely mentioned,
doubtless because neither throws any light upon his candidature as Jack the Ripper. And it is through one of these that
Chapman currently has dozens of living descendants.
Chapman’s wife Lucy had a second child, Cecylya (a Polish spelling that was still being used when the census was
taken in April 1901). Conceived in the USA around August 1891, she was born in a rented room at 26 Scarborough Street,
near Leman Street, on 12 May 1892.
Chapman’s third child, a son, was born on 8 August 1895 to his erstwhile mistress Annie Chapman (no relation to the
Ripper victim) in the austere surroundings of Edmonton Workhouse. She named him William Kłosowski Chapman, in line
with the custom of that era of giving a child born out of wedlock his biological father’s surname as a middle name. His
parents having split up before his birth, William never met his father, and, like Władysław, he died a few months later.
After being estranged and reunited, little Cecylya’s parents separated permanently when she was a toddler, and by
age five she had acquired a stepfather, cabinetmaker Frank Szymański, by whom Lucy had five more children between
1899 and 1910. To maintain public respectability Lucy and Cecylya took Frank’s surname and pretended (even to census
enumerators) to be his wife and child. However, Lucy remained Chapman’s lawful wife until he was hanged in 1903.
This means that Lucy’s first two children by Frank (Henry and Helena) were, according to British law, legally Chapman’s
offspring.
Between 1897 and about 1912, Lucy and Frank raised their
ever-increasing brood in a series of rented rooms within small,
Cecylya, Hendryk, Lucya and Franciszek Szymański in the 1901 census overcrowded terraced houses located in a grid of bleak streets
in Limehouse (the site has since been demolished, flattened and
is occupied by Bartlett Park). About 1912 Lucy, Frank and their
five youngest children moved to São Paulo. (There are currently a
number of Szymańskis in Brazil, who may be their descendants.)
Chapman’s biological daughter Cecylya did not accompany

them. Although only twenty years of age, she was already married
with two children, having wed Albert Przygodziński, a man more
than twice her age, in 1908. A former Polish cavalryman, Albert
bore a sabre scar on his foot. Eight years earlier he had emigrated
to England, where he pursued a long career as a ladies’ tailor.
Cecylya, and at least two of their children, also worked in that
trade.
Cecylya and Albert lived for some decades in impoverished,

overcrowded conditions in rented rooms in Leman Street, both
plying their needle at home whilst raising six children. According
to his grandson David Brown, in later life Albert’s standard of
life improved: he was a tailor and designer for Peter Robinson’s
department store, often travelling to Paris to see the latest
fashions. The couple separated in middle age. Albert died in
1950 and Cecylya in 1960, in Essex, where her children and their
descendants continued to reside.
Their children (Chapman’s grandchildren) were: Cecilia (1910–

2006); Albert (1911–1964); Eleanor (1914–2007); Wanda (1915–
1935); Joseph (1917–1979) and Stanley (1922–1940). Wanda and
Stanley died young, unmarried and without issue. Stanley was
Cecylya and Albert Przygodziński
killed by enemy action during the Second World War. He and his
brother were on a bus in Leyton during an air raid when a German bomb was dropped and exploded in the road. Stan,
who was in the window seat, died of his injuries. His brother was so badly wounded that
his family barely recognised him. Though shot through with shrapnel he survived, but
was left permanently deaf in one ear.
Cecilia married Arthur Brown in 1932 and produced a girl and two boys. Their
daughter, Eunice, married, had a child and emigrated to Australia, where she was later
joined by one of her brothers. The other, David, remained in Essex, where he was
interviewed by the Parlours for the 1997 book Jack the Ripper Whitechapel Murders.
Eleanor married in 1933. Her two daughters also married and produced offspring.
Therefore, through his granddaughters Cecilia and Eleanor, Chapman had at least eight
descendants by the 1960s, and by now, fifty years later, must have a great many more.
As was customary, Cecilia and Eleanor lost their surname upon marriage, leaving
only their brothers Joe and Albert to carry on the Przygodziński family name.
Joe, a tailor, married Nellie in 1943, and had only one child: a son, Steven. He
reached adulthood, but died of being electrocuted. Albert was also a tailor (one of his
designs was featured in Vogue magazine in 1954). He married Amy in 1936 and fathered
a son and a daughter. Sadly, because nobody could spell it or pronounce it, Joe and
Albert abandoned their birth surname and adopted English ones half a century ago,
and so their families’ Polish identity — and with it the connection back to Cecylya, and
thenceforth to George Chapman — was obscured.
Joe and Nellie Przygodziński on their wedding day

Albert’s son and daughter are alive and well. His son, Michael,
has one child of each sex: his son has a son, and his daughter,
Sam, has two sons. Albert’s daughter, Lyn, also has a son and a
daughter, and between them they have three daughters and a son.
Chapman, therefore, has thirteen living descendants through his
grandson Albert.
Until March 2013 none of Albert’s descendants had the least

suspicion that they were related to a murderer. The news came
to light because a friend of Chapman’s great-granddaughter Lyn
carried out a Google search of Lyn’s birth surname, ‘Przygodziński’,
abandoned by her parents half a century ago. The search led to
Lyn’s paternal grandmother Cecilia, and thence to her mother,
Chapman’s daughter Cecylya Kłosowska, whose name is usually The marriage of Albert Przygodziński and Amy. Left to right: Albert, Amy’s
rendered as ‘Klosowski’. A Google search of that surname produces brother (behind him), Amy and far right, Albert’s brother Joe Przygodziński
an abundance of links to masses of information about Klosowski, his crimes as the Southwark Poisoner George Chapman,
and his candidacy as Jack the Ripper.
Further investigation revealed that,

unbeknown to Lyn, her cousin David Brown
had given family information to Andy and Sue
Parlour for use in their 1997 book. David stated
that his grandmother (Chapman’s daughter
Cecylya) revealed her father’s identity to her
children when her daughter became engaged
in 1932. The revelation took the form of
asking the fiancé, Arthur Brown, if he realised
he would be ‘marrying the granddaughter of
a murderer.’ David also claimed that his aunt
had viewed Chapman’s waxwork. ‘Therein lies
a lovely part to the story’, Sam later remarked,
‘my father visited Madame Tussaud’s when he
was a boy.’ This means he almost certainly —
and yet unwittingly — came face-to-face with
an effigy of his own great-grandfather, which
was exhibited prominently in the Chamber of
Horrors until the 1960s.
Further Google searches led Lyn and

her niece Sam to my name, because I was
researching Chapman for a book about his life
and crimes. Whilst Lyn was tracing her family
tree by starting with herself and going back in
Three generations of Chapman’s descendants, featuring Chapman’s time, I had been coming at it from the other
daughter Cecylya, her son Albert, and her grandchildren Lyn and Peter. direction, starting with Chapman and moving
Standing: Amy, her husband Albert, Joe’s wife Nellie and Cecylya.
The children are (Amy and Albert’s daughter) Lyn and (Nellie and Joe’s son) Steven. forwards in time. Thanks to Lyn, we were
Presumably, Joe is taking the photograph
destined to meet somewhere in the middle!
Having been immersed in Chapman’s life story for so long I was curious to know if he had any living descendants.
Acutely aware of the need for sensitivity and discretion, I had no intention of publishing details that would reveal the
identity of any descendant, nor of dropping on anyone the bombshell news that they were related to a triple-killer. I
hoped to be able to share a certain amount of information with my readers, whilst protecting descendants’ anonymity.
Cecilia’s grandson was the obvious starting point: after all, he had already gone public in the Parlours’ book. However,
finding the correct ‘David Brown’ is on a par with locating a particular ‘John Smith’.

Searching for Cecilia and Albert Przygodziński’s other children I discovered that Stan had died young, but Albert
and Joe may have carried on both the family genes and the distinctive Polish surname. The most recent birth of a
Przygodziński in the south of England occurred sixty years ago, but I found no record of his marriage or death, and he is
absent from the phone book and the electoral register. Did he live abroad? Had he changed his surname? I had reached
a dead end.
Then, one day in March 2013, completely out of the blue, an email arrived from a lady called Sam, saying she was
Chapman’s great-great-granddaughter. I almost fell off my chair!
I was eager to learn how Chapman’s descendants felt about their ancestor, a man whose life and crimes I had spent
so many hours contemplating; whose complex psychology I had striven to make sense of. Lyn shared her thoughts with
me by email: ‘At first I was quite shocked to know of my relationship with a notorious killer, especially with the Jack
the Ripper connection. The more I thought about it the more I accepted my situation. I had gone through my life never
knowing anything about him, so why should it affect me now?’
Lyn, her brother Michael and his daughter Sam attended my

book launch and talk at the Whitechapel Society in April 2014. Both
women addressed the audience with confidence and took questions
with aplomb. Later, Sam was invited to contribute an article to the
Society’s journal. In it she expanded on her own feelings towards her
ancestor:
‘Chapman was my great-great–grandfather, and as such I would

have to admit to feeling something towards him. Feelings of sympathy
are pretty low down the scale of 1–10 (around 3) but they do exist,
although feelings of intrigue, fascination and even excitement are
much stronger — helped by the distancing of three generations. As
a family we have only recently been thrown into the “serial killer”
arena — if such a thing exists. It does, in my mind: it is a club inhabited
In Whitechapel: Sam, Michael and Lyn
only by those who are descended from a serial killer. Thankfully, the
membership is fairly small.’
When she read my book, Sam experienced a range of emotions: ‘Reading the
description of his last day alive… I feel a sickening pity for him… purely because
he is related to me: if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t exist.’ She believes that, to
have carried out murder by slow poison three times, Chapman ‘must have been
out of his mind, a psychopath.’ This conclusion causes her to mull over her blood
connection to him: ‘I do have his DNA — fact. Again, this feels bizarre. But what
does that mean? Nothing. You can’t inherit a serial killer gene… can you?’
Ultimately, Sam is cheerfully gung-ho about her ancestor: ‘He has provided me
with the dinner party story to end all others, and one that I could happily dine out
on for a very long time. It is interesting to watch the reactions of various people
when I share with them this family skeleton: so far all have been incredulous, but
interested to hear and know more about him. I haven’t lost any friends as yet.’
By an astounding twist of fate Lyn’s grandson — Chapman’s great-great-great Sam (left) and Lyn addressing the audience at
Whitechapel. Photo courtesy of Paul Blezard
grandson — attends the same primary school in Southwark, London, in which I was
enrolled fifty years ago. The coincidence is all the more amazing because not one of Chapman’s descendants had ever
lived in Southwark until Lyn’s daughter recently moved there. My mind struggles with the notion that there is a small
boy sitting in a classroom in Southwark, innocent that he is a direct blood descendant of the only man ever to earn the
infamous soubriquet ‘The Southwark Poisoner’.
HELENA WOJTCZAK is the author of Jack the Ripper at Last? The Mysterious Murders of George Chapman
available on Kindle and in paperback.
JACK THE RIPPER AT LAST? by Helena Wojtczak
is now available in paperback and Kindle versions.
Buy the book direct from Helena and have your copy
dedicated, inscribed and signed by the author to your
personal requirements!
www.hastingspress.co.uk/chapman.html

Walter Sickert’s Blues
By BRETT BUSANG
Patricia Cornwell thinks Walter Sickert, painter, critic, and

bon-vivant, was Jack the Ripper and produced, some years ago,
a somewhat provocative thesis that proved, by means of forensic
“evidence” and more or less plausible guesswork, that the man
in question committed some of the most notorious murders in the
history of criminology.
I suppose he could have. He had the means - which is to say, access to the
prostitutes who were the Ripper’s victims. He knew London’s East End as intimately
as the bobbies whose Victorian-era lamp-light could scarcely penetrate the coal-
fired gloom. And he was fascinated by his adopted city’s demimonde, for whose
everlasting glory his Parisian colleague, Edgar Degas, had fashioned a dense and
complicated oeuvre.
Most importantly, however, he was, in all probability, not satisfied with his
sexual prowess, which was compromised by the misguided surgeries he endured as
a boy - surgeries so cringe-worthy that I would rather not revisit them. Suffice it to
say that they traumatized the young Sickert and led, in my view, to marital liaisons
that did not ask a lot of him as a man.
When the murders began to hit the newspapers, Sickert was a controversial
painter whose acid wit would boil on the pages of journals and magazines
dedicated to the New Painting, which had rejected photographic perfection in
favor of aesthetic niceties - which James McNeill Whistler, an American expat, had
Walter Sickert, and below,
his ‘Master’ James McNeill Whistler introduced, in his feisty way, to an international audience. Whistler’s aestheticism
was based on principles garnered from Japanese prints and porcelain; a mania
for simplicity; and an overall re-appreciation of what painting could and could
not do. For a time, Sickert was a disciple. (Whistler’s ego rejected the notion of
having friends.) It was he, in fact, who had delivered Whistler’s Mother to the
Salon in Paris and seen its initial impact - which was, to The Master (Whistler’s
self-appropriated title), a foregone conclusion. Yet it was Sickert who broke away
from The Master, who, as all supreme egotists will do, decided to have nothing to
do with his former acolyte again. (“My Walter – whom I put down for a moment and
who ran off!” said Whistler of his disciple’s defection.)
In the ego department, Sickert could – of all Whistler’s acolytes – easily hold his
own. And while he retained a soft spot for his waspish colleague and provocateur,
Sickert went his own way as seamlessly as a Whistler protégé should have. As The
Master aged and, finally, eased himself, by means of overwork and an insatiable
ego, into immortality, he became the self-parody about which image-conscious
people should always be on guard. Yet his irrepressible nature prevailed; until the
very end, he was always ready with a quip and rarely able to back down from a
quarrel.
Yet there was a peculiar
disconnect between Sickert’s
public persona, which, like
Whistler, he polished over a
longish lifetime, and his artistic
inclinations, which drove him
into ruts and recesses, neap
tides and no-man’s corners. No
artist was ever as comfortable
with cheap rented rooms and
ratty furniture. Few Englishmen
– who have generally inclined
toward sunny-natured stuff
– have so enthusiastically
rejected the notion that the
good things in life were to be
found in lake or stream, dewy
coppice or sunny meadow. His
palette reflects, not only the
Sickert’s Nude Reclining on a Bed
threadbare coloration of a city
that rarely saw natural light, but a penchant for dark lace, brackish beer-pulls, and brass fittings that hold the light
rather than throw it back at you. (In a letter to a friend, Sickert wrote: “O the whiff of leather and stout from the
swing-doors of the pubs!”) He was, above all English painters, enamored of what his colleagues dared to think about,
but avoided in their work. Like his friend, Degas, he was thrilled by the conjunction of the tawdrily elegant and the
morally depraved. He enjoyed awkward poses and was comfortable with the idea – along with his Parisian colleague –
that the grace that was conventionally attributed to the weaker sex could wither inside of a crooked elbow or jutting
thigh. It is no accident that both artists pictured men assaulting women, though without the graphic violence that
would have marginalized them more than they cared to be. In Degas’ The Rape, a woman is being cornered by a man
who is demonically in control. And while there is no exact parallel in Sickert’s work, there is a general tendency which
is worth exploring. Sickert’s models are exhausted-looking or fully asleep. Their skin, as in Nude Reclining on a Bed,
1904, is slack, their postures too-yielding, their affect so defeated that they can resemble run-over objects. (Le Lit de
Cuivre, 1906, is another such example. So, too, Nuit d’ete, which was painted two years later.) One can’t get a handle
on whether Sickert was a sympathetic observer or a mildly sadistic voyeur who “got off” on posing women in this way.
Women in Sickert’s paintings are not half as desirable as, say, Renoir’s. (Compare any of his bathers, who don’t mind
frolicking – or being caught in the act – and Sickert’s hausfraus, who seem unable to get out of bed.) If one man’s work
could be the antithesis of another’s, it is Renoir’s vis-à-vis Sickert’s. One has the joie de vivre we fully expect, but
cannot always be sure of; the other’s is possibly judgmental and most assuredly dour. Renoir loves the female body;
and while Sickert is not unwilling to peruse and appreciate it, he is, at once, tormented and electrified by an erotic
imagination that is, in the final analysis, uncomfortable with itself and not ready to give in. And while there is no
palpable loathing in Sickert, there is a crucial distance between observer and observed, model and painter, tormenter
(perhaps) and victim (very possibly.)
Sickert’s marriage to pliant women who clearly worshipped him bears this out. (His mistresses seemed to have
followed a similar pattern.) He was a charming fellow, but his sociopathic detachment can be scarier than hell.
According to chronologies that have been fully validated and are, insofar as such things can be, irrefutable, Sickert
was away from London during the heyday (August through November of 1888) of the Ripper murders. Whatever the case,
I believe Sickert’s artistic imagination thrived on them and wished, in a less deleterious sort of way, to parallel their
unsavory resonances.
Patricia Cornwell believes there is a hidden message in Ennui, of which there are two versions. I don’t see it. It is
possible that an ironic intent lurked beyond the frame of a picture that was, unlike so much of Sickert’s work, devoted
to domestic tranquility. In it, an ordinary householder smokes what appears to be an after-dinner cigar while his wife –
or concubine - lounges against a credenza. What could be more disarming? Yet from a small picture on the wall-space
between them, a man presumably hovers, as the Ripper might have, over a potential victim. I have looked in vain for

this hovering. Yet Ennui, for all of its tranquil guise, has the sense
of unease which is Sickert’s unique contribution to a genre that can
look, in other hands, soporific. In so many interiors, people seem
arrested, as if their true element were someplace else. In Ennui,
the man and woman look as if they belong there, even if their
belonging is not tension-free.
More “evidence” pops up in The Camden Town Murder or What

Shall We Do for the Rent?,1908. A man in fully bourgeois regalia
slumps toward a handclasp that looks somberly penitent. Lying next
to him is a nude woman who could be dead or resting. Her breasts –
which catch the light – are voluptuously available, which argues for
the latter (in spite of the picture’s implicit title). Yet if the woman
is dead, it is from a quarrel (as the title would also suggest) over
money. She is, moreover, preserved as the statuesque creature she
was in life. Her high-piled hairdo is meticulously “done up” and
there are no signs of Ripperesque pandemonium, which became so
frantic over time that his victims’ photographs become hashes of
mutilated tissue and not real people anymore. If Sickert wanted
to dramatize his “chops” as a killer, he could have in this painting
and did not.
Sickert’s most convincing image in terms of Ripper-olatry would

Sickert’s Ennui, and below, detail of Putana a Casa
be Putana a Casa, whose facial scar is not the stuff of conventional
portraiture. It seems to me that, if Sickert wished to confess, it
would be through such a creation. (The placement of this scar is
highly reminiscent of the one that appears in Catherine Eddowes’
posthumous photograph.) Yet I’m also willing to believe that
Sickert’s iconoclasm – which motivated him to push boundaries – was
responsible for such a choice. Sickert was repelled by professional
portrait painters who sentimentalized Victorian womanhood – not
to mention the smirking patriarchy that made it possible. If he liked
women at all – and I think he did – he wanted us to see them after a
hard life had taken them down a peg or two. Along with his Ashcan
School colleagues, Sickert wanted to defuse his era’s worshipful
pretenses and show – in this case literally – its casual mutilations,
for which no one paid unless it was the victims themselves. Yet if
any single painting might come back and say “J’Accuse!,” it would
be this one. Few pictures of a human face are harder to look at,
yet are so captivating in their intensity that it is impossible to turn
away. Putana a Casa is an artistic triumph, if a humanistic disaster.
Sickert’s audacity, however, wouldn’t (as one might say)

quit. His picture of mad Jack’s living quarters (Jack the Ripper’s
Bedroom) is a searingly authentic stage-setting for either a murder
or a major overhaul. (Mitre Square would never be gentrified, but
it has to look tidier than this!) Through blinds that largely repel the
sunlight, we have a sense that we are at, or near, street level, from
which Jack the Ripper – who is, by implication, the solitary figure
at the window - can look, but not be seen. The casual clutter at
the room’s margins, however, recalls Sickert’s approach to interior
design, which worsened (if that’s the word) as he got older. (A
photograph of the elderly Sickert shows him and his final helpmeet
awash in debris – with which Sickert, young and old, was content

to surround himself.) If Sickert
did not identify with the most
savage predator of his day, why
would he claim that this room and
none other was Jack the Ripper’s?
(Unless you can back it up, insisting
on a particular provenance is
not very good form.) And why
on earth would anybody in his
right mind want to link himself,
through this – or any - image, to
the Scourge of London? I would
attribute that attribution, again,
to Sickert’s iconoclasm. What
might draw immediate attention
to an otherwise depressing milieu?
Being no more or less scrupulous
than any showman, Sickert chose
the lowest common denominator
and it worked. Like so many
men whose sophistication can be
wearying, Sickert enjoyed walking
on the wild side, even if he might
pop back into own milieu anytime
he chose.
John Sloan, of all American

painters, shared with Sickert a
fascination for the working people
with which he, Sloan, identified to
a greater extent than his British
colleague. Both men believed that
the artistic culture within which
they moved was not as compelling
as ordinarily downtrodden people
– which supplied the two artists Jack the Ripper’s Bedroom
with subject matter for as long as
they cared to utilize it. As Sickert aged, he became more reclusive – the archetypal old man with his memories. Yet,
unlike Sloan, he painted his daily activities, not from the wobbly perspective of a mirror, but from photographs. (Sloan
stuck to his old guns, but he aimed rather poorly. The work of his final years lacks the fiercely focused elan of his earlier
years.) One of Sickert’s last images is of a resurrection. (These paintings are alter ego exercises, and included the word
Lazarus – Sickert’s “pet name” for himself – in their titles.) Was this resurrection needed because of a long-festering
secret, or was he, like so many old men, reflecting on the death he owed and attempting, also as so many old men do,
to bargain with it? (Here I am, O Lord! Now: would you be willing to let me stay a while longer?) While not bad as far
as his later work goes, the painting is valuable to us as the symbolic gesture of a man who might have been at the end
of his rope, but was still trying.
BRETT BUSANG in his own words: Nothing so much as a morbid curiosity has prepared me to write about Walter
Sickert vis-a-vis Jack the Ripper - about whose machinations I am no expert and gladly yield to those who are. I
also belong to that species of self-hating Anglophile who can’t help himself and should probably consider a support
group - or found one. In my hopeless thralldom, I have written parodies in play and story form about New Wave
films, P G Wodehouse, and the Beatles. The latter effort is an attempt to show what a disgruntled ex-pop star
might do if he’s summarily drummed (as it were) out of a promising rock band, lives to see its meteoric rise, and
tries to get on with his life without it. Its title, I Shot Bruce, doesn’t give away as much as you might think - which
is all I’ll say about it. I also like British painters and am probably the only person in Capitol Hill Northeast who
mentioned Thomas Girtin, favorably or otherwise, all day. Ripperologist 138 June 2014 36
Did Jack the Ripper
write The Red Flag?
By PAUL WILLIAMS
The Red Flag is possibly the most influential political

song in modern British History. Adopted as the anthem
of the Labour Party, at the party’s formation in 1900
it symbolised the growing socialist movement that first
produced a majority Labour Government in 1945. It has
been sung in the House of Commons, by convicts on their
way to the gallows in South Africa, at football stadiums
and during demonstrations and public protests.
The song was composed by an Irishman, Jim Connell, while on
a train during the dockers’ strike of 1889. Connell said that the
train was taking him home from a socialist meeting.1 Home was
408 New Cross Road, where he lived at the time of the 1891 census
and on 22 November 1888, when he was arrested on suspicion of
being Jack the Ripper. A police report by Inspector Bird, dated 18
January 1889, provides the details:
I beg to report that at 9.40 pm 22 November, 1888 James
Connell of 408 New Cross Road, Draper & Clothier Age 36,
Height 5ft 9 in, complexion fresh long dark moustache,
Dress brown check suit, ulster with cape red socks Oxford
shoes, soft felt hat, an Irishman was brought to this (Hyde
Park) station by PC271A Fountain under the following
circumstances. Martha Spencer of 30 Sherbourne Street,
Blandford Square, Married, stated that he spoke to her
near the Marble Arch, they walked together in the Park
and he began talking about “Jack the Ripper” and Lunatic
Asylums and said that, no doubt, when caught, he would
turn out to be a lunatic, in consequence of this conversation
she became alarmed and spoke to the Pc who accompanied
Jim Connell
them to the station. A telegram was then sent to Greenwich
Station for enquiry as to the correctness of his address and
his respectability, a satisfactory reply having been received he was then allowed to go, as nothing
further suspicious transpired.2
This report once existed in Scotland Yard’s files on the murders. Although made available to researchers in the
1970s it is no longer extant. Given that other reports dated January 1889 refer to arrests in November 1888, it is
reasonable to assume they were commissioned.
1 Connell, Jim, “How I wrote the Red Flag”, The Call, 6 May 1920, p. 5. See also The Times, 22 January 1924, p. 22.
2 Report by Inspector J Bird, 18 January 1889, reprinted in Evans, Stewart, P, and Skinner, Keith, The Ultimate Jack the Ripper
Sourcebook, Constable Robinson, 2000, +p. 664.
The Metropolitan Police Special Branch were made aware of some suspicious Irishmen who were suspected
of the Whitechapel murders.3 This unit was established in 1883 to monitor the activity of the Irish Republican
Brotherhood. Connell is said to have been a member of the Brotherhood and a J Connell was accused as an
advocate of “sedition, terrorism and violence”, during the Parnell Commission.4 One of Connell’s biographers
linked him with this man.5
James Connell was born on 27 March 1852, in McCormack’s Yard, Rathniska, Kilskyre, Crossakiel. He was the
eldest of thirteen children born to Thomas, a farm labourer and Anne, nee Shaw. In 1862, the family moved to
Birr where Thomas worked as a groom or gamekeeper for the Earl of Rosse. It was here that James is said to have
joined the Irish Republican Brotherhood in 1870.6
After a spell in Dublin, Connell moved to London. On 2 September 1882, he married Catherine Angier, in Poplar.
Their first child, Norah, was born on 28 February 1883. Her parents separated when she was 13. Norah later
recalled that Connell founded the first London branch of the Irish Land League in London.7 This is unconfirmed but
he is known to have been on the executive committee of the Poplar branch of the National Land League of Great
Britain.8 Justin McCarthy, was president and T P O’Connor was the secretary. Both were members of parliament.
The land league was established in 1879 to enable tenant farmers to own the land
they worked on. In April 1881 the British Government introduced a Land Act to provide
a tribunal for the fixing of land rents. In May, following the arrest of John Dillon MP for
opposing the act, the League issued a manifesto to Irishmen in England and Scotland.
It urged them to evict the landlords and wreak vengeance at the polling booths.9 The
president of the Land League, Charles Stuart Parnell, MP, was arrested in October 1881
and detained until May the following year. He was temporarily released in April to
attend the funeral of his niece and Connell was one of many Irish patriots who flocked
to Euston Station to greet him.10
In 1883, Connell joined the Social Democratic Foundation and wrote regularly for their
magazine, Justice. There, in the Christmas 1889 edition, The Red Flag first appeared in
print. Connell set the lyrics to the tune of a Jacobite song, The White Cockade. There
were several versions of The White Cockade, with slightly different tunes.
In 1895, Adolphe Smythe Headingley rearranged the lyrics of The Red Flag to the tune
Maryland or Der Tannenbaum. This became the accepted tune but did not meet with
Connell’s approval. In 1928, he described it as a wrong done to him, saying that some
fool put his words to the music of a Catholic hymn, solemn and dreary.11 Forty-five years
later Dominic Bennett quoted Connell as saying “May God forgive him (Headingley) for I
never shall. He linked the words to Maryland, the correct name of which is Tannenbaum,
an old German Roman Catholic hymn. I never intended that the Red Flag should be sung Charles Stuart Parnell
to church music to remind people of their sins.”12 Bennett was the Great Grandson of
the trade unionist Tom Mann, who became secretary of the Independent Labour Party in 1894, having previously
3 Clutterbuck, Lindsday, An accident of history?: the evolution of counter terrorism methodology in the Metropolitan Police from
1829 to 1901, with particular reference to the influence of extreme Irish Nationalist activity, PhD Thesis, University of Portsmouth
2002, p. 263-365.
4 Devine, Francis,”Connell, James (1852–1929)”, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004, online
edition, May 2007, www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/38721, accessed 22 November 2013, for the claim that Connell was sworn
into the Brotherhood. Reynolds Newspaper, 21 October 1888, p. 5.
5 Boyd, Andrew, “Jim Connell and the Red Flag”, History Ireland, www.historyireland.com/20th-century-contemporary-history/
jim-connell-and-the-red-flag, accessed 13 March 2014
6 Devine, op. cit.
7 Walshe, Norah, “James Connell: A Biographical Sketch”, Saothar, 24, 1999, 95-99.
8 Boyd, op. cit.
9 Freeman’s Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser, 5 May 1881, p. 6.
10 The Standard, 11 April 1882, p. 5.
11 Perth Sunday Times, 20 May 1928, p. 12, citing Everybody’s Weekly.
12 Letter from Dominic Bennett, The Times, 17 March 1973, p. 15.

been a member of the Social Democrat Federation. Connell made the same move but after he had been selected
as an election candidate for the SDF in the Finsbury East Ward in 1890.13 In his election address he noted that he
appealed solely to the working classes and his radical proposals included the nationalisation of capital.14 However
he did not stand in the 1892 general election and the SDF only had two candidates nationally, receiving 659 votes.
In the early 1890s he was a regular speaker at events, for example to commemorate the twentieth anniversary
of the Paris commune in March 1892 and the May Day Demonstration in Hyde Park in the same year.15 His speech
at the later was described as stirring and elicited great cheers.16
From 1909 until his death, twenty years later, Connell was secretary of the Workingmen’s Legal Aid Society,
based in Chancery Lane, London, providing advice on compensation and other claims. Writing in the Daily Worker
of 2 February 1962, Wal Hannington who led the National Unemployment Workers movement between the wars,
recalled meeting Connell in 1924. He described the poet as a hefty man, over 6 feet tall, with a black sombrero
hat, a bright red tie, a long black coat and a big moustache.17 Other sources also refer to him as over 6ft,
indicating that the 1889 police report understated his height.
Connell’s publications include Brothers at Last: a Centenary Appeal to Celt
and Saxon (1898), which argued for full Irish self-rule, Socialism and the Survival
of the Fittest (1913), The Truth about the Game Laws (1898) and Confessions
of a Poacher (1902). The latter is not to be confused with John Watson’s 1890
work of the same title. Connell’s version sold 80,000 copies in several editions,
having first appeared in serial form in Titbits. Connell supported poaching and
is said to have been fined at the Croydon court for this offence, although his
daughter claimed that he was never caught.18
Who’s Who documented his life as follows: “Educated under a hedge for
a few weeks. Has been a sheep farmer, dock labourer, navvy, railwayman,
draper, journalist, lawyer (of a sort) and all the time a poacher. Recreation:
Poaching.”19
In 1925, the Daily Herald and Ramsay MacDonald, the Labour leader and
first Labour Prime Minster, ran a competition to find a better labour anthem
than The Red Flag. MacDonald referred to the song as a ditty, feeling that it
was unsuitable for the Labour party.20 He may have also been concerned about
its links to anarchists and communists. The song was frequently sung during
riots and demonstrations and there was a real fear that Britain could fall to a
revolution like that in Russia. King George V complained about the singing of
The Red Flag and the Marseillaise at the Royal Albert Hall at Labour’s victory
Labour leader Ramsay MacDonald
rally in 1924, forcing MacDonald to apologise on the day that he was appointed
Prime Minister.21 It was a coalition government, dependant on Liberal support.
Despite a prize of $50 and over 300 entrants, no alternative song was selected.22 Temporarily banned by Tony
Blair’s government, The Red Flag is still sung today at Labour party conferences.
13 St James Gazette, 2 April 1890, p. 9.

14 Reynolds Newspaper, 23 November 1890, p. 3.
15 Reynolds Newspaper, 22 March 1891, p. 2, and 1 May 1892, p. 1.
16 Reynolds Newspaper, 2 May 1892, p. 5.
17 Daily Worker, 2 February 1962, reprinted ourhistory-hayes.blogspot.com.au/2011/06/jim-connell-man-who-wrote-red-flag.html,
accessed 15 April 2014.
18 Walshe, p. 96.
19 Who Was Who 1929-1940, 1941, p. 280.
20 The Times, 11 May 1925, p. 8.
21 Morgan, Kevin, Ramsay MacDonald, Haus, 2006, pp. 43-44.
22 Walshe, p. 97.

Jim Connell died in Lewisham hospital in 1929, the same year as Thomas Power O’Connor.
The Red Flag was sung at his funeral, to both tunes. In 1989 the future Labour Prime Minister
Gordon Brown unveiled a plaque at Connell’s last address in Stondon Park, Forest Hill,
commemorating the sixtieth anniversary of his death. The Kells Heritage Committee erected
a permanent memorial in his birthplace in 1997 and there is now an annual memorial service.
His connection with Jack the Ripper is not widely known, although noted by at least one
blogger.23
Connell was of one of several men arrested in 1888 and released without charge. There is no
extant evidence to support Spencer’s suspicions or to indicate that the police erred in releasing him. The
only unanswered question is the extent of their enquiries. We do not know if these included the equivalent of
a criminal record check, questioning of members of the household or neighbours or, as might be more likely, a
casual verification of identity and address.
Connell did not, as far as we know, discuss the incident. Undoubtedly, some political embarrassment would
have followed such a revelation. In an era where socialism has less political strength and, consequently, fewer
enemies the historical record can be noted without ramification.
The Red Flag

(lyrics by Jim Connell, 1889)
The worker’s flag is deepest red, It waved above our infant might
It shrouded oft our martyred dead, When all ahead seemed dark as night;
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold It witnessed many a deed and vow:
Their hearts’ blood dyed its ev’ry fold. We must not change its colour now.
Then raise the scarlet standard high! It suits today the meek and base,
Within its shade we’ll live or die. Whose minds are fixed on self and place,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, To cringe beneath the rich man’s frown,
We’ll keep the red flag flying here. And haul that sacred emblem down.
It well recalls the triumphs past;
Look ‘round, the Frenchman loves its blaze,
It gives the hope of peace at last --
The sturdy German chants its praise,
The banner bright, the symbol plain
In Moscow’s vaults its hymns are sung
Of human right and human gain.
Chicago swells the surging throng.
With heads uncovered swear we all
To bear it onward till we fall.
Come dungeons dark or gallows grim,
This song shall be our parting hymn.
The White Cockade (Anon, c. 1750)

It was one summer morning as I rambled o’er yon moss,
I had no thought of listin’ till a soldier did me cross;
He kindly did invite me to take a flowin’ bowl,
He advance’d, he advance’d, he advance’d, he advance’d,
He advanced me some money, a shillin’ from the crown.
’Tis true my love has listed and he wears a white cockade,
He is a handsome tall young man, likewise a roving blade,
He is a handsome young man and he’s gone to serve the king,
Oh my very, oh my very, oh my very, oh my very,
Oh my very heart is breaking all for the loss of him.
My love is tall and handsome and comely for to see,
And by some sad misfortune a soldier now is he;
May the very man that listed him not prosper night nor day,
And I wish that, and I wish that, and I wish that, and I wish that,
And I wish that the Hollanders would sink him in the sea.
23 transpont.blogspot.com.au/2012/05/music-monday-red-flag.html, 7 May 2012, accessed 15 April 2014.

Oh, may he never prosper and may he never thrive,
In everything he takes a hand as long as he’s alive;
May the very grass he treads upon the ground refuse to grow,
Since he has been the, since he has been the, since he has been the, since he has been the,
Since he has been the only cause of my sorrow, grief and woe.
Then he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe her flowin’ eyes,
Leave off those lamentations, likewise those mournful sighs,
And be you of good courage while I march o’er the plain,
We’ll be married, we’ll be married, we’ll be married, we’ll be married,
We’ll be married when I return again.
Oh, yes my love has listed and I for him will rove,
I’ll write his name on every tree that grows in yonder grove,
Where the huntsman he do holler and the hounds do sweetly cry,
To remind me, to remind me, to remind me, to remind me,
To remind me of me ploughboy until the day I die.
The White Cockade (lyrics by Robert Burns, 1790)

My love was born in Aberdeen,
The bonniest lad that e’er was seen;
But now he makes our hearts fu’ sad,
He’s taen the field wi’ his white cockade.
O he’s a rantin, rovin blade,
He’s a brisk and a bonny lad,
Betide what may, my heart is glad,
To see my lad wi his white cockade.
Oh leeze me on the philabeg
The hairy hough and garten’d leg;
But aye the thing that blinds my ee,
The white cockade aboun the bree.
I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel,
My rippling-kame and spinning wheel,
To buy my lad a tartan plaid,
A braidsword, dirk, and white cockade.
I’ll sell my rokelay and my tow,
My good grey mare and hawkit cow,
that every loyal Buchan lad
May tak the field wi the white cockade.
Sources
Boyd, Andrew, “Jim Connell and the Red Flag”, History Ireland, Summer 2001, www.historyireland.com/20th-
century-contemporary-history/jim-connell-and-the-red-flag, accessed 23 November 2013. Devine, Francis,
“Connell, James (1852–1929)”, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004, online
edition, May 2007, www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/38721, accessed 22 Nov 2013. Evans, Stewart, P, and
Skinner, Keith, The Ultimate Jack the Ripper Sourcebook, Constable Robinson, 2000. Walshe, Norah, “James
Connell: A Biographical Sketch”, Saothar, 24, 1999, 95-99.
PAUL WILLIAMS is a writer best known for his study of the wolf in England, Howls of Imagination,
published by Heart of Albion in 2007. He has contributed 49 short stories to magazines and anthologies
in addition to poetry and non-fiction articles. His website is at www.freewebs.com/wehrwulf. Originally
from the UK, he now lives in Australia.
From the Casebooks of
a Murder House Detective
The Plaistow Horror and
Ilford’s Little Shop of Horrors
By JAN BONDESON
THE PLAISTOW HORROR

In 1895, the mariner Robert Coombes was chief steward
on board the National Steam Ship Company’s ship France.
He lived at No. 35 Cave Road, Plaistow, with his wife Emma
and their sons Robert Jr and Nathaniel, aged 13 and 12
respectively. A sailor named John Fox also lodged in the
small terraced house. Mrs Coombes was not fully compos
mentis: a nervous, excitable woman, she sometimes
laughed and cried at the same time. She had nearly died
when she gave birth to Robert Jr, a lad with a very large,
misshapen head. Even in 1895, when the boy was 13 years
old, she still resented him for this. Robert Jr was a very
strange boy. Although ugly and morose, he was quite
intelligent and bright at school. He was a voracious reader
of sensational literature about criminals, and once walked
to Southend and back to see the murderer James Canham
Read.
On 3 July 1895, Robert Jr told his younger brother

Nathaniel that he had decided to murder their mother. She
had annoyed him enough, he said, and he had purchased
a large knife in Barking Road. Nathaniel, who had been
beaten by his mother for stealing food, just a few days
earlier, did not want to take active part in this murderous
exploit, although he did nothing to dissuade his brother.
Robert Coombes murders his mother, from the Illustrated Police News, 27 July 1895.
On the night of 6 July, Robert Jr crept into his mother’s Note the murder house to the right
bedroom and stabbed her twice through the heart. He then
proudly called his younger brother to see the corpse. The two boys broke their mother’s cash-box open, and stole all her
money. They then went to Lords to watch some cricket, having a very jolly day out.
When the neighbours in Cave Road wondered what had happened to Mrs Coombes, Robert Jr and Nathaniel, who were
‘very sharp boys’, had a story ready for them. Their ‘Ma’ had gone to Liverpool in a hurry, since her rich uncle had just
died in Africa. Robert Jr made sure that the door to his mother’s bedroom was always kept locked, and that he had
charge of the only key. He told the lodger Fox that his mother had gone away to Liverpool, and gave him some of his
father’s clothes to sell. Fox, who was well-nigh idiotic, did not suspect that anything might be wrong. Nor did he object
to a 13-year-old boy taking control of the household, and tipping him a penny or two for running errands to sell or pawn
valuables from the household.

Other incidents from the Plaistow Horror, from the Illustrated Police News, 3 August 1895
Since Robert Jr knew that his mother regularly wrote to her husband when he was away on board ship, he penned his
father the following remarkable letter:
Dear Pa,
I am very sorry to inform you that my ma has hurt her hand. You know that sore on her finger; it has spread
all over her hand and she is unable to write to you. Just before I have written this letter a bill from Mr
Greenaways came, and ma had to pay it. Mr Griffin also has charged a heavy doctor’s bill. Ma says will you
please send us over a dollar or two. We are all well, and ma’s hand is better. Ma was offered £4 for Bill, the
Mocking Bird.
Throughout early July, the two boys kept amusing themselves, spending all
the money they had stolen, as well as Fox’s rent money and whatever their
father sent them. Hoping to raise some more cash, the resourceful Robert Jr
put an advertisement into the Evening News that he wanted to borrow £30, for
six monthly repayments of £6. There were no takers, however. Robert Jr then
wrote to the National Steam Ship Company, who employed his father, saying that
his mother was very ill, and please could he have £4 for the doctor’s bill, but
the wary mariners demanded a medical certificate before they parted with any
cash. The boy murderer then forged a doctor’s certificate, signed J J Griffin MD,
stating that Mrs Coombes was in a very weak state, from an internal complaint.
But although the forgery was quite well done, no money was forthcoming from
the steamship company.
Thanks to their father’s long-term absence, and the lodger Fox’s idiocy, these
two unnatural boys may well have kept up their perverse charade for many weeks
to come, had it not been for the intervention of their aunt Mrs Emily Coombes.
On 17 July, when this resourceful woman went to Cave Road to investigate, a
neighbour told her that Emma Coombes had not been seen for nearly two weeks.
Robert Jr seemed to be in charge of the house. When Emily Coombes entered No.
35 and demanded to inspect the bedrooms, she found the two boys playing cards
with John Fox. She refused to be fobbed off by Fox telling her that Mrs Coombes
had gone to Liverpool for a holiday, or Robert Jr. saying that a rich aunt had died The body of Mrs Coombes is discovered,
from the Illustrated Police Budget, 27 July 1895

Portraits of all the major players in the Plaistow Horror, from the Illustrated Police Budget
and ‘Ma’ was away collecting her inheritance. Robert Jr said that the bedroom door had jammed, but Mrs Coombes was
not taking no for an answer, even threatening to break the door down if a key was not produced. Once the door was
opened, she found the body of Emma Coombes on the bed, in an advanced state of decomposition, and swarming with
maggots. Returning downstairs, Emily Coombes cried out to Robert Jr, in a terrible voice, “You wicked boy, you knew
your mother was dead!” She then confronted the imbecile Fox, who stood slack-jawed nearby, and said “You, John,
have been here all this time, and didn’t you know what was going on?” “No, missus”, the simple-minded sailor replied.
Even experienced London journalists, used to describe murder and depravity with gusto, were at a loss for words when
contemplating the Plaistow Horror, as the murder was called. Dr Alfred Kennedy, who performed the autopsy, had a most
unpleasant task due to the decomposed state of the body. The brain and the right lung had been eaten by the maggots,
and the heart and the left lung were partially eaten as well. Still, he could see the boy murderer’s two stab wounds to
the chest wall. The police were equally amazed: how could this unnatural Robert Coombes Jr have stabbed his mother to
death, kept the body in the murder house, and escaped detection for nearly a fortnight? They did not believe that a human
being could be stupid enough to remain in a house where a body had been decomposing for two weeks, and charged the
lodger Fox a an accomplice, since he
had helped to sell a watch and other
goods from the plundered house.
Young Nathaniel was persuaded to
testify against his brother. Awaiting
trial for matricide, Robert Jr was
kept in special detention. He
whistled and sang, and was often
impertinent to the warders. Once,
when he became very agitated,
he had to be put in a padded cell.
When a kind clergyman wrote him
a letter, Robert sent him a polite
reply, illustrated with a drawing of
himself dangling from the gallows.
On trial at the Old Bailey for

murdering his mother, Robert Jr
still looked as cool as a cucumber.
Weeping and moaning ruefully,
Nathaniel gave evidence against his
brother, detailing all their exploits.
Some original [right] and more recent [left] houses in Cave Road
Robert Coombes Sr described his
wife’s peculiar manners, and his son’s deplorable fascination with cheap literature about criminals. People who knew
John Fox described him as honest but half-witted, and he was acquitted. Robert Jr was found guilty but insane, and was
sentenced to be detained as a criminal lunatic, until Her Majesty’s pleasure can be known. After some newspapers had

The approximate site of the murder house at No. 35 Cave Road
pointed out that Robert Jr had been considered fully sane prior to the murder, and that his behaviour in the two weeks
he kept his mother’s corpse locked in the bedroom had been one of cunning and wickedness, rather than insanity, the
Times devoted a leader to the Plaistow Horror. The leader writer pointed out that hanging a boy of thirteen would have
been an outrage unworthy of a civilized country. Whether he was imprisoned for life as a sane prisoner, or incarcerated
in a lunatic’s ward, was less important, the leader writer pontificated. Broadmoor records indicate that the matricide
Robert Allen Coombes was in Broadmoor from 1895 until 1912, when he was released into the care of the Salvation Army.
It is possible that he lived on until 1942, but this remains uncertain since his name was far from an uncommon one.
So, what happened to Plaistow’s House of Horrors at No. 35 Cave Road? There is a No. 35 today, but it is of much
more recent construction, and does not match the original drawing of the murder house. It turns out that wartime
damage took its toll of the small terraced houses in Cave Road: although some original houses remain at the extremities
of the terrace, many houses in the middle were destroyed by the bombing, and reconstructed in the 1950s. Thus went
Plaistow’s House of Horrors, the sole reminder of one of London’s forgotten tragedies.
Sources
National Archives CRIM 1/42/9; OldBaileyOnline; Times 17 September 1895 13e, 18 September 1895 5b and 7d,
Hampshire Telegraph 21 September 1895, Auckland Star 5 October 1895, Poverty Bay Herald 17 September 1895; also N
Freeman, 1895, Drama, Disaster and Disgrace in Late Victorian Britain (Edinburgh 2011), p156-64.
WRITE FOR RIPPEROLOGIST!
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ILFORD’S LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS
In 1918, No. 23 Cranbrook Road, Ilford, was a chemist’s
shop run by the 49-year-old Mr Harris Cocker. He lived in the
maisonette flat above the shop, with his 37-year-old wife
Jessie and their four children Norman, Terence, Winifred and
Raymond, aged between fourteen and four. Unfortunately,
Jessie Cocker’s health left much to be desired: she suffered
from neurasthenia, and feared that she was going mad. Harris
Cocker was very worried by the state of his wife, and the
risk that she would have to enter an asylum. In the end, he
himself became quite deluded, and decided on rash action.
He was something of an expert on poisons and their action,
and decided to make use of that knowledge to murder his
A postcard showing old shops in Cranbrook Road
entire family.
On July 14 1918, Harris Cocker dosed his wife and children with hyosine, the same poison used by Dr Crippen, and
with prussic acid. They all expired, and he locked the corpses into the top floor bedroom. His original plan had been
to destroy himself with another dose of poison, but he was more squeamish about taking his own life, and decided to
live on for a while longer. He told people that his family had gone to Brighton for a holiday, and took all his meals at a
restaurant nearby. He made sure that the room with the dead bodies was kept locked, but in the warm July weather,
the stench from the decomposing corpses was becoming quite overpowering, and the shop assistant Miss Hall had to be
dissuaded from going upstairs to investigate.
On July 28, Harris Cocker

wrote to Dr King Houchin, the
family doctor, informing him
that the entire family would be
found dead at No. 23 Cranbrook
Road, and that he would like for
them all to be cremated at the
London Crematorium. He put
a notice on the shop door that
his sister and Miss King should
stay away from the top floor
bedroom, since it contained
something very disagreeable.
He then poisoned himself with
prussic acid. On July 30, after Dr
King Houchin had received the
letter, he called in the police,
and all six bodies were found.
The condition of the corpses of
the wife and children was too
horrible to be described in the
newspapers, and their features
were unrecognizable due to
rapid decomposition in the hot Scenes from the Ilford Tragedy, from the Illustrated Police News, 8 August 1918
weather.
At the coroner’s inquest, the motive for Harris Cocker to murder his family was debated at length. Dr King Houchin
testified that he had always found the quiet Ilford chemist fully sane, and although his wife had suffered badly from
neurasthenia, her husband had never spoken to him about having her declared insane or removed to an asylum. There
had been newspaper speculation that Cocker had feared being called up for the army, but this was likely to be baseless.

It was rightly considered remarkable that this extraordinary
murderer had left the five corpses to putrefy in the bedroom,
and then carried on business as usual in the shop, and even gone
out to enjoy some nice restaurant dinners. Either from fear of
discovery or remorse, he had finally taken his own life, the coroner
speculated. The verdict was that Harris Cocker had murdered his
wife and four children in a fit of temporary insanity, and that he
had committed suicide fourteen days later, also whilst temporarily
insane.
So, does Ilford’s Little

Shop of Horrors still stand
today? One newspaper report
put it at No. 52 Cranbrook
Road, which is today a branch
of the Holland & Barrett
A newspaper photograph of the Cockers, and of the Shop of Horrors health food business, but
more reliable reports, and
the death certificate of one of the Cocker children, agree that the correct number
is No. 23. This shop remained open for business for many decades, before it was
demolished in the 1970s, for the extension of the Ilford railway station.
SOURCES
Daily Mirror 31 July 1918, Illustrated Police News 8 August 1918 and Lloyd’s
Sunday News 4 August 1918.
Some remaining old shops in Cranbrook Road
The site of the Shop of Horrors,

today usurped by Ilford Station
JAN BONDESON is a senior lecturer and consultant rheumatologist at Cardiff University. He is the author
of The London Monster, The Great Pretenders, Blood on the Snow and other true crime books, as well as
the bestselling Buried Alive.

Crimes and Criminals
III: Coiners and Coining
From The Strand Magazine, No. 40, April 1894
Between February and June 1894 The Strand Magazine ran a series titled Crimes and Criminals,
featuring in-depth articles on various aspects of criminal behaviour in the late Victorian period,
illustrated with photographs of items held at Scotland Yard’s Black Museum. The third installment,
Coiners and Coining, gives a valuable insight into the world of the Victorian forger.
*****
The up-to-date counterfeit-money coiner is one of the most difficult individuals with whom the police have to deal.
He is a positive artist. He no longer cuts shillings with a pair of scissors out of brass and silvers them over, as was done
in the early part of the present century. He employs more scientific means, and his methods are such that only men of
considerable ingenuity and inventive powers could possibly hope to bring them to a successful issue. But, alas! as in most
things - woman’s in it! - and to the fair sex belongs the first case on record in which any person appears to have been
executed for counterfeiting the coin of the realm.
In May, 1721, Barbara Spencer had the crime brought home to her of indulging in the - in those days - highly treasonable
pastime of manufacturing shilling pieces. She employed two other women, Alice Hall and Elizabeth Bray, to act as her
agents, or “passers,” and it is a significant fact that in almost every case of counterfeiting up to the present day women
are employed in this particular branch of the profession. Barbara, it should be mentioned, was strangled and burned at
Tyburn, on 5 July 1721, her accomplices being acquitted. The question may be asked: Is the manufacture of counterfeit
coin in a flourishing condition? The answer is a very decided affirmative. True, the convictions against counterfeiters
are few and far between; but that is owing to the very elaborate measures adopted by the counterfeiters themselves
of preventing a knowledge of their whereabouts becoming the property of the police. Your next-door neighbour may be
a magnificent hand at turning out “five-bob” pieces; your butcher, greengrocer, and milk purveyor may all be adepts at
the game. In proof of this, examine this bell and its companion. One is an ordinary electric bell - the other an invalid’s
bell-push.
Thomas Raven, alias Cooper, Beauchamp, and “Tom the Tailor,” was a tailor in the salubrious neighbourhood of
Bethnal Green. The police made a raid upon the premises and discovered something like 200 pieces of base coin in the
cellar below, and between the joists some lampblack, plaster of Paris, and a spoon which had contained molten metal.
The coiners were fairly caught. It was the duty of the gentleman in charge of the shop upstairs to give a certain signal
with the bell, to warn the enterprising personages downstairs. A mistake was made, and the irrepressible Tom remarked,
when told the charge: “Well, I have had a long run; but if they had given the signals right this morning, you would not
have had me now.”
It was, indeed, a long run. It took three years to run “Tom the Tailor” and a lady who helped to get rid of the coin to
earth; and it was believed that the pseudo coat-cutter had been making counterfeit coin for the last seventeen years,
and before that he had acted as coiners’ agent. If time is money, Tom is still at his old occupation - fourteen years’ penal
servitude. New Scotland Yard has every reason to be proud of its counterfeit collection - it certainly has real and original
samples of everything associated with this glittering profession, which we shall now proceed to specify. We do so without
the slightest qualms of conscience, and without any fear that anything we may say may lead to anybody admiring these
remarks too greatly, and seeking to imitate. We are informed that years of practice are necessary to come up to the

Fig. 1: Burnishing board
standard counterfeit coin of today. Take this sovereign, which is accorded the place of honour in one of the glass cases.
It was made in Barcelona, and actually contains sixteen shillings’ worth of gold in its composition. It would deceive a
banker - there is the true, honest, unadulterated ring about it. Its date is 1862. To those whom it may concern - that is,
those who happen to be in possession of sovereigns of this date - this fact may be interesting. Beware of Barcelonas! But
this gold piece is an exception. There are two or three thousand gold and silver coins here - all arranged in the prettiest
and most delightful of heaps - that would not deceive the easiest-going of individuals. Pennies, sixpences, shillings,
two-shilling pieces, half-crowns, crown pieces, half-sovereigns, and sovereigns are all here, the most popular, however,
amongst the fraternity being the shilling, two-shilling piece, and half-crown, as people, when they accept change, are
less likely to “try “these than coins of a higher value. There are some coins here, however, which positively call for
respect. These George IV half-crowns are perfect. The King’s head is partially worn away by time - grit and dirt, from
constant use of seventy years, are lodged in the creases of the coin. But time did not wear the King’s features away, or
constant use provide the dirt. After the coin was in a finished state it was placed on a burnishing board (Fig. 1) - made
of a piece of ordinary deal, with a few tacks stuck
in to hold the coins in position - and rubbed over
with an old scrubbing brush, in order to dull the coin
and give it an ancient appearance. And the dirt? It
is here quite handy. It is in a match-box bearing a
portrait of General Gordon, whilst another deposit is
in a small tin whose label tells that it was originally
intended for mustard. Both the match-box and the
mustard-tin contain lampblack. The bellows is used
for “blowing-up “purposes (Fig. 2). But George IV is,
or was, a great favourite with counterfeiters. There
are such things in this world as lucky sixpences, and
they are signalled out as such charms, should they
happen to have a hole bored through them. Who
Fig. 2: Lampblack, brushes and bellows would not give a mere paltry ordinary six-pence for
one of these bringers of luck, and a George IV at
that? Echo answers- everybody. We hope Echo will be
more careful after learning the use of this little drill
which we are now examining (Fig. 3). It is used by
counterfeiters to bore holes into six-pences, which
they can warrant, seeing that they are their own
make. The counterfeit brooch is not missing from
the collection. It had its birth with the issue of the
Jubilee coins, when those who could afford it had one
of the gold Jubilee five-pound pieces - which were
coined to the value of over, £250,000 - mounted as
a brooch, and worn or treasured as a souvenir of the
fiftieth anniversary of Her Majesty’s accession to the
throne. Once again the counterfeiter had a chance.
True, the Jubilee sixpences offered him admirable
Fig. 3: Coiners’ tools opportunities in the way of giving further point to

the old adage that “All is not gold that glitters.” But he went
farther. He made counterfeit half-crowns and five-shilling pieces,
fastened pins to them, and put them on the market, charging but
a small sum for the supplementary fastener.
“Well,” argued the purchaser, “the coin will always be worth

the money! “Permit money, which is to coin intended to from the
true coin Paris of the finest us to observe that the price realized for
sham coins rarely exceeds twopence to twopence-halfpenny in the
shilling, whilst a true, sterling shilling would buy four base half-
crowns. In order to arrive in some measure at the exact method of Fig. 4: Mould for five-shilling piece
manufacture, it is proposed to examine the curiosities of the New

Scotland Yard counterfeiting cases more minutely.
Every coiner has his “pattern “piece, that is, a genuine piece
of give the cast of the be copied. The cast is taken in plaster of
possible quality. There are enough moulds here to thoroughly
colonize a country with counterfeiters! They may be accepted
Fig. 5: Counterfeit coins (unfinished)
as excellent examples, for the greater proportion formed part of
the stock-in-trade of the notorious John H--, alias Sydney A , who
was rewarded with twenty years; some were also found on the
premises occupied by a famous Fulham coiner - whose name we are
asked not to publish, but of whom more anon; others belonged to a
worthy who made the fine and large crown-pieces a speciality (Fig.
4). Some are quite clean, others are burnt through constant use,
not a few show the coin in its rough state, with the edge uncut and
unfiled (Fig. 5), a process performed by an ordinary pocket-knife
and file; whilst a “half-crown “mould reveals the “get” (Fig. 6),
or surplus liquid, which is poured into this receptacle for making Fig. 6: A half-crown mould, showing “get”
false impressions. Here are the lead and ladles (Fig. 7). The ladles
belonged to a man who was forced to submit to
twelve years’ penal servitude as recently as 1891.
They are about one and a half feet long, and are
used for melting the composition on the fire. The
ladles are similar to those used by plumbers,
costing perhaps eighteenpence or a couple of
shillings. When a ladle is not used, then a melting-
pot or crucible is called into requisition (Fig. 8);
even a saucepan would not be despised. When a
pot or a saucepan is used the glittering liquid is
taken out in a boiling state by iron spoons - and
these spoons, of all shapes and sizes, designs and
Fig. 7: Lead and ladles
prices, are provided with a special corner.
Much speculation has always existed as to the

real ingredients of a counterfeit coin. Solder -
here is another item in the plumber’s outfit - is
often the original foundation. But such lead is very
poor in itself, and tin and bismuth have both been
found to possess excellent hardening properties.
But the finest foundation for a counterfeit coin is
obtained out of a certain receptacle from which
Fig. 8: Melting pots and crucible

your average working man invariably blows the froth previous to sampling the contents - pewter-pots! Here we have a
reason for the frequent thefts of the traditional holders of mild and bitter, and when such a theft is brought home to a
man, he is at once surmised, and very properly so, to be in league with coiners.
Whilst on the subject of pewter-pots, the writer is inclined to relate an amusing incident, communicated to him by
an East-end publican. Some curious contests take place in Whitechapel and its environs, one of the most popular of
which is that of pewter-pot cleaning, when James, the potman at the “Three Boot Brushes,” meets William, who holds
a similar position at the “Laughing Lobster,” in friendly rivalry, to decide who can clean the greatest number of pewter-
pots in an hour.
This particular East-end publican had such a contest at his “house “one Sunday morning, and after a most exciting
contest his own particular potman won. This was all very comforting. But, by some mysterious means, the same evening
the public-house was robbed of a number of pots - and all clean, too!
“I wouldn’t ‘ave minded that, sir,” said the

communicative publican, with a decided emphasis on
the “that,” when relating this - “I wouldn’t ‘ave minded
that; but what annoyed me was the remarkable number
of bad two-shilling pieces me and the missus took over
the counter a week afterwards!”
The pewter having been melted, the coins having

been cast - the two sides of the mould being kept
together by clamps made of strong hoop-iron, in order to
secure a firm impression (Fig. 9) - filed and edged, and
got as near the proper weight of a good coin as possible,
Fig. 9: Clamps and mould closed - with clamps
a very important process now takes place. We will take
“silver” coins as an example. The coins are put on battery racks. Several of these are to be
found here - a pair (Fig. 10) near a couple of batteries (Fig. 11) will suit our purpose well.
One is empty, and shows the wires made in various sizes to hold securely the coin intended
to be immersed in the bath containing the silvering solution. The other, as will be seen in
the illustration, is well charged with coins. The process of silvering coins is exactly similar
to that of plating knives, spoons, forks, etc, though the vat - which is usually made of iron
with a thin lining of wood - containing the plating liquid is very much smaller than those
used by men engaged in a legitimate business.
The “charged” rack is now put into the vat. Coins made out of Britannia metal, tin, or
pewter are not dropped into acid before plating, but into a very strong and boiling hot
solution of pure caustic potash. The coins are then scratched with a small brush especially
made for this purpose, or at once taken from the alkali without having been immersed in
water, and plunged direct into a cyanide of silver solution at about 190° Fahrenheit. An
electric current of great strength is run through the vat in which are the coins until they
begin to receive a thin coating. After this they undergo a treatment of ordinary plating
solution to receive the full amount of silvering required. This completed, they are fixed on
a burnishing board to relieve them of any undue brightness.
Fig. 10: Battery racks We have already referred to a board of this kind, but there is one at New Scotland Yard
of peculiar interest. In the first place, it is curious from the fact that it is made out of
the seat of a common wooden kitchen chair, and, further, it is surrounded by far more
curiosity when it is known that it once formed part of the stock-in-trade of one of the
most scientific coiners of modern times. His name can only be hinted at as “the Party
from Fulham.” He approached coining from a thoroughly artistic point of view. His ideas
of counterfeiting and gilding were all carried out on the highest scientific principles, and
an examination of his property revealed an extraordinary state of affairs.
Fig. 11: Electric batteries

When arrested he had in his
possession 8s 10d in good money,
together with a shilling and two
sixpences, which, judging from
their appearance, had evidently
been used as “pattern” pieces.
But his home-made coins were as
extensive as they were peculiar.
They included 1 five-pound
piece, 8 two-pound pieces, 31
sovereigns, 18 half-sovereigns,
125 half-crowns, 51 florins, 101
shillings, and 174 sixpences. A
capital and convincing collection!
In addition, he had in the way
of manufacturing paraphernalia,
17 moulds, 1 battery, 2 ladles,
a quantity of plaster of Paris,
melting-pot, plate of sand, 9
Fig. 12: Leclanché battery and bottles of gold solution etc
bottles of chemicals - including
gold plating solution and liquid ammonia, a selection of which receptacles is shown in company with a Leclanche battery
(Fig. 12), made out of a common three-pound jam jar - files, clamps, brushes, etc; in short, everything to prove that he
was the one to whom the expression of “You’re coining money, old boy! “would be honestly applied by any enterprising
detective anxious to slap him on the back and to decorate him with “the bracelets.”
Perhaps, however, the oooks he used are the most interesting. These consist of a couple of standard works on
chemistry, which he had freely interpolated with marginal notes and pencil marks against anything calculated to assist
him in the pursuit of his profession. But his “private “reference book is the good thing in his pack of literature. It is a
book similar to that which any schoolboy would use to do his homework in. It contains the addresses of English taverns
in Paris, servants’ registry offices, sewing machine dealers, shops where furniture may be obtained on hire, house
agents, money-lenders, addresses of statesmen, etc. The newspaper cuttings in this volume are of a varied character,
and include an advertisement of “A Young Gentleman who has a Grand Piano for Sale,” “A Good Cure for a Cold,” “Cure
for Chil-blains,” “Furniture Polish,” and prescriptions for removing surplus hair from the back of the neck, the right
treatment of headaches, the proper ingredients for making a highly satisfactory mustard plaster, and a certain cure for
sluggish livers!
“The Party from Fulham

“adopted - probably in his early
career - an ingenious means of
becoming possessed of useful
information - a method which it
would be well if those papers who
reply indiscriminately to questions
sent them would make note of. He
would write to periodicals asking
such simple conundrums as, “Will
you kindly tell me the simplest way
to make a battery? “or, “Would
you kindly say in an early issue the
simplest way to make solder for
silver? “He often got replies, as is
Fig. 13: Coins packed with tissue paper proved from a newspaper cutting,
giving an answer to the last query

- an answer we refrain from publishing, seeing that it gives a very efficacious recipe for the first step towards “making
money.”
Further, it is presumed that “the Party from Fulham “either kept a shop, was a receiver of stolen property, or else
attended sales and purchased articles in the hopes of pawning them and securing a profit - the latter a distinct business
in the East-end of London. The book contains an entry against the name of a well-known pawnbroker, of “a wedding-
ring, 4s,” followed by the bitterly suggestive words, “ticket lost”! And there are entries relating to everything between a
violin and a paillasse, a brass fender and a blue beaver coat. There is actually a ticket of admission to a cookery lecture,
which all goes to prove that “the Party from Fulham” was a most prolific personage.
We propose saying something as to how counterfeit coins are circulated, with one or two instances of ingenuity on
the part of those responsible for putting them about. The coins being completely finished, they are wrapped up in
tissue paper (Fig. 13) in parcels of a dozen or so, with a piece of paper between each coin in order to keep them from
scratching and chinking when passed from one person’s hand to another’s. There are usually four persons employed in
a delivery of counterfeit coin to the public: the maker, the agent, or go-between - in most cases a woman - the buyer,
and the passer proper, the latter individual never knowing who the actual maker is. The bundles of coins are generally
sold at street corners - by appointment only - or in public-houses. They are conveyed to the rendezvous in many ways,
perhaps the most original of which was that of the man who carried a couple of bird-cages - one containing a beautiful
little singer which trilled away to its heart’s content, and the other full of counterfeit money!
Women, more often than not, lead to a conviction, as the would-be passer, say of a bad half-crown on a too-confiding
grocer, has seldom more than one bad coin on him. He makes a small purchase at the grocer’s and tenders the coin. The
man of sugar and spice looks at it.
“Excuse me, sir,” he remarks, “but I think this half-crown is bad! “
Artful one takes it back. “Dear me, so it is! Ah! that’s all right,” giving a good
one this time. “Thanks. No, don’t trouble to send it home. Good day!”
Had he succeeded in passing the half-crown, ten minutes afterwards he would

have been supplied with one equally bad by the lady in waiting round the corner.
This is where the police find such difficulty in bringing home a conviction to
the actual passer, as anybody in these deceitful days might find himself the
unfortunate possessor of a spurious coin. Perhaps the before-mentioned grocer
would complain to a policeman. The man would be watched. He would be seen
to “speak to the woman.” That would be quite enough - and the possibilities
are that they would find the counterfeit coins concealed about her person, as
was the case with a lady whose Christian name was Harriet, and who owned to
thirty-nine years of age at Clerkenwell Police-court, who had no fewer than forty
counterfeit florins sewn up in her dress. It was sufficient to cast her husband on
the hospitality of a country, the inhabitants of which are not inclined to grumble
at being obliged to provide him with convict comforts for a period of eight years.
A frequent method employed is to “work” a publican - and this is the more

enterprising on the “passer’s” part, seeing that the generality of publicans are
men who are not often to be caught asleep.
Scene: “The Last House.”
Enter well-dressed man smoking big cigar.
Polite Publican: “Good evening, sir.”
Big Cigar Proprietor: “Good evening. Brandy and soda, please!” (Throws down
a sovereign, receives brandy and soda and change, the change all in silver. Big
Cigar Proprietor picks up change.)
Big Cigar Proprietor: “Oh! excuse me - could you let me have half-a-sovereign for ten shillings’ worth of this silver?”
Polite Publican (always ready to oblige): “Certainly, sir.” (Does so.)

The publican gets, as he thinks, ten shillings’ worth of silver back. Does he? Oh, dear, no! There were three bad two-
shilling pieces amongst it!
It would be difficult to hit upon two more contrasting illustrations than the following. The first instance goes to prove
that children are called into play as “passers” - though unconsciously so - in the case when the smallest “coined” piece
is to be thrust on the public.
A man used his little girl to go into small confectioners’

shops and purchase a farthing’s worth of sweetmeats. The
little one tendered a bad penny, obtaining her sweets and
giving her father the three farthings change. Both were
arrested and charged. The child, however, was taken out of
the dock and put in the box to give evidence against her
father. Her childish evidence was convincing enough, and at
the end of the examination, the man, overcome with better
feelings, contrived to catch the little one up in his arms, ere
he was sent down below, caressing her fondly and covering
her tiny face with kisses.
Such a method - an awkward method, and one in every

way calculated to be eventually found out - stands in strong
contrast with the really delicate and ingenious means
employed by a lady whose efforts at changing a sovereign
were worthy a better cause.
Her modus operandi was to select say a bootmaker’s shop,

generally in a well-populated suburban district, and purchase
boots to the value of nineteen and sixpence.
“Will you kindly send them to my house, No. 42, Easyway

Terrace, in an hour’s time?” she asks the shopkeeper.
“Certainly, madam.”
“I will pay the messenger when he brings them - I find

I have not sufficient money in my purse. Mrs Adams is my
name,” she further remarks, and leaves the shop.
In an hour’s time the boy with the boots is on his way to

No. 42, Easyway Terrace. Curiously enough, he is met outside
by Mrs Adams herself!
“Oh! are those boots for Mrs Adams?”
“Yes, mum.”
“Thank you. Let me see,” playing with her purse,

“nineteen and six. There’s a sovereign. You can keep the sixpence for being so punctual.”
The lad is delighted, and away he goes whistling. The lady is equally pleased - away she goes with the boots to a
pawn-broker’s. The shopkeeper is in a rage - for the sovereign is a counterfeit one!
It will be well to state the best means of detecting counterfeit coin. The simplest and most effective test is to bite
it. If the coin is bad, the bite will produce a very gritty sensation on the teeth, which is never produced by a genuine
piece of money. This test will be found to be an infallible one.
*****
“Part IV: Forgers and Begging Letter Writers”, from The Strand Magazine of May 1894, will appear in the next issue.

American Whitechapel
Washington in 1903
By HOWARD and NINA BROWN
In the course of researching the Whitechapel Murders and all the peripheral topics which turn
up in our studies, the names of Charles Booth and Henry Mayhew appear on more than a few
occasions. Booth, the author of the multi-volume Life and the Labour of London, and Mayhew,
co-founder of Punch and author of London Labour and The London Poor, were instrumental in
heightening the public’s awareness towards how the other half lived in Britain during the mid and
late Victorian periods. These were very noteworthy achievements and groundreaking efforts in the
development of the fledgling field of sociology.
In 1890, a book was published which was instrumental in bringing public attention to the condition of how the other
half lived in America. Written by the photography pioneer and ‘muckraker’ Jacob Riis, whose death occurred 100 years
ago on this past Memorial Day (26 May 1914). The book was entitled How The Other Half Lives, and it exposed the
terrible conditions in several New York City neighborhoods - by and large, American Whitechapels.
Riis, born in Ribe, Denmark in 1849, wrote an article which is the

subject of this issue’s ‘American Whitechapel’, the ‘Whitechapel’
lurking close by under the shadow of the White House, the Lincoln
Memorial, and the Washington Monument. The neighborhood of
Northwest Washington had startled Riis in its depth of depravity,
profundity of disease, and unusually high death rate... along with its
criminality.
Someone hailing from another country might not think that the
capital of the most powerful country in the Western Hemisphere (in
time, the World) would be afflicted with the slum conditions found
in countries over, or close to, a thousand years old, such as Moscow,
London or Rome. A city barely 200 years old by the time Riis’ article
first appeared, Washington had experienced a flood of unskilled
workers and transients following the American Civil War, creating the
inevitable housing crisis. Within a few years of the Union’s victory,
the District of Columbia had its own hotspot of crime and squalor. The
conditions in post-War Washington were so bad, with few paved roads
and dreadful sanitary conditions, that during the Grant Administration
members of Congress suggested scrapping the city entirely and moving
the capital west. But the suggestion was given the thumbs down by
then president and former general U S Grant.
The conditions mentioned in Jacob Riis’s 1903 article had not

changed much from 1888 (the year Washington began operating street Jacob Riis

cars, an urban mode of transportation which New York City had by that time enjoyed for nearly 60 years). Riis would also
be influential in New York as well, pointing out the squalor to then police commissioner Theodore Roosevelt. Roosevelt
thought very highly of the pioneering social reformer, going so far as stating that he was tempted to call Jacob Riis ‘the
best American I ever knew’.
Riis, along with writer Max Fischel, was instrumental in obtaining a pardon for Ameer Ben Ali, wrongfully convicted
in the murder of Carrie Brown in 1891.
Washington Times
16 December 1903
MR RIIS DENOUNCES SLUMS OF THE CITY
Alleys and Blind Streets of Capital City

Characterized as Worse Than Whitechapel
Infant Death Rate Truly Appaling
Fight Against Bad Housing Conditions Theme At

Annual Meeting of Associated Charities
I am not easily discouraged. Bit I confess I was surprised by the sights I have seen in the National Capital.
You people of Washington have alley after alley filled with hidden people whom you don’t know.
There are 298 such alleys!
They tell me the death rate among the negro babies born in these alleys is 457 out a thousand, before they grow to
be one year old. Nearly one half!
Nowhere I have ever been in the civilized world have I seen such a thing as that.
These people live in pigsties. They live here because some man would rather have 25 percent profit than keep his
soul.
Where does the blame lie? With the man who owns the house, you will say. But it lies equally with the community
which permits him to use his house for such ends.
This indictment of a community which “has no slums”, this astounding disclosure of a condition not paralleled
by the squalor of New York or London or Paris, was the key last night to one of the most remarkable meetings held
in Washington in many years. It was the judgment of a trained mind delivered after a trip through the Capital and
expressed with manly courage and plain speech to an assemly of representative Washingtonians, in the auditorium of
the First Congressional Church. When the speaker paused, looking impressively from one side of the room to the other,
this gathering became a sea of upturned faces, written over with amazement and horror and a new purpose born while
the speaker’s arraignment still rang in the air.
The occasion was the annual meeting of the Washington Associated Charities. For eight years- since the reorganization
of this work on the basis of systematized giving- these meetings have acquired more and more public interest. But it
is much to be doubted whether any succeeding session of this body will present the union of momentous subject,
interested auditors, and ardent advocate which marked this session of yesterday.
Jacob A Riis was the speaker. His subject is fairly defined, probably as “Washington Slums Versus New York Slums”. And
the disclosures he made to his Washington hearers were so startling that every sentence was heard intently and every
picture viewed with acute but apprehensive interest.
ANXIOUS TO HEAR RIIS
Many circumstances whetted the desire of the community to hear Mr Riis. It was known he had himself lived in the
New York districts of which he was supoosedly to speak. His record as a fighter against disease and vice and the housing
which fostered them were matters of general knowledge. A book he had written, The Making of an American had told
the story of his own struggle against tenement conditions. He had, moreover, fought these conditions by the side of
President Roosevelt. But the chief interest had its root, in all probability, in a strong sense of local pride and the intuitive
curiosity bred by that pride to see Washington through eyes familiar by long acquaintance with the lowest sections of
other cities.

The officers of the association shared in this curiosity and dispatched the routing affairs of the annual meeting with
all proper celerity. The association then re-elected its old officers.
With that meeting was practically adjourned. The commissioners lifted their chairs from the platform and sat where
they could see the guest of honor clearly. The hall, already filled and overflowing into G Street, was further pacled
by the admission of many who had waited more than an hour at least, and the assembly became not an association
assembled ready and eager to hear a lecture.
Riis began with a rather sharp foreign accent, “ I am not naturally or easily discouraged. I am always filled with a
notion that things will come out right. But I confess I was surprised by the sights I have seen in the National Capital. I
have been accustomed to see only your handsome blocks, with a look of a holiday city. Today I learned that these very
blocks - some within sound of the Capital, some two blocks from Dupont Circle - are rotten inside like a bad apple.
New York housed so many of its 3,000,000 citizens in places where every influence tended to deprave the young that
long ago it was called, The Homeless City. What a thought that is, in a republic, which is built on the home! When the
fight was begun against those condituions in New York it was a fight for the republuic, not only in our own city, but in
all the land.
Here in Washington I found alley after alley with people hidden so far that you who live on the outside of the same
blocks do not know them. You have glossed over, by your ignorance, a condition which cannot remain glossed over long.
Some day it will break out. After that will come the deluge in the vitiation of your homes. You can’t discard your duty
to your neighbor in this way without being in the end the greatest sufferer yourself.
WORSE THAN WHITECHAPEL
Why, I never have seen places like those you have here. The only parallels I know are Mulberry Bend in New York and
Whitechapel in London. Here and in Whitechapel-Mulberry Bend has been made into a park - you have alleys which are
worse than even our narrow straight streets in New York. You have people shut off in them as though they didn’t belong
to you. In fact, they don’t belong to you.
There are 298 such alleys. They tell me the death rate among the negro babies born in these alleys is 457 out of 1,000
before they grow to be one year old. Nearly one-half! Nowhere I have ever been in the civilized world have I seen such
a thing as that. When we arraigned New York the showing was that ¼ of the babies died before they were two years old.
Here in Washington, the Nation’s Capital, one half die before they are one year old. I ought to say, I think, that the rate
among white babies is 183 out of 1,000. That may be the way of settling the negro question, but it is not a good way.
These figures make it clear that the battle with the slumsd harks back to Christianity and American citizenship. If you
believe in the fatherhood of God you believe also in the brotherhood of man. If you believe in the brotherhood of man
can you degrade your neighbor to the level of slums with such a death rate? If you believe in American citizenship you
can’t degrade children, who are the citizens of tomorrow, to the level of pigsties. A child has certain inalienable rights.
One of these is the right to play. You must have a whole child to have a whole man. And whole children cannot grow in
a home where the death rate is one child in two before the end of the first year.
In New York our fight depended upon an awakening of the consciousness and conscience of our own people. You
have, or ought to have, the whole people or nation behind you. But what is everybody’s business, perhaps, is nobody’s
business.
BLAME OF OWNER
To fight your slums you oght first to acquire the right to deal with the evil man who insists on murdering your babies.
If you have it you are sure to run against the same old cry of property rights. What of these property rights? These people
live in pigsties. They live there because some man would rather have 25 percent profit than keep his soul. One half your
children killed for greed! For such a condition there’s no defense.
Where does the blame lie? ‘With the man who owns the house’, you will say, but it lies equally with the community
which permits him to used his house for such ends.
Life! Liberty! The pursuit of happiness! There’s not a word there about the right of property holders to kill his
neighbor any more with a bad house than an ax in the street.

If Congress is slow to act in supporting your fight, stick at it. In New York, after a ten years fight, we have never
found in the retrospect a single defeat which has not shown itself to be a substantial victory. Fight on! if only to meet
defeat, fight on anyway! It is his fight who made this republic the basis of human freedom and the home and basis of
the republic.
This incitement to remedy the slums of Washington as the slums of New York are being remedied, closed Mr Riis’
more formal address. The remainder of his talk, and it continued through about two hours without a sign of weariness
anywhere in the audience consisted of an informal description of the the pictures displayed by the stereotypicon. The
plan seemed to substantiate the lecturer’s broad assertions as to Washington slums by showing photographs of building
now used as human habitations and following these pictures by views of the slums against which Mr Riis had been fighting
in New York.
****
Another interesting article on the Washington slums, showed post-war DC was a rough place. According to one
government official interviewed in the Post in 1902:
Washington passed through its period of lawlessness and disorder fully as bad, if not worse, than that which
prevailed in Cripple Creek, Colo. or Tombstone, Ariz.
Small fields of corn and cabbage gardens were scattered about everywhere, many of them within a stone’s
throw of the Capitol, while cows had the run of the town from Georgetown to Anacostia Creek, grazing on
the pavements, breaking into front yards, disturbing the slumbers of the citizens by their incessant lowing,
and making themselves generally obnoxious. I recollect there use to be a brick yard at Ninth and O streets
northwest and not far distant was a cornfield inclosed [sic] by a stake and rider fence...
The war had ended, leaving stranded in this city a vast horde of enfranchised slaves, discharged soldiers,
and a cloud of riffraff, bummers, and camp followers... and their arrival soon made this city one of the most
disorderly places in America. Fights, murders, stabbing, and shooting scrapes were of daily occurrence.
The neighborhoods with the

most infamous conditions had
nicknames that were never
shown on any official plat.
But the Washington Post put
together the amazing map
opposite on its 50th anniversary,
to show the neighborhoods that
existed when the paper was
founded in 1877.
The neighborhoods and their

descriptions included:
WHITECHAPEL: A dirty alley

between 24th and 25th Streets,
and M and N Streets, NW. During
the 1880s, there was almost
constant warfare between the
residents of this area and the
police.
MURDER BAY: The area east

of the White House across Pennsylvania Avenue was known for its brothels, gambling, and crime. It was sometimes
called “Hooker’s Department,” after Civil War General Joseph Hooker, who hoped to concentrate the city’s brothels in
the area.

HELL’S BOTTOM: A former “contraband camp” extending irregularly from 7th to 14th Streets NW, and from O Street
to the Boundary (now Florida Avenue), was one of the most notorious sections of the city. Living conditions were poor
and crime was high.
According to a Post article from 1897, some Hell’s Bottom residents lived in shanties the size of a “hall-room,” with
roofs so low that an average person could only stand upright on one side. These homes, which could house up to three
families, were of “the rudest possible construction, few having any sashes in the window aperture, a board shutter
closing out the cold winds, light and ventilation together, when shut. The only salvation from suffocation lies in the
gaping cracks existing round the doors and windows, without which many a family would doubtless be found dead in the
morning of cold nights.”
Keith Sutherland, an old Hell’s Bottom inhabitant, said this about the neighborhood in a 1900 Post article:
Money was scarce and whisky [sic] was cheapóa certain sort of whiskyóand the combination resulted in giving
the place the name which it held for so many years. The police force was small. There was no police court,
and the magistrates before whom offenders were brought rarely fixed the penalty at more than $2. Crime
and lawlessness grew terribly, and a man had to fight, whenever he went into the “Bottom.”
The police were unable to control the crime and violence in Hell’s Bottom, and so in 1891, the city refused
to renew any of the neighborhood’s liquor licenses. It was this act that finally led to the neighborhood’s
improvement.
For information on Washington’s Whitechapel, see greatergreaterwashington.org/post/14141/meet-me-down-in-

pipetown-dcs-neighborhoods-in-1877. Jacob Riis’ Wiki page can be found at en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacob_riis. The
quote from Theodore Roosevelt can be found in Theodore Roosevelt: An Autobiography (BiblioBazaar, 2007; ISBN 1-4346-
0319-9), p66.
NINA and HOWARD BROWN are the proprietors of JTRForums.com.

CHRIS SCOTT’S
Press Trawl
THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS IN THE SCOTSMAN:
ONE NEWSPAPER’S VIEW
In a departure from our normal format, we felt it would be interesting to see how one provincial
newspaper - The Scotsman - reported the murders, and to see how the story developed. Part Two
reports on the murders of Elisabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes.
*****
1 October 1888
LATEST NEWS
FROM PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE
London, Sunday night.
I have seldom seen London so excited as this morning, when the news of two more murders in the East End became
known. On most occasions here a sensation is very local, and even at the time of the Trafalgar Square riots the inhabitants
of the neighbouring streets knew little and cared less about what was going on almost within a stone’s throw. For hours
today, however, the streets did not show almost a person who was not reading a newspaper or in quest of one, and
probably there has not been such a sale of Sunday journals for years. At one newspaper office the crowd besieging the
door was so large and excited that two policemen were employed to keep it from breaking in. The general opinion of
those who have retained their coolness is, so far as I can gather, that the theory enunciated by the Coroner must now
be given up. After his “revelations,” no man could be committing these murders for money. Too much is being made
of the circumstance that Mitre Square, the scene of one of the murders, is in the City. Though this is the case, it is
within a few hundred yards of Whitechapel, and only distant from Berners (sic) Street, the scene of the other murder,
some eight minutes’ walk. The most probable theory at present is that the murderer, having dispatched the woman in
Berners Street between twelve and one, and having to escape hurriedly from some sudden fear without mutilating the
body, could not rest until he had succeeded more thoroughly with another victim. If he had walked up Commercial Road
into Whitechapel, Mitre Square was close at hand, and probably the two murders were committed within the hour. The
slaughterman theory is again revived. The only assistance, so far as can be seen at present, that these two murders
give to the police is that they seem to decide the whereabouts of the assassin. Evidently this little circle around one
end of Whitechapel is the part of London with which he is most familiar, and outside it he does not care to carry on his
operations. That he has lived a great deal in it and is likely in it at present is an important thing to know.
TWO MORE MURDERS IN LONDON

WHITECHAPEL HORRORS
REVOLTING DETAILS
Londoners awoke yesterday morning to find themselves confronted by the intelligence of two more ghastly and
atrocious crimes, both of them similar in their fiendish details to the recent tragedies that have created widespread
panic throughout the United Kingdom. The East End, and, indeed, the whole of the Metropolis, in a few hours rang with
the sensational intelligence that two more women, both of them of the lower class, both middle aged, and, apparently,
possessed of nothing that could tempt a person actuated by motives of gain, had been brutally murdered; and in one of
the cases most horribly mutilated. Both murders have taken place in what may be broadly spoken of as the East End.

The one occurred within the City bounds; the other in that part of London allotted to the division of the Metropolitan
force which has its headquarters in Leman Street, and is technically known as the H Division. So far from displaying
a less daring method than the crimes that have preceded them, those of yesterday morning indicate a far greater
desperation, combined with cunning, than either the murder of Annie Chapman or that of Mary Ann Nicholls. For both
of the tragedies were committed within an hour and three quarters of midnight in thoroughfares not a stone’s throw
removed from Aldgate and Commercial Road, where people were busily passing to and fro, and where some thousands
of persons were standing at their doors chatting prior to retiring to rest.
The scene of the first discovered tragedy was Berners (sic) Street, Commercial Road. This street is situated but a
few hundred yards along the busy east End thoroughfare, turning down to the right opposite No. 57. It is a narrow
street, occupied by small dwellings, in which reside a number of artisans, and is by no means of the low description of
thoroughfare common in the neighbourhood. Next to the Socialist Club is a yard entered by two large wooden gates,
which always remain open. Up this yard on one side is a row of small, dirty looking houses, each of which is tenanted.
The other side is skirted by the premises of the club, to which there is a side entrance. At the time the murder was
committed some of the people in the small houses had not gone to bed, yet none of them can state that they heard any
noise or noticed anything unusual. This is not surprising, since during the time in question the members of the club, who
are mostly foreign Jews, were singing songs and making sufficient disturbance to drown any sound the poor woman may
have made. Those who know the yard say it would be the last place to select for either evil purpose or for murder, as
people are constantly passing up and down. At about one o’clock, when numerous people were walking briskly about,
the lights in the house windows indicated that the occupants had not retired to rest, a policeman passed on his beat
from Commercial Road down Berners Street, and observed nothing whatever of a suspicious character. Shortly before
one o’clock a hawker named Diemshitz, who had just returned from market, entered the yard, and in the shadow came
upon the body of a woman. The woman, who was poorly clad, lay on the ground dead, a fearful gash almost severing
her head from her body. Apparently she was about 35 years of age. The body was found a considerable distance from
any common lodging house, and the supposition is that the poor creature was decoyed from the public thoroughfare
to a less frequented spot and brutally murdered. Death must have been instantaneous. The hawker lost no time in
communicating with the police. When the officer who was called arrived on the scene he found the poor woman lying
on her back in the passage, only a few yards distant from the street pavement. Her throat, as has been said, was cut
from ear to ear, and her head and hair lay daffling in a pool of blood. Evidently the assassin had been disturbed in his
horrible work, for there can be little doubt that the woman’s actual murder would have been followed by an atrocious
form of mutilation which was discovered later to have been perpetrated in a second case. Superintendent Arnold, Chief
Inspector West, Inspector Pinhorn, and others, accompanied by a medical man, were speedily on the spot. An ambulance
was obtained, and the body of the victim was conveyed to the City mortuary, in Golden Lane, while the spot where the
body was found was minutely inspected by the officers. On the discovery of the murder the police closed the wooden
gates, and barred any one from going either out of the club or the houses. Such of the members of the club as were
present at the time were immediately subjected to a minute inspection, their pockets being turned out and their hands
looked at for traces of blood. Those residing opposite in the houses also went through the same test.
Lewis Diemshitz, steward of the International Working Men’s Club, and the finder of the body, says -
I am a traveller by trade, and go to different markets to sell my goods. Yesterday (Saturday) I went to Westow
Hill. As the night was so wet I did not stay quite as late as usual. On driving into the yard my pony shied
a little in consequence of my cart coming in contact with something on the ground. On looking down I saw
the ground was not level, so I took the butt end of my whip and touched what appeared to me in the dark
to be a heap of dirt lately placed there - a thing I was not accustomed to see. Not being able to move it I
struck a match, and found it was a woman. First of all I thought it was my wife, but I found her inside the
club enjoying herself. I said to some of the members, “There is a woman lying in the yard, and I think she
is drunk.” Young Isaacs, a tailor machinist, went to the door and struck a match, and, to our horror, we saw
blood trickling down the gutter, almost from the gate to the club. I and Isaacs ran out for a policeman, but
could not find one after traversing several streets; but in the meantime another man from the club, Eagle,
ran to the Leman Street Police Station and fetched two policemen, who arrived about seven minutes after
the discovery. I discovered the body about one o’clock.
Mr Eagle says he went to the club about twenty minutes to one o’clock, or twenty minutes before Diemshitz passed
up the yard, but did not notice anything. Still, as he stated, he walked quickly and proceeded up the centre of the yard,
so, possibly, had the woman been lying there he might not have noticed her.

The Policeman who was upon duty at the time affirms that as he passed up Berners Street he noticed a man and a
woman talking together not far from the yard. The man he did not see, but the woman he fancies he might identify.
Dr Blackwell says - At about ten minutes past one I was called to 40 Berners Street by a policeman, where I found
a woman who had been murdered. Her head had been almost severed from her body. She could not have been dead
more than twenty minutes, the body being perfectly warm. The woman did not appear to be a Jewess, but more like
an Irish woman. I roughly examined her, and found no other injuries but this. I cannot definitely state until I have made
a further investigation of the body. She had on a black velvet jacket and black dress of different material. In her hand
she held a box of cachous, whilst pinned in her dress was a flower. Altogether, judging from her appearance, I should
say she belonged to the immoral class; at least her general get up would lead me to suppose that. I have no doubt that
the same man committed both this and the murder that was discovered later, and should say he is a maniac, but one
at least who is accustomed to use a heavy knife. I should say that as the woman held sweets in her left hand, that her
head was dragged back by means of a silk handkerchief she wore round her neck, and her throat was then cut. One
of her hands, too, was smeared with blood, so she may have used this in her rapid struggle. I have no doubt that the
woman’s windpipe being completely cut through, she was unable to make any sound. I might say it does not follow that
the murderer would be bespattered with blood; for, as he is sufficiently cunning in other things, he could contrive to
avoid coming in contact with the blood by reaching well forward.
FURTHER STATEMENTS AS TO THE FIRST MURDER

Abraham Hershburg, a young man living at 28 Berner Street, says:
I was one of those who first saw the murdered woman. It was about a quarter to one o’clock, I should think,
when I heard a policeman’s whistle blown, and came down to see what was the matter in the gateway. Two or
three people had collected, and when I got there I saw a short, dark young woman lying on the ground with
a gash between four and five inches long in her throat. I should think she was from 25 to 28 years of age.
Her head was towards the north wall, against which she was lying. She had a black dress on, with a bunch of
flowers on her breast. In her hand there was a little piece of paper containing five or six cochous (sic). The
body was not found by Koster, but by a man whose name I do not know - a man who goes out with a pony
and barrow, and lives up the archway, where he was going, I believe, to put up his barrow on coming home
from market. He thought it was his wife at first, but when he found her safe at home he got a candle and
found this woman. He never touched it till the doctors had been sent for. The little gate is always open, or,
at all events, always unfastened; but I don’t think the yard is one which is used by loose women. There are
some stables in there - Messrs. Duncan Woollatt & Co.’s, I believe - and there is a place to which a lot of girls
take home sacks which they have been engaged in making, none of them, though, about after one o’clock on
Saturday afternoon. None of us recognised the woman, and I don’t think she belongs to this neighbourhood.
She was dressed very respectably. There seemed to be no wounds on the body. About the club? Oh yes; it
would be open till two or three this (Sunday) morning. I suppose it is a Socialist club, and there are generally
rows there. Both men and women go there. They have demonstrations up there, and concerts, for which they
have stage and piano. There was a row there last Sunday night. It went on till about two in the morning, and
in the end two people were arrested.
The house which adjoins the yard on the south side, No 38, is tenanted by Barnett Kentorrich who, interrogated as
to whether he had heard any disturbance during the night, said:
I went to bed early and slept till about three o’clock, during which time I heard no unusual sound of any
description. At three o’clock some people were talking loudly outside my door, so I went to see what was the
matter and learned that a woman had been murdered. I did not stay out long, and know nothing more about
it. I do not think the yard bears a very good character at night, but I do not interfere with any of the people
about here. I know that the gate is not kept fastened. The club is a nasty place. In this view Mrs. Kentorrich,
who had come up from the underground kitchen to take part in the colloquy, thoroughly agreed, and both
she and her husband, in reply yo further questions, corroborated Heshburg’s statement as to women and girls
being taken to the Club, and as to disorders which sometimes took place there. In order to inquire further
into these matters the Central News representative next visited the club referred to - a rather low class little
building covered with posters, most of them in the Hebrew language.
Mrs Lewis, wife of the steward, as she explained, was standing at the door the centre of a knot of people, but she
declined to call up her husband, who had been up all night, and had only just gone to bed. Pressed to speak as to the
character of the club, Mrs. Lewis was inclined to be reticent; but a young man in the crowd volunteered an explanation

of the ill feeling which existed in the district as to the institution. “You see,” he explained, “the members are ‘bad’ Jews
- Jews who don’t hold their religion - and they annoy those who do in order to show their contempt for the religion. At
the black fast a week or two ago, for instance, they had a banquet and ostentatiously ate and drank, while we might do
neither. They have concerts there till early in the morning, and women and girls are brought here.”
“Were any here last night?” asked the reporter.
“No,” said Mrs. Lewis; “there were only a concert and discussion on last night.”
The young fellow who had previously spoken gave some further details at second hand as to the finding of the body
by Lewis, but he could add no further facts to those given in the above statements.
Morris Eagle, a Russian Jew, says:
I frequent this club, and I was passing into it so late as twenty minutes to one this (Sunday) morning, which
was just twenty minutes before the body was discovered. I had been there earlier in the evening, but left
about twelve o’clock in order to take home my young lady. When I returned I came along by the small streets
in this district, but noticed nothing unusual. There were a number of men and women about, as there always
are about that time, but the streets were not more lively than usual, and I saw nothing suspicious. When I
got back to the club in Berner Street the front door was closed, and so I passed through the gate on the left
hand side of the house to get in by the side door. I went over the same ground as Diemshitz did later on, but
I saw nothing on the ground. The gates were thrown wide; in fact, it is very seldom that they are closed. It
is customary for members of the club to go in by the side door, to prevent knocking at the front. There is
no light in the yard, but, of course, there are lamps in the street. After I got into the club there was some
singing, and after I had been in twenty minutes a man came in and said something about a woman being in
the yard. I went into the yard and struck a match, and then I could see that there was blood on the ground.
I heard Diemshitz calling for the police, and I ran into Commercial Road. I found two officers at the corner
of Christian Street, and told them what was the matter. When one of the policemen saw the blood he sent
his companion for a doctor. In the meantime I went straight to Leman Street, and called out an inspector. I
did not notice the appearance of the young woman, because the sight of the blood upset me, and I could not
look at it.
Isaac M Kozebrodski, a young Russian Pole, who spoke the English language perfectly, gave the following information:
I was in this club last night (Saturday.) I came in about half past six in the evening, and I have not been away
from it since. About twenty minutes to one this (Sunday) morning Mr Diemshitz called me out into the yard.
He told me there was something in the yard, and told me to come and see what it was. When we had got
outside he struck a match, and when we looked down on the ground we could see a long stream of blood.
It was running down the gutter from the direction of the gate, and reached to the back door of the club. I
should think there was blood in the gutter for a distance of five or six yards. I went to look for a policeman
at the request of Diemshitz or some member of the club, but I took the direction towards Grove Street and
could not find one. I afterwards went into the Commercial Road, and there, along with Eagle, found two
officers. The officers did not touch the body, but sent for a doctor. A doctor came, and an inspector arrived
just afterwards. While the doctor was examining the body I noticed that she had some grapes in her right
hand and some sweets in her left. I think she wore a dark jacket and a black dress. I saw a little bunch of
flowers stuck above her right bosom.
Joseph Lave, a man just arrived in England from the United States, and who is living temporarily at the club until he
can find lodgings, says:
I was in the club yard this (Sunday) morning about twenty minutes to one. I came out first at half past twelve
to get a breath of fresh air. I passed into the street but did not see anything unusual. The district appeared
to be quiet. I remained out until twenty minutes to one, and during that time no one came into the yard. I
should have seen anybody moving about there.
Several members of the club, including the steward, stated that the yard adjoining the building has never been used
for evil purposes. The traffic there is constant, and continues almost all the night through.
DESCRIPTION OF A SUSPECT
The following is a description of a man who was seen in the company of the woman found murdered in Berners
Street a short time before the commission of the crime; aged about 28, and in height 5 feet 8 inches or thereabouts,

complexion dark and wearing a black diagonal coat and hard felt hat, collar and tie, and was carrying a newspaper
parcel. The man was also of a respectable appearance.
THE SCENE OF THE FIRST MURDER

The yard in which the body was found is (says the Central News) about ten feet wide. This width is continued for a
distance of eight or ten yards, at which point there occurs on the left hand side a small row of houses, which are set
back a little, so that the width is increased by two feet or more. The extreme length of the court is 30 yards, and it
terminates in a workshop, which is at present used as a dwelling house. The spot where the murder was committed,
therefore, is overlooked on three sides; and, inasmuch as the gates were open on Saturday night, any casual pedestrian
might easily have seen the commission of the crime. The windows of the club room are within ten feet of the spot,
while the cottages stand almost opposite, and command a complete view of it. None of the occupants of these houses,
however, heard the faintest noise in the course of Saturday night or Sunday morning. The residents in the yard are
tailors and cigarettes makers, and they are not in the habit of retiring very early. A reporter who made inquiry amongst
them, however, was unable to find any person who had either seen or heard anything suspicious. The club spoken of is
occupied by what is known as the National Workmen’s Educational Society, and is affiliated to the Socialist League, of
which it is a foreign branch. Its members seem to be largely composed of Russian Jews, and Jews of other nationalities
also find a welcome there. Many of them live on the premises, which, however, are not extensive. At the back there
is a fair sized hall made by demolishing the partition between two rooms, and here on Saturday night the members
gathered for the purpose of debate and amusement. On Saturday last the debate was largely attended by Germans,
nearly a hundred being at one time in the room, and the subject of discussion, which was “Is it necessary that a Jew
should be a Socialist?” proved so interesting that it was carried on to a late hour. After it had terminated there was a
concert, at which thirty persons remained. There was considerable singing, and there is no doubt that the noise would
have drowned any outcry which might have been made by the wretched creature who was being murdered in the yard
beneath.
Berners Street is in a very notorious part of Whitechapel. It is close to a district which was formerly known as “tigers’
bay,” because of the ferocious character of the desperadoes who frequented it. A few yards distant is the house wherein
Lipski murdered Miriam Angel, and the neighbourhood generally has an evil repute. During the course of yesterday
thousands of persons congregated in the vicinity of the scene of the crime, and it was with the greatest difficulty that
the police could keep the street clear. The bulk of the residents are Jews. At the back of the Workmen’s Club there is
a Jewish paper published, called The Workmen’s Friend, which is printed in Hebrew, and shops and lodging houses kept
by Jews are very frequently met with.
The body of the murdered woman, which now lies in St. George’s mortuary, close to St. George’s parish church,
presents a dreadful spectacle. It is that of a woman about forty years of age, and as it lies on the slab it exhibits
prominently a fearful wound on the throat. The head is slightly thrown over to the right, and the gaping orifice is
so clearly scooped out that the divisions of the jugular vein and the windpipe can be easily seen. The knife or other
implement with which the deed was committed must have been of large size, and very keen, and the wound is so wide
that there is room for the supposition that after the blade had been inserted it was partially turned, and then drawn
with great force from left to right. In the pockets were found two handkerchiefs - one a man’s, the other a woman’s -
and a thimble and a skein of black worsted. There were no rings on the fingers. The height of the deceased is about 5
feet 5 inches. In her jacket was pinned a small bunch of roses and ferns. Her hair was matted with wet dirt, showing
that a struggle had taken place on the ground. It is not believed, however, that the woman was in a recumbent position
when attacked, the theory being that the murderer was standing with his left arm around her neck, and that while so
placed he drew his knife and inflicted a mortal wound. The position of the body when found favours this view, inasmuch
as no attempt had been made to disarrange the clothing, and the woman was lying in an almost natural attitude, with
her head towards the bottom of the yard at 40 Berners Street, and the legs towards the gates.
After the police authorities had been notified of the murder the case was given into the hands of Chief Inspector
Swanson and Inspector Abberline, of Scotland Yard. In the first instance, the police turned their attention to the Working
Men’s Club. The doors were guarded, and no person was allowed egress. After the body had been removed to St George’s
mortuary the detectives entered the club and made a careful examination of the inmates. Their pockets were searched,
their hands and clothing particularly scrutinised, and some of them allege that they were made to take off their boots.
All knives had to be produced, and each man had to give an account of himself before he was allowed to depart. Some of
the members say that the detectives treated them badly, swearing at them, and shouting, “You’re no foreigners, or else

where’s your knives.” As a matter of fact, however, the police found nothing suspicious in the club or upon its members.
Some of the neighbours were also subjected to investigation, but no clue was found. It may be mentioned here that the
police discovered no blood splashes upon the wall in the yard. They caused the blood which had flown down the gutter
to be removed at an early hour. The information of the crime reached Leman Street police station at ten minutes past
one o’clock, and Dr Phillips, of 2 Spital Square, the divisional police surgeon, was immediately communicated with.
After he had made an external examination of the body, it was removed to St George’s mortuary, where the post mortem
will be made today. In the course of yesterday Sir Charles Warren, Chief Commissioner of Police, visited the scene of
the murder. A woman’s apron was yesterday found in Glouston (sic) Street, which is believed to have belonged to the
deceased. It is suggested, therefore, that the murderer travelled to Mitre square, the scene of the second murder, by
way of Glouston Street, and took away the apron for the purpose of cleaning his weapon upon it. The police of the
district believe that the woman formerly walked the streets about St George’s, but they have lost sight of her in the last
eighteen months. In consequence of the many murders in the locality, the police force at Leman Street and Commercial
Street stations has recently been augmented from King Street, Scotland Yard, and other centres. This has been done
as a matter of precaution, as in some quarters a disposition is manifested to cast upon the Jewish population of the
neighbourhood the responsibility for the murders.
The following is a description of a man stated to have been seen in company with the woman murdered in Berners
Street, and for whom the police are looking:
Age 28, height 5ft. 8in., complexion dark, no whiskers, black diagonal coat, hard felt hat, collar and tie; carried
newspaper parcel; was of respectable appearance.
DETAILS OF THE SECOND MURDER

While some hundreds of persons were hurrying out of the Commercial Road to glean some details of the new horror,
a second crime, still more fiendish and terrible in its nature, was being perpetrated within almost a few minutes’ walk
of the very spot. This was in Mitre Square, a somewhat secluded spot, turning sharply out of Mitre Street, a narrow
thoroughfare leading out of Aldgate. The square is bounded on three sides by warehouses, one of which is tenanted by
a night watchman named J. Davies Morris, an old policeman. The western side of the square, in the corner of which
another poor woman was done to death, is formed by the backs of disused houses. Consequently, when the murder was
committed, the policeman having passed through only a few minutes previously, there was practically no one about or
living sufficiently near to hear anything but the night watchman. Being Sunday morning, those who are generally in the
habit of passing through to St. James’ lace, a species of fruit market, had no occasion to do so. These facts the murderer
must have made himself acquainted with when he selected the spot for his horrible deed.
Apparently, after being in a sense disturbed at his first work, the murderer hurried into the Commercial Road, and
making his way towards Bishopsgate had picked up another unfortunate woman in the locality. His method in both cases
seems to have been very similar. He evidently spoke to both women, and then decoyed them into a dark spot for the
deliberate commission of his ghastly crime. The most extraordinary part of the affair is that the police beat in which
Mitre square is included does not extend beyond a period of ten minutes. At twenty minutes to two o’clock a constable
passed through the square, and he is positive that at that time there was nothing there that excited his suspicion. Yet,
in the brief period of ten minutes, one of the most fiendish murders conceivable had been perpetrated in the open
thoroughfare, and the assassin had escaped, leaving no trace behind. The policeman on coming to the spot at ten
minutes to two o’clock nearly fell over the body. On turning on his lantern a sight of the most sickening and revolting
character presented itself. The murdered woman lay on the ground, weltering in blood, her legs throwing apart, and
her clothes thrown in confusion almost over her head. Across the throat was a terrible gash, extending from ear to ear,
and, in fact, almost producing decapitation. The abdomen had been ripped open as high as the breast, and portions of
the entrails and other organs protruded from her body. Nor was this all. The poor woman had apparently divined the
assassin’s intention at the last moment before death, and had seized and struggled with him. He had then slashed her
about the face with his knife in a manner truly sickening to behold. The woman’s nose had been completely cut off, one
of her eyes had been nearly severed from its socket, and the forehead and cheeks were hacked in a ghastly manner.
There is little doubt that the woman was murdered where she fell. By her side was discovered two buttons or studs,
a thimble, a matchbox, and two pawn tickets. This would lead to the supposition that the criminal rifled the woman’s
pockets.

Morris, the night watchman mentioned above, in the course of an interview, said:
About a quarter to two o’clock the policeman upon the beat came and knocked at the door of the warehouse.
He said, “For God’s sake, man, come out and assist me; another woman has been ripped open!” I said, “All
right; keep yourself cool, while I light a lamp.” Having done so, he led me to the south west corner, where I
saw a woman lying upon the pavement with her throat cut, and horribly mutilated. I then left the constable
(Watkins) with the body, while I went into Aldgate and blew my whistle, and other police officers soon made
their appearance. The whole shape of the woman was marked out in blood upon the pavement. In addition to
her throat being cut, there were two slashes across the face, one almost completely severing the nose. The
woman was so mutilated about the face I could not say what she was like. She wore a dark skirt and a black
bonnet. Altogether her appearance was exceedingly shabby. The strangest part of the whole thing is, that I
heard no sound. As a rule, I can hear the footstep of the policeman as he passes by every quarter of an hour,
so the woman could not have uttered any sound without my detecting it. It was only last night (Saturday) I
made the remark to some policemen that I wished the butcher would come round Mitre Square and I would
soon give him a doing, and here, to be sure, he has come, and I was perfectly ignorant of it.
The official description of the woman murdered in Mitre Square is as follows:-
Age, 40, hazel eyes, auburn hair; dressed in a black jacket, with fur trimming and large metal buttons, dark green
chintz with Michaelmas daisies, and golden lily pattern skirt, drab linsey underskirt, blue ribbed stockings mended with
white, black straw bonnet trimmed with black beads and black velvet.
In a few hours after the ghastly discovery of the crimes the whole of the East End population were in the streets,
thrilled once more with a strange and sickly horror, which rapidly acquired dimensions little short of a genuine panic.
As the day advanced thousands flocked from all quarters of London to gaze upon the scenes of the latest atrocities, and
pick up such scanty information as could be obtained in the locality.
Today’s Daily Telegraph, in the course of its account of the tragedy, says:
It is the general belief that the murderer in the case of the Berners Street tragedy also committed the subsequent still
more frightful deed in Aldgate, but there is no actual evidence to support that supposition. Still, there are remarkable
circumstances which appear to justify the assumption that the same hands not only perpetrated the atrocities yesterday,
but was guilty also of two if not of more of the recent undiscovered Whitechapel murders. It would have been quite
possible for the miscreant, who has become the terror of East London, to have made his way from the Commercial Road
East to Mitre Square, Aldgate, in less than ten minutes. His clothing, even if bloodstained, would probably have escaped
notice for his road would have led him through a neighbourhood habitually frequented by slaughterers. The theory which
the authorities entertain is that shortly after half past one a.m. yesterday the individual who had been disturbed in
Berners Street with his deadly weapon concealed about him had with deliberate intention, and with the recklessness of
a maniac, proceeded to carry out a second horrible crime without delay. The plan differed in no way from the one which
was successfully practised first in Osborn Street, then in George Yard, next in Bucks Row, again in Hanbury Street, and
finally in Berners Street. A woman of the lowest class was to be accosted, and she was either lured or suffered to lead the
way into a dark spot, and there she was to be cruelly done to death and mutilated. The whole of the hideous programme
appears to have been carried out in an incredibly short space of time. Where the man encountered his victim there is
no testimony to show, but he would have had many opportunities in the vicinity of the Church of St. Botolph, Aldgate,
which is close to the scene of the latest horror.
Since the recurrence of the mysterious deaths in Whitechapel and Spitalfields, the city police have, acting under special
orders from headquarters, directed particular attention to the low class of women - and they have been accustomed to
observe them closely if accompanied by men. No one noticed any such couple pass along either of the streets named.
It is, therefore, imagined that the man, having made an appointment with the woman, left her to find her own way
to Mitre Square, and that he took the first opportunity of rejoining her unperceived. The Acting Commissioner of City
Police (Major Henry Smith) has courteously afforded every assistance in his power to order that the true facts might be
stated. This gentleman puts the fullest confidence in the account which Police Constable Watkins (881) has given. This
officer says that at half past one o’clock yesterday morning he went round the square, and saw nothing unusual. The
place is ill lighted, for there is only one lamp post and a lantern lamp which projects from the corner of the buildings
on one side of the church passage. In the city, where the police supervision is as perfect as could possibly be expected,
the beats are short, and it is the testimony of the residents that the constables diligently perform their duty. The
constables are under supervision of a sergeant, who is constantly on the alert, and unexpected surveys of the beats are
also made by the inspector and the superintendent. There is no reason to doubt that Watkins went into the square at

the hour mentioned, and, further, that a quarter of an hour later, that is at 1.45am, he re-entered it, and then made
the fearful discovery. As he was walking near to the south west corner, quite twenty five yards removed from the nearest
gaslight, he saw the body of a woman with the clothes disarranged, and with dreadful injuries to the abdomen and to
the face. Watkins immediately summoned assistance, and Sergeant Jones and other policemen were at once on the
scene. As showing the promptitude with which the city police acted, it may be mentioned that a message dispatched to
Bishopsgate Street Without Police Station to Inspector Collard was within a quarter of an hour answered by the officer
in person, and he at once took charge of the case until the arrival shortly afterwards of Major Henry Smith from Cloak
Lane and Superintendent Foster from Old Jewry, to whom messengers had been sent. The authorities in the city at once
determined that no clue should be sacrificed by ill considered haste. Every step of the inquiry which was straightway
commenced was carefully and systematically taken. Strangely enough, with the exception of one witness, the whole
of the testimony so far collected is that of the police. The exception referred to is that of a watchman named George
James Morris, who was employed by Messrs. Kearley and Tongue (sic), general merchants, of Mitre Square. Morris was
asked to knock up Mr Sequeira, of 34 Jewry Street, Aldgate, the nearest surgeon, but before the body was allowed to be
touched. Mr Gordon Brown, of 17 Finsbury Circus, who is the Divisional Surgeon of Police, was also in attendance. By this
time the Acting Commissioner (Superintendent Foster) had also arrived, and every detail was carefully noted. The news
of the murder had scarcely spread; but to guard against disturbance the three approaches to the square were closed
to the public, the constables having orders to admit no one. The intelligence from Berners Street was reported, and it
made the city police doubly careful in their researches, but nothing which would afford a tangible clue was discovered.
Motive of every kind appeared to be absent. There was nothing to denote that robbery was the object, and, on the
other hand, there were so many symptoms of savage ferocity that the idea was strongly entertained that the murderer
was a maniac. The injuries to the body surpassed in their hideousness every preceding attack ascribed to the same
operator. The throat had been cut half way round with great force, and the knife had severed the carotid artery. From
this wound the blood which covered the upper part of the body had evidently proceeded. Apparently the knife had then
been plunged deep into the chest and jagged downwards. The intestines were torn from the body and thrown towards
the chest, and some were found twisted into the gaping wound on the right side of the neck. The thighs were cut across
deeply on the right side. A handkerchief which the woman wore round her throat was saturated with blood. Although
there was no sign of a struggle, the murderer, alarmed by some movement, or perhaps with the intention of rendering
identification difficult, had hacked at the nose of the woman, and the gash extended to the right ear, which was sliced
off. Subsequently it was disentangled from the clothing. The appearances of the body were carefully recorded and Dr.
Brown sketched its exact position. In the opinion of Dr Sequeira, the first surgeon who saw the corpse - which opinion
may be qualified by fuller examination - the weapon employed must have been a large one, and sharp.
THE POSITION OF THE BODY

The woman was lying on the pavement with her head about eighteen inches from the door in the fence and the coal
shoot (sic), and with her legs towards the roadway. Inspector Collard gives this further description:
“The head was inclined to the left, the arms were extended, the left leg was extended straight and the right flexed.”
The clothes were drawn up as far as the chest, and the abdomen was ripped open downwards zig zag fashion. The
inspector, of course, observed the other injuries already indicated, but he could not give an opinion whether any
anatomical knowledge had been displayed, or whether any attempt had been made to extract any portion of the body.
Both Mr Sequeira and Mr Gordon Brown found that the body was still warm, and the blood had not coagulated. The
warmth was still present when the body was removed to the mortuary in Golden Lane, whither it was taken in a shell
upon an ambulance. Major Smith, Superintendent Foster, and other eye witnesses concur in the description of a singular
mark which was apparent upon the flagstones after the body of the woman had been lifted. The form of the legs and feet
were there vividly impressed as it were in a white tint. This effect was so striking that it was determined, if possible,
to obtain a permanent representation of it, but in the course of a short time it disappeared, the explanation of the
peculiarity being that the warmth of the body had absorbed the moisture from the wet pavement. Major Smith went
to the mortuary, as also did Mr Foster, the latter for the purpose of sketching the wounds and the blood stains, which
drawings will be produced before the Coroner. Major Smith decided that Dr Phillips, Divisional Surgeon of Metropolitan
Police, who had had the Berner Street murder and the Hanbury Street murder in hand, should be asked to view the latest
victim to the assassin’s knife. Mr Phillips accordingly came, and he has, it is said, expressed the opinion that the Mitre
Square murder had the same author as the rest. There was considerable discussion as to the manner in which the throat
had been cut, and it was agreed that there was nothing to indicate that it had been done in a peculiar way, but it is not
clear at present whether the windpipe was severed from left to right or from right to left, and this is one of the points

which will be definitely settled at the inquest. Under the direction of the doctors the mortuary keeper undressed the
body, which is described as that of a woman of the lowest class, about although the clothing was old and dirty, and the
pockets were empty, with the exception of five pieces of soap, and some bits of string and such trifles, it was noticed
that the hands were small and of a delicate cast, indicating that the deceased had known at one time better conditions
of life. This was only supposition, as there is nothing directly bearing out the inference.
[FROM THE PRESS ASSOCIATION]
Shortly before two o’clock yesterday morning it was discovered that a second woman had been horribly murdered
and mutilated, this being in Mitre Square, Aldgate, within the city boundaries, but on the confines of the now notorious
district. It appears that Police Constable Watkins (No. 881) of the City Police was going round his beat, when, turning the
lantern upon the darkest corner of Mitre Square, he saw the body of a woman, apparently lifeless, in a pool of blood.
He at once blew his whistle, and several persons being attracted to the spot, he dispatched messengers for medical
and police aid. Inspector Collard, who was in command at the time at Bishopsgate Police Station, but a short distance
off, quickly arrived, followed a few moments after by Mr G W Sequeira, surgeon, of 34 Jewry Street, and Dr Gordon
Brown, the divisional police doctor of Finsbury Circus. The scene then disclosed was a most horrible one. The woman,
who was apparently about forty years of age, was lying on her back quite dead, although the body was still warm. Her
head was inclined to the left side, her left leg being extended, whilst the right was flexed. Both arms were extended.
The throat was cut halfway round revealing a dreadful wound, from which blood had flowed in great quantity, staining
the pavement for some distance round. Across the right cheek to the nose was another gash, and a part of the right ear
had been cut off. Following the plan in the Whitechapel murders, the miscreant was not content with merely killing his
victim. The poor woman’s clothes had been pulled up over her chest, the abdomen ripped completely open, and part
of the intestines laid on her neck. After careful notice had been taken of the position of the body when found, it was
conveyed to the city mortuary in Golden Lane. Here a more extended examination was made. The murdered woman
was about five feet in height, and evidently belonged to that unfortunate class of which the women done to death in
Whitechapel were members. Indeed, one of the policemen who saw the body expressed his confident opinion that he
seen the woman several times walking in the neighbourhood of Aldgate High Street. She was of dark complexion, with
auburn hair and hazel eyes, and was dressed in shabby dark clothes. She wore a black cloth jacket with imitation fur
collar, and three large metal buttons. Her dress was made of green chintz, the pattern consisting of Michaelmas daisies.
In addition she had on a thin white vest, light drab linsey skirt, a very old dark green alpaca petticoat, white chemise,
brown ribbed stockings (mended at the feet with white material), black straw bonnet trimmed with black beads and
green and black velvet, and a large white handkerchief round the neck. In the pockets of the dress a peculiar collection
of articles was found. Besides a small packet containing tea and other articles, which people who frequent the common
lodging houses are accustomed to carry, the police found upon the body a white pocket handkerchief, a blunt bone
handled table knife, a short clay pipe, and a red cigarette case with white metal fittings. This knife bore no traces
of blood, so could have no connection with the crime. When the news of this additional murder became known, the
excitement in the crowded district of Aldgate was intense. usually a busy place on a Sunday morning, Houndsditch and
connecting thoroughfares presented a particularly animated appearance, men with barrows vending fruit and eatables
doing a brisk trade. Crowds flocked to the entrances to the square, where the body had been discovered, but the police
refused admittance to all but a privileged few. Sir Charles Warren visited the spot at a particularly early hour, and made
himself thoroughly conversant with the neighbourhood and the details of the affair. Major Smith (acting superintendent
of the City police), Superintendent Foster, Detective Inspector M’William (chief of the City Detective Department), and
Detective Sergeants Downes and Outram also attended during the morning. A little while after the finding of the body,
all traces of blood had been washed away by directions of the authorities, and there was little to indicate the terrible
crime which had taken place.
SCENE OF THE SECOND MURDER

Before proceeding further, it may be convenient to describe the scene of the murder. Mitre square is an enclosed
place in the rear of St Katherine’s Free Church, Leadenhall Street. It has three entrances; the principal one, and the
only one having a carriage way, is at the southern end leading to Mitre Street. Turning out of Aldgate High Street, there is
a narrow court in the north east corner leading into Duke Street, and another at the north west by which foot passengers
can reach St. James’s Square, otherwise known as Orange Market. Mitre Square contains but two dwelling houses, in
one of which, singularly enough, a city policeman lives, whilst the other is uninhabited. The other buildings, of which
there are only three, are large warehouses. In the south east corner, and near to the entrance from Mitre Street, is the
backyard of some premises in Aldgate, but the railings are closely boarded. It was just under these that the woman

was found, quite hidden from sight by the shadow cast by the corner of the adjoining house. The officer who found the
body is positive that it could not have been there more than a quarter of an hour before he discovered it. He is timed
to “work his beat,” as it is called, in from ten to fifteen minutes, and is spoken of by his superior officers as a most
trustworthy man. The police theory is that the man and woman, who had met in Aldgate, watched the policeman pass
round this square, and they then entered it for an immoral purpose. Whilst the woman lay on the ground, her throat
was cut as described above, causing instant death. The murderer then hurriedly proceeded to mutilate the body, for the
wounds, though so ghastly, do not appear to have been made so skilfully and deliberately as in the case of the murder
of Annie Chapman in Hanbury Street. Five minutes, some of the doctors think, would have sufficed for the completion
of the murderer’s work, and he was thus enabled to leave the ground before the return of the policeman on duty. None
of the police on duty early this morning appear to have had particular attention drawn to the man and woman together,
and this appears strange at first, when it is remarked that within the last few weeks the police have been keeping a
particularly keen watch upon suspicious couples. The murderer probably avoided much blood staining, on account of
the woman being on her back at the time of the outrage, and leaving the square by either of the courts he would be
able to pass quickly away through the many narrow thoroughfares without exciting observation. But one of the most
extraordinary incidents in connection with the crime is that not the slightest scream or noise was heard. A watchman is
employed at one of the warehouses in the square in a direct line, but a few yards away. On the other side of the square
a city policeman was sleeping. Many people would be about in the immediate neighbourhood, even at this early hour,
making preparations for the market which takes place every Sunday in Middlesex (formerly Petticoat Lane) and the
adjacent thoroughfares.
Taking everything into account, therefore, the murder must be pronounced one of extraordinary daring and brutality.
The effect it has had upon the residents in the east of London is extraordinary. All day crowds thronged the streets
leading to Mitre Square, discussing the crime, and the police in the neighbour (sic) of the Square, under Inspector
Izzard and Sergeants Dudman and Phelps, and other officers, were fully occupied in keeping back the excited and
curious people. The woman, up to the time of writing, had not been identified, and the police admit that they have no
information which can possibly be termed a clue.
AN IMPORTANT STATEMENT
A man named Albert Barkert (sic) has made the following statement:
I was in the Three Nuns Hotel, Aldgate, on Saturday night when a man got into conversation with me. He
asked me questions which now appear to me to have some bearing upon the recent murders. He wanted to
know whether I knew what sort of loose women used the public bar at the house, when they usually left the
street outside, and where they were in the habit of going. He asked further questions, and from his manner
seemed up to no good purpose. He appeared to be a “shabby genteel” sort of man, and was dressed in black
clothes. He wore a black felt hat and carried a black bag. We came out together at closing time, twelve
o’clock, and I left him outside Aldgate Railway Station.
AN EXTRAORDINARY LETTER
The Central News says:
On Thursday last the following letter, bearing the EC post mark, and directed in red ink, was delivered to this agency:-
25th September 1888.
Dear Boss,
I keep on hearing the police have caught me, but they won’t fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever,
and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on _____s, and I
shan’t quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can
they catch me now? I love my work, and I want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I
saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with, but it went thick, and I can’t
use it. Red ink is fit enough, I hope. Ha! ha! The next job I do I shall clip the ladies’ ears off, and send to the police
just for jolly. Wouldn’t you? Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work. Then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice
and sharp, I want to get a chance. Good luck.
Yours truly,
Jack the Ripper.
Don’t mind me giving the trade name. Wasn’t good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands.
Curse it. No luck yet. They say I am a doctor now.
The whole of this extraordinary epistle (says the Central News) is written in red ink in a free, bold, clerkly hand.
It was, of course, treated as the work of a practical joker, but it is singular to note that the latest murders have been
committed within a few days of the receipt of the letter, and apparently in the case of his last victim the murderer made
an attempt to cut off the ears, and he actually did mutilate the face in a manner which he has never before attempted.
The letter is now in the hands of the Scotland Yard authorities.
INDIGNATION AGAINST THE POLICE

Great indignation is being expressed, says the Press association, in all parts of the Metropolis at the inability of the
police to prevent the recurrence of these outrages. With each fresh murder in the Whitechapel series, public alarm has
been accentuated, and unless something can soon be done to restore confidence in the detective powers of the police
a panic will be the result. Nothing but the murders is talked of, and the question is being frequently asked, who do not
the police resort to more drastic measures? Attention is drawn to the success which attended the use of bloodhounds
in connection with the Blackburn murder and it is seriously suggested that similar methods should be adopted in the
East End of London. That both the Metropolitan and City police recognise the gravity of the present crisis is proved by
the fact that Major Smith, of the latter force, has had long interviews with Sir Charles Warren today. Amongst the force
there is a strong feeling that the old practice of offering Government rewards should be revived, and a large section of
the public endorse this view.
A prominent City official who, as a matter of duty, went yesterday at an early hour to visit the scene of the last
terrible murder in the East End, writes as follows to the Daily Telegraph of today:-
The widespread horror and alarm felt at the succession of terrible tragedies which have been so ruthlessly perpetrated
in Whitechapel, and the manner in which their author had succeeded in baffling detection, had not unnaturally given
rise to severe comment as to the manner in which the guardians of the public peace discharged their functions. It was,
therefore, with a view to see that in the present instance at least no proper measures or precautions were neglected
that I proceeded to inspect for myself the scene of the murders, going to Berners Street, as well as to Mitre Court (sic),
the latter of which only is within the City limits. Dealing with the two cases in their chronological order, I found that
within half an hour after the discovery of the woman’s body in Berners Street, about 1 a.m., Sunday, an alarm had been
given, medical attendance summoned, and the remains were being conveyed in an ambulance to the mortuary. A large
force of police also were on the spot within ten minutes, and a little later both superintendents and detectives were
busily engaged taking notes in every possible direction for some traces of the murderer. The shockingly mutilated corpse
of the second victim of the night’s work - for there exists no doubt in the official mind but that the two unfortunate
women were slain by the same hand - was found about ten minutes to two a.m., an interval of close on three quarters
of an hour after that of the first. So prompt were the City police that within a quarter of an hour the chief office at
the Old Jewry had sent out a full staff of men, and five minutes later Superintendent Foster himself was on the ground
giving the necessary directions under the circumstances. Medical aid in this case also was quickly procured, but in each
instance the women were beyond the help of human skill.
PUBLIC SUGGESTIONS TO THE POLICE

In view of the mystery which surrounds the whereabouts of the murderer or murderers, it is suggested (says the
Press Association) that the police authorities should take the constables into their confidence, and for the time being,
considering the exceptional circumstances attending the murders, to put aside a very stringent rule of the service, the
enforcement of which, under ordinary conditions, is absolutely necessary. For instance, it is by no means unusual for
a constable doing duty in the streets to have suspicious incidents come under his observation, of which he takes no
notice until after he learns of a crime, such as has just rekindled public indignation. Under existing circumstances, an
officer who made known such “negligence” would undoubtedly be dismissed the service, and in view of this it cannot
be expected that an officer would knowingly bring about his own discharge. The information which he might be able
to give would possibly be of the greatest importance as regards a case such as the past, but it is withheld for the very
reason that, unless the authorities relax their severity, the man would be bringing about his own downfall. It seems as
though exception must be made to several existing rules in order to bring to justice the East End murderer or murderers.
Therefore it is suggested that the police will be assisted if a Government reward is at once offered, the terms of which
should apply both to the police and the public. Since the discontinuance of Government rewards in cases of murder, it is
understood that it has been customary to reward the officer or officers making the capture; but it usually so small that
it affords no encouragement to members of the force, who do not get any remuneration for working in their off time.

The Press Association understands that instructions have been telegraphed by the Metropolitan police authorities to
the different seaport towns where there is communication with the Continent concerning the two murders.
THE POST MORTEM EXAMINATION IN THE MITRE SQUARE MURDER

The post mortem examination of the woman found in Mitre Square was made yesterday afternoon in the City Mortuary,
Golden Lane. The proceedings lasted from 2.30 until 6 o’clock. Dr Brown, of 17 Finsbury Circus, surgeon to the police
force, conducted the operations, and was assisted by Dr Sequeira, of 34 Jewry Street, and Dr G B Phillips, of 2 Spital
Square. Dr Sedgwick Saunders was also present. The doctors decline to say whether any portion of the body is missing,
or to give any information as to the autopsy until the inquest is held, which will probably be in Tuesday at the mortuary
in Golden Lane.
Telegraphing later, the Central News understands that, as a result of the post mortem examination of the body of the
woman found in Mitre Square, it is shown that the details of the mutilation are almost exactly the same as in the case
of Annie Chapman, a certain portion of whose body, it will be remembered, was missing.
THE WORK OF IDENTIFICATION

During yesterday the police thoroughly searched the empty houses in Mitre Street, and also the yard where the
body was found, and took up a grating near the spot where the woman was found. Nothing, however, in the shape of a
weapon was found, nor did the investigations lead to anything likely to throw light upon the matter. The public were
not admitted to the square until late in the afternoon, after an official plan of the square had been made for production
at the inquest.
Up to a late hour in the evening the woman had not been identified, although several people had gone to the
Bishopsgate Street Police Station and had seen the clothing. Two women who inspected this, and also saw the corpse,
were certain that it was the body of a woman named Jane Kelly, but subsequently, on inquiries being made, it was found
that this individual was still alive. A man who saw the body said he was sure it was that of a woman known as “Whoshe
the Jewess,” but the inquiries in this case care not yet completed.
The woman murdered in Berners Street has been identified as Elizabeth Stride, who had resided latterly in Flower
and Dean Street. She was identified by a sister living in Holborn.
A later telegram says:
Unfortunately for the trustworthiness of this recognition of the body, it is understood that another woman, who
called to view it later, expressed her conviction that it was that of some one else, whom she named.
AN ACCOUNT OF ONE OF THE VICTIMS

At eleven o’clock last night a representative of the Central News visited Elizabeth Stride’s late residence, No. 32
Flower and Dean Street, Spitalfields, a common lodging house, inhabited by men and women of the poorest kind. The
female occupants were afraid to venture into the streets after sunset; but they were listening with eagerness to the
information afforded to them from time to time by the male occupants arriving from the streets. Inquiries made among
those wretched people elicited the fact that the deceased who was commonly known as “Long Liz,” left Flower and
Dean Street between six and seven o’clock on Saturday night. She then said that she was not going to meet anyone
in particular. Stride is believed to be a Swedish woman from Stockholm. According to her associates, she was of calm
temperament, rarely quarrelling with anyone. In fact, she was so good natured that she would “do a good turn for
anyone.” Her occupation was that of charwoman. She had the misfortune to lose her husband in the Princess Alice
disaster on the Thames some years ago. She had lost her teeth, and suffered from a throat affection. It transpires that
she was identified at the mortuary in the morning by John Arundell and Charles Preston, who resided at 32 Flower and
Dean Street.
MR SPURGEON AND THE ATROCITIES

News of the further outrages spread so quickly in London that at the morning service some pulpit references were
made. At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, where there was a crowded congregation, Mr Spurgeon prayed this:
“We hear startling news of abounding sin in this great city. Oh! God, put an end to this, and grant that we may hear
no more of such deeds. Let Thy Gospel permeate the city and let no monsters in human form escape Thee.”

A REPORTED ARREST
The Central News is informed that shortly before midnight a man, whose name has not yet transpired, was arrested in
the Borough on suspicion of being the perpetrator of the murders in the East End. This morning a tall, dark man, wearing
an American hat, entered a lodging house in Union Street, known as Albert Chambers. He stayed there throughout the
day, and his peculiar manner rivetted the attention of his fellow lodgers. He displayed great willingness to converse with
them, and certain observations he made regarding the topic of the day aroused the suspicions. At night this mysterious
individual attracted the notice of the deputy keeper of the lodging house, whose suspicions became so strong that he
sent for a policeman. On the arrival of the officer, the stranger was questioned as to his recent wanderings, but he
could give no intelligible account of them, though he said he had spent the previous night on Blackfriars Bridge. He was
conveyed to Stones End Police Station, Blackman Street, Borough.
Monday morning (2 am)
Both Scotland Yard and the City detectives are (says the Daily Telegraph) still busy making inquiries and search which
they hope may throw light on the murders. There is an idea that if the criminal is not a member of a gang, he must be
a homicidal maniac lurking alone in some wretched den or untenanted house, otherwise his bloodstained hands must
have attracted attention. There are many such places about Whitechapel, and a search is to be made amongst them
in case such a being should be in existence. At half past one o’clock this morning a report was in circulation that a
man answering the published description of the Whitechapel murderer had been arrested at a common lodging house
known as Albert Chambers, in Gravel Lane, Union Street, Borough. The rumour included the statement that the prisoner
was conducted to the nearest police station by two constables at about 12 o’clock. Upon inquiry at the Police Station,
Blackman Street, Borough, this morning, we were informed that there was no foundation whatever for the report, and
no arrests had been made.
At the conclusion of several inquests held in London on Saturday, the Coroner (Mr Langham), replying to a reporter,
said he received police notice of the discovery of a human arm in Lambeth on Friday.
THE GATESHEAD MURDER

Newcastle, Sunday.
Information has been received in Newcastle on Tyne this evening which strongly confirms the belief entertained in
the early part of last week that Waddle, the man wanted for the Birtley outrage, is in Scotland. A gentleman residing
at Otterburn states that on Monday morning last, her was on the road near the inn at Horsley, and saw a man, who was
the tramp who is believed to be Waddle. Between Otterburn and Camptown, on the Border, the man was seen by dozens
of people, who afterwards identified the description in the papers; and finally he was observed on the other side of the
Border making for Jedburgh on Tuesday morning. Telegrams have been received in Gateshead today, stating that Waddle
was seen working in a harvest field near Berwick and that since he had been in Scotland he had changed his clothes.
Two more ghastly and atrocious murders of “unfortunate” women have been committed in the Whitechapel district
of London. The particulars of both are similar in their fiendish details to the recent tragedies that have created such a
sensation throughout the country. So far from displaying a less daring method than the crimes that have preceded, those
discovered early yesterday morning indicate a far greater desperation, combined with cunning, than either the murder
of Annie Chapman or that of Mary Ann Nicholls. Both of the tragedies were committed within an hour and three quarters
of midnight, in thoroughfares not a stone’s throw removed from Aldgate and Commercial Road, where many people
were passing to and fro, and where thousands of persons were standing at their doors chatting previous to retiring for
the night. In the case of the woman first discovered, the head had almost been severed from the body. The murderer in
this instance is supposed to have been disturbed in his horrible work, for the body was not in any way mutilated. In the
other case the body had been subjected to the revolting brutalities attending the previous Whitechapel murders. Dr.
Blackwell, who examined the bodies, is of opinion that both murders were committed by the same man, and that he is
a maniac, but one, at least, who is accustomed to use a heavy knife.
Early on Sunday morning two other unfortunate women were cruelly and foully murdered in the East of London. The
body of the first was discovered in the entrance of a narrow close in Berners Street, Whitechapel, about one o’clock.
The throat of the victim was deeply gashed, so that death must have been instantaneous. There are said to be bruises
on the face, but the dress was not disarranged, and the body was not mutilated except in the neck. Three quarters of
an hour later a policeman came upon the body of another murdered woman in Mitre Square, near Aldgate, within the
bounds of the city, but close to the now notorious district of Whitechapel. These murders and the two that occurred
a few weeks ago have all been committed within a circle having a radius not exceeding half a mile. The body found in

Mitre Square was mutilated in a manner closely resembling that of Annie Chapman, and, if the accounts received are
to be wholly trusted, with appearances of exaggerated brutality. The results of the post mortem examination have,
however, been kept secret, and it is yet unknown whether or not any portion of the body has been removed. It is not
unnaturally conjectured that the four most recent murders are all the work of the same hand. Within less than a year, six
women have been cruelly done to death by undiscovered assassins in that part of London. The first of the six atrocities
occurred as far back as last Christmas. The body, which had been cruelly mangled, was never identified, nor was any
trace found of the murderer. The next victim was a woman named Martha Turner, who was found dead on the 7th of
August last, on the first floor landing of a lodging house in Spitalfields. The body showed thirty nine wounds, which
seemed to have been made with a bayonet or a dagger. There was nothing in the circumstances of these two crimes,
apart from the locality and the wanton ferocity of the murderer, to connect them with the more recent murders. Then
came the shocking case of the woman Mary Ann Nicholls, who was found killed in Buck’s Row, Whitechapel, on the 31st
August. This was the first case in which it was evident that more than murder was in the purpose of the criminal. Death
was caused by the wound in the throat; but the lower part of the body was also mutilated. It was suggested in this case
that the mutilation was the work of a practised hand; but the theory that the man might be a person employed in some
of the neighbouring slaughterhouses was popularly accepted as sufficiently explanatory, though of course it was purely
hypothetical. It was only after the still more horrible murder of Annie Chapman in Hanbury Street, showing a definite
object in the mutilation of the body, that it began to be supposed that the Buck’s Row murder was committed with the
same object, but that something had alarmed the perpetrator before he had completed his work.
That it should be possible for such a series of similar crimes to be committed in the same locality and in such rapid
succession without the discovery of the murderer, and, so far, without any apparent hope of his discovery, is astonishing
and alarming. It seems to suggest the startling inference that a cold blooded, deliberate murder of this kind may be
perpetrated in such a district as Whitechapel with impunity. Unpremeditated murder, which was the result of a quarrel,
would be likely to be accompanied with noisy words, cries, or the sound of the scuffle, and thus to attract attention.
There is also in the majority of such cases some previous relation or acquaintance between the murderer and the
victim, and thus some clue is found by which the former is traced. But in the case of the recent crimes, there is no
reason to suppose that the murderer and his victims ever met before or that when they did meet, there was any quarrel
leading up to the assassination. The man undoubtedly meant murder, but had none of the ordinary motives in his mind
and no individual in his eye. The first unfortunate woman that gave him the opportunity served for a victim, and in all
probability his conduct gave her no reason to suspect injury till the knife was at her throat. In such a case there is no
noise to attract attention. The crime is committed in a secluded spot, in perfect silence, and the murderer gets clear
away before the deed is discovered. The risk is great while the crime is in course of perpetration; but once the man gets
fairly out of sight, it almost seems as if he were out of danger. How great the risk is until he does get away is strikingly
revealed by statements made in each of the cases yesterday morning. The Berners Street murder was committed in a
close which has on one side of it a building used as an International Working Men’s Club. There is a side door from the
court to this club, which the members, when going out and in after the club has met, use in preference to the street
door. One man states that he came out of the club to get the fresh air at half past twelve o’clock, stayed outside about
ten minutes, and re-entered at twenty minutes to one. Another man states that he entered about the same time.
Neither of these men saw or heard anything unusual. The man who found the body arrived at the court twenty minutes
later - that is, at one o’clock; and the fact that the body was still warm leaves almost no doubt that the murder was
committed within the twenty minutes. In the Mitre Square case, the policeman is certain that when he passed the spot
fifteen minutes before he found the body there was nothing unusual to be seen. Here again the body was warm. The man
and the woman had entered the square, the crime had been committed, the whole process of mutilation gone through,
and the murderer got clear off during the brief interval of fifteen minutes. If we accept the theory that the same man
killed both the women, his double escape is very remarkable. In either case a few minutes, perhaps a few seconds,
earlier or later, and he would have been seen.
It is somewhat remarkable that there is said to have been a disposition to incredulity when the news spread in
Whitechapel yesterday morning that a repetition of the recent horrors had occurred. The panic following the murder
of Annie Chapman seems to have completely subsided, and it would also appear that the popular impression produced
by the Coroner’s statement was that the murderer had completed his work. Either it was thought that he had gained
his object and would seek no more victims, or that the publicity given to his purpose must have closed the market
which it was his object to supply. But indeed it was not unnatural that people should find a continuance of such crimes
inconceivable. All the greater, doubtless, were the horror and consternation of yesterday when it was found that not
one, but two, women had been butchered in the night. The popular mind appears to have arrived unhesitatingly at two

conclusions - that the man who committed the murder in Berners Street went red handed thence to Mitre Square and
committed the second; and that he is also the murderer of the two women, Nicholls and Chapman. These conclusion
can only be conjectural, and it might be easy to advance reasons against them. But popular instinct is, perhaps, as
sure a guide in a case of this kind as the most ingenious trained reasoning. The only person who may be in a position to
assert with confidence that the Hanbury Street and Mitre Square murders were or were not the work of one hand is the
surgeon who has examined both bodies; and his opinion on the cases of yesterday is not yet divulged. In the meantime
there is evidently a strong determination in London to reject the theory of the murders propounded last week by the
Coroner. Even the Mitre Square mutilation, instead of being accepted as confirmation of that theory, is regarded as
disproving it. The reason assigned is, that, had such a market existed as was indicated by the Coroner, the publicity
given to his statement would certainly have closed it. That this seemed a probable result was remarked at the time in
these columns. But the Whitechapel crimes play havoc with all sorts of theories and probabilities. Should the surgeon’s
report show that the same portion of the body is missing in the Mitre Square case as in the case of Annie Chapman, the
conclusion will be inevitable that both these crimes at least were committed in order to obtain possession of the same
organ. hat a market did exist for this organ is also indisputable; for a man actually visited several well known institutions
trying to make purchases and offering a large price. It is very likely that he gave a false account of the purpose he had
in view; but that consideration is immaterial. The existence of the market is a fact. The murder - at least one murder
and probably two - accompanied by seizure of the organ is also a fact. That the facts are co-relative can hardly be
open to doubt. Several theories are of course possible, that of lunacy and that of imitation, for example. But an even
more perplexing question is - how is the murderer to be discovered, and further repetitions of these dreadful crimes
prevented?
THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS

Today’s Times says:
“We are once again in the presence of mysterious crimes for which no adequate motive has been assigned. The object
was not plunder - in neither case did the wretched woman offer any temptation for this. The circumstances are such as
to forbid the idea of revenge.”
Today’s Standard says:
“If calling into play every resource known to science and civilisation, if patience, energy, and lavish expenditure can
accomplish it, the task of catching the Whitechapel murderer must be accomplished.”
Today’s Morning Post says:
“On the whole, the popular belief that there is a fiend in human shape abroad in the East End, who has committed
these horrible crimes from some form of homicidal mania, is the only one that satisfies all the conditions of the
problem.”
Today’s Daily News says:
“The most agonising of the East End mysteries is the mystery of the utter paralysis of energy and intelligence on the
part of the police.”
Today’s Daily Telegraph says:
“Truly the public generally would like at least to know whether Mr Secretary Matthews still sees ‘nothing in the
present case to justify a departure from the rule.’ In effect a Government reward - and a large reward - ought to be
offered.”
Today’s Daily Chronicle says:
“If the constable is accurate as to the number of minutes what he was absent on his round, it is a startling proof of the
capacity with which this mysterious murderer can kill his victim and perform an operation which, it will be remembered,
the doctor in Annie Chapman’s case declared could not be got through even by him with such disadvantages under a
certain time which he stated.”

2 October 1888
THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS

THE HOME SECRETARY’S REPLY TO THE DEMAND FOR REWARDS
Very little additional information was forthcoming yesterday concerning the latest Whitechapel murders. So far
there is no actual clue to the perpetrator of the murders. In Berner Street, the gateway within which the woman Stride
was enticed, was yesterday closed, and in charge of two police constables of the Metropolitan District; but the sack
manufacturer and cart builder, whose premises are situated behind the house in which the International and Educational
Club meetings are held, were carrying on their business as usual, the workmen of both gaining access and egress to
the yard by means of a wicket gate in the right hand half of the gate itself. The police in charge have little trouble in
keeping the footpath clear, and it was only when the wicket opened to allow of some one passing out or into the yard
that the constables had to use a little force to keep back the crowd, anxious to obtain a glimpse of the spot where the
body of the murdered woman was found. The club itself, which is next door to the large gate, was yesterday closed; but
all the forenoon members and others who have special business there were admitted after knocking at the door. The
committee of the institution held a meeting yesterday morning, at which the crime was talked over, and it was decided
not to admit any stranger without the payment of a fee. This fee, the secretary explained, was to assist the propaganda.
The committee, it seems, did not fix the amount to be charged, but, in reply to a question, the secretary said he thought
5s. would not be too much. In the course of conversation the secretary mentioned the fact that the murderer had, no
doubt, been disturbed in his work, as about a quarter to one o’clock on Sunday morning he was seen - or, at least, a
man whom some persons regard as the murderer - being chased by another man along Fairclough Street, which runs
across Berner Street, close to the club, and which is intersected on the right by Providence Street, Brunswick Street
and Christian Street, and on the left by Batty Street and Grove Street, the two latter running up into Commercial Road.
The man pursued escaped, however, and the secretary of the club cannot remember the name of the man who gave
chase, but he is not a member of their body. There was, notwithstanding the number who visited the scene, a complete
absence of excitement, although, naturally, this fresh addition to the already formidable list of mysterious murders
formed the general subject of conversation.
AN IMPORTANT CLUE
The most important clue which has yet been discovered with regard to the perpetrators of the murders came to light
yesterday morning through information given by Mr Thomas Ryan, who has charge of the Cabmen’s Reading Room at
43 Pickering Place, Westbourne Grove, W. Mr Ryan is a teetotaler, and is the Secretary of the Cabmen’s branch of the
Church of England Temperance Society. He has been stationed at Pickering Place for about six years, and is widely known
throughout the Metropolis and in the country as an temperance earnest advocate. Ryan, who tells the story without
affectation, says:-
Yesterday afternoon, while he was in his little shelter, the street attendant brought a gentlemanly looking man to
him and said, “This ‘ere gentleman wants a chop, guv’nor; can you cook one for him? He says ‘he’s most perished with
cold.’”
The gentleman in question, Ryan says, was about five feet six inches in height, and wore an Oxford cap and a light
check ulster with a tippet, buttoned to his throat, which he did not loosen all the time he was in the shelter. He had a
thick moustache, but no beard, was round headed, his eyes very restless and clean white hands. Ryan said, “Come in;
I’ll cook one for you with pleasure.” This was about four o’clock in the afternoon. Several cabmen were in the shelter
at the time, and they were talking of the new murders discovered that morning at Whitechapel. Ryan exclaimed, “I’d
gladly do seven days and nights if I could only find the fellow who did them.” This was said directly at the stranger,
who, looking into Ryan’s face, quietly said, “Do you know who committed the murders?” and then calmly went on to
say, “I did them. I’ve had a lot of trouble lately. I came back from India, and got into trouble at once. I lost my watch
and chain and £10.” Ryan was greatly taken aback at the man’s statement, and fancied he was just recovering from a
drinking bout; so he replied, “If that’s correct, you must consider yourself engaged.” But he went on to speak to him
about temperance work and the evils wrought by drink. Warming to his subject, Ryan spoke of his own work amongst
men to try and induce them to become teetotalers: then the stranger said, “Have a drink” to Ryan, and produced a
bottle from his inner pocket, which was nearly full of a brown liquid, either whisky or brandy. Ryan told him he had
better put the bottle away, as they were all teetotalers there; whereupon the stranger asked for a glass to take a drink
himself, which was refused him, because, Ryan said, “All our glasses are teetotal glasses.” Meanwhile the chop was
cooking, the vegetables were already waiting, and the stranger began eating. During the meal the conversation was

kept up with Ryan and others in the shelter, all of whom thought the man was recovering from a heavy drinking bout,
and that his remarks as to his being the murderer were all nonsense. Ryan reasoned with him as to the folly of drinking
and at last he expressed his willingness to sign the pledge, a book containing pledges being shown him. This the stranger
examined, and at length filled up one page, writing on the counterfoil as well as on the body of the pledge. In the
hand of a gentleman he wrote the following words:- “J. Duncan, doctor; residence, cabmen’s shelter’ 30th September
1888.” After doing this he said, “I could tell a tale if I wanted.” Then he relapsed into silence. After a pause he went
on to speak of his experiences in India, and said he knew the Rev. Mr Gregson, who was engaged in temperance work
amongst the English soldiers in India, and had been for some time in Simla. He also stated that he was at Newcastle on
Tyne before he went to India. Ryan called his attention to the fact that he had not filled in his proper residence and
the man replied, “I have no fixed place of abode at present; I’m living anywhere.” While Duncan was eating his chop he
again asked for something to drink and water was brought to him, but then he said he would have ginger beer, and when
that was brought him he filled up the glass with the liquid from the bottle he had in his pocket. “This he drank,” said
Ryan, “differently to what people usually drink; he literally gulped it down.” In answer to further conversation about
teetotalism, Duncan accepted an invitation to go with Ryan to church that evening, and afterwards accompany him to
a temperance meeting which he was going to hold. For that purpose he said he would return to the shelter in an hour,
but he never came back. Duncan carried a stick, and looked a sinewy fellow - just such a one as was capable of putting
forth considerable energy when necessary.
OTHER SUPPOSED CLUES

During yesterday (Says the Press Association) all sorts of stories were brought to the police with the object of showing
more or less effective clues to the perpetrators of the murders. One informant deposed that about half past ten on
Saturday night, a man, aged about 33 years, entered a public house in Batty Street, Whitechapel, whilst men in the
public house were talking about the Whitechapel murders. He stated that he knew the murderer, and that they would
hear about him in the morning, after which he left. It being thought that this was merely idle talk, no notice was taken
of the matter. Another story was to the effect that a man of light complexion had been seen struggling with the woman
Stride in Berner Street, and that he threw her down; but it being thought that it was a man and wife quarrelling, nobody
interfered with them. A description was circulated yesterday morning of a man who is said to have accosted a woman
in the vicinity of Commercial Road on Saturday night, and to have threatened to cut her throat if she did not give him
money. The woman gave him a shilling and he went away. The Press Association learns that last evening a singular
discovery, which is supposed to afford an important clue to the murderer, was being investigated by the police at Kentish
Town. It appears that about nine o’clock yesterday morning the proprietor of the Nelson Tavern, Victoria Road, Kentish
Town, entered a urinal adjoining his premises for the purpose of pointing out to a builder some alterations he desired
executed, when a paper parcel was noticed behind the door. No particular importance was attached from the discovery
until an hour later, when Mr Chinn, the publican, while reading the newspaper, was struck with the similarity of this
bundle with the one of which the police have issued a description as having been seen in the possession of the man last
seen in the company of the woman Stride. The police at the Kentish Town Road police station were acquainted with the
discovery and a detective officer was at once sent to prosecute inquiries. It was then discovered that the parcel had
not been picked up, but was kicked into the roadway, where the paper burst and revealed a pair of dark trousers. The
description of the man wanted for the murders gives the colour of the trousers he wore to be dark. The fragments of
the paper were collected, and found to be stained with blood, and it is stated that some hair was found also amongst
some congealed blood attached to the paper. It was subsequently ascertained from some lads who had been dragging
the trousers through the Castle Road that a policeman picked up the article of clothing and carried it off. Detectives
are investigating this strange discovery.
ARRESTS ON SUSPICION
During Sunday night and yesterday no less than five men were arrested in the East End of London in connection with
the murders. Three were at different times conveyed to Leman Street police station, but one was immediately liberated.
Another was detained until noon yesterday, when he was set at liberty, after giving a statement of his movements. He
was found to have been in straitened circumstances, and to have passed much of his time in common lodging houses in
Whitechapel but there was nothing to show that he had anything to do with the murders. The third man was detained
until the afternoon, when, after due inquiry, he was also liberated. Of the two men detained at Commercial Street,
one was liberated soon after his arrest; but the other, named Frank Raper, was kept in custody. It appears that he was
arrested late on Saturday night at a public house near Liverpool Street. He was standing in the bar while under the

influence of liquor, and made a number of extravagant statements about the murder of Mrs Chapman and Mrs Nicholls.
The bystanders sent out and obtained a constable, and when the policeman entered he was openly boasting of being the
murderer, and complimenting himself on the means he had adopted to destroy all trace of his identity. He was removed
to the police station, followed by a large and excited crowd. On being charged, Raper said he had no settled address and
inquiries have satisfied the police that he is not the man wanted, so he was set free later in the day.
INQUEST ON ONE OF THE VICTIMS

Mr Wynne E Baxter, Coroner for South East Middlesex, opened the inquest yesterday at the Vestry Hall, Cable Street,
St George’s in the East, on the body of Elizabeth Stride, the woman who was murdered in Berner Street, Commercial
Road, early on Sunday morning. Inspector Abberline, of Scotland Yard, has charge of the case, assisted by Detective
Inspector Reed and Detective Sergeant Thick. The first witness called was:
WM. WEST of 40 Berner Street, Commercial Street, which is the International Working <em’s Institute and Club. He
described the situation of the building, and of a yard at the side. A passage led by the side of the club house to this yard,
the entrance to which was protected by wooden gates. There were several small tenements in the yard, and at the back
was a printing office. The gates of the yard were sometimes closed, but not always. They were open on Saturday night,
and when witness left for home at half past twelve he noticed nothing in the yard. He did not live at the club, which
was merely his business address, but at No. 2 William Street, Commercial Road.
MORRIS EAGLE, a travelling jeweller, of 4 New Road, Commercial Road, said he was at the club on Saturday night,
and left about a quarter to twelve to take a young woman home. He went back at twenty minutes to one, when the
front door of the club was closed, and he entered by the side door, passing through the yard. He noticed nothing on the
ground. He had been in the club about twenty minutes when one of the members named Girdleman came up the stairs
and said, “There is a dead woman in the yard.” Witness went down, struck a match, and saw the body of a woman lying
on the ground near the gate, by the side of the club wall. Several other members of the club also went out, and one
named Isaacs went for the police. On their arrival the police sent for a doctor.
MORRIS EAGLE, 4 New Road Commercial Road, said: I am a traveller and a member of the Socialist Club. I was at the
club on Saturday night, and did not leave till after the discussion. I went through the front door on my way out at a
quarter past twelve, but returned to the club about twenty minutes to one. When I returned the front door was closed,
so I went in at the back door and along the passage into the club.
Q - Did you notice anything lying on the ground?
A - No; I did not notice anything as I came in.
Q - Could anything have lain there and you not seen it?
A - I don’t think so.
Q - How wide is the passage?
A - About nine feet.
Q - Can you say whether the deceased was lying there then?
A - I could not say for certain; it was very dark near the gates, and only the lights from the club shone into the
yard.
Q - If a man and woman had been had been there, would you have seen them?
A - Oh, yes; I should certainly have seen them.
Q - Have you ever seen a man and woman in the yard?
A - No; but I have seen them just outside.
Q - When did you hear of the murder?
A - A member named Girdleman came up, and said there was a dead woman in the yard.
Q - Did you go down?
A - Yes; and saw a woman lying on the ground in much blood.
Q - Was she near the gateway?
A - Her feet were about six or seven feet from the gate.
Q - Was she against the club wall?
A - Yes, sir.
Q - Her head towards the yard?
A - Yes; her feet to the gate, and her head to the yard.
Q - What did you do?
A - I struck a light, and saw her covered with blood. I could not look at her long, so I ran for the police. Another
man went for them at the same time. We could not find one at first, but when we got to the corner of Grove Street,
Commercial Road, I found two constables, and I told them there was a woman murdered in Berner Street.
Q - Did they go with you?
Q - Yes. One of them turned his light on down the yard. There were lots of people present in the yard when we
returned. One of the constables said to his companion, “Go for a doctor.”
Q - Did anyone appear to be touching the body?
A - The policeman touched the body, not those standing close by. The people seemed afraid to go near it.
Q - Can you fix the time the discovery was made?
A - About one o’clock was the time that I first saw the body. I did not notice the time, but I have calculated it from
the time I left home to return to the club.
By A Juror - On Saturday night there is a free discussion at the club, and any one can go in. There were some women
there on Saturday night. They were only those we knew; no strange women. It was not a dancing night, but there may
have been a little dancing among the members after the discussion.
The Coroner - If there were singing and dancing going on, would you have been likely to have heard the cry of a
woman in great distress - a cry of murder, for instance - from the yard?
Witness - Oh, we should certainly have heard such a cry.
LEWIS DEMSCHITZ, called and examined, said - I live at 40 Berner Street, and am steward of the International Working
Men’s Educational Club. I am married, and my wife lives there too. She assists in the management of the club. I left
home about half past eleven on Saturday morning, and returned home exactly at one o’clock on Sunday morning. I
noticed the time at Harris’s tobacco shop at the corner of Commercial Road and Berner Street. It was one o’clock. I had
a barrow, something like a costermonger’s, with me. I was sitting in it, and a pony was drawing it. It is a two wheeled
barrow. The pony is kept at George Yard, Cable Street. I do not keep it in the yard of the club. I was driving home to
leave my goods. I drove into the yard. Both gates were wide open. It was rather dark there. I drove in as usual, and all
at once, as I came into the gate, my pony shied to the left. That caused me to turn my head down to the ground on my
right, to see what it was that had made him shy.
Q - Could you see anything?
A - I could see that there was something unusual on the pavement. I could not see what it was. It was a dark object.
There was nothing white about it. I did not get off the barrow, but I tried with my whip handle to feel what it was. I
tried to lift it up, but I could not. I jumped down at once and struck a match, and as it was rather windy I could not get
sufficient light to see exactly what it was. I could, however, see that there was the figure of some person lying there. I
could tell by the dress that it was a woman. I did not disturb it. I went into the club and asked where my missus was? I
saw her in the front room on the ground floor.
Q - What did you do with the pony in the meantime?
A - I left it in the yard by itself, just outside the club door. There were several members in the front room where my
wife was, and I told them all, “There is a woman lying in the yard, but I could not say whether she was drunk or dead.” I
then took a candle and went out at once, and by the candlelight I could see that there was blood about before I reached
the body. I did not touch the body, but went off at once for the police. We passed several streets without meeting a
policeman, and we returned without one. All the men who were with me halloaed as loud as they could for the police,
but no one came. When I returned, a man that we met in Grove Street, and who came back with us, took hold of the
head, and as he lifted it up I first saw the wound in the throat. At the very same time Eagle and the constable arrived.
I noticed nothing unusual on my approach to the club, and met no one that looked at all suspicious. The doctor arrived
about ten minutes after the constable arrived. The police afterwards took our names and addresses, and searched
everybody.
Q - Did you notice if her clothes were in order?
A - In perfect order, as far as I could see.

Q - How was she lying?
A - She was lying on her side with her face towards the wall of the club. I could not say whether the body was on its
side, but her face was. As soon as the police came I ceased to take any interest in the matter. I did not notice in what
position her hands were. I only noticed when the doctor came up he undid the first button of her dress next the neck
and put his hand in. He then told the constable that she was quite warm yet. He told the constable to put his hand in
and feel the body, and he did so. There appeared to me to have been about two quarts of blood on the ground, and it
seemed to have run up the yard from her neck. The body was lying, I should say, about a foot from the club wall. The
gutter of the yard passage is made of paving stones, the centre being of irregular boulders. The body was lying half on
the paving stones.
Q - Have you ever seen men and women in the yard?
A - Never.
Q - Have you ever heard anyone say that they have found men and women there?
A - I have not.
By a Juror - Was there room for you to have passed the body with your cart?
A - Oh, yes. Mine is not a very wide cart; it only took up the centre of the passage. If my pony had not shied, perhaps
I would not have not noticed it at all. When I got down my cart passed the body. The barrow was past the body when I
got down to see what it was.
Another Juror - Was any one left in charge of the body while you went for the police?
Witness - I cannot say; but there were several about when I came back. I cannot say positively, but I do not believe
any one touched the body.
Detective Inspector REED - All people who came into the yard were detained and searched?
A - Yes, and their names and addresses were taken. The first question was whether they had any knives. They were
then asked to account for their presence there.
By a Juror - It would have been possible for any one to have escaped from the yard if he had been hiding there while
you went into the club to inform the members?
A - Yes; it would have been possible, but as soon as I informed the members every one went out, and I do not think it
would have been possible for any one to get out then.
Q - If any one had run up the yard you would have seen him?
A - Yes; because it is dark just in the gateway, but further up the yard, you could see anybody running or walking by
the lights of the club.
Q - Do you think any one could have come out of the gateway without you seeing them?
A - No; I think they could not.
Detective Inspector REED stated that the body had not been identified yet.
The Coroner - It has been partially identified but it is a mistake to say she has been identified by one of her relatives.
It is known, however, where she lived.
At this stage the inquiry was adjourned till two o’clock this afternoon.
THE IDENTIFICATION OF THE VICTIMS

The identification of the Berner Street victim as Elizabeth Stride is, it is believed, practically complete; but the
woman murdered in Mitre Square has not yet been recognised, probably owing in some measure to the manner in which
the face is mutilated and distorted. A woman who viewed the body in the mortuary yesterday afternoon said she thought
it was like that of her sister. The woman, however, admitted that she had not seen her sister for several years, and the
police do not attach much importance to her statement.
THE POLICE THEORY

The Press Association professes to learn from an authoritative source that the police are convinced that the
Whitechapel murders were committed by one person. The description published of the man seen in company with one
of the women murdered on Sunday morning corresponds almost exactly with that published a few days ago of a man who
used violence towards a women in the same district, but made off on her screaming for help.

ANOTHER EXTRAORDINARY LETTER
A post card bearing the stamp “London, E. Oct. 1” was received yesterday morning, addressed to the Central News
Office, the address and subject matter being written in red, and undoubtedly by the same person from whom the
sensational letter published yesterday was received on Thursday last. Like the previous missive, this also has reference
to the horrible tragedies in East London, forming, indeed, a sequel to the first letter. It runs as follows:-
“I was not codding, dear old boss, when I gave you the tip. You’ll hear about Saucy Jacky’s work tomorrow. Double
event this time - number one squealed a bit; couldn’t finish straight off. Had not time to get ears for police. Thanks for
keeping the last letter back till I got to work again. - JACK THE RIPPER.”
The card is smeared on both sides with blood, which has evidently been impressed thereon by the thumb or finger of
the writer, the corrugated surface of the skin being plainly shown upon the back of the card. Some words were nearly
obliterated by a bloody smear. It is not necessarily assumed that this has been the work of the murderer, the idea that
naturally occurred being that the whole thing is a practical joke. At the same time the writing of the previous letters,
immediately before the commission of the murders of Sunday, was so singular a coincidence, that it does not seem
unreasonable to suppose that the cool, calculating villain who is responsible for the crimes has chosen to make the post
a medium through which to convey to the press his grimly diabolical humour.
REWARDS FOR THE CAPTURE OF THE MURDERER

The editor of the Financial News has forwarded to the Home Secretary £300 sent by some readers of that paper,
asking him to offer it as a reward on behalf of the Government.
Mr Philips, member of the Common Council of London, has given notice of his intention to move at next Council
meeting that the Corporation offer a reward of £250 for the detection of the murderer of the woman found in Mitre
Square, which is within the city precincts. This has, however, been anticipated by the Lord Mayor, who has, on behalf of
the Corporation, issued an offer of £500 reward for the apprehension of the criminal.
Another meeting of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee was held at 74 Mile End Road yesterday morning, when
a resolution was passed that a further letter should be sent to the Home Secretary insisting upon the offer of a large
Government reward immediately. The letter was at once dispatched.
The announcement that the Lord Mayor of London had decided to offer a reward of £500 has (says the Central News)
caused general satisfaction. Newspapers and private individuals and associations have already offered £700, so that
the total sum at the disposal of anyone who shall give information leading to the murderer is now £1200. It is probable
that the amount will soon be not less than £2000, as an effort will be made to induce the Lord Mayor to open a Mansion
House fund, and there is a disposition on the Stock Exchange to take the matter up. We have received a copy of the
bill about to be issued by the city police authorities, offering a reward of £500 for information which shall lead to the
discovery and conviction of the Mitre Square murderer. The offer does not apply to members of any police force in the
United Kingdom.
The St James’s Gazette of yesterday suggested that marines in plain clothes might be employed to watch for the
murderer as they were employed in Dublin, and calls upon the Home Office to revoke its recent decision and offer a
reward for information leading to the arrest of the criminal.
THE PANIC IN WHITECHAPEL

A meeting of the Whitechapel District Board of Works was held yesterday evening - Mr Robert Gladding presiding.
Mr CATMUR said he thought that the Board, as the Local Authority, should express their horror and abhorrence of the
crime which has been perpetrated in the district. The result of these tragedies had been loss of trade to the district and
the stoppage of certain trades, by reason of the women being afraid to pass through the streets without an escort. The
inefficiency of the police was shown by the fact that, but an hour or two later than the tragedies in Berner Street and
Mitre Square, the post office in the vicinity had been broken into and much property stolen.
The Rev. DANIEL GREATOREX said the emigrants’ houses of call were feeling the panic to such an extent that emigrants
refused to locate themselves in Whitechapel, even temporarily. He ascribed the inefficiency of the police to the frequent
changes of the police from one district to another, whereby the men were kept ignorant of their beats. Mr TELFER said he
hoped that these recent crimes might result in a reversion to the old system, by which constables were acquainted with
every corner of their beats. Mr G T BROWN suggested that the Government should be communicated with rather than
the Home Secretary or the Chief Commissioner of Police, who were themselves really on their trial. Mr CARAMELLI said
the change in the condition of Whitechapel in recent years would suggest an entire revision of the police arrangements.

Whitechapel was now a place for the residuum of the whole country and the Continent, but it was not so a century ago.
After further discussion, the following resolution was carried on the motion of Mr CATMUR, seconded by Mr BONHAM:-
“That this Board regards with horror and alarm the several atrocious murders recently perpetrated within the district
of Whitechapel and its vicinity, and called upon Sir Charles Warren so to locate and strengthen the police force in the
neighbourhood as to guard against any repetition of such atrocities, and that the Home Secretary be addressed in the
same terms.”
DR RISDON BENNETT’S OPINION

Yesterday morning a representative of the Central News interviewed two eminent London physicians for the purpose
of ascertaining whether they could throw any scientific light on the East End murders. Sir James Risdon Bennett, of
Cavendish square West, in the course of a conversation with the reporter, said:-
“I have no desire to promulgate any theory in reference to these murders. My purpose in writing to the Times the
other day was simply to demonstrate the absurdity of the theory that the crimes were being committed for the purpose
of supplying an American physiologist with uteruses. It would be extremely easy here and in America likewise for a
physiologist to secure this portion of the intestines. All he would have to do would be to apply to the public hospitals,
where there are always many paupers or unclaimed persons who are made the subjects of experiments, and his demands
would be easily met. Supposing, for instance, that a specialist proposed to lecture in the theatre of his institution upon
the uterus, he would communicate with the surgeon, who would have no difficulty in providing him with a sufficient
number of specimens for all his purposes. The notion that the uteruses were wanted in order that they might be sent
out along with copies of a medical publication is ridiculous - not only ridiculous, indeed, but absolutely impossible of
realisation. I attach no importance whatever to that. If one sane man had instructed another sane man to procure a
number of specimens of the uterus, the modus operandi would have been very different from that which has been
pursued in these cases. The mutilations were to a great extent wanton, and did not assist him in the accomplishment of
his intention. My impression is that the miscreant is a homicidal maniac. He has a specific delusion, and that delusion is
erotic. Of course, we have at this moment very little evidence - indeed, in fact, I may say no evidence at all - as to the
state of the man’s mind, except so far as it is suggested by the character of the injuries which he has inflicted upon his
victims. I repeat that my impression is that he is suffering under an erotic delusion, but it may be that he is a religious
fanatic. It is possible that he is labouring under the delusion that he has a mandate from the Almighty to purge the world
of prostitutes, and in the prosecution of his mad theory he has determined upon a crusade against the unfortunates
of London. The two crimes which were perpetrated yesterday morning do not lead me to modify my opinion that the
assassin is a lunatic. In my view, the extraordinary cunning which is evinced by the homicide is a convincing proof of
his insanity. No sane man could have escaped in just the same fashion as this man seems to have done. He must almost
necessarily have betrayed himself. It is a matter of common knowledge, however, amongst ‘mad doctors’ that lunatics
display a wonderful intelligence, if it may be called so, on one subject, and he is mad upon that subject alone. Dr
Phillips has stated that the injuries inflicted upon these women have been apparently performed by a person possessing
some anatomical knowledge. That is likely enough, but would not a butcher be quite capable of treating the body in
this way? Since I wrote my letter in the Times I have received several confirmations of my views. One of these comes
from the Bishop of Bedford, who agrees with me that the theory of the American physiologist has no claim to credit.
My idea is that the police ought to employ a number of officers who have been in the habit of guarding lunatics, that is
to say, warders from asylums, and other persons who have had charge of the insane. These men, if properly disposed
in the neighbourhood, would assuredly note any person who was of unsound mind. I have sent a letter embodying this
suggestion to Sir Charles Warren, but I have received only a formal communication acknowledging its receipt. It is not
easy to prevail upon the police to accept a suggestion from outside.”
DR FORBES WINSLOW’S THEORY

Dr Forbes Winslow, the eminent specialist in lunacy cases, said to a press representative:
I am more certain than ever that these murders are committed by a homicidal maniac, and there is no moral
doubt in my mind that the assassin in each case is the same man. I have carefully read the reports in the
morning papers, and they confirm me in the opinion which I had previously formed; while I am clearly of
opinion that the murderer is a homicidal lunatic, I also believe him to be a monomaniac, and I see no reason
why he should not, excepting at the periods when the fit is upon him, exhibit a cool and rational exterior. I

have here in my book - a work on physiology - a case in which a man had a lust for blood as in this case, and
he was generally a person of bland and pleasant exterior. In all probability the whole of the murders have
been committed by the same hand, but I may point out that the imitative faculty is very strong in persons
of unsound mind, and that is the reason why there has been a sort of epidemic of knives. We shall probably
find that a good many knives will be displayed to people within the next few weeks. Still, all the evidence
that is forthcoming up to the present moment shows clearly enough that the Whitechapel crimes have been
perpetrated by the same hands.
A DUBLIN ANATOMISTS’S VIEW

Dr George Foy, a well known Dublin anatomist, in a letter to the Freeman’s Journal, places some facts before the
public that he thinks invalidates the London Coroner’s conclusions as to the object of the Whitechapel murders. Dr Foy
says:
The fact that the uterus was removed from the body of each victim is taken to imply that the organ was the sole object
of the murder, and that the crime was committed to obtain it. Every anatomist must know that a large percentage of
the dead bodies brought to the anatomy rooms are those of the unfortunate class, and that the organ is plentiful. From
considerable experience as an anatomy lecturer, I can say I never knew of any demand for it as a pathological specimen
that was not easily met. To excise the organ in its entirety does require some anatomical knowledge, but not more than
any anatomy porter possesses. As for the crime, we find it carried out with a reckless devilry worthy of a monomaniac,
but not to be found associated with the cool villainy that characterises the criminal for pecuniary gain. Any person
familiar with the working of the Anatomy Acts knows perfectly well that no specimen of any portion of a human body
could be offered for sale without the seller being subjected to a searching examination into all the details of the case,
and he would run the risk, if his statements were not satisfactory, of being handed over to the police. The Whitechapel
murderer silenced his victim by a method of choking, or pressing the lower jaw up against the upper one, the method
of a bully; but not such as a skilful anatomist would adopt, who of necessity should know that a fine slit with a small
knife would deprive a person of all power of sound. The victims’ throats were cut, allowing the large vessels of the neck
to pour out blood to the risk of besmearing the criminal, a danger which he need not have incurred had he known - as
an anatomist would have - how to destroy life. But is not the fact important in pointing out the ruthless determination
and blind rage of the deep dyed ruffian who has thus dared to carry on his crimes with an apparent contempt for all
law, human and divine?
It is not wonderful that the horrible murders in London should have created something like a panic in the Eastern part
of the English metropolis. There can be little doubt that they are the work of one man; for it is difficult to imagine that
there could be two beings at the same time afflicted by so fearful a desire for blood. The result is, that the people in
and about Whitechapel have much the same feeling as would be experienced if it were known that somewhere in the
district a man eating tiger was loose, and might pounce upon any hapless passenger. Nay, the feeling is more intense
than that which might be thus created; for a tiger could be identified at once, and could not long keep out of the ken
of those who were looking for him. A tigerish man is by no means so easily found. Descriptions of him may be given; but
it is certain that any description, however distinct, will fit many men among the millions of people who inhabit London.
Moreover, it is obvious that in so far as the description depends upon clothes, it can be easily set at naught. The change
of a coat or of a hat will make a difference that makes the description useless. If, then, the murderer is to be caught,
it must be either by his being taken red handed, or by some accidental revelation of his whereabouts, or by a process
of careful deduction and close search. This last is enormously difficult in London. By it the police might become much
better informed than they appear to be as to the purpose and character of the assassin; but that would only bring them
a step forward. Still, such a step would be something gained; and if it were intelligently pursued, it might bring the
criminal to justice. Two or three attempts at this deductive process have been made, the most prominent being that of
Dr Forbes Winslow. He believes that the murderer is a man of surgical training, and therefore presumably of education,
who is insane. The facts seem to give support to this theory; because there seems to be anatomical knowledge on the
part of the murderer. This is shown, not merely by the removal of parts of the bodies, but by the deadly certainty with
which the first blow is struck. No one has heard a sound from the place where the murders have been done. No cry
has come from the victims; if it had, it must have been heard. This means that the assassin has known how to strike
with unerring effect at his victims. His are no chance blows, or intentional blows struck in haphazard fashion. He goes
direct to the vital point, and makes no mistake. But when you get beyond this, and assume that the murderer, besides
being skilled, is also insane, two remarks have to be made. The suggestion is put forward by an expert in insanity, who

naturally thinks that all abnormal action on the part of men is more or less proof of insanity. This raises an enormously
wide question, and darkens the whole theory. For, obviously, if the assassin is what may be called constructively insane,
he has no distinguishing mark. If he were known to be insane, then somebody would have care of him. If he is not known
to be insane, the police can be no nearer tracing him because he is insane when he commits his horrible crimes. There
are psychologists who insist that all men who commit crimes are more or less insane, and there is much to be said for
their contention. If the Whitechapel murderer’s insanity is only shown by his crimes, he is no easier to take then any
other criminal who leaves no trace of himself on the scene of his crime. Thus, the mere assumption that the assassin
must be a lunatic does not lead far towards discovery. It is difficult to believe that any one not insane could have
committed such crimes. But history affords numerous cases where human life has been as cruelly and as continuously
sacrificed by men in whom, otherwise, there was no appearance of insanity. Again and again men have made murder
their one means of gaining what they desired, no matter how small the plunder might be. This being so, there is little
in the repetition of the crime that can said with certainty to mark the criminal in such a way that he will be more easily
recognised. He may be insane in the sense that he is possessed by a homicidal mania, or he may be a criminal who has
deliberately adopted killing as the means best adapted for carrying out his criminal purposes.
When this point is reached there seems to be check to speculation. Yet it is precisely from this point that true
deduction must begin. The criminal may be a lunatic in the ordinary sense, or he may not; the question to be solved is,
Who is he? To ascertain this, inquiry must begin with the circumstances of the murders and the actual condition of the
bodies of the victims. The first striking fact in this part of the matter is that all the victims are of the same class. They
are “unfortunates” - night prowlers, who seek to get miserable living in the saddest of ways. They are even, of their
class, among the poorest; unhappy creatures, to whom the offer of a few pence becomes irresistible. To such women,
the fact that a man who addressed them was coarse and brutal in his manner would ordinarily have little weight - they
would only think of the necessities of existence. But if this be the case, how much more readily would they listen to one
who was decently dressed and had persuasive manners? It may be assumed that the murders which had been committed
would make the wretched women more suspicious of coarse and brutal men.. They would naturally associate such men
with violent designs. But a man who had something of what they would regard as the bearing of a gentleman would
be in another category, so far as their suspicions were concerned. If this be correct, it would seem to be a probable
inference that the assassin is one who is not of the “rough” class, and the arrest of such men by the police does not seem
to show any great discretion. No doubt, the police must omit no possible chance of detecting the criminal. If anybody’s
suspicion points them in a particular direction, they must see whether there is or is not anything in what is said. But
they ought at the same time to see that they look to other probabilities and search outside the criminal classes, for
the perpetrator of the murders. It is at least a plausible theory that the assassin is a person of good education and of
good manners, who finds in the lower districts of London a field in which he may yield to his homicidal mania. That he is
watchful is beyond all doubt. If he be insane, he is cunningly insane. He may some morbid purpose; but that raises the
question of motive, in which field the inquirer may soon be lost. If the motive could be divined, a great step might be
made towards detection; but there is absolutely no evidence that can be said to certainly point to a particular motive.
There is evidence that the assassin has a definite and deadly purpose. He does not attack men; he kills women, and he
chooses women of a particular class in a particular locality. This does not prove that he is a resident in that locality,
though it does prove that he is well acquainted with it. What more probable than that, as soon as he has committed
his devilish crime, he makes his way to another quarter of London, where he lives unsuspected and where no search for
him is likely to be closely conducted? In short, all the facts seem to show that the assassin is not a mere loafer about
Whitechapel, living in lodging houses, in which he would have difficulty the traces of his crime from himself; but a man
of more or less quiet manner, who lives in another part of London, and who can change his dress without raising the least
suspicion. In any case there must be a general desire that his career of blood should be cut short. Panic will not help
to that end, but greater watchfulness may. If he should not be caught soon he will do more murder. He will let a short
time elapse for the present alarm to die down, and then he will leave his horrible mark on some other unfortunate. No
reward will help in his detection, unless he is working with accomplices, which does not seem probable. If the police
cannot maintain close watchfulness, or follow up such indications as the crimes that have been committed may afford,
without the prospect of a large money reward, the sooner a change is made in their organisation the better. Most absurd
suggestions as to watching are heard. One person thinks to catch the criminal by means of a corps of mounted bicyclists!
All this is ridiculous. Accident may reveal the criminal, but patient and continued investigation and watchfulness are the
more certain methods of putting a stop to a course of crime which, of its kind, is unexampled.
Continued in the next issue.

OBITUARY
Philip Sugden
Historian and Author
27 January 1947 - 26 April 2014
The author Philip Sugden was the quiet man of Ripperology, unknown to the vast majority but
enjoying a place in the home of every student of the case in the form of his seminal book from 1994,
The Complete History of Jack the Ripper.
Born at Hull on 27 January 1947, Philip Sugden was the younger of twin boys. He studied at Ainthorpe High
School before leaving at the age of 16, spending four years working for Hull city council before taking his A Levels
at Hull Chamber of Commerce to gain a place reading History at Hull University, graduating in 1972.
In 1976 Sugden started teaching History, English and Economics at Chenet School in Cannock, at the same time
researching and writing on his passion, the Georgian period, and in particular crime of 18th Century London. Having
become disenchanted with teaching, Sugden took up writing full time in 1988 and on his brother’s suggestion
decided to write a comprehensive, factual account of the Ripper murders. The result, The Complete History of
Jack the Ripper, sold in excess of 100,000 copies and is a cornerstone of every Ripperologist’s bookshelf.
Philip Sugden was famously reclusive, eschewing the limelight which came his way following the book’s publication,
but Stewart Evans, who perhaps knew him better than any other in the Ripper field, recalls:
Philip and I shared our relationship for some twenty years and I am going to miss him sorely. We first
came into contact when his seminal book on the Whitechapel murders of 1888 appeared in 1994. I, too,
was writing a book on the same subject and on opening the copy of his book, that he gifted most kindly
to me, I read the encouraging words that spurred me on with my own effort: “Well, Stewart, this is my
book on Jack the Ripper. I’m not a religious person but you will know what I mean when I bid you: ‘Go
thou and do likewise’!”
I suppose that it is rather paradoxical that his magnum opus, which ensures his immortality with a very
large audience, was a subject that he was actually rather disdainful about. His motives for writing
it, however, he made very clear. In an early communication he informed me: “My aim, simply, was to
provide serious students of the case, or indeed anyone with an interest in the case, with a dependable
general book that gave a comprehensive account of the events and took a hard, no-nonsense look at the
main suspects. I can’t find a credible case against any of them…”
Philip Sugden suffered a cerebral haemorrhage at home on 26 April 2014. He was unmarried and is survived by
his twin brother, John, a retired lecturer and former senior research fellow at the University of Chicago.
Two books remained unfinished: one, A Cabinet of Curiosities, examined historical mysteries, and the other,
Forbidden Hero: The Georgian Underworld of Jack Sheppard looked at life in the seamier side of Hogarth’s
London.
With thanks to Stewart Evans for his memories of Philip Sugden, which are extracted by permission from a
more full tribute which appears in the Whitechapel Society Journal, June 2014.
*****
We have just learned of the passing of Bernie Brown, a long-time contributor to Ripperologist and member of
the Whitechapel Society. Bernie, a former police officer who was Editor of Metropolitan Police History Society
magazine for many years, had been suffering ill health for some time. We hope to carry a full obituary in the next
issue.

I Beg To Report
NEWS ROUNDUP
FROM AROUND THE RIPPER WORLD
MEMORIAL FOR DONALD SWANSON. In the Ripper world, much emphasis is placed on
the lives of the various suspects as authors and commentators attempt to name the
Whitechapel Murderer. It’s all too rare that the efforts and achievements of those
who were tasked with catching the killer are recognised, probably because their
careers are viewed in the tunnel vision of 1888. Until now, only Inspector Frederick
Abberline has seen his police work commemorated in the form of a blue plaque
erected on his former home at Bournemouth, and then a headstone for his previously
unmarked grave.
Now, plans are being finalised for a

memorial stone for Donald Swanson
in his hometown of Thurso, in the far
Plaque erected in Abberline’s honour in 2001
north of Scotland. The Rip’s Adam
Wood, who is writing a biography of Swanson, visited Thurso last year
to research his early life and spent a couple of days with Alan McIvor
of Thurso Heritage Society, who shared his great knowledge of the
town in Victorian times. Inspired by Adam’s outlining of Swanson’s 35-
year career from Constable to Superintendent, Mr McIvor discussed
producing some form of memorial to commemorate the achievements
of this son of Thurso with his fellow Heritage Society members and it
was decided to mount a board bearing a biography of Swanson onto
a slab of locally-quarried Caithness flagstone which will be erected
in the grounds of Thurso police station, which backs onto Durness
Street, Swanson’s childhood home. The 2ft x 3ft waterproof board
has been designed by Adam Wood.
The memorial stone will be unveiled on 12 August 2014, Swanson’s

birthday, by his great-grandson Nevill. Also in attendance will be
Adam Wood, Alan McIvor and representatives from Police Scotland,
and the event will be covered by BBC Scotland along with local
media. Plans are being made to host a reception at St Peter’s Lodge,
where Swanson was a mason.
Mr McIvor said: “It has been fascinating finding out more about Donald
Swanson’s life and achievements through Adam. I’m really proud that
this memorial is going to be unveiled for this unsung man and his
Swanson in his Clan Gunn tartan on a visit to Thurso
incredible achievements by his great-grandson Nevill Swanson. On
behalf of the Society I would like to thank everyone who has kindly assisted in making this project a reality, its
greatly appreciated.”

Robert Sutherland of Caithness Flagstone commented: “We are delighted to be donating the stone as part of this
community project, paying respect and credit to a local man about whom and his various remarkable achievements
many know little.”
The memorial is being erected by Caithness Broch Project, whose spokesman Iain MacLean said: “There are so
many great aspects to Thurso’s undiscovered past that need representing. The whole community is happy to pull
together to do what we can to see our local heroes remembered for their achievements.”
The unveiling will be marked with a toast to Swanson of Gerston whisky, distilled in the 1840s by his father John
Swanson and now resurrected by the Lost Distillery Company, whose owner Andrew Hogan commented: “I am
delighted for my small whisky business to be associated with this project. Given that Swanson was born at the
distillery at Geise, while his father and uncle produced the whisky apparently enjoyed by Prime Minister Sir Robert
Peel, it seems fitting to toast the memory and life of Donald Swanson with a dram of Gerston whisky.”
A report of the unveiling will appear in August’s Ripperologist.
IN THE BOOTS OF THE VICTORIAN BOBBY. Another event highlighting the work of the 1880s police
was recently announced when it was revealed that Neil Bell’s book investigating the working
lives of those officers from the Metropolitan and City Forces who hunted the Ripper will be
published on 28 November 2014 by Amberley. Capturing Jack the Ripper: In the Boots of a Bobby
in Victorian England will, for the first time, provide an insight into police life from recruitment
to training to life as a bobby, as well as providing an in-depth view of the investigation at the
height of the Ripper murders. Neil commented: “To understand fully the investigation into these
crimes, it is important to first understand the men that conducted that investigation, what type
of person they were, their training and experiences. This, coupled with an insight into the police
protocols and procedures of the time, gives a view of the case from a different angle, that of
a low-ranking bobby. When you add the fact that law and order still had to be maintained in
Whitechapel, as with any other district, on top of these crimes, we can begin to understand the
pressures and stresses placed upon the men who policed Whitechapel during 1888.”
RIPPER’S TIPPLE? Next time you go fishing and land nothing but a
bicycle tyre of bottle, don’t be so quick to return your unwanted
catch. A bottle recently found lying in mud in the Thames Estuary
was listed this month on eBay with a starting price of a cool £2,000.
The bottle is embossed with the words ‘Blind Beggar Mile End’,
and the name ‘Harwood’, presumably Tom Harwood, landlord of
the infamous pub in the 1880s. At some point in the intervening 130
years, the bottle made its way 30 miles downstream from the Blind
Beggar to the Thames Estuary, where it was found by a passer-by.
The seller was ThamesLark, a company set up to assess artefacts washed up on Britain’s river banks and beaches.
It supports Crisis, the national charity for single homeless people, and Mind, the National Association for Mental
Health in the UK and 10% of the sale price was to be donated to these charities, but when the auction ended on
15 June no bids had been made; a relisting at a lower starting price of £999 attracted one bidder, and this was the
sale price when the auction ended on 25 June.
WESCOTT WINNER! Finally, in our last issue we set a competition offering a signed copy of Tom Wescott’s The Bank
Holiday Murders. Our question: Pearly Poll claimed she and Martha Tabram had spent an evening with two soldliers.
What regiment were they believed to be from, and what were their ranks? wasn’t perhaps the most difficult,
and we received dozens of correct answers, and the winning entry drawn at random was Matt Spires of Stroud,
Gloucetershire, who said: “They were guardsmen, one a corporal, the other a private. The white band around
their caps gave the suggestion that they were from the Coldstream Guards.” Well done Matt, the book is on its
way to you! For those unlucky not to win, Tom’s book can still be purchased in paperback and Kindle formats.

Dear Rip
Your Letters and Comments
Dear Rip,
Ripperologist 138: Victorian Fiction
Thought you would appreciate a bit of feedback from the above issue.
No. 137 April 2014
Please take as read how much your efforts in preparing and distributing Ripperologist
C A Mathew are appreciated by me and what I suspect is a large and loyal readership.
As we celebrate the photographer’s
Spitalﬁelds images from 1912, JAN BONDESON
opens his Casebook on a murder in Artillery Passage
But the short story under the authorship of Rudyard Kipling was mind numbing and
so dull.
What did I take away from this hour or so of reading this fiction ? A guy called
Holden had a child with an indian woman who then died leaving him with her mother.
Who cares? This is an hour of my life I will never get back.
We were told to stick with the story which I did but I felt it was like the fairy tale
Tribute to CHRIS SCOTT
of the Emperors New Clothes. Without Benefit of Clergy was written by a famous
MICK REED reinterprets “Lipski”
BURGLARS AND BURGLING from The Strand Magazine of 1894
NINA and HOWARD BROWN | THE RIPPEROLOGY GAZETTE
Ripperologist| 118
RUDYARD
January 2011 KIPLING1
author so it must be good and if you didn’t see that then it was because you were not
educated or clever enough to appreciate it.
To me it was an utter waste of time in the authorship, the printing and the reading – just my view.
I am interested in Rudyard’s career and writing so have no issue in it being included in the Rip, its just that in my
view this story was a waste of space.
This said, keep up the good work.
Yours sincerely,
Stephen Clarke
Dear Stephen,
Well, you can’t please everybody all the time. Please let us know what you would like to read in Victorian Fiction. We
can offer mystery, suspense, adventure, romance, you name it. The literature of the period is rich and varied, and we
are sure we’ll be able to come up with something which will make you feel your time has not been wasted.
We greatly welcome feedback on all content we publish. The Editorial team selects items covering a variety of
aspects of the Ripper case, and East End and Victorian life in general, in the hope that these are of interest to our valued
readership. We know that one man’s meat is another’s poison, as George Chapman might say, but very much want to
hear what we’re doing right and what we are not.
Rip
GOT SOMETHING TO SAY?
We love to hear your thoughts and comments!

Get in touch at contact@ripperologist.biz

Spitalfields Life
By THE GENTLE AUTHOR
of www.spitalfieldslife.com
“In the midst of life I woke to find myself living in an old house
beside Brick Lane in the East End of London.”
These are the words of The Gentle Author, whose daily blog at spitalfieldslife.com has captured
the very essence of Spitafields since August 2009. We at Ripperologist are delighted to have The
Gentle Author’s blessing to collate these stories and republish them in the coming issues for your
enjoyment. We thank the Gentle Author and strongly recommend you follow the daily blog at
www.spitalfieldslife.com.
A Room to Let in Old Aldgate

I would dearly love to rent the room that is to let in this
old building in Aldgate, photographed by Henry Dixon for the
Society for Photographing Relics of Old London. Too bad it
was demolished in 1882. Instead I must satisfy myself with an
imaginary stroll through the streets of that long lost city, with
these tantalising glimpses of vanished buildings commissioned
by the Society as my points of reference. Founded by a group
of friends who wanted to save the Oxford Arms, threatened
with demolition in 1875, the Society for Photographing Relics
of Old London touched a popular chord with the pictures they
published of age-old buildings that seem to incarnate the very
soul of the ancient city. London never looked so old as in
these atmospheric images of buildings forgotten generations
ago.
Yet the melancholy romance of these ramshackle shabby

edifices is irresistible to me. I need to linger in the shadows
of their labyrinthine rooms, I want to scrutinize their shop
windows, I long to idle in these gloomy streets – because the
truth is these photographs illustrate an imaginary old London
that I should like to inhabit, at least in my dreams. Even to
a nineteenth century eye, these curious photographs would
have proposed a heightened reality, because the people are
absent. Although the long exposures sometimes captured
the few that stood still, working people are mostly present
only as shadows or fleeting transparent figures. The transient
nature of the human element in these pictures emphasises
the solidity of the buildings which, ironically, were portrayed
Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

This row of shambles was destroyed for the extension of the Metropolitan Railway from Aldgate to Tower Hill, 1883. . Copyright Bishopsgate Institute
because they were about to disappear too. Thus Henry Dixon’s photographs preserved in the Bishopsgate Insitute
are veritable sonnets upon the nature of ephemerality – the people are disappearing from the pictures and the
buildings are vanishing from the world, only the photographs themselves printed in the permanent carbon process
survive to evidence these poignant visions now.
The absence of people in this lost city allows us to enter these pictures by proxy, and the sharp detail draws us
closer to these streets of extravagant tottering old piles with cavernous dour interiors. We know our way around,
not simply because the geography remains constant but because Charles Dickens is our guide. This is the London
that he knew and which he romanced in his novels, populated by his own versions of the people that he met in its
streets. The very buildings in these photographs appear to have personality, presenting dirty faces smirched with
soot, pierced with dark eyes and gawping at the street.
How much I should delight to lock the creaky old door, leaving my rented room in Aldgate, so conveniently
placed above the business premises of John Robbins, the practical optician, and take a stroll across this magical
city, where the dusk gathers eternally. Let us go together now, on this cloudy November day, through the streets
of old London. We shall set out from my room in Aldgate over to Smithfield and Clerkenwell, then walk down to
cross the Thames, explore the inns of Southwark and discover where our footsteps lead…

At the corner of St Mary Axe and Bevis Marks, this overhanging gabled house was destroyed in 1882. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

Old buildings in Aldersgate Street. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

In Cloth Fair, next to Smithfield Market. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

The Ghosts of Old London
To dispel my disappointment that I cannot rent that Room to Let in Old Aldgate, I find myself returning to
scrutinize the collection of pictures taken by the Society for Photographing the Relics of Old London held in the
archive at the Bishopsgate Institute. It gives me great pleasure to look closely and see the loaves of bread in the
window and read the playbills on the wall in this photograph of a shop in Macclesfield Street in 1883. The slow
exposures of these photographs included fine detail of inanimate objects, just as they also tended to exclude
people who were at work and on the move but, in spite of this, the more I examine these pictures the more
inhabited they become.
On the right of this

photograph, you see a
woman and a boy standing
on the step. She has
adopted a sprightly pose
of self-presentation with a
jaunty hand upon the hip,
while he looks hunched and
ill at ease. But look again,
another woman is partially
visible, standing in the shop
doorway. She has chosen
not to be portrayed in the
photograph, yet she is also
present. Look a third time
and you will see a man’s
face in the window. He has
chosen not to be portrayed
in the photograph either,
instead he is looking out
at the photograph being
taken. He is looking at the
photographer. He is looking
at us, returning our gaze.
Copyright Bishopsgate Institute Like the face at the window
pane in “The Turn of the Screw,” he challenges us with his visage. Unlike the boy and the woman on the right,
he has not presented himself to the photographer’s lense, he has retained his presence and his power. Although
I shall never know who he is, or his relationship to the woman in the doorway, or the nature of their presumed
conversation, yet I cannot look at this picture now without seeing him as the central focus of the photograph. He
haunts me. He is one of the ghosts of old London.
To me, these fascinating photographs are doubly haunted. The spaces are haunted by the people who created
these environments in the course of their lives, culminating in buildings in which the very fabric evokes the
presence of their inhabitants, because many are structures worn out with usage. And equally, the photographs are
haunted by the anonymous Londoners who are visible in them, even if their images were incidental to the purpose
of these photographs as an architectural record. The pictures that capture people absorbed in the moment touch
me most – like the porter resting his basket at the corner of Friday Street – because there is a compelling poetry
to these inconsequential glimpses of another age, preserved here for eternity, especially when the buildings
themselves have been demolished over a century ago. These fleeting figures, many barely in focus, are the true
ghosts of old London and if we can listen, and study the details of their world, they bear authentic witness to our
past.

A woman turns the corner into Wych Street. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

A girl watches from a balcony at the Oxford Arms while boys stand in the shadow below. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

At the entrance to the Oxford Arms – the Society for Photographing the Relics of Old London was set up to save the Oxford Arms,
yet it failed in the endeavour, preserving only this photographic record. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

A relaxed gathering in Drury Lane. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

A man turns to back in Drury Lane, 1876. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

At the back of St Bartholomew’s, Smithfield, 1877. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

In Aldgate. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

A porter puts down his basket in the street at the corner of Cheapside and Friday Street. Copyright Bishopsgate Institute

Victorian Fiction
The Redhill Sisterhood
By C L Pirkis
Original Illustrations by Bernard Higham
Edited with an Introduction by Eduardo Zinna
Introduction
In the wake of the momentous birth, irresistible rise and apparent demise of Mr Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker
Street, a plethora of consulting detectives made roughly in the great man’s image found their way into the pages
of the Strand’s competitors – Harmsworth’s Magazine, Cassell’s, Pearson’s Magazine, the Ludgate Monthly, the
Royal Magazine, the Windsor Magazine – and sometimes into the Strand itself. Arthur Morrison wrote for the
Strand a series of stories featuring a new detective resembling his predecessor as little as possible. Where Holmes
had been tall, ascetic and misanthropic, Martin Hewitt was ‘a stoutish, clean-shaven man, of middle height, and
of a cheerful countenance.’ Hewitt did surprisingly well, all things considered, and detected his way through a
handful of excellent stories, but he was no Holmes. Nobody was.
In the ensuing years many sleuths, often characterized by a unique trait or peculiarity, aspired half-heartedly
to Holmes’s mantle. Among them were M McDonnell Bodkin’s Paul Beck, the ‘rule-of-thumb’ detective, R
Austin Freeman’s Dr Thorndyke, the medical scholar, Dick Donovan’s Dick Donovan, the Glasgow detective, G
K Chesterton’s Father Brown, the Roman Catholic priest, H Hesketh Pritchard’s November Joe, the Canadian
‘detective of the woods’, Jacques Futrelle’s Professor S F X Van Dusen, the ‘Thinking Machine’, E and H Heron’s
Flaxman Low, the psychic detective, Robert Barr’s Eugène Valmont, the French detective, and Ernest Brahma’s
Max Carrados, the blind detective.
Quite a few of the detectives who made their début in the popular magazines
of the late 19th century were women: George Sims’s Dorcas Dene, Fergus
Hume’s Hagar Stanley, Grant Allen’s Miss Cayley and Hilda Wade. A few of these
women investigators were the creation of women. Prominent among them was
Loveday Brooke, Lady Detective. Between February and July 1893, Catherine
Louisa Pirkis, who signed her work C L Pirkis, contributed six short stories
featuring Miss Brooke to the Ludgate Monthly. These stories, to which was
added an unpublished one, were collected in book form as The Experiences of
Loveday Brooke, Lady Detective, London, Hutchinson & Co., 1894.
Next to nothing is known about C L Pirkis. No photograph of her has come
to surface and the major milestones in her life have been described only in
very general terms. She was born in London in 1839 (no exact date given). Her
grandfather was Richard Lyne, a clergyman highly regarded as a Greek and
Latin scholar and the author of a Latin primer still in use. Her father was Lewis
Stephens Lyne, the Accountant and Comptroller-General, Inland Revenue,
who died in 1859, ‘from the consequences of excessive exertion of the brain’,
according to his obituary. His son, Catherine Louisa’s brother, eventually served
in the same position as his father.
In 1872, at the age of 33, Catherine Louisa married Frederick Edward Pirkis,
fleet-paymaster for the Royal Navy. The couple had a daughter (born 1874 in
Surrey) and a son (born 1876 in Belgium). A few years later, Frederick’s brother
George married Catherine Louisa’s sister Susan, and both families made their
home together.

In 1877 Catherine Louisa wrote her first novel, Disappeared from Her Home, a melodramatic romance spiced up
with some elements of mystery. Thereafter she became a prolific author, publishing twelve more novels between
1878 and 1891. They included In a World of His Own, London: Remington, 1878; Saint and Sibyl: A Story of Old
Kew, London: Hurst and Blackett, 1882; Lady Lovelace: A Novel, London: Chatto and Windus, 1885; and At the
Moment of Victory: A Novel, London: Ward and Downey, 1889.
Following the publication of The Experiences of Loveday Brooke in 1894, Catherine Louisa ceased to write. She
and her husband devoted most of the remaining years of their life to organizations for the protection of animals
and the anti-vivisectionist movement. In 1891 they were among the founders of the National Canine Defence
League, still extant today as the Dogs Trust. She died on 4 October 1910 after a long illness. Her husband followed
her only a few days later.
In his introduction to Crooked Counties: The Further Rivals of Sherlock Holmes (1973), Hugh Greene wrote
that ‘there is a twilight world of neglected, but not completely forgotten, writers like Dick Donovan, Bodkin, Mrs
Pirkis and Mrs L T Meade who wrote the occasional story which deserves to be resurrected, if not for its literary
quality, then for some ingenuity of plot, some sudden flash of imagination, some light on the late Victorian and
Edwardian world.’ Perhaps C L Pirkis’s work was at one time neglected, perhaps she tottered on the brink of
oblivion, but that is not the case today. The Experiences of Loveday Brooke remains in print - though her three-
volume romances do not - several individual stories have been collected in anthologies and C L herself has been
the subject of a number of essays and studies, mostly devoted to demonstrating that a strong feminist thread
runs through her writings. Be it as it may, Loveday Brooke is indeed an independent, intelligent and efficient
woman, imperturbable, resourceful and, in the best tradition of private investigators, adept at mimicry and
disguise. Unlike many fictional sleuths, she is not an amateur, but a fully qualified, highly professional and well
remunerated employee of the ‘well-known detective agency in Lynch Court, Fleet Street’ headed by Mr Ebenezer
Dyer. As for her private life, she appears to be happily unmarried and in no hurry to change her status. She also
has a wicked sense of humour. Watch out for her remark on popular detective stories in The Red Hill Sisterhood.
In the first story in the series, Pirkis describes Loveday’s physical appearance, gives a succinct account of
the circumstances which led her to seek employment as a private detective and quotes from her employer’s
rhapsodizing on her character, qualifications and skills. Since neither this passage nor a similar one recurs in
any other story, some anthologists have included it as a prelude to each individual story. I have followed their
example. You will find it under the title Loveday Brooke immediately following the present Introduction and
before the story proper begins.
The Red Hill Sisterhood, the third story in the Loveday Brooke cycle, appeared in the Ludgate Monthly in April
1893. Apart from correcting a few typos and modernizing punctuation and the spelling of some words, I have left
the story exactly as it was when it first saw print.
Loveday Brooke
Loveday Brooke, at this period of her career, was a little over thirty years of
age, and could be best described in a series of negations.
She was not tall, she was not short; she was not dark, she was not fair;
she was neither handsome nor ugly. Her features were altogether nondescript;
her one noticeable trait was a habit she had, when absorbed in thought, of
dropping her eyelids over her eyes till only a line of eyeball showed, and she
appeared to be looking out at the world through a slit, instead of through a
window.
Her dress was invariably black, and was almost Quaker-like in its neat
primness.
Some five or six years previously, by a jerk of Fortune’s wheel, Loveday
had been thrown upon the world penniless and all but friendless. Marketable
accomplishments she had found she had none, so she had forthwith defied
convention, and had chosen for herself a career that had cut her off sharply
from her former associates and her position in society. For five or six years she

drudged away patiently in the lower walks of her profession; then chance, or, to speak more precisely, an intricate
criminal case, threw her in the way of the experienced head of the flourishing detective agency in Lynch Court.
He quickly enough found out the stuff she was made of, and threw her in the way of better-class work – work,
indeed, that brought increase of pay and of reputation alike to him and to Loveday.
Ebenezer Dyer was not, as a rule, given to enthusiasm; but he would at times wax eloquent over Miss Brooke’s
qualifications for the profession she had chosen.
‘Too much of a lady, do you say?’ he would say to anyone who chanced to call in question those qualifications.
‘I don’t care twopence-halfpenny whether she is or is not a lady. I only know she is the most sensible and practical
woman I ever met. In the first place, she has the faculty – so rare among women – of carrying out orders to the very
letter: in the second place, she has a clear, shrewd brain, unhampered by any hard-and-fast theories; thirdly, and
most important item of all, she has so much common sense that it amounts to genius – positively to genius, sir.’
The Redhill Sisterhood

By C L Pirkis
‘They want you at Redhill, now,’ said Mr Dyer, taking a packet of papers from one of his pigeon-holes.
‘The idea seems gaining ground in manly quarters that in cases of mere suspicion, women detectives are
more satisfactory than men, for they are less likely to attract attention. And this Redhill affair, so far as I
can make out, is one of suspicion only.’
It was a dreary November morning; every gas jet in the Lynch Court office was alight, and a yellow
curtain of outside fog draped its narrow windows.
‘Nevertheless, I suppose one can’t afford to leave it uninvestigated at this season of the year, with
country-house robberies beginning in so many quarters,’ said Miss Brooke.
‘No; and the circumstances in this case certainly seem to point in the direction of the country-house
burglar. Two days ago a somewhat curious application was made privately, by a man giving the name of
John Murray, to Inspector Gunning, of the Reigate police – Redhill, I must tell you is in the Reigate police
district. Murray stated that he had been a greengrocer somewhere in South London, had sold his business
there, and had, with the proceeds of the sale, bought two small houses in Redhill, intending to let the one
and live in the other. These houses are situated in a blind alley, known as Paved Court, a narrow turning
leading off the London and Brighton coach road. Paved Court has been known to the sanitary authorities
for the past ten years as a regular fever nest, and as the houses which Murray bought - numbers 7 and
8 – stand at the very end of the blind alley, with no chance of thorough ventilation, I dare say the man
got them for next to nothing. He told the Inspector that he had had great difficulty in procuring a tenant
for the house he wished to let, number 8, and that consequently when, about three weeks back, a lady,
dressed as a nun, made him an offer for it, he immediately closed with her. The lady gave her name simply
as “Sister Monica,” and stated that she was a member of an undenominational Sisterhood that had recently
been founded by a wealthy lady, who wished her name kept a secret. Sister Monica gave no references,
but, instead, paid a quarter’s rent in advance, saying that she wished to take possession of the house
immediately, and open it as a home for crippled orphans.’
‘Gave no references – home for cripples,’ murmured Loveday, scribbling hard and fast in her note-book.
‘Murray made no objection to this,’ continued Mr Dyer, ‘and, accordingly, the next day, Sister Monica,
accompanied by three other Sisters and some sickly children, took possession of the house, which they
furnished with the barest possible necessaries from cheap shops in the neighbourhood. For a time, Murray
said, he thought he had secured most desirable tenants, but during the last ten days suspicions as to their
real character have entered his mind, and these suspicions he thought it his duty to communicate to the
police. Among their possessions, it seems, these Sisters number an old donkey and a tiny cart, and this they
start daily on a sort of begging tour through the adjoining villages, bringing back every evening a perfect
hoard of broken victuals and bundles of old garments. Now comes the extraordinary fact on which Murray
bases his suspicions. He says, and Gunning verifies his statement, that in whatever direction those Sisters

turn the wheels of their donkey-cart,
burglaries, or attempts at burglaries,
are sure to follow. A week ago they
went along towards Horley, where, at
an outlying house, they received much
kindness from a wealthy gentleman.
That very night an attempt was made
to break into that gentleman’s house –
an attempt, however, that was happily
frustrated by the barking of the house-
dog. And so on in other instances that I
need not go into. Murray suggests that
it might be as well to have the daily
movements of these sisters closely
watched, and that extra vigilance
They start daily on a sort of begging tour
should be exercised by the police in
the districts that have had the honour of a morning call from them. Gunning coincides with this idea, and
so has sent to me to secure your services.’
Loveday closed her note-book. ‘I suppose Gunning will meet me somewhere and tell me where I’m to
take up my quarters?’ she said.
‘Yes; he will get into your carriage at Merstham – the station before Redhill – if you will put your hand
out of window, with the morning paper in it. By the way, he takes it for granted that you will take the 11.5
train from Victoria. Murray, it seems, has been good enough to place his little house at the disposal of the
police, but Gunning does not think espionage could be so well carried on there as from other quarters.
The presence of a stranger in an alley of that sort is bound to attract attention. So he has hired a room for
you in a draper’s shop that immediately faces the head of the court. There is a private door to this shop of
which you will have the key, and can let yourself in and out as you please. You are supposed to be a nursery
governess on the lookout for a situation, and Gunning will keep you supplied with letters to give colour to
the idea. He suggests that you need only occupy the room during the day, at night you will find far more
comfortable quarters at Laker’s Hotel, just outside the town.’
This was about the sum total of the instructions that Mr Dyer had to give.
The 11.5 train from Victoria that carried
Loveday to her work among the Surrey Hills did
not get clear of the London fog till well away on
the other side of Purley. When the train halted
at Merstham, in response to her signal a tall,
soldier-like individual made for her carriage, and,
jumping in, took the seat facing her. He introduced
himself to her as Inspector Gunning, recalled to
her memory a former occasion on which they had
met, and then, naturally enough, turned the talk
upon the present suspicious circumstances they
were bent upon investigating.
‘It won’t do for you and me to be seen
together,’ he said; ‘of course I am known for miles
round, and anyone seen in my company will be at
once set down as my coadjutor, and spied upon
accordingly. I walked from Redhill to Merstham
on purpose to avoid recognition on the platform
He introduced himself

at Redhill, and half-way here, to my great annoyance, found that I was being followed by a man in a
workman’s dress and carrying a basket of tools. I doubled, however, and gave him the slip, taking a short
cut down a lane which, if he had been living in the place, he would have known as well as I did. By Jove!’
this was added with a sudden start, ‘there is the fellow, I declare; he has weathered me after all, and has
no doubt taken good stock of us both, with the train going at this snail’s pace. It was unfortunate that your
face should have been turned towards that window, Miss Brooke.’
‘My veil is something of a disguise, and I will put on another cloak before he has a chance of seeing me
again,’ said Loveday.
All she had seen in the brief glimpse that the train had allowed was a tall, powerfully-built man walking
along a siding of the line. His cap was drawn low over his eyes, and in his hand he carried a workman’s
basket.
Gunning seemed much annoyed at the circumstance. ‘Instead of landing at Redhill,’ he said, ‘we’ll go
on to Three Bridges and wait there for a Brighton train to bring us back, that will enable you to get to your
room somewhere between the lights; I don’t want to have you spotted before you’ve so much as started
your work.’
Then they went back to their discussion of the Redhill Sisterhood.
‘They call themselves “undenominational,” whatever that means,’ said Gunning, ‘they say they are
connected with no religious sect whatever, they attend sometimes one place of worship, sometimes
another, sometimes none at all. They refuse to give up the name of the founder of their order, and really
no one has any right to demand it of them, for, as no doubt you see, up to the present moment the case
is one of mere suspicion, and it may be a pure coincidence that attempts at burglary have followed their
footsteps in this neighbourhood. By the way, I have heard of a man’s face being enough to hang him, but
until I saw Sister Monica’s, I never saw a woman’s face that could perform the same kind office for her. Of
all the lowest criminal types of faces I have ever seen, I think hers is about the lowest and most repulsive.’
After the Sisters, they passed in review the chief families resident in the neighbourhood.
‘This,’ said Gunning, unfolding a paper, ‘is a map I have specially drawn up for you – it takes in the
district for ten miles round Redhill, and every country house of any importance is marked with it in red ink.
Here, in addition, is an index to those houses, with special notes of my own to every house.’
Loveday studied the map for a minute or so, then turned her attention to the index.
‘Those four houses you’ve marked, I see, are those that have been already attempted. I don’t think I’ll
run them through, but I’ll mark them “doubtful”; you see the gang – for, of course, it is a gang – might follow
our reasoning on the matter, and look upon those houses as our weak point. Here’s one I’ll run through,
“house empty during winter months,” that means plate and jewellery sent to the bankers. Oh! and this
one may as well be crossed off, “father and four sons all athletes and sportsmen,” that means firearms
always handy – I don’t think burglars will be likely to trouble them. Ah! now we come to something! Here’s
a house to be marked “tempting” in a burglar’s list. “Wootton Hall, lately changed hands and re-built, with
complicated passages and corridors. Splendid family plate in daily use and left entirely to the care of the
butler.” I wonder, does the master of that house trust to his “complicated passages” to preserve his plate
for him? A dismissed dishonest servant would supply a dozen maps of the place for half-a-sovereign. What
do these initials, “E.L.”, against the next house in the list, North Cape, stand for?’
‘Electric lighted. I think you might almost cross that house off also. I consider electric lighting one of
the greatest safeguards against burglars that a man can give his house.’
‘Yes, if he doesn’t rely exclusively upon it; it might be a nasty trap under certain circumstances. I see
this gentleman also has magnificent presentation and other plate.’
‘Yes. Mr Jameson is a wealthy man and very popular in the neighbourhood; his cups and epergnes are
worth looking at.’
‘Is it the only house in the district that is lighted with electricity?’

‘Yes; and, begging your pardon, Miss Brooke, I only wish it were not so. If electric lighting were generally
in vogue it would save the police a lot of trouble on these dark winter nights.’
‘The burglars would find some way of meeting such a condition of things, depend upon it; they have
reached a very high development in these days. They no longer stalk about as they did fifty years ago with
blunderbuss and bludgeon; they plot, plan, contrive and bring imagination and artistic resource to their
aid. By the way, it often occurs to me that the popular detective stories, for which there seems to large a
demand at the present day, must be, at times, uncommonly useful to the criminal classes.’
At Three Bridges they had to wait so long for a return train that it was nearly dark when Loveday got back
to Redhill. Mr Gunning did not accompany her thither, having alighted at a previous station. Loveday had
directed her portmanteau to be sent direct to Laker’s Hotel, where she had engaged a room by telegram
from Victoria Station. So, unburdened by luggage, she slipped quietly out of the Redhill Station and made
her way straight for the draper’s shop in the London Road. She had no difficulty in finding it, thanks to the
minute directions given her by the Inspector.
Street lamps were being lighted in the sleepy little town as she went along, and as she turned into the
London Road, shopkeepers were lighting up their windows on both sides of the way. A few yards down this
road, a dark patch between the lighted shops showed her where Paved Court led off from the thoroughfare.
A side-door of one of the shops that stood at the corner of the court seemed to offer a post of observation
whence she could see without being seen, and here Loveday, shrinking into the shadows, ensconced herself
in order to take stock of the little alley and its inhabitants. She found it much as it had been described to
her – a collection of four-roomed houses of which more than half were unlet. Numbers 7 and 8 at the head
of the court presented a slightly less neglected appearance than the other tenements. Number 7 stood
in total darkness, but in the upper window of number 8 there showed what seemed to be a night-light
burning, so Loveday conjectured that this possibly was the room set apart as a dormitory for the little
cripples.
While she stood thus surveying the home of the suspected Sisterhood, the Sisters themselves – two, at
least, of them – came into view, with their donkey-cart and their cripples, in the main road. It was an odd
little cortège. One Sister, habited in a nun’s dress of dark blue serge, led the donkey by the bridle; another
Sister, similarly attired, walked alongside the low cart, in which were seated two sickly-looking children.
They were evidently returning from one of their long country circuits, and unless they had lost their way
and been belated – it certainly seemed a late hour for the sickly little cripples to be abroad.
As they passed under the gas lamp at the corner
of the court, Loveday caught a glimpse of the faces
of the Sisters. It was easy, with Inspector Gunning’s
description before her mind, to identify the older
and taller woman as Sister Monica, and a more
coarse-featured and generally repellent face Loveday
admitted to herself she had never before seen. In
striking contrast to this forbidding countenance, was
that of the younger Sister. Loveday could only catch
a brief passing view of it, but that one brief view was
enough to impress it on her memory as of unusual
sadness and beauty. As the donkey stopped at the
corner of the court, Loveday heard this sad-looking
young woman addressed as ‘Sister Anna’ by one of the
cripples, who asked plaintively when they were going
to have something to eat.
‘Now, at once,’ said Sister Anna, lifting the little
one, as it seemed to Loveday, tenderly out of the cart,
and carrying him on her shoulder down the court to
Sister Anna

the door of number 8, which opened to them at their approach. The other Sister did the same with the
other child; then both Sisters returned, unloaded the cart of sundry bundles and baskets, and, this done,
led off the old donkey and trap down the road, possibly to a neighbouring costermonger’s stables.
A man, coming along on a bicycle, exchanged a word of greeting with the Sisters as they passed, then
swung himself off his machine at the corner of the court, and walked it along the paved way to the door
of number 7. This he opened with a key, and then, pushing the machine before him, entered the house.
Loveday took it for granted that this man must be the John Murray of whom she had heard. She had
closely scrutinized him as he had passed her, and had seen that he was a dark, well-featured man of about
fifty years of age.
She congratulated herself on her good fortune in having seen so much in such a brief space of time, and
coming forth from her sheltered corner turned her steps in the direction of the draper’s shop on the other
side of the road.
It was easy to find it. ‘Golightly’ was the singular name that figured above the shop-front, in which were
displayed a variety of goods calculated to meet the wants of servants and the poorer classes generally. A
tall, powerfully-built man appeared to be looking in at this window. Loveday’s foot was on the doorstep
of the draper’s private entrance, her hand on the door-knocker, when this individual, suddenly turning,
convinced her of his identity with the journeyman workman who had so disturbed Mr Gunning’s equanimity.
It was true he wore a bowler instead of a journeyman’s cap, and he no longer carried a basket of tools,
but there was no possibility for anyone with so good an eye for an outline as Loveday possessed not to
recognize the carriage of the head and shoulders as that of the man she had seen walking along the railway
siding. He gave her no time to make minute observation of his appearance, but turned quickly away, and
disappeared down a by-street.
Loveday’s work seemed to bristle with difficulties now. Here was she, as it were, unearthed in her own
ambush; for there could be but little doubt that during the whole time she had stood watching those
Sisters, that man, from a safe vantage point, had been watching her.
She found Mrs Golightly a civil and obliging person. She showed Loveday to her room above the shop,
brought her the letters which Inspector Gunning had been careful to have posted to her during the day.
Then she supplied her with pen and ink and, in response to Loveday’s request, with some strong coffee that
she said, with a little attempt at a joke, would ‘keep a dormouse awake all through the winter without
winking.’
While the obliging landlady busied herself about the room, Loveday had a few questions to ask about the
Sisterhood who lived down the court opposite. On this head, however, Mrs Golightly could tell her no more
than she already knew, beyond the fact that they started every morning on their rounds at eleven o’clock
punctually, and that before that hour they were never to be seen outside their door.
Loveday’s watch that night was to be a fruitless one. Although she sat, with her lamp turned out and
safely screened from observation, until close upon midnight, with eyes fixed upon numbers 7 and 8 Paved
Court, not so much as a door opening or shutting at either house rewarded her vigil. The lights flitted from
the lower to the upper floors in both houses, and then disappeared somewhere between nine and ten in
the evening; and after that, not a sign of life did either tenement show.
And all through the long hours of that watch, backwards and forwards there seemed to flit before her
mind’s eye, as if in some sort it were fixed upon its retina, the sweet, sad face of Sister Anna.
Why it was this face should so haunt her, she found it hard to say.
‘It has a mournful past and a mournful future written upon it as a hopeless whole,’ she said to herself.
‘It is the face of an Andromeda! “Here am I,” it seems to say, “tied to my stake, helpless and hopeless.”’
The church clocks were sounding the midnight hour as Loveday made her way through the dark streets
to her hotel outside the town. As she passed under the railway arch that ended in the open country road,
the echo of not very distant footsteps caught her ear. When she stopped they stopped, when she went on

they went on, and she knew that once more she was being followed and watched, although the darkness of
the arch prevented her seeing even the shadow of the man who was thus dogging her steps.
The next morning broke keen and frosty. Loveday studied her map and her country-house index over a
seven o’clock breakfast, and then set off for a brisk walk along the country road. No doubt in London the
streets were walled in and roofed with yellow fog; here, however, bright sunshine played in and out of the
bare tree-boughs and leafless hedges on to a thousand frost spangles, turning the prosaic macadamized
road into a gangway fit for Queen Titania herself and her fairy train.
Loveday turned her back on the town
and set herself to follow the road as it
wound away over the hill in the direction
of a village called Northfield. Early as she
was, she was not to have that road to
herself. A team of strong horses trudged
by on their way to their work in the
fuller’s-earth pits. A young fellow on a
bicycle flashed past at a tremendous pace,
considering the upward slant of the road.
He looked hard at her as he passed, then
slackened pace, dismounted, and awaited
her coming on the brow of the hill.
‘Good morning, Miss Brooke,’ he said,
lifting his cap as she came alongside of
him. ‘May I have five minutes’ talk with
you?’
‘Good morning, Miss Brooke’
The young man who thus accosted her
had not the appearance of a gentleman. He was a handsome, bright-faced young fellow of about two-and-
twenty, and was dressed in ordinary cyclists’ dress; his cap was pushed back from his brow over thick, curly,
fair hair, and Loveday, as she looked at him, could not repress the thought how well he would look at the
head of a troop of cavalry, giving the order to charge the enemy.
He led his machine to the side of the footpath.
‘You have the advantage of me,’ said Loveday; ‘I haven’t the remotest notion who you are.’
‘No,’ he said; ‘although I know you, you cannot possibly know me. I am a north country man, and I was
present, about a month ago, at the trial of old Mr Craven, of Troyte’s Hill – in fact, I acted as reporter for
one of the local papers. I watched your face so closely as you gave your evidence that I should know it
anywhere, among a thousand.’
‘And your name is—?’
‘George White, of Grenfell. My father is part proprietor of one of the Newcastle papers. I am a bit of a
literary man myself, and sometimes figure as a reporter, sometimes as leader-writer, to that paper.’ Here
he gave a glance towards his side pocket, from which protruded a small volume of Tennyson’s poems.
The facts he had stated did not seem to invite comment, and Loveday ejaculated merely:
‘Indeed!’
The young man went back to the subject that was evidently filling his thoughts. ‘I have special reasons
for being glad to have met you this morning, Miss Brooke,’ he went on, making his footsteps keep pace
with hers. ‘I am in great trouble, and I believe you are the only person in the whole world who can help
me out of that trouble.’
‘I am rather doubtful as to my power of helping anyone out of trouble,’ said Loveday; ‘so far as my
experience goes, our troubles are as much a part of ourselves as our skins are of our bodies.’

‘Ah, but not such trouble as mine,’ said White eagerly. He broke off for a moment, then, with a sudden
rush of words, told her what that trouble was. For the past year he had been engaged to be married to a
young girl, who, until quite recently had been fulfilling the duties of a nursery governess in a large house
in the neighbourhood of Redhill.
‘Will you kindly give me the name of that house?’ interrupted Loveday.
‘Certainly; Wootton Hall, the place is called, and Annie Lee is my sweetheart’s name. I don’t care who
knows it!’ He threw his head back as he said this, as if he would be delighted to announce the fact to the
whole world. ‘Annie’s mother,’ he went on, ‘died when she was a baby, and we both thought her father was
dead also, when suddenly, about a fortnight ago, it came to her knowledge that instead of being dead, he
was serving his time at Portland for some offence committed years ago.’
‘Do you know how this came to Annie’s knowledge?’
‘Not the least in the world; I only know that I suddenly got a letter from her announcing the fact, and
at the same time, breaking off her engagement with me. I tore the letter into a thousand pieces, and
wrote back saying I would not allow the engagement to be broken off, but would marry her tomorrow if
she would have me. To this letter she did not reply; there came instead a few lines from Mrs Copeland, the
lady at Wootton Hall, saying that Annie had thrown up her engagement and joined some Sisterhood, and
that she, Mrs Copeland, had pledged her word to Annie to reveal to no one the name and whereabouts of
that Sisterhood.’
‘And I suppose you imagine I am able to do what Mrs Copeland is pledged not to do?’
‘That’s just it, Miss Brooke,’ cried the young man enthusiastically. ‘You do such wonderful things;
everyone knows you do. It seems as if, when anything is wanted to be found out, you just walk into a place,
look round you and, in a moment, everything becomes clear as noonday.’
‘I can’t quite lay claim to such wonderful powers as that. As it happens, however, in the present instance,
no particular skill is needed to find out what you wish to know, for I fancy I have already come upon the
traces of Miss Annie Lee.’
‘Miss Brooke!’
‘Of course, I cannot say for certain, but is a matter you can easily settle for yourself–settle, too, in a
way that will confer a great obligation on me.’
‘I shall be only too delighted to be of any–the slightest service to you,’ cried White, enthusiastically as
before.
‘Thank you. I will explain. I came down here specially to watch the movements of a certain Sisterhood
who have somehow aroused the suspicions of the police. Well, I find that instead of being able to do this, I
am myself so closely watched – possibly by confederates of these Sisters – that unless I can do my work by
deputy I may as well go back to town at once.’
‘Ah! I see – you want me to be that deputy.’
‘Precisely. I want you to go to the room in Redhill that I have hired, take your place at the window –
screened, of course, from observation – at which I ought to be seated – watch as closely as possible the
movements of these Sisters and report them to me at the hotel, where I shall remain shut in from morning
till night – it is the only way in which I can throw my persistent spies off the scent. Now, in doing this for
me, you will be also doing yourself a good turn, for I have little doubt but that under the blue serge hood
of one of the sisters you will discover the pretty face of Miss Annie Lee.’
As they had talked they had walked, and now stood on the top of the hill at the head of the one little
street that constituted the whole of the village of Northfield.
On their left hand stood the village schools and the master’s house; nearly facing these, on the opposite
side of the road, beneath a clump of elms, stood the village pound. Beyond this pound, on either side of
the way, were two rows of small cottages with tiny squares of garden in front, and in the midst of these
small cottages a swinging sign beneath a lamp announced a ‘Postal and Telegraph Office.’

‘Now that we have come into the land of habitations again,’ said Loveday, ‘it will be best for us to
part. It will not do for you and me to be seen together, or my spies will be transferring their attentions
from me to you, and I shall have to find another deputy. You had better start on your bicycle for Redhill
at once, and I will walk back at leisurely speed. Come to me at my hotel without fail at one o’clock and
report proceedings. I do not say anything definite about remuneration, but I assure you, if you carry out my
instructions to the letter, your services will be amply rewarded by me and by my employers.’
There were yet a few more details to arrange. White had been, he said, only a day and night in the
neighbourhood, and special directions as to the locality had to be given to him. Loveday advised him not
to attract attention by going to the draper’s private door, but to enter the shop as if he were a customer,
and then explain matters to Mrs Golightly, who, no doubt, would be in her place behind the counter; tell
her he was the brother of the Miss Smith who had hired her room, and ask permission to go through the
shop to that room, as he had been commissioned by his sister to read and answer any letters that might
have arrived there for her.
‘Show her the key of the side door – here it is,’ said Loveday; ‘it will be your credentials, and tell her
you did not like to make use of it without acquainting her with the fact.’
The young man took the key, endeavoured to put it in his waistcoat pocket, found the space there
occupied and so transferred it to the keeping of a side pocket in his tunic.
All this time Loveday stood watching him.
‘You have a capital machine there,’ she said, as the young man mounted his bicycle once more, ‘and I
hope you will turn it to account in following the movements of these Sisters about the neighbourhood. I feel
confident you will have something definite to tell me when you bring me your first report at one o’clock.’
White once more broke into a profusion of thanks, and then, lifting his cap to the lady, started his
machine at a fairly good pace.
Loveday watched him out of sight down the slope of the hill, then, instead of following him as she had
said she would ‘at a leisurely pace,’ she turned her steps in the opposite direction along the village street.
It was an altogether ideal country village. Neatly-dressed chubby-faced children, now on their way
to the schools, dropped quaint little curtsies, or tugged at curly locks as Loveday passed; every cottage
looked the picture of cleanliness and trimness, and although so late in the year, the gardens were full of
late flowering chrysanthemums and early flowering Christmas roses.
At the end of the village, Loveday came suddenly into view of a large, handsome, red-brick mansion.
It presented a wide frontage to the road, from which it lay back amid extensive pleasure grounds. On the
right hand, and a little in the rear of the house, stood what seemed to be large and commodious stables,
and immediately adjoining these stables was a low-built, red-brick shed, that had evidently been recently
erected.
That low-build, red-brick shed
excited Loveday’s curiosity.
‘Is this house called North Cape?’
she asked of a man, who chanced at
that moment to be passing with a
pickaxe and shovel.
The man answered in the
affirmative, and Loveday then asked
another question: could he tell her
what was that small shed so close to
the house – it looked like a glorified
cow house – now what could be its use?
The man’s face lighted up as if it North Cape House
were a subject on which he liked to

be questioned. He explained that that small shed was the engine-house where the electricity that lighted
North Cape was made and stored. Then he dwelt with pride upon the fact, as if he held a personal interest
in it, that North Cape was the only house, far or near, that was thus lighted.
‘I suppose the wires are carried underground to the
house,’ said Loveday, looking in vain for signs of them
anywhere.
The man was delighted to go into details on the
matter. He had helped to lay those wires, he said: they
were two in number, one for supply and one for return,
and were laid three feet below ground, in boxes filled
with pitch. These wires were switched on to jars in the
engine-house, where the electricity was stored, and,
after passing underground, entered the family mansion
under its flooring at its western end.
Loveday listened attentively to these details, and
then took a minute and leisurely survey of the house
and its surroundings. This done, she retraced her
steps through the village, pausing, however, at the
‘Postal and Telegraph Office’ to dispatch a telegram to
Inspector Gunning.
It was one to send the Inspector to his cipher-book.
It ran as follows:
‘Rely solely on chemist and coal-merchant throughout
the day.– L. B.’
There was to be meeting of the ‘Surrey Stags’
After this, she quickened her pace, and in something
over three-quarters of an hour was back again at her
hotel.
There she found more of life stirring than when she
had quitted it in the early morning. There was to be a
meeting of the ‘Surrey Stags,’ about a couple of miles
off, and a good many hunting men were hanging about
the entrance to the house, discussing the chances of
sport after last night’s frost. Loveday made her way
through the throng in leisurely fashion, and not a man
but what had keen scrutiny from her sharp eyes. No,
there was no cause for suspicion there: they were
evidently one and all just what they seemed to be –
loud-voiced, hard-riding men, bent on a day’s sport;
but – and here Loveday’s eyes travelled beyond the
hotel courtyard to the other side of the road – who was
that man with a bill-hook hacking at the hedge there
– a thin-featured, round-shouldered old fellow, with a
bent-about hat? It might be as well not to take it too
rashly for granted that her spies had withdrawn, and
had left her free to do her work in her own fashion.
The man with a bill-hook
She went upstairs to her room. It was situated on
the first floor in the front of the house, and consequently commanded a good view of the high road. She
stood well back from the window, and at an angle whence she could see and not be seen, took a long,
steady survey of the hedger. And the longer she looked the more convinced she was that the man’s real

work was something other than the bill-hook seemed to imply. He worked, so to speak, with his head over
his shoulder, and when Loveday supplemented her eyesight with a strong field-glass, she could see more
than one stealthy glance shot from beneath his bent-about hat in the direction of her window.
There could be little doubt about it: her movements were to be as closely watched today as they had
been yesterday. Now it was of first importance that she should communicate with Inspector Gunning in the
course of the afternoon: the question to solve was how it was to be done?
To all appearance Loveday answered
the question in extraordinary fashion.
She pulled up her blind, she drew back
her curtain, and seated herself, in full
view, at a small table in the window
recess. Then she took a pocket
inkstand from her pocket, a packet or
correspondence cards from her letter-
case, and with rapid pen, set to work
on them.
About an hour and a half afterwards,
White, coming in, according to his
promise, to report proceedings, found
her still seated at the window, not,
however, with writing materials before
her, but with needle and thread in her
hand with which she was mending her
gloves.
‘I return to town by the first train
tomorrow morning,’ she said as he
entered, ‘and I find these wretched
things want no end of stitches. Now
for your report.’
White appeared to be in an elated Seater herself in full view
frame of mind. ‘I’ve seen her!’ he
cried, ‘my Annie – they’ve got her, those confounded Sisters; but they shan’t keep her – no, not if I have to
pull the house down about their ears to get her out.’
‘Well, now you know where she is, you can take your time about getting her out,’ said Loveday. ‘I hope,
however, you haven’t broken faith with me, and betrayed yourself by trying to speak with her, because, if
so, I shall have to look out for another deputy.’
‘Honour, Miss Brooke!’ answered White indignantly. ‘I stuck to my duty, though it cost me something to
see her hanging over those kids and tucking them into the cart, and never say a word to her, never so much
as wave my hand.’
‘Did she go out with the donkey-cart today?’
‘No, she only tucked the kids into the cart with a blanket, and then went back to the house. Two old
Sisters, ugly as sin, went out with them. I watched them from the window, jolt, jolt, jolt, round the corner,
out of sight, and then I whipped down the stairs, and on to my machine, and was after them in a trice and
managed to keep them well in sight for over an hour and a half.’
‘And their destination today was?’
‘Wootton Hall.’
‘Ah, just as I expected.’
‘Just as you expected?’ echoed White.

‘I forgot. You do not know the nature of the suspicions that are attached to this Sisterhood, and the
reasons I have for thinking that Wootton Hall, at this season of the year, might have an especial attraction
for them.’
White continued staring at her. ‘Miss Brooke,’ he said presently, in an altered tone, ‘whatever suspicions
may attach to the Sisterhood, I’ll stake my life on it, my Annie has had no share in any wickedness of any
sort.’
‘Oh, quite so; it is most likely that your Annie has, in some way, been inveigled into joining these Sisters
– has been taken possession of by them, in fact, just as they have taken possession of the little cripples.’
‘That’s it!’ he cried excitedly; ‘that was the idea that occurred to me when you spoke to me on the hill
about them, otherwise you may be sure—’
‘Did they get relief of any sort at the Hall?’ interrupted Loveday.
‘Yes; one of the two ugly old women stopped outside the lodge gates with the donkey-cart, and the
other beauty went up to the house alone. She stayed there, I should think, about a quarter of an hour, and
when she came back, was followed by a servant, carrying a bundle and a basket.’
‘Ah! I’ve no doubt they brought away with them something else beside old garments and broken victuals.’
White stood in front of her, fixing a hard, steady gaze upon her.
‘Miss Brooke,’ he said presently, in a voice that matched the look on his face, ‘what do you suppose was
the real object of these women in going to Wootton Hall this morning?’
‘Mr White, if I wished to help a gang of thieves break into Wootton Hall tonight, don’t you think I should
be greatly interested in procuring from them the information that the master of the house was away from
home; that two of the men servants, who slept in the house, had recently been dismissed and their places
had not yet been filled; also that the dogs were never unchained at night, and that their kennels were at
the side of the house at which the butler’s pantry is not situated? These are particulars I have gathered
in this house without stirring from my chair, and I am satisfied that they are likely to be true. A the same
time, if I were a professed burglar, I should not be content with information that was likely to be true, but
would be careful to procure such that was certain to be true, and so would set accomplices to work at the
fountain head. Now do you understand?’
White folded his arms and looked down on her.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked, in short, brusque tones.
Loveday looked him full in the face. ‘Communicate with the police immediately,’ she answered; ‘and I
should feel greatly obliged if you will at once take a note from me to Inspector Gunning at Reigate.’
‘And what becomes of Annie?’
‘I don’t think you need have any anxiety on that head. I’ve no doubt that when the circumstances of
her admission to the Sisterhood are investigated, it will be proved that she has been as much deceived and
imposed upon as the man, John Murray, who so foolishly let his house to these women. Remember, Annie
has Mrs Copeland’s good word to support her integrity.’
White stood silent for awhile.
‘What sort of a note do you wish me to take to the Inspector?’ he presently asked.
‘You shall read it as I write it, if you like,’ answered Loveday. She took a correspondence card from her
letter case, and, with an indelible pencil, wrote as follows–
‘Wooton Hall is threatened tonight – concentrate attention there. L. B.’
White read the words as she wrote them with a curious expression passing over his handsome features.
‘Yes,’ he said, curtly as before. ‘I’ll deliver that, I give you my word, but I’ll bring back no answer to
you. I’ll do no more spying for you – it’s a trade that doesn’t suit me. There’s a straightforward way of doing
straightforward work, and I’ll take that way – no other – to get my Annie out of that den.’
He took the note, which she sealed and handed to him, and strode out of the room.

Loveday, from the window, watched him mount his bicycle. Was it her fancy, or did there pass a swift,
furtive glance of recognition between him and the hedger on the other side of the way as he rode out of
the court-yard?
Loveday seemed determined to make that hedger’s work easy for him. The short winter’s day was closing
in now, and her room must consequently have been growing dim to outside observation. She lighted the gas
chandelier which hung from the ceiling and, still with blinds and curtains undrawn, took her old place at
the window, spread writing materials before her and commenced a long and elaborate report to her chief
at Lynch Court.
About half-an-hour afterwards, as she threw a casual
glance across the road, she saw that the hedger had
disappeared, but that two ill-looking tramps sat munching
bread and cheese under the hedge to which his bill-hook
had done so little service. Evidently the intention was,
one way or another, not to lose sight of her so long as she
remained in Redhill.
Meantime, White had delivered Loveday’s note to the
Inspector at Reigate, and had disappeared on his bicycle
once more.
Gunning read it without a change of expression. Then
he crossed the room to the fire-place and held the card as
close to the bars as he could without scorching it.
‘I had a telegram from her this morning,’ he explained
to his confidential man, ‘telling me to rely upon chemicals
and coals throughout the day, and that, of course, meant
that she would write to me in invisible ink. No doubt this
message about Wootton Hall means nothing—’
He broke off abruptly, exclaiming: ‘Eh! what’s this!’ as,
having withdrawn the card from the fire, Loveday’s real
message stood out in bold, clear characters between the
lines of the false one.
Thus it ran:
‘North Cape will be attacked tonight – a desperate gang
– be prepared for a struggle. Above all, guard the electrical
engine-house. On no account attempt to communicate
with me; I am so closely watched that any endeavour to do
so may frustrate your chance of trapping the scoundrels.
L. B.’
That night when the moon went down behind Reigate
Hill an exciting scene was enacted at ‘North Cape.’ The
She lighted the gas
Surrey Gazette, in its issue the following day, gave the
subjoined account of it under the heading, ‘Desperate encounter with burglars.’
‘Last night, “North Cape,” the residence of Mr Jameson, was the scene of an affray between the police
and a desperate gang of burglars. “North Cape” is lighted throughout with electricity, and the burglars,
four in number, divided in half – two being told off to enter and rob the house, and two to remain at the
engine-shed, where the electricity is stored, so that, at a given signal, should need arise, the wires might
be unswitched, the inmates of the house thrown into sudden darkness and confusion, and the escape of the
marauders thereby facilitated. Mr Jameson, however, had received timely warning from the police of the
intended attack, and he, with his two sons, all well armed, sat in darkness in the inner hall awaiting the

coming of the thieves. The police were stationed, some in the stables, some in out-buildings nearer to the
house, and others in more distant parts of the grounds. The burglars effected their entrance by means of a
ladder placed to a window of the servants’ stair case which leads straight down to the butler’s pantry and
to the safe where the silver is kept. The fellows, however, had no sooner got into the house than the police,
issuing from their hiding-place outside, mounted the ladder after them and thus cut off their retreat.
Mr Jameson and his two sons, at the same moment, attacked them in front, and thus overwhelmed by
numbers, the scoundrels were easily secured. It was at the engine-house outside that the sharpest struggle
took place. The thieves had forced open the door of this engine-shed with their jimmies immediately on
their arrival, under the very eyes of the police, who lay in ambush in the stables, and when one of the men,
captured in the house, contrived to sound an alarm on his whistle, these outside watchers made a rush for
the electrical jars, in order to unswitch the wires. Upon this the police closed upon them, and a hand-to-
hand struggle followed, and if it had not been for the timely assistance of Mr Jameson and his sons, who
had fortunately conjectured that their presence here might be useful, it is more than likely that one of the
burglars, a powerfully-built man, would have escaped.
‘The names of the captured men are John Murray,
Arthur and George Lee (father and son), and a man
with so many aliases that it is difficult to know which
is his real name. The whole thing had been most
cunningly and carefully planned. The elder Lee, lately
released from penal servitude for a similar offence,
appears to have been prime mover in the affair. This
man had, it seems, a son and a daughter, who, through
the kindness of friends, had been fairly well placed in
life: the son at an electrical engineers’ in London, the
daughter as nursery governess at Wootton Hall. Directly
this man was released from Portland, he seems to have
found out his children and done his best to ruin them
both. He was constantly at Wootton Hall endeavouring
to induce his daughter to act as an accomplice to a
robbery of the house. This so worried the girl that she
threw up her situation and joined a Sisterhood that
had recently been established in the neighbourhood.
Upon this, Lee’s thoughts turned in another direction.
A hand-to-hand struggle He induced his son, who had saved a little money,
to throw up his work in London, and join him in his
disreputable career. The boy is a handsome young fellow, but appears to have in him the makings of a first-
class criminal. In his work as an electrical engineer he had made the acquaintance of the man John Murray,
who, it is said, has been rapidly going downhill of late. Murray was the owner of the house rented by the
Sisterhood that Miss Lee had joined, and the idea evidently struck the brains of these three scoundrels that
this Sisterhood, whose antecedents were a little mysterious, might be utilized to draw off the attention
of the police from themselves and from the especial house in the neighbourhood that they had planned to
attack. With this end in view, Murray made an application to the police to have the Sisters watched, and
still further to give colour to the suspicions he had endeavoured to set afloat concerning them, he and his
confederates made feeble attempts at burglary upon the houses at which the Sisters had called, begging
for scraps. It is a matter for congratulation that the plot, from beginning to end, has been thus successfully
unearthed, and it is felt on all sides that great credit is due to Inspector Gunning and his skilled coadjutors
for the vigilance and promptitude they have displayed throughout the affair.’
Loveday read aloud this report, with her feet on the fender of the Lynch Court office.
‘Accurate, as far as it goes,’ she said, as she laid down the paper.

‘But we want to know a little more,’ said Mr Dyer. ‘In the first place, I would like to know what it was
that diverted your suspicions from the unfortunate Sisters?’
‘The way in which they handled the children,’ answered Loveday promptly. ‘I have seen female criminals
of all kinds handling children, and I have noticed that although they may occasionally – even this is rare
– treat them with a certain rough sort of kindness, of tenderness they are utterly incapable. Now Sister
Monica, I must admit, is not pleasant to look at; at the same time, there was something absolutely beautiful
in the way in which she lifted the little cripple out of the cart, put his tiny thin hand round her neck, and
carried him into the house. By the way, I would like to ask some rapid physiognomist how he would account
for Sister Monica’s repulsiveness of feature as contrasted with young Lee’s undoubted good looks – heredity,
in this case, throws no light on the matter.’
‘Another question,’ said Mr Dyer, not paying much heed to Loveday’s digression: ‘how was it you
transferred your suspicions to John Murray?’
‘I did not do so immediately, although at the very first it had struck me as odd that he should be so
anxious to do the work of the police for them. The chief thing I noticed concerning Murray, on the first and
only occasion on which I saw him, was that he had had an accident with his bicycle, for in the right-hand
corner of his lamp-glass there was a tiny star, and the lamp itself had a dent on the same side, had also lost
its hook, and was fastened to the machine by a bit of electric fuse. The next morning as I was walking up
the hill towards Northfield, I was accosted by a young man mounted on that self-same bicycle – not a doubt
of it – star in glass, dent, fuse, all three.’
‘Ah, that sounded an important keynote, and led you to connect Murray and the younger Lee immediately.’
‘It did, and, of course, also at once gave the lie to his statement that he was a stranger in the place,
and confirmed my opinion that there was nothing of the north-countryman in his accent. Other details in
his manner and appearance gave rise to other suspicions. For instance, he called himself a press reporter
by profession, and his hands were coarse and grimy as only a mechanic’s could be. He said he was a bit of a
literary man, but the Tennyson that showed so obtrusively from his pocket was new, and in parts uncut, and
totally unlike the well-thumbed volume of the literary student. Finally, when he tried and failed to put my
latch-key into his waistcoat pocket, I saw the reason lay in the fact that the pocket was already occupied
by a soft coil of electric fuse, the end of which protruded. Now, an electric fuse is what an electrical
engineer might almost unconsciously carry about with him, it is so essential a part of his working tools, but
it is a thing that a literary man or a press reporter could have no possible use for.’
‘Exactly, exactly. And it was no doubt, that bit of electric fuse that turned your thoughts to the one
house in the neighbourhood lighted by electricity, and suggested to your mind the possibility of electrical
engineers turning their talents to account in that direction. Now, will you tell me, what, at that stage of
your day’s work, induced you to wire to Gunning that you would bring your invisible-ink bottle into use?’
‘That was simply a matter or precaution; it did not compel me to the use of invisible ink, if I saw other
safe methods of communication. I felt myself being hemmed in on all sides with spies, and I could not tell
what emergency might arise. I don’t think I have ever had a more difficult game to play. As I walked and
talked with the young fellow up the hill, it became clear to me that if I wished to do my work I must lull
the suspicions of the gang, and seem to walk into their trap. I saw by the persistent way in which Wootton
Hall was forced on my notice that it was wished to fix my suspicions there. I accordingly, to all appearance,
did so, and allowed the fellows to think they were making a fool of me.’
‘Ha! ha! Capital that – the biter bit, with a vengeance! Splendid idea to make that young rascal himself
deliver the letter that was to land him and his pals in jail. And he all the time laughing in his sleeve and
thinking what a fool he was making of you! Ha, ha, ha!’ And Mr Dyer made the office ring again with his
merriment.
‘The only person one is at all sorry for in this affair is poor little Sister Anna,’ said Loveday pityingly;
‘and yet, perhaps, all things considered, after her sorry experience of life, she may not be so badly placed
in a Sisterhood where practical Christianity – not religious hysterics – is the one and only rule of the order.’

RIPPING YARNS
Reviews
JA
CK ER
THE RIPP
The True History of Jack the Ripper:

The Forgotten 1905 Ripper Novel
Guy Logan
With additional material by Jan Bondeson
Stroud, Gloucestershire: Amberley, 2013
www.amberley-books.com
221pp, illus, notes
softcover
£16.99
The True History of Jack the Ripper is a novel written by a journalist named Guy Logan. It was
serialised in The Illustrated Police News in 1905, was never published as a book, and seems to have
quietly faded from memory. Now recovered by Jan Bondeson, the novel has finally been published as
a book!
The True History of Jack the Ripper isn’t a great work of literature, and Logan never meant it to be. As Jan Bondeson
acknowledges, it is ‘superficial, formulaic, and shows signs of having been written in a hurry.’ But it’s not a bad story,
especially when compared to some of the other serials published in the newspapers, or as ‘shilling shockers’.
What is really valuable about this book is Bondeson’s introduction and afterword which charts Logan’s career until
1938 when he fell into the clutches of Lady Abinger. She successfully sued Logan for libel and thereafter Logan wrote
not another word (as far as is known).
Logan was a young journalist at the time of the Ripper murders and he visited Jan Bondeson has yet to produce
the murder scenes with another journalist. There is little evidence that he was
an average book, let alone a bad
intimately acquainted with senior policemen or senior journalists, although he
knew George R Sims and, interestingly, Sir Basil Thomson wrote the introduction to
one, and although this book is one
Logan’s book Verdict and Sentence published in 1936. Logan seems to have favoured for serious Ripperologists, Logan’s
the Druitt story when he wrote The Secret of Scotland Yard, but had abandoned it novel is well worth reading.
by the time he wrote Masters of Crime in 1926, describing it as ‘pure myth’.
Jan Bondeson has yet to produce an average book, let alone a bad one, and although this book is one for serious
Ripperologists, Logan’s novel is well worth reading. A definite must have.
Review by Paul Begg

Annie Chapman - Wife, Mother, Victim:
The Life And Death Of A Victim Of Jack The Ripper
Mike Covell
Foreword by Brian L Porter
Hull: Amazing Hull Tours Publications, 2014
717pp
Kindle ebook
£4.99
Mike Covell is a well-intentioned nice guy and goodness knows how many hours he has spent culling
newspaper databases and transcribing newspaper reports, but the sad fact is that a collection of press
clippings do not make a book.
In his foreword Brian L Porter writes, ‘For the first time, an author has taken the time to truly
research the life of Ripper victim Annie Chapman in meticulous detail, and produce a thorough presentation, in full-
length book format, of the facts relating to Annie’s life and death.’ He goes on to say that Covell does not do this
through his own words, but as reported in the contemporary press.
This isn’t true of course. The doyen of researching the lives of the Ripper’s victims is Neal Shelden, who has authored
a number of ‘booklets’ on the subject, as well as the short paperback, The Victims of Jack the Ripper, published by
Dan Norder’s Inklings Press back in 2007. And collecting together a bunch of news reports, while interesting in their own
right, isn’t exactly researching the life of Annie Chapman in ‘meticulous detail’. Porter goes on to describe Covell’s
collection of raw source material as a ‘new literary approach’, which it isn’t - a collection of newspaper reports isn’t
‘literary’, new or otherwise, and it is an approach taken years ago by the authors of News From Whitechapel.
Mike Covell can’t be blamed for the extravagant claims made by the author
of the foreword to his book – but oh yes he can. He could and should have
As an avid collector of news reports
asked Porter to modify his claims or rejected Porter’s foreword altogether.
about the crimes, I find Covell’s
Ths book is therefore another Covell-collected collection of press clippings,
transcribed reports valuable additions
dutifully and valuably transcribed press clippings devoted to the murder of
Annie Chapman. As Brian Porter rightly says, they enable you to follow the
to my collection and it must be
unfolding story of the murder as it happened. It’s the nearest you’ll ever acknowledged that anyone unfamiliar
get to being in the Autumn of 1888. As an avid collector of news reports with the original newspaper reports
about the crimes, I find Covell’s transcribed reports valuable additions to will hopefully find these books of
my collection and it must be acknowledged that anyone unfamiliar with interest and value too.
the original newspaper reports will hopefully find these books of interest
and value too. But these books aren’t for the general reader and they are
subject to the usual caveat that this is raw data, Covell offers little or no
commentary on the articles.
Review by Paul Begg
Jack the Ripper and the Maybrick Family

Mike Covell
Foreword by Robert Anderson
Hull: Amazing Hull Tours Publications, 2014
228pp
Kindle ebook
£5.98
Yet another collection of news clippings from Mike Covell, and this time he’s paddling in the now
calm but once shark-infested waters of the so-called Maybrick Diary, once the subject of a venomous
flame war on the Casebook message boards.
The book opens with a genealogical history of Florence, James, and assorted family members, then
provides a detailed and useful timeline of the Diary, and in a following but lamentably brief chapter
titled the ‘Maybrick watch’, Covell tells us that the late and lamented Jeremy Beadle was ‘a massive force in true
crime’, which suggests that he was a modern Moriarty, and Adam Worth planning and financing international crimes. I

suspect Covell really means that Jeremy was a book collector with a particular interest in true crime books. I’m not sure
that he was a ‘massive force’ in true crime book collecting though.
This is just one instance, minor in itself, which demonstrates the need for a professional editor to clean up the writing
here and there. Perhaps most irritating is Covell’s habit of naming people without telling the reader who or what they
were or are. We’re told that Robert Smith bought the publishing rights for Smith Gryphon and Paul Feldman bought
the audio/visual rights, but not who were Smith and Feldman. We are told that on 5 October 1993 the Daily Express
published an article quoting Melvin Harris, but Covell doesn’t say who Melvin Harris was or what significance he plays in
the Diary saga. There are some more serious layout problems, especially between paragraphs.
The last chapters concern The Assembly Rooms in Hull, an extant but much changed venue which was host to Michael
Maybrick, and a lengthy history of William Henry Coates, who played a peripheral role in the Maybrick cases – proving
that gycerin contained arsenic. Neither seems to merit the space given them.
The bulk of the book is, of course, the newspaper reports, these being culled from Hull and Yorkshire newspapers and
chronologically arranged. All the usual caveats apply – why just Hull and Yorkshire newspapers, wouldn’t Liverpool and
Lancashire newspapers have been more informative?
A goldmine for collectors of press clippings.
Review by Paul Begg
east end
Vanishing East End

Megan Hopkinson
Stroud, Gloucestershire: Amberley Publishing 2014
www.amberleybooks.com
ISBN: 978-1445602967
96pp, softcover, illus
£14.99
The opening of the Victoria Docks in the mid-1850s virtually created Canning Town, an area of the
East End which was almost immediately a slum distinguished for its extreme poverty, filth, squalor and
diseases such as cholera and smallpox. Slum clearance began in the 1930s, the devastation of heavy
bombing during WWII helped it along, and today it is undergoing significant regeneration, but it remains
among the 5% of the most deprived areas in Britain. As with so many places distinguished by poverty
and disease, those who lived there (and live there) formed a bond of community which was and is almost unbreakable.
Megan Hopkinson comes from Canning Town and in her introduction she states that she holds ‘much love and respect’
for the area, as she should, and this is primarily a picture book - I don’t know by what percentage images outweigh text
- showing how Canning Town used to be, and the text is memories by people who have lived there.
Review by Paul Begg

East End at War and Peace
Michael Russell
Kidworth, Leicestershire: Troubador Publishing, 2014
www.toubador.co.uk/matador
ISBN: 978-1-78088-399-1
220pp, hardcover, illus
£16.00
This is a personal book, self-published I believe, with high production qualities, in which the
author captures the essence of the East End from 1890s to 1961, with admittedly more about the war
years than the 1890s. It’s a collection of memories, both the author’s own as well as his family’s oral
history, grandparents providing accounts of trench warfare and the Great Depression of the 1920s, the
preparations for war in the 1930s, to the choking smogs of the 1950s and 1960s.
This is an enjoyable book, part history but mostly a personal memoir. Well worth taking a look at.
Review by Paul Begg
RI
PP rs
E R au t h o
The Director’s Cut

Christopher DiGrazia
www.kissmemyfool.com
Hollywood:1921 Pvg Publishing. 2011
www.1921PVG.com
ISBN: 0982770948
softcover £13.06
Kindle ebook: £1.92
Theda Bara was a ‘manufactured’ star. Born Theodosia Burr Goodman in Ohio, the publicists at Fox
Studios changed her name to Theda Bara, an anagram of ‘Arab Death’, and claimed she had been born
in the Sahara, the daughter of an Arab sheik and a French woman. With references to mysticism and
the occult peppering her interviews, and her extraordinary eyes enhanced by heavy black makeup, she
was portrayed as a heartless man-eater, a vamp (short for vampire).
Massively popular, the cinemas first sex symbol, tastes eventually changed, but
Bara couldn’t escape the image of a vamp and her career declined. She retired Former and much missed
from the screen in 1926 and died of stomach cancer in 1955. Ripperologist columnist
Bara made over 40 films between 1914 and 1926, but today she’s almost
Christopher-Michael DiGrazia
forgotten, largely because only three of her movies survive, hardly enough to has resurrected Theda Bara as the
represent her career. protagonist in what I hope will be a
Former and much missed Ripperologist columnist Christopher-Michael DiGrazia series of novels. DiGrazia modestly
has resurrected Theda Bara as the protagonist in what I hope will be a series of remained silent about this book, so we
novels. DiGrazia modestly remained silent about this book, so we didn’t review it didn’t review it on publication. Pity.
on publication. Pity. It’s a cracking piece of crime fiction. It’s maybe a little rough It’s a cracking piece of crime fiction.
around the edges - what first novel isn’t? - but DiGrazia knows his stuff and deftly
recreates the New York movie world (these are pre- Hollywood days)

It’s 1914 or 1915 and Bara’s first movie A Fool There Was (archive.org/details/A_Fool_There_Was) is about to go into
production. Bara, tipped to be Fox Studio’s next big star, has all her hopes for fame and fortune resting on every crank of
the camera handle. Also anxious for the film to be a success is Bara’s young make-up man, Toby Swanson, who is a little
street-wise, is very movie-wise, and is quickly Bara’s best friend. Both see a successful future, but then the director is
killed in a freak accident.
Except Bara begins to suspect isn’t an accident at all and as Theda and Toby Swanson investigate it soon looks like
their future may be very short lived.
An excellent read. I thoroughly enjoyed it and hope that DiGrazia can continue the series.
Review by Paul Begg
Ghost Hunting With Peter Underwood

Peter Underwood
The King’s England Press, Huddersfield
www.kingsengland.com
ISBN 978 1 909548 32 9
Soft cover, illustrated, 250 pages, £11.99
It was at the time of the centenary of the Ripper murders that I first made contact with Peter
Underwood as he had just written his own contribution to the Ripper genre in the form of his Jack the
Ripper One Hundred Years of Mystery (London, Blandford Press, 1987). This was a highly enjoyable, and
eclectic, Ripper centenary read which also first introduced me to the writings of other Ripperologists
Jim Tully, Peter Rowe and Sean P Day. I was already something of a fan of Peter Underwood as I had been
reading his ghost books since my teens.
Since then he has contributed many more books on his specialist supernatural field and, now in his nineties, he is
something of an icon and has published this very entertaining and informative book on a selection of notable hauntings
including Beaulieu Abbey, Berry Pomeroy Castle, Blickling Hall, Chingle Hall, the Ferry Boat Inn, Hever Castle, Ightham
Mote, Lympne Castle, Sawston Hall, Spinney Abbey, Woburn Abbey and many others. There are over 60 illustrations
and the accounts benefit from the author’s unique knowledge and personal experiences. As the publisher’s information
states, ‘the author has cherry-picked over 30 cases of hauntings and manifestations at historic houses and gardens, many
of them open to the public. Each one… freshly described and re-examined from the perspective and point of view of a
lifetime’s experience.
This book is an enjoyable journey through these historic and haunted sites and makes an ideal guide if you are
touring with a view to seeing these places. As an incurable Peter Underwood fan and a lover of these tales I thoroughly
recommend this book and suggest that it is a must to add to your bookshelf, especially if you collect books in this genre.
It’s ‘a ghost book must’. Peter has a website at www.peterunderwood.org.uk and has an entry on Wikipedia.
Review by Stewart P Evans
WANT US TO REVIEW YOUR BOOK?
Ripperologist magazine has a circulation list of over 500 readers,

each with an interest in Jack the Ripper, Victorian crime and London’s East End.
If you are an author or publisher of a forthcoming book and would like to reach our readers,
please get in touch at contact@ripperologist.biz

OVER 200 JACK THE RIPPER AND ASSOCIATED TITLES ON LAYBOOKS.COM INCLUDING:
BEGG/BENNETT - JACK THE RIPPER : THE FORGOTTEN VICTIMS ODELL (ROBIN) - WRITTEN AND RED:
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For these and more visit www.laybooks.com/make_an_offer.asp
Donald Swanson,
Chief Inspector at the time
of the Ripper murders, is to
have a memorial dedicated
in his honour.
See I Beg to Report.

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138 June 2014

Alice McKenzie HELENA WOJTCZAK

through the George Chapman

looking glass on Walter Sickert’s blues

DEAR RIP: YOUR COMMENTS Back issues will be available shortly on

The True History of Jack the Ripper... and more! www.ripperologist.biz

Smiles from reason flow,

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 1

It is generally accepted that everybody has

The Carry On films took on British institutions

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 2

On 17 July 1889 Alice McKenzie was murdered in Castle Alley,

Tuesday, 15 January 1889

Monday, 15 July 1889

1 Peterborough Advertiser, 20 July 1889.

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 4

Tuesday, 16 July 1889

Brodie is very drunk and tells George Salvage

3 The Times, Thursday, 18 July 1889.

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 5

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 6

Wednesday, 17 July 1889

against the wall. She reads in bed and

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 7

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 8

under the scavenger’s wagon.

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 9

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 10

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 11

44 East London Observer, Saturday, 20 July 1889; MEPO 3/140 ff 272-3.

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 12

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 13

Thursday, 18 July 1889

60 Aberdeen Weekly Journal, 19th July 1889; Echo, 18 July 1889.

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 14

Friday, 19 July 1889

67 New York Herald, 20 July 1889.

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 15

Monday, 22 July 1889

Wednesday, 24 July 1889

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 16

Saturday, 27 July 1889

Monday, 29 July 1889

Monday, 12 August 1889

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 17

Monday, 9 September 1889

Did the couple enter Castle Alley together?

From which direction did they enter Castle Alley?

80 East London Advertiser, Saturday, 17 August 1889.

The bloody clay pipe and farthing

Throat cut with a pointed, short bladed knife

84 Alderley and Wilmslow Advertiser, Friday, 19 July 1889.

The throat cut

Too shocked to cry out

Killer had knowledge of how to kill

Scoring and wounds to abdomen

94 East London Observer, Saturday, 17 August 1889.

Bruising and bloodstains on abdomen

The tight clothing around the abdomen

102 The Times, Thursday, 15 August 1889.

Ripperologist 138 June 2014 21

McKenzie and McCormack

John McCormack (M’Cormack, McCormac, Cormack, Bryant, Jim)