Ripperologist 125

No.
125 April 2012
Ada Wilson
MARK RIPPER explains why
the potential Ripper victim
was doubly unfortunate
LYNN CATES presents the case against Jacob Isenschmid

SIMON WOOD uses Occam’s Razor to examine the Cutbush theory
BARRY DIGGLE with an unheeded lesson from history
Victorian Fiction from W T STEAD Ripperologist 118 January 2011 1
Quote for the month
“As soon as I walk in the door, I’m dad. That’s it.
I don’t sit in a windowless cellar surrounded by files.”
Whitechapel actor Steve Pemberton reveals how he leaves the Ripper and other killers at work.
The Daily Star, London, 11 March 2012.
www.dailystar.co.uk/posts/view/239931/Steve-Pemberton-reveals-his-darkest-secret
Ripperologist 125,
April 2012
EDITORIAL: A DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF TIME EXECUTIVE EDITOR
by Gareth Williams Adam Wood
EDITORS
ADA WILSON: DOUBLY UNFORTUNATE Christopher T George,
by Mark Ripper Gareth Williams, Eduardo Zinna
THE CASE AGAINST JACOB ISENSCHMID EDITOR-AT-LARGE

by Lynn Cates Paul Begg
COLUMNISTS
OCCAM’S RAZOR
Howard Brown, Mike Covell,
by Simon Wood Chris Scott
A LESSON UNHEEDED: WALTER LEWIS TURNER ARTWORK
AND THE HORSFORTH CHILD MURDER Adam Wood
by Barry Diggle
CHRIS SCOTT’S PRESS TRAWL
AMAZING DOGS
by Jan Bondeson
Follow the latest news at
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www.facebook.com/ripperologist
by The Gentle Author
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Ripperologist 118 January 2011 2
civil liability and criminal prosecution.
A Dance to
the Music of Time
EDITORIAL by
GARETH WILLIAMS
Throughout April, a new ballet, created and choreographed by Liam Scarlett, is showing at
the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden. Part of a triple bill of three short works, Sweet Violets
is a portrayal of Walter Sickert at the time of the murder of Emily Dimmock, and of the painter’s
alleged connections (or, at least, his fascination) with the Ripper Murders of some two decades
earlier. Thus, although ostensibly set in 1907 Camden, the action occupies a lacuna in space-
time, resonating between the two quantum states of Sickert’s Edwardian atelier and the Late
Victorian boudoir of Mary Kelly. Into this time-loop flit our old friends (and, as some would have
us believe, Sickert’s too) Prince Eddy and an otherwise nameless “Jack”, who proceeds to commit
a grisly murder. Whether the victim is meant to be Sickert’s model, Emily Dimmock, or Mary Kelly
is unclear, but it scarcely matters in a work like Sweet Violets, or indeed in any other allegorical
work of the imagination.
It would be too easy to feel a little miffed by this – I mean, we’ve all, at times, felt a little annoyed whenever a work
of art or entertainment departs from the known facts of the Ripper story, presents known inaccuracies, or promotes
a discredited agenda. But aren’t we perhaps guilty of being a touch over-sensitive in such matters? Although, on the
surface, works like Sweet Violets might be seen as perpetuating the Sickert/Royal Conspiracy myth, in the world of
art-as-entertainment it makes for a rattling good story, and very little harm is done to the purist cause. Shouldn’t we
therefore take such entertainment at face value, and – for all the inconsistencies and infelicities they put across – enjoy
them for what they are?
I’ll admit to being a little ambivalent on this point. On the one hand, I’m invariably a bit peeved when a friend or
colleague asks, in all sincerity, my opinion on the degree to which the Freemasons, Gull, Sickert, Prince Eddy inter alia
were implicated in the murders. Conversely, I can’t help but recognise that such howlers usually turn into a launch-pad
for more enlightening discussion. Such approaches usually arise from the questioners’ encounters with movies or drama-
documentaries – I’ve yet to be thus accosted by colleagues who’ve seen a ballet or opera based on the Ripper story (eg
Alban Berg’s Lulu or the play that spawned it, Wedekind’s Pandora’s Box), but one lives in hope!
More annoying, pernicious, and increasingly commonplace is the scenario whereby a purportedly serious book or
television documentary has piqued the public interest, provoking a spurt of misplaced, often prurient, interest in the
case. A spate of speculative books and documentaries in recent years (nay, weeks!) has brought this back into focus
– and another “silly season” may be upon us. I can’t be alone in having had to field endless queries about the validity
of Deeming’s candidature, on the one hand, and what I think about the Swansea connection to the case in the book A
Woman’s Hand (or, if I had my way, The Epiphany of Jill the Ripper), on whose pages the ink is still wet!
Still, I’m more than happy to squash any half-baked theory that comes my way, and to point the curious to hopefully
more sober (but no less rewarding) routes of enquiry. As many of us know, there is still much to be learned from the
minutiæ of the Ripper story than from the premature ejaculations of any number of books and documentaries, and rich
seams of detail remain to be explored. Equally, the facts of the case are interesting enough in themselves to withstand
the occasional fantastical leap into the world of theatre. There is room for both, provided we recognise that fantasy and
allegory work best within the realm of art, and that historical research is better served if one keeps one’s feet firmly
planted on the ground.
Ripperologist 125 April 2012 1

Ada Wilson:
Doubly Unfortunate
By MARK RIPPER
On Wednesday 28 March 1888, at half past twelve in the morning, Ada Wilson was attacked
with a knife. The attack occurred at her home, 9 Maidman Street, in Bow, a brisk walk east of
Whitechapel, and when her screams were heard issuing from the direction of her front door, two
young ladies who happened to be in the vicinity decided to inform the police. They found two
constables outside the Royal Hotel, a public house on the corner of Mile End Road and Burdett
Road, and the policemen – Ronald Saw (K 232) and Thomas Longhurst (K 539) – rushed to find out
what was happening. Lying in her hallway, Ada Wilson was smothered in blood.1
Dr Richard Wheeler, who lived next door to the
Royal Hotel, was called for, and he could do little
more than patch the victim up and send her to the
London Hospital for more extensive treatment.2 There
she was assessed by Dr William Rawes, admitted to
the Sophia Ward, and placed in the care of Dr John
Couper; she was accident no. 129 in the hospital’s
register, a 39-year-old machinist, married, bearing a
lacerated wound, not self-inflicted, to the neck. Early
press reports of the attack found it difficult to decide
whether Ada was expected to survive, but survive she
did. She was finally discharged from the hospital on 27
April 1888, nearly a month after her admission.3
Gradually, details of the incident filtered into the
press – Ada was lucky enough to have been able to
provide her own version of events and, in the general
9 and 10 Maidman Street, 1974. Courtesy Rob Clack.
absence of other witnesses to the crime, her story
became more or less definitive. She was just about to go to bed, she said, when she heard someone knocking at
the door. As the ground floor resident, occupying the front and back parlours, it perhaps fell to her to deal with
visitors – or perhaps she was expecting someone anyway. Whatever the truth of the matter, Ada went to the front
door, and opened it to a man whom she described as a total stranger. The man demanded money, and said that,
if she did not hand it over, “she had but a few moments to live”; Ada steadfastly refused to part with any. The
man produced a clasp knife from his pocket, and stabbed her twice – the Pall Mall Gazette said three times – in
the throat.4
1 East London Advertiser, 31 March 1888; police officers identified at forum.casebook.org/archive/index.php/t-3578.html

2 East London Observer, 31 March 1888
3 Reynolds’s Newspaper, 1 April 1888; Patient Admission Register, London Hospital, 1888
(Royal London Hospital Archives and Museum)
4 Eastern Post & City Chronicle, 31 March 1888; Pall Mall Gazette, 28 March 1888

Certain features of Ada’s account seemed,
nonetheless, at variance with the facts.
She said that she had been stabbed, but,
rather than the puncture wounds which one
might expect to result from such an attack,
her throat exhibited what the hospital
recorded as lacerations.5 By the beginning
of April, perhaps smelling a rat somewhere,
Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper had developed
an alternative narrative, attributing their
information to further police enquiries. The
case had been allocated to K Division Police
Inspectors Richard Wildey and William
Dilworth:
Subsequent inquiries made by the police

revealed the fact that the dispute arose
Sophia Ward, London Hospital. Courtesy Rob Clack.
between the woman and a man who she
states is her husband; and, after quarrelling with the woman, he stabbed her in the throat, and made his
escape by the front door of the house. He was pursued for some distance by a neighbour living opposite,
who heard loud screams proceeding from No. 9. But the would-be murderer sharply turned a corner, and
was soon lost in the labyrinth of streets.6
The newspaper went on to say that a “fairly accurate description” of the man had been obtained, although,
unless this had been extracted from the valiant neighbour to whom the article alluded, it must have come from
Ada. If it had, and the assailant had been her husband, one would have imagined that she could have generated a
description which was more than just “fairly accurate”. The description given was, however, the only one any of
the newspapers carried, and probably the only one the police had. It depicted a man aged about thirty (Lloyd’s
Weekly Newspaper put him between twenty-five and thirty), standing about five feet and six inches tall, with a
sunburnt face, a fair moustache, and wearing light trousers, a dark coat and a wideawake hat.7
The mysterious spectre of the missing husband showed up, too, in the press reports of Rose Bierman’s growing
disquiet. Rose and her mother lived above Ada, but seemed not to like her, and kept her at arm’s length. Rose’s
information about her downstairs neighbour was therefore piecemeal. Ada had been under notice to leave her
lodgings, Rose said, at the time of the attack. Rose knew Ada was married, but she herself had never seen Mr
Wilson. In the meantime, Rose went on, Ada often had visitors, although the Biermans rarely saw them either. On
the evening in question, Ada had arrived home with a man in tow, “but whether he was her husband or not I could
not say”. When the screaming started, Rose ran downstairs to the passage, where Ada – partially dressed and
wringing her hands – cried, “Stop that man for cutting my throat! He has stabbed me!” With this, Ada collapsed
in a faint.
Rose had, in fact, seen a man from the top of the stairs. As she made her way down, so he made his way out,
through the passage and then the front door, and Rose noticed that “he did not seem somehow to unfasten the
catch as if he had been accustomed to do so before”. By the time Rose arrived at Ada’s side, the quantity of blood
which lay about suggested the severity of Ada’s injury. “I don’t know what I shall do myself,” reflected Rose, later.
“I am now ‘keeping the Feast’, and how can I do so with what has occurred here?”8
Perhaps the subsequent police inquiries mentioned by Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper had indeed shown that the
situation was a domestic one, rather than a case of random assault; but, if so, no conviction was ever obtained.
By the time Ada Wilson returned home from the hospital, all hope of finding her attacker – or of proving anything
in a court of law – seemed to have disappeared.
*****
5 Patient Admission Register, London Hospital, 1888 (Royal London Hospital Archives and Museum)
6 Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 1 April 1888; detectives identified in East London Observer, 31 March 1888
7 East London Observer, 31 March 1888; Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 1 April 1888
8 Eastern Post & City Chronicle, 31 March 1888

The attack on Ada Wilson was suggested
as a prequel to the Ripper murders by
Martin Fido. While researching his 1987
book, The Crimes, Detection and Death
of Jack the Ripper, Fido leafed through
the East End’s contemporary press,
looking for anything which resembled a
Ripperological amuse-bouche, anything
containing the germ of what would
follow in the autumn of 1888. He alighted
upon reports of the Wilson attack, which
ticked several boxes. Ada was, Fido
noted, a “sempstress” – in fact, the
East London Observer article he cited
in support of this fact described her as
a “dressmaker”.9 But the distinction
was an insignificant one; anyway, Fido
advised his readers, not unreasonably,
that Ada’s professed line of work was
The attack on Ada Wilson from The Illustrated Police News, March 1888.
probably a convenient smokescreen,
and that Ada was “pretty certainly a working prostitute”. This placed her neatly within the potential ambit
of the Ripper, whose attentions to prostitutes would cause so much consternation later that year. Beyond this,
the physical description of Wilson’s assailant chimed with certain later descriptions of the Ripper himself. The
mode of attack – the knife to the neck – seemed to lack the distinctive dexterity of the Ripper murders, but
it simultaneously suggested an emerging skillset. Fido knew better than to pin his colours irretrievably to the
mast where Wilson was concerned, but, in the three telling areas of the victim’s characteristics, the attacker’s
appearance, and the medium of the assault, there existed sufficient parallels with later events to justify a little
light speculation.
Since the publication of Fido’s book, Ada Wilson has entered the second division of Ripper victims – although it
ought to be said that she is non-canonical in the way that Annie Milward (another of Fido’s suggestions) is, rather
than in the way that Emma Smith, Frances Coles or Alice MacKenzie are. The attack on Ada Wilson was never, as
far as anyone knows, linked with Jack the Ripper by the police officers of the time. Still, her obscure role – thrust
upon her by modern thinking – as the Ripper’s possible testing ground seems to have guaranteed her survival on
the fringes of the subject, and she is particularly beloved of those who go further than Fido, and conceptualise
the development of the serial killer’s psychology as a sequence of more or less programmatic steps.
There have been previous attempts to identify Ada Wilson within the historical record of civil and ecclesiastical
registers, censuses and so on. The most significant of these appears to have been Chris Scott’s, in his Jack
the Ripper: A Cast of Thousands. Scott takes the plunge, starting with Ada’s frustratingly common surname,
acknowledging the use of the adjective “young” to describe the victim in several newspaper accounts of the case,
and stipulating a family connection with Mile End. He concludes that the balance of probability is that Ada was the
nineteen- or twenty-year-old daughter of Robert and Charlotte Wilson, tracing the family through the censuses
to Sidney Street, Gill Street and Salter Street. While none of these locations obviates the possibility that this Ada
Wilson was indeed the Ada Wilson, her given occupations (1891: twine spinner; 1901: packer in jam factory) fail to
resonate with the “sempstress” of 1888. Nor does the identification of this Ada Wilson echo Rose Bierman’s hint at
the original Ada’s marital status – a hint which is apparently confirmed in the hospital admissions register. Scott’s
identification – made nearly a decade ago, on the basis of the evidence which was then available, circumspectly,
in good faith and on the balance of probabilities – seems nonetheless to contain the sorts of inconsistencies which
are now difficult to overlook.10
9 Fido, M., The Crimes, Detection and Death of Jack the Ripper (first published London, 1987; Orion paperback edition:
London, 1993), 16; East London Observer, 31 March 1888
10 Scott, C., Jack the Ripper: A Cast of Thousands (eBook format, 2004; text available online at www.casebook.org/ripper_media/
book_reviews/non-fiction/castofthousands.toc.html); Ada Wilson: www.casebook.org/ripper_media/book_reviews/non-fiction/
castofthousands.ada-wilson.html

It would be very gratifying at this stage to be able to say that my candidate for Ada Wilson was free of any
such limitations, but she is not. I have the luxury of a greater range of evidence than was available a decade
ago, as databases have continued to become increasingly available online. Even so I cannot quite pin Ada down.
She continues to elude the researcher – no individual seems to embody all the characteristics required to tie the
various strands of evidence together. Still, in what remains of this article, I intend to present my candidate, and
her credentials; I shall leave the reader to decide how successful, or unsuccessful, my identification is.
*****
Zoa Ada Bisdey Elbury was born in 1863, in Bristol. Her very unusual first name seems not to have been a
spelling mistake – or, at least, if it was, it stuck, and was later inherited by her niece, Zoa Lavinia Elbury, born in
1899. A handful of Zoas were, in fact, born in Victorian England – and two more were born in Wales – but, given
its unfamiliarity, it is perhaps not surprising that Zoa was referred to as Ada in almost every other record she left
behind. The determining influence upon the choice of Bisdey as a supplementary middle name seems equally
difficult to isolate. We’ll call her Ada, just for consistency.
Ada’s parents, Henry Edwin Elbury and Emma Fry, married shortly before she was born – Emma probably
knew she was pregnant. He had been born and bred in Bristol, and she was certainly of Somerset stock. Henry’s
father and elder brother were both stoneware potters – he followed them into this occupation, and seemed to
do reasonably well. By 1871, Henry and Emma had been married for eight years, and had three children – Ada,
Charles and Henry – and a servant. They lived in what seems to have been reasonable comfort on Clarence Square,
in Bedminster, Bristol.
In the circumstances, it is hard to know whether the family’s next appearance in the census – at 39 Stratfield
Road, in Bromley St Leonard, signified a reversal of fortunes. If guests and auxiliaries were anything to go by, then
they had a lodger in 1881, rather than a servant. There were more mouths to feed (Rose, Emma and Thomas) and
Ada, now 17, was earning her living – as a tailoress.
Ada Elbury in the 1881 Census.

If, at least initially, life seemed not so bad, the trend seemed to be, generally speaking, for the worse. In
September 1887, Ada’s younger brother Henry, then aged sixteen, found himself charged with damaging signal
pulleys on the Great Eastern Railway line at Leytonstone; he had a previous conviction against his name, and he
was sentenced to six weeks’ (according to the Standard) or six months’ (according to the Pall Mall Gazette) hard
labour.11 Was this youthful impetuosity? Or were things in the Elbury family on the slide? If they were, could Ada
have been working in prostitution by 1888, out of two adjoined ground-floor rooms in Maidman Street?
But what of her putative marriage, alluded to by Rose Bierman and the hospital registers? I suggest that it
is easy enough to suppose that Ada was not, in fact, legally married at the time of her attack, but was in a
relationship and had found it convenient to adopt the image of a married woman: landlords may have been more
inclined to let their properties to married women rather than single ones, believing the probability of a married
woman entering prostitution to be lower. It will be remembered that Ada was, according to Rose, under notice
to leave her accommodation in March 1888 – this may have been simply because she had defaulted on her rent,
or it may have been because the nature of her income had been detected, and her landlord disconcerted by the
frequency of male visitors to Ada’s rooms. That Ada was in a relationship in the Spring of 1888 seems plausible –
on 2 January 1889, a little over eight months after returning from the hospital, she married Samuel Wilson at the
registry office in Bristol. She gave her address as 2 Portwall Lane, Bristol, but there is little to indicate that this
was her permanent residence.
Samuel was older than Ada: he said that he was thirty-three on his marriage certificate, although this may
have been a rather modest assessment. He described himself as an engine fitter, but may have been dividing his
time between Bristol and London, and leading an erratic professional life. He may also have been developing
an increasing taste for drink, and he and Ada certainly appear to have endured a tempestuous relationship. He
abandoned Ada in or around February 1891; she returned to her parents’ house in time for the 1891 census, at
which point the family resided at 78 Rounton Road, Bromley St Leonard.12 According to the enumerator’s records,
Ada was married, twenty-seven years of age, and a “waterproof hand” – making waterproof clothing from India
rubber. This profession – lightly skilled, but perhaps quick to be picked up once one had the job – perhaps
suggested a degree of specialisation, but Ada was still firmly in the clothing-manufacturing trade.
At half past ten on 25 June 1891, Samuel reappeared, finding Ada in “Rowntree-road” (so said the Daily News,
meaning Rounton Road).13 He asked Ada for sixpence and a clean collar, as, he said, he was going to work the next
day. “All right,” she said, and went into the house to fetch the collar – she returned to say that she had not got the
sixpence. But Samuel, by now, had all his eggs in one basket. He asked to live with Ada again, but the proposition
failed to appeal to her. “Go to work,” she said, “and be different”. The suggestion that he was generally too idle
to go to work prompted Samuel to retaliate. Precisely what he said in reply to Ada’s accusation is now lost, but
she added, “If you insult me I will lock you up”. This was the last straw for Samuel. Ada “then felt his knuckles in
her throat, and found that she was bleeding from the neck” – she had sustained an incised wound about an inch
above her left collar-bone.
Samuel was apprehended, telling the arresting officer that “I wish I had killed her outright”. He was drunk at
the time of the assault, and had been drunk, apparently, “for sixteen weeks”. When the case came to the Quarter
Sessions at Clerkenwell on 7 July 1891, he defended himself against the charge of occasioning actual bodily harm,
and conducted his case, it was said, “with a great deal of effrontery”. It was demonstrated that he had also
assaulted Ada’s mother and father, and the jury found him guilty of the attack on Ada. Richard Loveland-Loveland,
the Deputy Chairman of the Middlesex Sessions, sentenced Samuel to six months’ imprisonment with hard labour,
describing him as a very dangerous man (the Daily News, protesting the next day against the lightness of the
sentence, described Samuel as a “lazy, self-indulgent ruffian”).
On his way out of court, Samuel turned to Ada and said, “Goodbye, Ada”. Ada was enraged.
“I want a separation – maintenance,” she cried. Her request stopped Samuel in his tracks.
“Oh, yes!” he said. “Can I have a separation, please?”
“Take him down,” said Loveland-Loveland, adding that separation orders were to be obtained from magistrates,
not at the Quarter Sessions.14
11 Standard, 22 September 1887; Pall Mall Gazette, 22 September 1887

12 On abandonment: Daily News, 8 July 1891
13 Daily News, 8 July 1891
14 Report of court case and editorial comment from Daily News, 8 July 1891
Little more is seen of Samuel, or Ada. Whether they ever took out their separation order is not known, and
Ada seems not to appear in the 1901 census. If, as seems probable, she died prior to this date, then she may be
the Ada Wilson who passed away in the St Pancras Workhouse on 31 January 1898, aged (according to the death
certificate) thirty-seven. She had had pneumonia for nine days, and had previously worked as a charwoman in the
St Pancras area. If this was Ada, perhaps the distinctive naming of Zoa Lavinia Elbury, who was born in December
1898, the daughter of Ada’s brother Henry, was a form of posthumous tribute. This identification is far from
certain, but, if true, it accounts, at least, for Ada’s absence from the record after the date of Samuel’s conviction.
*****
The principal difficulty of the identification of Zoa Ada Bisdey Elbury with Ada Wilson is immediately apparent.
Several newspapers, reporting the 1888 attack, described Ada as thirty-nine; perhaps they relied on the hospital’s
admission data for their information: even so, few twenty-five-year-old women – as Ada Elbury would have
been, at the time – pass successfully as thirty-nine-year-olds before doctors.15 To her landlord, Ada may have
exaggerated her age in order to make herself a more viable lessee of the two parlours at 9 Maidman Street
(much as she exaggerated her marital status), but doctors, who spend all day looking at the human body, are less
apt to confuse a body which is halfway through its third decade with one on the point of entering its fifth. This
discrepancy cannot be easily explained, although, in defence of the theory posited here, it is worth noting that
no resident of London going by the name of Ada Wilson in the 1891 Census seems to match the age as given in the
hospital records. Alternatives are therefore few, and the identification of a twenty-five-year-old as Ada Wilson
at least has in its favour a suitable resonance with the newspaper descriptions of Ada as “young”. Among the
Ripper’s canonical victims, Mary Jane Kelly was described by the Pall Mall Gazette as “about twenty-four years
of age, and … considered a good-looking young woman”; Mary Ann Nichols, at forty-three, was not depicted using
the same adjective.16
In the meantime, if one can accommodate the inconsistency with regard to her age, Zoa Ada Bisdey Elbury
resembles Ada Wilson in several important respects. Geographically and professionally, she is in the right areas,
manufacturing clothing in Mile End and Bow. She appears to be, at least after 1881, increasingly within the right
sort of social class, and with things getting worse all the time. The false suggestion – carried in the press and noted
in the hospital register – that she was married in 1888 seems to bear an explanation within the bounds of common
sense: several of the Ripper’s victims adopted the surname of men to whom they were not legally married.
But, perhaps most strikingly, we now know that, if Zoa Ada Bisdey Elbury was Ada Wilson, then she had her
throat cut, not just once, but twice.17
15 Ada Wilson’s age is given as 39 in, for example, the Huddersfield Daily Chronicle, 29 March 1888, and in the Liverpool Mercury
of the same date: both newspapers seem to have been working from a cognate source. Her age is given as 36 in the Lancaster
Gazette, 31 March 1888; comparison with the report carried in the Newcastle Weekly Courant, 30 March 1888, shows that the
three-year reduction to which Ada Wilson’s age was made subject in Lancashire was merely the result of a typographical error.
16 On Kelly: Pall Mall Gazette, 10 November 1888
17 With thanks to Robert Clack for his generous assistance with this article.
MARK RIPPER lives in the East End. Under the name M W Oldridge, he is the author of Murder and
Crime: Whitechapel and District (The History Press, 2011) and The Moat Farm Mystery: The Life and
Criminal Career of Samuel Herbert Dougal (The History Press, forthcoming).

The Case against
Jacob Isenschmid
By LYNN CATES
Did Jacob Isenschmid kill Polly Nichols and Annie Chapman? I believe that he did. In what follows
I intend to offer cogent reasons for this view. After supplying a few biographical details of his life,
I shall:
• Discuss the case of the London Metropolitan Police against Isenschmid;

• Demonstrate that he was one of the principal people whose sightings
went into making up the legend of ‘Leather Apron’;
• Show that Isenschmid was likely the man spotted by Mrs Fiddymont
et al. in the Prince Albert pub on the morning of Annie Chapman’s
murder, 8 September 1888;
• Examine testimony from the Chapman case, particularly Mrs Long’s

sighting of ‘the foreign looking man’ on the morning of the Chapman
murder;
• Discuss Isenschmid’s mental condition as recorded in the Colney Hatch

files encompassing his various stays in that asylum;
• In describing the case against the suspect, I will attempt to draw a

parallel between his behaviour and certain minutiae involved in the
slayings of Polly Nichols and especially Chapman.
Isenschmid in September 1889
In short, I hope to build up a strong inductive argument, based admittedly on circumstantial evidence, to implicate
Isenschmid in the first two canonical Whitechapel murders, those of Nichols and Chapman.
A Brief Biography of Jacob Isenschmid

Jacob Isenschmid (YA-kop EE-sen-schmitt) was born 20 April 1843 in Bern, Switzerland. According to Chris Scott, he
most likely emigrated to England at some time between 1861 and 1867. He married Mary Ann Joyce on 26 December
1876 in London. He had seven children with wife Mary: John, Catherine, Ada, Annie, Minnie, Jessie and Amy.1
Isenschmid worked as a journeyman pork butcher, eventually opening his own shop at 59 Elthorne Road, Upper
Holloway. At length, the business failed, after which he became depressed.2
According to Mrs Isenschmid, on some later occasions when he was depressed, Jacob would read the Bible for hours.
He would then throw the Bible away declaring that, if what it said were true, he was a very wicked man.3 He was
eventually admitted to Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum on 24 September 1887.4
1 Casebook: Jack the Ripper message boards, ‘Asylum Records and Photograph of Jacob Isenschmid’ at
forum.casebook.org/showthread.php?t=4514.
2 Stewart P Evans and Keith Skinner, The Ultimate Jack the Ripper Companion. New York: Carroll & Graf, 2000, p 59.
3 Philip Sugden, The Complete History of Jack the Ripper. New York: Carroll & Graf, 2002, p 159.
4 Personal Records (including Medical Case History) on Jacob Isenschmid. London Metropolitan Archive.

In his first committal to Colney Hatch it was said of Isenschmid that he, ‘Talks with great excitement and violence.’
According to his wife, he ‘[t]hreatened to kill his wife and children - writes threatening letters to his neighbours saying
he will fire their homes and throw vitriol over them... threatened to blow up the Queen with dynamite.’ William Tennant
Stansfield, a neighbor in Elthorne Road, said ‘He threatens to kill Mr Stansfield.’ By 12 October, it was noted he ‘[w]as
supposed to be conspiring with another patient to attack the attendants.’5
Isenschmid was committed to Colney Hatch later in 1891, 1895, 1899, 1902, and 1908. That makes a total of six
committals to Colney Hatch plus one other committal to Grove Hall with transfer to Banstead.6
Was there an official diagnosis of Isenschmid’s condition? His charts indicate mania and insanity. These are largely
unhelpful designations given their generic nature. A very likely diagnosis would be schizophrenia.7
Isenschmid died of acute lobar pneumonia on 9 March 1910 at 10.05 PM, while confined at Colney Hatch Lunatic
Asylum.8
The Met’s Case Against Isenschmid: The Murders

Regarding Isenschmid, Inspector Frederick George Abberline wrote in a memorandum of 18 September 1888, ‘he
appears to be the most likely person that has come under our notice to have committed the crimes...’9
Why was that so? What made Isenschmid, in Abberline’s mind, the most likely person to have committed the murders
of Nichols and Chapman? To put the question another way, what circumstantial evidence can be found, and of which
Abberline was aware, that would suggest Isenschmid’s involvement in two of the Whitechapel Murders?
Let’s begin by discussing those first two murders.
On Friday, 31 August 1888, around 3.30 AM, Mary Ann ‘Polly’ Nichols was killed by an unknown assailant or assailants.
Her body was discovered about a quarter hour later in Buck’s Row, about 90 feet from the Harrison, Barber and Co horse
slaughter yard located at Winthrop Street.10 Her throat had been cut and her body mutilated.
In his report dated 31 August 1888, Inspector John Spratling, reporting on information
received from Dr Rhys Ralph Llewellyn, described her neck wounds as follows: ‘[Her] throat
had been cut from left to right, two disti[nct] cuts being on left side. The windp[ipe,]
gullet and spinal cord being cut through...’11
At the inquest, Dr Llewellyn was more specific:
On the left side of the neck, about 1in. below the jaw, there was an incision about 4in.
in length, and ran from a point immediately below the ear. On the same side, but an
inch below, and commencing about 1in. in front of it, was a circular incision, which
terminated at a point about 3in. below the right jaw. That incision completely severed
all the tissues down to the vertebrae. The large vessels of the neck on both sides were
severed. The incision was about 8in. in length. the [sic] cuts must have been caused by
a long-bladed knife, moderately sharp, and used with great violence.12
Dr Rees Ralph Llewellyn at

Polly Nichols’ inquest
5 Loc cit.
6 Loc cit.
7 Corey Browning, ‘The Mind of Jacob Isenschmid,’ Ripperologist 118.
8 Personal Records.
9 Evans and Skinner p 59.
10 Ibid, p 64.
11 Ibid, p 22.
12 Ibid, p 35.

Dr Llewellyn described evidence that suggested how the victim had been subdued before her throat was cut:
[T]here was a slight laceration of the tongue. There was a bruise running along the lower part of the jaw on the
right side of the face. That might have been caused by a blow from a fist or pressure from a thumb. There was a
circular bruise on the left side of the face, which also might have been inflicted by the pressure of the fingers.13
These bruises, in conjunction with the lacerated tongue, strongly suggest that Polly Nichols was strangled before she
had her throat cut.
Dr Llewellyn described her abdominal mutilations as follows:
There were no injuries about the body until just about the lower part of the abdomen. Two or three inches from
the left side was a wound running in a jagged manner. The wound was a very deep one, and the tissues were cut
through. There were several incisions running across the abdomen. There were also three or four similar cuts,
running downwards, on the right side, all of which had been caused by a knife which had been used violently and
downwards.14
On Saturday, 8 September 1888, around 5.30 AM, Annie Chapman was killed, in a manner similar to Polly Nichols, by
an unknown assailant or assailants. Her body was discovered about half an hour later in a backyard at 29 Hanbury Street.
The murder location was not far from another Harrison, Barber and Co horse slaughter yard. Her throat had been cut
and her body mutilated. It was later discovered that her uterus was missing.
A study of her throat wounds is revealing. At the inquest, Dr George Bagster Phillips
noted that:
The throat had been severed as before described. The incisions into the skin indicated
that they had been made from the left side of the neck. There were two, distinct, clean
cuts on the left side of the spine. They were parallel from each other and separated by
about half an inch. The muscular structures appeared as though an attempt had been
made to separate the bones of the neck.15
The bruises on Annie’s face and the condition of her tongue are equally instructive. Dr
Phillips testified, ‘There was a bruise over the right temple. On the upper eyelid there
was a bruise, and there were two distinct bruises, each of the size of the top of a man’s
thumb, on the forepart of the top of the chest.’16
He later clarified the nature of these bruises: ‘The bruises on the face were evidently
recent, especially about the chin and the sides of the jaw, but the bruises in front of the
chest and temple were of longer standing—probably of days.’17
Dr George Bagster Phillips at
Annie Chapman’s inquest Regarding her tongue he stated, ‘The tongue protruded between the front teeth, but
not beyond the lips. The tongue was evidently much swollen.’ As in the Nichols case, these
details strongly suggest strangulation prior to the throat cuts.18
Indeed, Dr Phillips conjectured
that the person who cut the decedent’s throat took hold of her by the chin, and then commenced the incision
from left to right. He thought it was highly probable that a person could call out, but with regard to an idea
that she might have been gagged he could only point to the swollen face and protruding tongue, both of which
were signs of suffocation.19
13 Loc cit.
14 Loc cit.
15 Evans and Skinner, p 87.
16 Ibid, p 86.
17 Ibid, p 88.
18 Ibid, p 86.
19 Ibid, p 88.

In the Chapman case, the abdominal mutilations were much more extensive than they had been in the Nichols
murder. It was noted in the East London Observer of 15 September 1888 that
The small intestines and other portions of the stomach were lying on the right side on the ground above the
right shoulder, attached by a coil of intestine to the rest of the stomach. There was a large quantity of blood,
with a part of the stomach over the left shoulder.20
What kind of weapon was employed in the two murders?
In the case of Nichols, Dr Llewellyn noted that, ‘All the injuries had been caused by the same instrument... [T]he
cuts must have been caused by a long-bladed knife, moderately sharp, and used with great violence.’21
In the case of Chapman, Dr Phillips ‘expressed [the] opinion that the length of the weapon was at least five to six
inches, probably more, and the appearance of the cuts confirmed him in the opinion that the instrument, like the one
which divided the neck, had been of a very sharp character.’22
Earlier, at the inquest, he offered an even more precise assessment of the type of knife used:
He should say that the instrument used at the throat and the abdomen was the same. It must have been a very
sharp knife, with a thin, narrow blade, and must have been at least 6 in. to 8 in. in length, probably longer.
He should say that the injuries could not have been inflicted by a bayonet or sword bayonet. They could have
been done by such an instrument as a medical man used for post-mortem purposes, but the ordinary surgical
cases might not contain such an instrument. Those used by slaughter-men, well ground down, might have caused
them. He thought the knives used by those in the leather trade would not be long enough in the blade.23
Given the nature of the bruises, wounds and mutilations in these two cases, it seems clear that they were perpetrated
by the same person and likely with the same instrument. Moreover, it was conjectured at inquest that, at least in the
case of Chapman, the assailant had shown a good bit of skill and anatomical knowledge.
Wynne Baxter, the coroner at inquest, noted that:
[T]he injuries had been made by some one who had considerable anatomical skill and knowledge. There were no
meaningless cuts. The organ had been taken by one who knew where to find it, what difficulties he would have
to contend against, and how he should use his knife so as to abstract the organ without injury to it.24
The Met’s Case Against Isenschmid: Late Summer 1888

According to Mary Isenschmid’s statement, Jacob had begun to wander about London around Whitsuntide 1888 (ie,
early June), just after losing his job at Marlett’s butcher shop in High Street, Marylebone. He had stopped coming home
altogether about ten weeks before his detention. This would mean it was sometime in July when he began his most
extensive wandering about London. An idea of how far he went in his perambulations may be gathered from an unsigned
Metropolitan Police report dated 19 September which stated, ‘About three or four weeks ago he was found in a house
in Caledonian Road and was charged. He was taken to Clerkenwell Police Court and remanded for enquiries to be made
about him. He was eventually discharged.’25
20 East London Observer, 15 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/east_london_observer/

elo880915.html.
22 Ibid, p 98.
23 Ibid, p 87.
24 Ibid, p 105.
25 Ibid, p 59.

We know also that he was in the habit of returning frequently to his former butcher’s shop at 59 Elthorne Road, for
according to a report in The Star of 18 September 1888:
The man who now has the shop where Isenschmid formerly carried on business has seen the maniac several times
since 10 weeks ago he took flight from his home. Once he went to the shop with his butcher’s apron on and
HIS KNIFE AND STEEL
hanging by his side, and showing a bullock’s tail he said he had slaughtered 40 bullocks. Last week a load of
bullocks’ entrails were brought to the shop, and the order that they should be sent there had been given by
Isenschmid at three o’clock that morning. Where they had been brought from the man at the shop doesn’t know,
but one of the men, he says, ‘looked like a Jew.’(26)
Mary Isenschmid stated that her husband ‘was in the habit of carrying large butcher’s knives about with him...’27
In the same story from The Star of 18 September, it was recorded that, ‘One of the alarming practices of Isenschmid
when he is mad is his continual sharpening of a long knife, and his disappearance from home for a few days has not been
unusual.’ This is of special interest, given Dr Phillips’ testimony about Annie Chapman and the kind of knife that may
have been used on her. He noted that a butcher’s knife may have been employed but it would have been well ground
down.
Clearly, given that Isenschmid was not employed, he must have had a source of income. What was it? According to
Police Sergeant William Thick, Isenschmid claimed, through the medical superintendent at Grove Hall Lunatic Asylum
(almost certainly Dr William Julius Mickle), that he was going to market and buying sheep’s heads, kidneys and feet,
taking them back to his lodgings, dressing them, and then reselling them to restaurants and coffee houses in the West
End of London.28
This story is somewhat problematic given the timeline of his movements provided by his new landlord George Tyler.
Tyler informed Detective Inspector John Styles that Isenschmid had left his rented lodgings at 60 Mitford Road, Upper
Holloway, at 1.00 AM on Thursday, 6 September and returned that night at 9.00 PM. On the next day, Friday, 7 September,
and the day of the murder, Saturday, 8 September, Tyler said he kept exactly the same hours. On Sunday, 9 September,
however, he left at 6.00 AM and returned at 6.00 PM. He then left again 30 minutes later and returned at 1.00 AM the
next day, Monday, 10 September. He then left an hour later and returned that night at 9.00 PM.29
If Tyler’s observations of Isenschmid’s coming and goings are accurate, it seems clear that Jacob was not taking sheep
parts to his lodgings, dressing them, and then selling them in the West End of London. Note that between his time of
arrival home and his time of departure, there were only four hours—hardly enough time to dress the sheep parts, eat,
sleep and take care of other needs. And given that this was repeated for more than a single day, it seems unlikely that
he was engaged dressing animals for resale—he simply hadn’t the time. Hence, I ask again, what was he doing for money?
I noted above that Tyler’s statement to Styles indicated that Isenschmid’s schedule had changed on 9 September.
Do we know what he was doing on that day (the day after the Chapman murder) and are we informed of any of
his movements? According to Mary Isenschmid’s statement to Inspector Styles, Isenschmid had returned to his wife’s
dwelling at 97 Duncombe Road to obtain a change of clothing.30
This seems to have not been the first time that he had returned home for a change of clothing. According to an
unsigned report dated 19 September, the police ascertained from Mrs Isenschmid that her daughter had informed her
that, whilst she [Mary] had been visiting in the country around the beginning of September, Jacob had returned home
and taken some shirts away. She fixed the date as between the first and third of the month.31 This would coincide with
the time just after the death of Polly Nichols.
26 The Star, 18 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/star/s880918.html.

28 Ibid, pp 57 & 58.
29 Ibid, p 52.
30 Loc cit.

The Met Case against Isenschmid: His Denunciation and Detention
What led to Isenschmid’s eventual denunciation as ‘Leather Apron’ and his detention, first at the Holloway Police
Station and then, in rapid succession, the Islington workhouse infirmary and the Grove Hall Lunatic Asylum?
Let’s begin with the following incident reported in The Echo of 10 September 1888:
The officers of the Criminal Investigation Department were this morning engaged in making every possible
endeavour to trace out the man known as ‘Leather Apron.’ Special search was made on Saturday night at all
the low common lodging-houses in the Metropolis, whilst officers kept a good look-out for him not only in the
neighbourhood of Whitechapel, but also around St Luke’s, Holborn, and King’s-cross, in which districts he is
said to be well known to a number of disorderly women. On Saturday night the police at Holloway received
information that a man resembling the published description of ‘Leather Apron’ entered a house in Eltham-road,
Holloway, and that when a conversation ensued with the people with regard to the murder at Whitechapel, he
hurriedly left the house.32
Although there is no Eltham Road in Holloway, there is

an Elthorne Road there. Indeed, it is the very road in which
Isenschmid had formerly lived and acted as proprietor of his own
butcher’s shop—the business which eventually failed. Moreover,
it has been established that he made several appearances at
that very same former butcher’s shop, as previously mentioned.
I would suggest that the street name is a mistake for Elthorne
Road, and it is there that he resorted briefly just a couple days
before his arrest, not Eltham Road.
A second incident which led up to the denouncing and

detention of Isenschmid was the scare over ‘Leather Apron.’
In a report by Police Sergeant William Thick, it is recorded

that Dr Mickle, in a conversation with Isenschmid, ascertained
that Jacob was accosted by some girls in Holloway, on or before
11 September, and who ‘called [him] Leather Apron.’ Isenschmid
Elthorne Road, Holloway
replied to them, ‘I am Leather Apron.’ He added that he
answered in this manner ‘by way of chaff.’33 It is not clear precisely why the girls of Holloway presented such a question
to Isenschmid in the first place. One might assume that it was owing to some observed peculiarity in his behaviour.
Obviously, one cannot make too much of this incident. After all, there were many confessions made about being
‘Leather Apron’ and ‘Jack the Ripper’ during the autumn of 1888. And, to be perfectly fair, Isenschmid himself apparently
regarded the incident as a joke. Nevertheless, this turn of events would help explain, at least in part, why Isenschmid
was eventually detained.
The situation came to a head on 11 September when, at 10.00 PM, Drs Cowan and Crabb went to the Holloway Police
Station and informed the authorities that they thought Isenschmid was connected to the Whitechapel murders. What
provoked their suspicions? According to a report received by Acting Superintendent John West, dated 13 September,
the doctors were informed by Isenschmid’s landlord, George Tyler, regarding his movements—particularly in the early
morning hours. Jacob, however, assumed that the girls of Holloway, to whom he stated that he was ‘Leather Apron,’ had
informed Drs Cowan and Crabb of the possibility of his being the wanted man.34
But whatever the reason for the doctors’ suspicions, we know that Detective Inspector John Styles directed Police
Constable 376 Cracknell, Y division, to keep Jacob’s lodgings at Mitford Road under observation. He was taken into
custody on 12 September and sent to Holloway Police Station. And from thence he was taken in rapid succession to the
Islington workhouse infirmary and Grove Hall Lunatic Asylum.35
32 The Echo, 10 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/echo/18880910.html.

34 Ibid, pp 52, 53 & 57.
35 Ibid, pp 52, 58 & 59.

The Legend of Leather Apron
Who was ‘Leather Apron’? Did such a person ever really exist? If he were but a legend or a rumour, what set of
circumstances brought such a story about?
After the murder of Polly Nichols, many of the prostitutes of the East End of London apparently blamed her demise
on a local character they called ‘Leather Apron.’ On 5 September, The Star broke the following story:
‘LEATHER APRON.’
THE ONLY NAME LINKED WITH THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS.
A NOISELESS MIDNIGHT TERROR.
The Strange Character who Prowls About Whitechapel After Midnight - Universal Fear Among the Women -
Slippered Feet and a Sharp Leather-knife.
The mystery attending the horrible murders in Whitechapel shows no sign of lessening. The detectives at work
on the case, who were quick to confess themselves baffled, only continue to make the same confession, and
there is every prospect that the last ghastly tragedy will go unpunished like its predecessors. Whitechapel is
loud in its indignation over the inefficiency of the detectives, and is asking several questions to which there
does not seem to be any satisfactory answer. Among other things the people wish to know why the police do not
arrest ‘Leather Apron.’
‘Leather Apron’ by himself is quite an unpleasant character. If, as many of the people suspect, he is the real
author of the three murders which, in everybody’s judgement, were done by the same person, he is a more
ghoulish and devilish brute than can be found in all the pages of shocking fiction. He has ranged Whitechapel for
a long time. He exercises over the unfortunates who ply their trade after twelve o’clock at night, a sway that is
BASED ON UNIVERSAL TERROR.
He has kicked, injured, bruised, and terrified a hundred of them who are ready to testify to the outrages. He has
made a certain threat, his favorite threat, to any number of them, and each of the three dead bodies represents
that threat carried out. He carries a razor-like knife, and two weeks ago drew it on a woman called ‘Widow
Annie’ as she was crossing the square near London Hospital, threatening at the same time, with his ugly grin
and his malignant eyes, to ‘rip her up.’ He is a character so much like the invention of a story writer that the
accounts of him given by all the street-walkers of the Whitechapel district seem like romances. The remarkable
thing is, however, that they all agree in every particular.
Ever since the last murder the name ‘Leather Apron’ has been falling repeatedly on the ears of the reporters.
On the afternoon of the day following the murder a group of women in Eagle-place, near the mortuary, were
busily discussing something to the detriment of their household duties. The subject was ‘Leather Apron,’ and
the report had spread that
‘LEATHER APRON’ HAD BEEN ARRESTED
for the murder. Ever since then women have been shaking their heads and saying that ‘Leather Apron’ did it.
The strangest thing about the whole case is that in view of public opinion in Whitechapel, the man has not been
arrested on suspicion, and his whereabouts on the night of the murder inquired into.
About 50 of the unfortunates in the Whitechapel district gave a description of ‘Leather Apron’ to a Star reporter
between midnight and three o’clock this morning. The descriptions all agreed, and most of them added to it a
personal experience with the man during the last two years in which they were more or less injured. From all
accounts he is five feet four or five inches in height and wears a dark, close-fitting cap. He is thickset, and has
an unusually thick neck. His hair is black, and closely clipped, his age being about 38 or 40. He has a small, black
moustache. The distinguishing feature of his costume is a leather apron, which he always wears, and from which
HE GETS HIS NICKNAME.
His expression is sinister, and seems to be full of terror for the women who describe it. His eyes are small and
glittering. His lips are usually parted in a grin which is not only not reassuring, but excessively repellant. He is
a slipper maker by trade, but does not work. His business is blackmailing women late at night. A number of men
in Whitechapel follow this interesting profession. He has never cut anybody so far as known, but always carries

a leather knife, presumably as sharp as leather knives are wont to be. This knife a number of the women have
seen. His name nobody knows, but all are united in the belief that he is a Jew or of Jewish parentage, his face
being of a marked Hebrew type. But the most singular characteristic of the man, and one which tends to identify
him closely with last Friday night’s work, is the universal statement that in moving about
HE NEVER MAKES ANY NOISE.
What he wears on his feet the women do not know, but they all agree that he moves noiselessly. His uncanny
peculiarity to them is that they never see him or know of his presence until he is close by them. When two of
the Philpott-street women directed the Star reporter to Commercial-street, opposite the Princess Alice Tavern,
as the most likely place to find him, she added that it would be necessary to look into all the shadows, as if
he was there he would surely be out of sight. This locality, it may be remarked, is but a few steps from the
model dwellinghouse in George’s-Yard, where the murdered woman of four weeks ago was found [i.e., Martha
Tabram]....36
Early on in the investigation of the Whitechapel Murders—on Friday, 7 September—a certain

John Piser was arrested by Police Sergeant William Thick as being identical to ‘Leather Apron.’37
Piser was released, however, when he was able to provide alibis for the times of the slayings
of Nichols and Chapman. He also received monetary damages from some newspapers for their
accusations of him.38
Was Piser not only called ‘Leather Apron’ but was he also the
‘Leather Apron’ who inspired the story in The Star? Clearly, some
of the police officers at the Met believed that it was John Piser
who had been referred to for some time as ‘Leather Apron.’39
Moreover, Piser’s trade was congruent with the trade described
in The Star story by the fifty interviewed prostitutes. Indeed,
even the kind of knife used by Piser in his trade matched the type
of knife attributed to ‘Leather Apron.’
What about his looks? Piser was described as about five feet, Contemporary sketch of John Pizer
four inches, dark complexion and hair, dark moustache and side
whiskers. His neck was described as thick and heavy-looking. His feet were supposed
to turn outwards.40 Clearly, there are many items in which Piser coincides with the
description of ‘Leather Apron’ as reported in The Star. So, was Piser the ‘Leather Apron’?
And, more germane, did he kill Nichols and Chapman?
No. At most, he may have contributed some small part to the legend. As I indicated
above, Piser was exonerated of the crimes having provided alibis to the police for the
times in which both Nichols and Chapman were slain. And although Emmanuel Delbast Violenia testified that he saw two
men arguing with a woman in Hanbury Street and threatening to knife her, and although he was able to pick out Piser in
an identity parade, as one of the two men he had seen arguing,41 he was not able to identify Chapman’s body.
In consequence, his testimony was discredited by the police. In light of his alibis and the discrediting of Violenia, Piser
was dropped as a suspect and was even awarded damages by some of the newspapers, as mentioned above. While Piser
admitted that he was called ‘Leather Apron’,42 some of his family and friends denied it.43
41 Begg et al., A-Z, p 465.

43 Begg et al., A-Z, p 359.
38 Paul Begg, Martin Fido, and Keith Skinner, The Jack the Ripper A-Z, 3rd ed. London: Headline, 1996, p 360.
40 Sugden, p 144.

Regarding the identity of Leather Apron, Paul Begg makes the following conjecture:
So it is very, very tempting to conclude that, possibly, a ‘wild-looking’ man wearing a leather apron and who
some of the local women thought was an escaped lunatic, was seen in Whitechapel at the end of August 1888.
That this man who didn’t have a name or nickname came to be referred to as ‘Leather Apron’ and that he was
identified by some women and by Sgt. Thick with John Pizer—that is to say that these people knew that Pizer
was nicknamed ‘Leather Apron’ and that it was assumed that he was the terror of the local prostitutes—and that
somehow details about Pizer came to be combined with the ‘wild-looking’ ‘Leather Apron’.44
Of course, Mr Begg is willing to dismiss a good portion of the tale as a concoction of press reports being manipulated
for journalistic promotion.45 And although I also incline towards this view, I also advise that we balance this notion
against an editorial that ran in The Times of 12 September 1888 in which the newspaper cautioned, ‘No doubt many of
the accounts of assaults committed on women in this district have been greatly exaggerated, yet so many versions have
been related that the police give credit to at least a portion of them.’46
If Piser were not the main person described in The Star article, who was? What other person or persons inspired this
story which seems an amalgam of various rumours but which also likely contains some grain of truth? That is, was there
a wandering, wild-looking lunatic who inspired at least some of the ‘Leather Apron’ legend?
I would suggest first, that the epithet, ‘Leather Apron,’ should be considered an occupational one—much as ‘Cookie’
or ‘Barbeque’ are used, occupationally, to designate a cook, frequently one working in a military setting. Hence,
although it is possible that Piser was called ‘Leather Apron,’ that in itself does not preclude others—indeed, several
others—from sharing that title. All that it would take to have one given such a title would be either to be found wearing
a leather apron—or an apron—at times, or, to be connected to a trade where such apparel is frequently employed.
Next, I would like to call attention to various parts of these descriptions of ‘Leather Apron’ to ascertain some of their
more salient features. In doing so, I believe that we will discover that at least some of the reports of ‘Leather Apron’
were reports of the wandering lunatic Jacob Isenschmid.
First, it seems significant that ‘Leather Apron’ was purported to strike only after midnight. This is altogether congruent
with the reports of Isenschmid’s movements in the early morning hours. Recall that Tyler claimed that Isenschmid left
his dwelling at 60 Mitford Road about 1.00 AM on every night he observed him leaving the house.
Second, the physical description given for ‘Leather Apron’ approximates

Isenschmid’s description in several particulars. The age, 38-40, is fairly close.
Isenschmid was in his early 40s during the Autumn of 1888. The ‘malignant’ eyes
and ‘ugly’ grin correspond to the known facts about Isenshmid and can easily be
corroborated by checking them against his committal photographs from Colney
Hatch. (Of course, these characteristics correspond to those of many who are
suffering from mental illness.) His hair and moustache colour are not right,
though: Isenschmid had ginger coloured hair, not black. On the other hand, the
colour identification took place at night and the poor lighting could account for the
discrepancy. It is also possible that black was selected as being the most sinister
colour. This would be a natural result of the revulsion felt by those encountering
him as he wandered about. Moreover, many of the sightings indicated that his head
was covered. However, the fact that Isenchmid’s hair was clipped short corresponds
to the ladies’ description of ‘Leather Apron’ as reported in The Star story. And then
there is the powerful neck. Isenschmid was described as powerfully built in the
Colney Hatch records. And not least, Isenschmid wore an apron on at least some
occasions before the Nichols slaying.47
Isenschmid’s ‘ugly’ grin on his
Colney Hatch committal photograph
44 Paul Begg, ‘Leather Apron’, Ripperologist no. 109, December 2009.

45 Loc cit.
46 The Times, 12 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/times/18880912.html.
47 Personal Records.

Perhaps the most telling point of agreement involves Isenshmid’s gait. Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper carried the following
story on 9 September:
John Thimbleby, coppersmith in Hanbury’s brewery, went to the Commercial-street-station at one o’clock yesterday
to say that at six o’clock that morning a man attracted his particular attention before he heard of the murder. He
was hurrying from Hanbury-street, below where the murder took place, into Brick-lane. He was walking, almost
running, and had a peculiar gait, his knees not bending when he walked. (This is a peculiarity of ‘Leather Apron’s’
gait).48
Was this an Isenschmid ‘Leather Apron’ sighting? Unlikely. After all, Thimbleby, later in the article, describes the man
he saw as about 30 and clean shaven. That differs from the best descriptions of both Isenschmid and ‘Leather Apron.’
But I wish to call attention to what caused this report to be confused with a ‘Leather Apron’ sighting, and that is that his
gait corresponded to the one predicated of ‘Leather Apron.’ Notice that there are two distinctive features to the gait
described for ‘Leather Apron’: 1, his step, described as not bending at the knees, and, 2, his quick walk.
But even if this corresponds to ‘Leather Apron’s’ gait, what has it to do with Isenschmid? After all, there seems to
have been one or possibly two other lunatics in the neighbourhood who walked with a peculiar step.
One such lunatic was Henry James. He was spotted by Thomas Eade on the morning of Annie Chapman’s murder. As
described by Evans and Skinner, the fellow was
coming down the Cambridge-heath road, and when just opposite the Foresters’ Arms saw a man on the opposite
side of the street. His peculiar appearance made witness look at him. He appeared to have a wooden arm, as it was
hanging at his side. Witness watched him until he got level with the Foresters’ Arms. He then put his hand down,
and witness saw about 4in. of the blade of a long knife sticking out of his trousers pocket. Three other men were
also looking at him and witness spoke to them. Witness followed him, and as soon as he saw he was followed he
quickened his pace. Witness lost sight of him under some railway arches. He was about 5ft. 8in. high, about 35 years
of age, with dark moustache and whiskers. He wore a double peak cap, dark brown jacket, and a pair of overalls
over a pair of dark trousers. He walked as though he had a stiff knee, and he had a fearful look about the eyes.49
Later, he was identified as Henry James, a well-known, harmless lunatic.50
Also, in The Echo of 16 September, John Richardson, whose mother owned 29 Hanbury
was interviewed by a reporter. As they walked together in the neighbourhood,
A rough, demented-looking fellow came from a group, grinning, and, with clenched fist,
muttered some threat to John Richardson. In answer to the question ‘Who is he? What
does he mean?’ Richardson then replied: ‘That is a man who they say is mad. A great
many of the women and people round our house think that he is the most likely man that
they know of to commit a murder. In fact many of them say that he is the real “Leather
Apron.”’51
Notice that this man is clearly not Isenschmid, for he was sectioned at Grove Hall just a
couple days before this time. Could it have been Henry James? Possibly. But the description
given by Richardson seems to belie a pronouncement of ‘harmless.’
Clearly, we now have evidence of possibly as many as four individuals who contributed
to the legend. Moreover, as noted above, journalists were picking up on the legend and
exacerbating the situation as part of a journalistic endeavour to sell newsprint. In light of
this, is there further reason to prefer Isenschmid as the most important contributor to the
‘Leather Apron’ scare? And can we place Isenschmid in either Whitechapel or Spitalfields on the morning of either of
the murders?
48 Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 9 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/lloyds_weekly_news/

18880909.html.
50 Ibid, p 44.
51 The Echo, 16 September 1888.

A Strange Occurrence in a Pub
The Star carried the following story on 10 September 1888:
THE OTHER CLUE
is that of the man who went into the Prince Albert public-house with bloody
hands, a torn shirt, and a bloodstreak on his neck. Mrs Chappell, who saw the
man along with Mrs Fiddymont, was a customer, not friend of the latter, and
the two stories of the man, which were independent of each other, agreed
perfectly. Mrs Fiddymont yesterday added to her previous statement the fact
that the back of the man’s head was grimy, as if it had been bloody, and had
been dampened or spit upon in the endeavor to rub the blood off instead of
washing it. The dried blood between the fingers was thus clear, though the
back of the hand held only three or four small distinct spots. The man did not
look in the least like a butcher, and no theory born of his appearance could
account for his bloody hands at seven a.m.
Joseph Taylor also had some facts to add to his account of Saturday. Mr
Taylor is a cautious and entirely reliable man, and freely told all he knew
to two detectives on Saturday. He says that as he entered the public-house
Mrs Fiddymont said that a man had just left whom she would like to give in
charge on suspicion of the murder. Taylor went out a moment later without
any particular intention of
FOLLOWING THE MAN,
whom Mrs Chappell pointed out to him. The man was going towards
Bishopsgate, however, and, as this was Taylor’s direction, he increased his The Prince Albert, Brushfield Street
pace.
‘It was all I could do to overtake him,’ he said yesterday, ‘and I am not a bad walker myself. The man walked
very rapidly, however, with a peculiar springy walk that I would recognise again. He carried himself very erect,
like a horse soldier. He had a ginger-colored moustache, longer than mine and curling a little at the ends. His
shoulders were very square and his neck rather long. He was neither stout nor thin, and seemed between 30
and 40 years old. His face was medium in stoutness. There were faint hollows under the cheekbones. One thing
that impressed me was that the man
SEEMED BEWILDERED.
He crossed Brushfield-street three times in going from the Prince Albert to the next street, which was
Bishopsgate. He clearly did not know where he was going. When he reached Bishopsgate, he stood at the corner
and looked up and down the street undecided. Then he made up his mind and started across Brushfield-street
rapidly, and kept on down Bishopsgate towards Liverpool-street. I followed as far as Half-Moon street, where
my work was, and watched him for some time from the corner, but he kept straight on. I assure you that when
I came alongside of him his look was enough to frighten any woman. His eyes were wild-looking and staring.
He held his coat together at the chin with both hands, the collar being buttoned up, and everything about his
appearance was exceedingly strange.’52
I call your attention to Taylor’s description of the blood-stained man. In particular, consider how his gait is
characterised. It evinces precisely the two distinctive features attributed to ‘Leather Apron’—the peculiar step (here
described as ‘springy’) and the quick pace.

Was Mrs Fiddymont and her friends’ sighting of the blood-stained man a sighting of Jacob Isenschmid? In a report of
19 September, Chief Inspector Frederick Abberline wrote:
I beg to add that the man Isenschmid who was detained at Holloway on 12th Inst, and handed over to the
parochial authorities as a lunatic, is identical with the man seen in Prince Albert P. H. Brushfield St. at 7 a.m.
on the morning of the murder of Annie Chapman, by Mrs Fiddymont & other persons.53
In a report, also dated 19 September, Inspector J H Helson stated:
...on the 18th inst. I went to the Asylum, and saw Dr Mickle, the Resident Medical Officer, and endeavoured
to arrange for Isenschmid to be seen at the Institution by Mrs Fiddymont of the Prince Albert Public House,
Brushfield St. and other persons by whom a man was seen in the morning of the 8th inst. At 7 a.m. with blood
on his hands, as the description of Isenschmid and that given by the persons referred to makes it very probable
that they are identical...54
These opinions by two of the Met police officers would seem to give weighty support to the notion that Isenschmid
was the man seen in the pub by Mrs Fiddymont on the morning of Chapman’s death. They also help to corroborate some
of the wandering lunatic sightings in the neighbourhood associated with ‘Leather Apron.’
But before we proceed, I feel compelled to deal with an issue raised by Philip Sugden in regard to this incident.
Sugden concedes that Isenschmid may well have been the man spotted by Mrs Fiddymont in the pub. But he then asks:
‘...surely it is scarcely credible that one and a half hours after committing a murder the killer would have been sitting,
in a bloodstained condition, drinking ale in a pub only yards away from the scene of his crime?’55
My reply is both simple and obvious. If the assailant were a serial killer, seeking to slay and mutilate women, whilst
mocking the police’s inability to capture him, then it is certainly not credible. It’s absurd. On the other hand, it might be
perfectly ‘natural’ for a deranged lunatic, thinking he had just slaughtered an animal, and sold the entrails at market,
to do a hasty cleanup there—missing a few spots—and then to have a drink in a nearby pub with the proceeds.
Testimony in the Chapman Case

On 20 September, The Times carried the following extract concerning the inquest of the murder of Annie Chapman:
Elizabeth Long 198, Church-row, Whitechapel, stated that she was the wife of
James Long, a park-keeper. On Saturday morning the 8th inst., she was passing
down Hanbury-street from home and going to Spitalfields Market. It was about
5:30. She was certain of the time, as the brewers’ clock had just struck that
time when she passed 29, Hanbury-street. Witness was on the right-hand side of
the street—the same side as No. 29. She saw a man and woman on the pavement
talking. The man’s back was turned towards Brick-lane, while the woman’s was
towards the Spitalfields Market. They were talking together, and were close
against the shutters of No. 29. Witness saw the woman’s face. She had since
seen the deceased in the mortuary, and was sure it was the face of the same
person she saw in Hanbury-street. She did not see the man’s face, except to
notice that he was dark. He wore a brown deerstalker hat, and she thought he
had on a dark coat, but was not quite certain of that. She could not say what Elizabeth Long watches Annie Chapman from
the age of the man was, but he looked to be over 40, and appeared to be a little the Illustrated Police News, 29 September 1888
taller than deceased. He appeared to be a foreigner, and had a shabby genteel appearance. Witness could hear
them talking loudly, and she overheard him say to deceased, ‘Will you?’ She replied, ‘Yes.’ They still stood there
as witness passed, and she went on to her work without looking back.56

54 Ibid, p 61.
55 Sugden, p 161.
56 The Times, 20 September, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/times/18880920.html.

First, we must dispose of some problems contained in this singular eye-witness account of what may have been Annie
Chapman’s final minutes. The time of the sighting is incongruous with some times given by both Albert Cadosch and
medical examiner Dr George Bagster Phillips. Long’s time is also off when compared to the time of a standard walk from
her residence on Church Row to 29 Hanbury Street. I shall deal with these problems in inverse order.
The distance from Mrs Long’s residence at 198 Church Row to 29 Hanbury Street was about four-tenths of a mile.57
That would indicate a leisurely walk of 10–15 minutes. If she had left her home at 5.00 AM as stated, she should have
passed 29 Hanbury Street around 5.15 AM. If, however, one were to insist on the 5.30 AM sighting, then she must have
left home around 5.15 AM. Another possibility—that she stopped off for a quarter hour or so en route—seems precluded
given she did not mention such at inquest.58
I think we can forgo any attendant difficulty if we suggest she may have heard the quarter hour being struck and
conflated it with the half hour. This suggestion is not original with me and has been suggested previously.59
I noted above that her time is off when compared to a similar time given by Albert Cadosch. He had testified at
inquest that:
On Saturday, the 8th inst. he got up at about 5.15 and went out into the yard of his house. As he returned across
the yard, to the back door of his house, he heard a voice say quite close to him, ‘No.’ He believed it came from
No. 29. He went into the house, and returned to the yard three or four minutes afterwards. He then heard a sort
of a fall against the fence, which divided his yard from No. 29. Something seemed suddenly to touch the fence.
He did not look to see what it was. He did not hear any other noise.60
Is it likely that this incident involved Annie Chapman as she was being murdered? Well, not if Mrs Long was correct
that Chapman was alive at 5.30 AM. On the other hand, if Mrs Long is off by a quarter hour, and the event she described
took place around 5.15 AM, then there are no special difficulties to overcome.
Indeed, I would suggest the following timeline:
Mrs Long spots the foreign-looking man talking with Annie around 5.17 AM.
About this same time, Albert goes into his back yard towards the privy. The conversation between the man and Annie
terminates and they, too, head through the passage and into the backyard of no. 29 whilst Cadosch continues towards
the privy at no. 27.
After defecating, Cadosch heads back towards the house and hears ‘No.’ This would be, perhaps 5.20–5.25 AM.
After 3–4 more minutes, Cadosch comes back into the yard and hears something fall against the fence. If Chapman
had articulated ‘No’ earlier, then the intervening minutes would have been sufficient for strangulation to have occurred
and mutilation to have begun.
Finally, Cadosch goes into the house and into the street towards work. He notes that the Spitalfields Church indicates
5.32 AM as he passes. This would mean he exited his house around 5.28–5.30 AM. He noted that there was no one in front
of 29 Hanbury Street at that time.
Perhaps the most serious disparity lies in the significant difference in the time of death fixed by Dr Phillips and
the one inferred from the testimony of Long and Cadosch. Phillips had arrived on the scene of Chapman’s murder at
approximately 6.30 AM that morning.61
57 Dave Yost, ‘Long vs. Cadoche’, available at www.casebook.org/dissertations/dst-yostlong.html.

58 Loc cit.
59 Loc cit.
61 Ibid, p 86.

Dr Phillips testified at inquest that: ‘...[T]he deceased had been dead at least two hours, and probably more...’62 This
would fix Annie’s time of death at around 4.30 AM. Clearly, if Dr Phillips is correct here, neither Long nor Cadosch can
have witnessed events more than merely tangential to Chapman’s murder.
Is this time correct? To be fair, Dr Phillips himself held out the possibility that his time was off due to special
atmospheric conditions on that morning.63 Besides the testimony of Long and Cadosch and its possible connection to
Chapman’s murder, is there a reason why one might doubt Phillips’ version of time of death?
At inquest, John Richardson testified that,
Between a quarter and 20 minutes to 5 he went to 29, Hanbury-street. He went there to see whether the place was
properly secured, as some months ago it was broken into. He only went there at that time on market mornings, and
had done so for a long time past. When he got to the house he found the front door closed. He lifted the latch and
went through the passage to the yard door. He did not go into the yard, but went and stood on the steps. The back
door was closed when he got to it. He stood on the steps and cut a piece of leather from off one of his boots. He
cut it with a table knife about 5 in. long... After cutting the piece of leather off his boot he tied up the boot and
went out of the house. He did not close the back door, as it closed itself. He was sure he closed the front door. He
was not more than three minutes in the house. It was not light, but it was getting so, and was sufficient for him to
see all over the place. He could not have failed to notice the deceased had she been lying there then.64
There are many problems with Richardson’s testimony. Later, it was ascertained that he had not stood on the steps
but had sat on them to mend his shoe.65 Furthermore, he admitted that his knife was too dull to cut the leather piece
from his shoe and so he had to borrow one later that was sharp enough to cut the piece.66
Given the vacillation in his testimony, it seems altogether possible that, seeking to provide more ‘important’ testimony
than he in fact possessed, John ‘fortified’ his testimony, never in fact having either sat or stood on the steps to cut a
piece of leather from his shoe. Since his main task was to check to see that the shed was secured, he may have opened
the back door of 29 Hanbury Street, looked right, saw the shed secured, and then retreated through the passage towards
the street—having never looked left into the backyard where the body of Annie Chapman was later to be discovered.
If this is the case, the question then becomes, would Richardson have seen Annie’s body had he looked left? This is an
extremely difficult question to answer. If her body had been there at that time, two new problems emerge:
1. There must be another interpretation given to the testimony of Long and Cadosch.
2. Would there have been an odour emitted by the recently mutilated body? And if so, would Richardson not have
detected it?
Regarding the first problem it has been conjectured that, if Annie were killed near the time of Dr Phillips’ estimate,
then Mrs Long saw a different couple.67 This, in itself, is a difficult position to maintain as Mrs Long would have seen
the couple in decent light as the sun would rise in about five minutes. And it was the face of Annie Chapman she had
recognised at the mortuary, not her clothing.68 Nevertheless, given the frequency of use of the backyard of 29 Hanbury
by men and women (possibly prostitutes and their clients )—as alleged by John Richardson69—it is not impossible that
this was what happened, that Mrs Long saw two other people. Moreover, the event heard by Cadosch would then likely
have been another person who saw the body, ejaculating ‘No’ whilst recoiling in horror.70
62 Ibid, p 87.
63 Loc cit.
65 Ibid, p 78.
66 Daily Telegraph, 13 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/daily_telegraph/dt880913.html.
67 Dave Yost, ‘Long vs. Cadoche’.
69 Ibid, p 78.
70 Dave Yost, ‘Long vs. Cadoche’.

The second problem is much more difficult to dismiss. Clearly, a newly eviscerated corpse would emit some type of
stench, even if it had not had time to start to decompose. The stench would be greater or less based on factors such
as time since death, and temperature. What about on a cool morning less than an hour after time of death? It is not
likely that a marked stench would occur given the temperature at that time in Spitalfields (roughly 40º F or 4º C). The
odour of a newly opened body has been described as ‘...a mild, inoffensive, damp meat/blood smell, like you may get
off of a room-temperature raw steak.’71 Would Richardson not have detected such a smell from a distance of about two
feet? Notice that there is a further complication, given the strong smells of the East End of London. If these were strong
enough could they, to some extent, mask such a smell? Suffice it to say that there is no clear answer here. Consequently,
the reader must decide whether or not Richardson would have smelled Chapman’s just eviscerated body.
Next, we must compare the description of the man seen by Mrs Long talking with Annie Chapman to that of Isenschmid.
The clothes are not terribly relevant—recall he had returned home for a change of clothes after each of the first two
murders. What about height? Well, Mrs Long noted that he was a little taller than Annie. This is rather vague. According
to the records, it seems that Isenschmid was at least four to six inches taller than Annie. Would this count as a little
taller? I must allow the reader to decide for himself or herself on that matter.
What of the other particulars? She noted that the man was dark. Isenschmid, in spite of his ginger coloured hair, was
fairly dark—likely the result of being outdoors for a good portion of the summer. She referred to the man as having a
foreign appearance. Jacob has been described that way, although it is unclear to me just precisely what constitutes a
foreign appearance. The man she described looked over forty; Jacob Isenschmid was over forty. Let us say, then, that
Isenschmid at least bore a fair resemblance to the man Mrs Long described.
Finally, about a month before Annie’s murder, one of Mrs Richardson’s tenants encountered a man sleeping in the
passageway of 29 Hanbury Street. It was about 4.00 AM when it occurred. He explained that he was sleeping there until
the market opened. He was noted to have spoken with a foreign accent. And, although there was confusion in both
police reports and in press reports regarding whether this sighting occurred later—on the morning of Chapman’s murder—
Sugden argues, somewhat convincingly, that the later ‘sighting’ of the ‘foreign speaking’ man in the passageway was due
largely to a garbled account of a month old incident.72 I am content, then, to make that assumption.
More germane to our purpose, was this an Isenschmid sighting? Difficult to tell. The age and description seem to
match. Moreover, it would be congruent with the story about Isenschmid being found in a house in Clerkenwell. After
all, what more natural than for a homeless, wandering lunatic to seek refuge wherever it could be obtained, especially
if he had been there before? But there could have been many older men with foreign accents who were waiting for the
market to open and seeking a place to catch a quick nap before it did.
Isenschmid’s Recorded Behaviour and Delusions

In each of his committals to Colney Hatch, Isenschmid
was listed as dangerous. He was noted variously as
threatening to murder ‘his wife’, ‘his landlady’, ‘four
women’, and so on. On one occasion, he was so violent
and resisting that it took no fewer than four constables
to subdue him and bring him into custody.73
Colney Hatch asyulm
71 ‘What does the inside of a human body smell like...?’ on the Straight Dope Message Board at boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/
archive/index.php/t-534476.html.
72 Sugden pp 7 & 116.

During this third committal, the medical
officer at Colney Hatch described his
condition thus:
On admission patient is in the later

stages of an acute maniacal attack. He is
somewhat excited and garrulous. Strongly
denies being insane and tells of a great
struggle he had with some policemen who
he says treated him very roughly. He has
sores (?) on lip and tongue. He [sic] is
fairly coherent now and the worst part of
his attack is over. He will probably rapidly
convalesce as on former occasions.... He
was incoherent in his speech, threatened
to murder every one and he did not know
what he was doing.74
Notice that these maniacal episodes

were periodical and that, during their worst
parts, he was extremely violent and unaware
of what he was doing. But afterwards, he
Jacob Isenschmid’s Colney Hatch record
seemed to come out of them.75
It is known that, in some forms of schizophrenia, violence is rare. But are all schizophrenics non-violent? Concerning
prediction of violent behaviour in schizophrenics, Dr E Fuller Torrey claims that:
Another factor that may have predictive value is the specific type of delusions, a common symptom in people
with severe mental illnesses. Professionals have long assumed, based on common sense, that paranoid delusions
are likely to predispose to violence. An example of this is the man who, while walking down a crowded street,
suddenly turned and struck a woman behind him because he believed she had a laser beam aimed at his testicles
and was making him sterile.
Emerging studies, however, suggest that the association between paranoid delusions and violence may be less
straightforward. Pamela Taylor, Burce Link, et al have reported studies that: Strong predictors of violence in
the mentally ill are the feeling that others are out to harm them and a feeling that their mind is dominated by
forces beyond their control or that thoughts are being put into their head.76
Hence, we see that, quite often, violent behaviour in schizophrenics is linked to their delusions. While at home, did
Isenschmid have delusions? Yes. And some of them seem to be quasi-paranoiac in nature. ‘He will not go to bed at night
- makes every one get up. Says people are coming in, and wanted them to nail up the door.’77
However, the main predictor of violent behaviour in schizophrenics is simply that: incidents of violent behaviour. On
Isenschmid’s chart, it is recorded:
Wife states that patient was discharged from Banstead rather more than a year ago; within a month he began to
ill-treat his family and left his home; has tried to kill his wife and children on several occasions... He attempted to
strangle her and would have done so had not a neighbour rescued her.78
74 Loc cit.
75 Loc cit.
76 ‘Violence and Schizophrenia’ at www.schizophrenia.com/family/viol.htm#predictors.
78 Loc cit.

It is also noted that Isenschmid often suffered from non-violent delusions that frequently involved material possessions
or power. For example, he imagined he possessed ‘a van and horses’, was ‘about to become a member of parliament’,
was ‘to receive the key to the city’, etc. Perhaps most troubling is that he imagined ‘all things belonged to him.’ Although
merely speculative, I would suggest that this latter delusion may have been sparked by his reading of Scriptures. You
will recall that Mary had indicated Jacob would read the Bible for hours and sometimes fling the book across the room
because he felt that it indicted his ‘wickedness.’ Well, in I Corinthians 3:21, it is recorded, ‘...[A]ll things are yours.’
Why do I consider this troubling? Recall that, earlier, I posed the question, What was Isenschmid doing for money?
Recall further that ‘Leather Apron’ was alleged to be extorting money from prostitutes. A simple answer would be that
Jacob had been obtaining money from prostitutes—perhaps even without using an overt threat. If his appearance were
menacing enough, as with the descriptions of ‘Leather Apron’ in the interviews conducted by The Star, if he confronted
a prostitute after she had completed a transaction with a client his appearance might have been sufficient to frighten
her into giving him some small change.
Jacob may also have had some sexual problems. Mrs Isenschmid had remarked that he was fond of other women.79
Obviously not much weight can be placed on this statement since such declarations were a fairly common complaint of
wives against husbands in the Late Victorian Period. But when this statement is juxtaposed with the following reported
episode, it tends to lend credence to my theory that he had sexual difficulties.
An attendant at Colney Hatch remarked on Jacob’s chart that he (Jacob) claimed he wore a white flower in his
buttonhole because he was all purity.80 If purity were equated with virginity, clearly such were not the case as he
fathered seven children with Mary. But a charge of fondness for other women and a claim of purity together are highly
reminiscent of what psychologists might refer to as ‘approach and avoidance.’ That is to say, he both sought sex and
yet shunned it. Why? Well, one might suggest that this was linked to his scriptural readings. Mary reported that his Bible
reading sessions sometimes ended in his hurling the Bible across the room and declaring, ‘If what it says here is true, I
must be a very wicked man.’81
Isenschmid and Some Parallels

As far as we know, Jacob Isenschmid was the only police suspect during the Autumn of Terror who at some point had
actually been engaged in the act of strangling a woman. We note, however, that there is some ambiguity in the medical
attendant’s language concerning this event. The chart indicates that, ‘He attempted to strangle her and would have
done so had not a neighbour rescued her.’82
What does this mean? First, let’s get clear on the choke/strangle bifurcation.
A primary definition of choke is, ‘to stop the breath of by squeezing or obstructing the windpipe; strangle; stifle.’83
Notice that, in this case, strangle can be used as a synonym for ‘choke.’
What of ‘strangle’? A primary definition of this term includes, ‘to kill by squeezing the throat in order to compress
the windpipe and prevent the intake of air, as with the hands or a tightly drawn cord.’84
Notice that that ‘to strangle’ is not synonymous with ‘to choke.’ In this case, ‘to choke’ would include X putting his
hands around Y’s neck in order to kill. If unsuccessful, it is merely a case of X choking Y. But if successful, ie, if Y dies,
then it is a case of X strangling Y.
In consequence:
(1) ‘Jacob attempted to strangle her and would have done so had not a neighbour rescued her’ can mean:
(1.1) ‘Jacob put his hands around Mary’s throat choking her. Had not a neighbour intervened, Mary would have
died.’

81 Loc cit.
82 Loc cit.
83 Dictionary.com.
84 Loc cit.

It may also mean:
(1.2) ‘Jacob came at Mary, hands opened and ready to close about her throat. Had not a neighbour intervened,
Mary would have been choked.’
Or else, it may mean the much weaker:
(1.3) ‘Jacob threatened to strangle Mary. Had not a neighbour warned him off, Jacob would have fulfilled his
threat.’
In which of these three ways ought the attendant’s statement be taken?
Clearly, in its most strict meaning, (1) should be understood as (1.1). Notwithstanding, it must be borne in mind that
the Colney Hatch attendant most likely derived his information from Mary Isenschmid. And it is not clear whether her
report was given in full cognisance of primary definitions.
Obviously, (1.1) is not only most correct, but also most robust for corroborating my thesis, and (1.3) is the weakest.
I leave it to the reader to determine which interpretation is most likely.
Whilst at Coney Hatch Lunatic Asylum, the attendant noted of Isenschmid that he ‘has a collection of studs and other
cheap articles in a piece of paper, which he said were worth no end of money.’85
I find this significant since, at inquest, it was revealed of Annie Chapman that two cheap brass rings were wrenched
from her finger and her pocket was cut open and ransacked, the items within being placed in an orderly arrangement
near the body.86
Some of Jacob’s delusions—indeed, a good many of them—involved material possessions. In his final committal to
Colney Hatch, Isenschmid was observed to pick up stones claiming them to be diamonds. Given this sort of delusion, it
seems obvious why he would wrench the worthless brass rings off Annie’s finger—he thought them gold.
Summary and Conclusion

It is now time to sum up our findings.
We know that Jacob Isenschmid had been wandering the streets of London for several weeks during the late summer
and autumn of 1888. We know that he carried at least two butcher’s knives with him. Although he likely ate but little
during this period, he did eat something. I asked near the outset about Jacob’s source of income during this time.
Given that he inspired at least some of the ‘Leather Apron’ stories, it seems likely that he was taking some money from
frightened prostitutes.
From his Colney Hatch records we know that he was regarded as violent and dangerous to others. We know that at
one point he began strangling his wife. Moreover, we saw above that his mania was recurrent and that, during its worst
part, he was unaware of his actions. Hence, I propose the following.
Whilst Isenschmid wandered about London, his mania grew worse. (We recall that
the man spotted by Taylor at the Prince Albert pub was confused and looked indecisive.
At one point he crossed the same street no fewer than three times.) On the mornings
of each of the killings he stopped near one of the two Harrison, Barber and Co horse
slaughter yards. The sights, sounds and smells would have been familiar for, and possibly
even reassuring to, a journeyman butcher. He watched as the animals were killed and
subsequently disemboweled.
But why did not Tompkins, Mumford or Britten notice him on the last day of August?
Recall that some of the testimony regarding ‘Leather Apron’ mentioned that he lurked in
the shadows and was difficult to find. And this would seem perfectly congruent behaviour
for a man in the throes of a violent mania in which he was confused and possibly frightened.
85 Personal Records. Illustrated Police News, 15 September 1888


How did he encounter the two women who met their demise on these mornings?
In the case of Polly Nichols, we know that she was heading east down Whitechapel Road.
She had left the lodging house on Flower and Dean Street at about 1.40 AM, having been
turned out since she could not pay her doss. She met Ellen Holland about 2.30 and they
chatted awhile.87 Apparently, Polly had found no clients or other source of money for the fifty
or so minutes she had been soliciting. After leaving Ellen she continued heading eastward and
slightly northward.88 Given her partially inebriated condition, she was making progress slowly.
Concurrently, Tomkins, Mumford and Britten were going about their routines slaughtering
old, unfit horses. They had been at the slaughterhouse continuously since 1.00 AM.89
At inquest, it was said of Henry Tomkins that,
All the gates were open, and witness during the night did not hear any disturbance; the
only person who came to the slaughterhouse was the constable. At times women came to the
Illustrated Police News, 13 October 1888
place, but none came on that night.90
Why had women come to the slaughterhouse? It seems rather obvious that they were women of Polly’s class and
vocation. And it seems likely that such a location might not be the first option for such women, but rather a bit of a
default. After all, whom would their customers be except possibly the slaughtermen? If that is so, it would explain why
Polly was headed in that direction. And, in spite of the likely dearth of clients there, at least Buck’s Row—dimly lit and
secluded—would be an almost ideal place to carry out the transaction.
Tomkins testified that no women came up to the gates that night. But if Jacob met Polly as he was leaving the yard
and heading west and south on Winthrop Street, there would be no need for her to be seen by the men in the slaughter
yard.
What happened next might well be a tragic case of two people at cross purposes. It would be likely that Polly, seeing
Jacob approach, solicited him. He, being confused, was more likely thinking in terms of her giving him spare change for
food. In Polly’s mind, his reply was interpreted as a ‘Yes.’ She then had him follow her to Buck’s Row.
We recall that, according to the Colney Hatch records, Isenschmid had made a remark about wearing a white flower in
his button hole as he was ‘all purity.’ When Polly lifted her skirt to fulfill what she thought was her part of the bargain,
Jacob, being reminded of his wife, whom allegedly he hated and wished to kill, could easily have been triggered. First
to strangle her and then, whilst she was lying there near death, a delusion of an overpowered sheep or pig may easily
have occurred to him. Being a butcher, he would cut her carotid to cause bleeding and then perform a second cut in an
attempt to decapitate. He would then proceed to disembowel—just as he had earlier witnessed at the slaughter yard.
What about Annie? We know she left the lodging house at 35 Dorset Street just before 2.00 AM. She, like Polly Nichols,
was turned out for insufficient doss. And, just as with Polly, she had thought she would be back with some money shortly.
According to John Evans, the night watchman of the lodging house, Annie went down Paternoster Row in the direction
of Brushfield Street.91 If so, it would seem she were heading for Spitalfields Market. That would make sense as it might
indicate a willingness to work the market crowd and pick up a few pence for her doss. Unfortunately, the market did
not open until 5.00 AM.
In spite of a story, possibly apocryphal, about Annie being seen in a pub around 5.00 AM drinking, we cannot trace her
movements after she left Dorset Street.
It is not unlikely that she met Isenschmid somewhere east of the market, possibly on Hanbury Street. And, just as with
Polly, it may be that Annie and Jacob were at cross purposes. Recall that Mrs Long had described them as talking loudly.
And the ‘Will you?’ may have been in Jacob’s mind ‘Will you give me some change? After all, I own everything.’ For her
part, the end of the loud conversation might have meant, ‘Will you have sex for 4d?’ Notice that the ‘Yes’ in each case
would lead to very different consequences.
87 Ibid, p 29.
88 Ibid, p 28.
89 Ibid, p 37.
90 Loc cit.

If we consider John Richardson to have been correct in his testimony that the backyard of 29 Hanbury Street was
frequently used for immoral purposes, and given that Annie had resorted to prostitution on occasion, it is quite possible
that Annie was familiar with the backyard. Thus, it is also quite possible that Annie led Jacob through the passage and
into the backyard. They possibly continued their discussion, each being puzzled at the other’s behaviour. Hence, ‘No’
could easily have answered the question, ‘Will you give me money?’
If Cadosch was not off in his timings, it was about 3 or 4 minutes later that he heard the fall. Hence, my conjecture
is that Jacob, on hearing ‘No’ became enraged. And this could easily have triggered him yet again. After all, Annie was
about the same age as Mary Isenschmid. Once again, Jacob may have had the delusion that he was face to face with
his hated wife thwarting his plans. If strangulation began just after Cadosch heard ‘No,’ the intervening 3 minutes or so
would have been sufficient to have produced unconsciousness. Annie Chapman also may have struggled with Isenschmid
because his records from Islington indicate he had a black eye and some head bruises when he was examined three
days later. She would then be lowered to the ground. Either she bumped the fence as this was happening or else
Jacob stumbled slightly. Once on the ground, her rings were wrenched from her finger, her pocket was torn open and
ransacked, and her throat was cut and the mutilations began.
I submit that this explanation is consistent and, in my mind, a quite likely alternative to other possible explanations
of the two murders.
I cannot conclude this article without discussing one last short news report which appeared in the Pall Mall Gazette
of 22 September 1888, which reads as follows:
The man who was arrested at Holloway on suspicion of being concerned in the Whitechapel murder, and subsequently
removed and detained at Bow Asylum, will shortly be released. His brother has given satisfactory explanation as to his
whereabouts on the morning of the murder. It has transpired that the authorities of the asylum would not allow the
police to interrogate the patient whilst there, as it is against the rules laid down by the Lunacy Commissioners.92
I find no fewer than three problems that arise with this article if it is to be taken to refer to Jacob Isenschmid. First,
it predicts that the man will soon be released. We know that to be false. Isenschmid was detained at Grove Hall until
February 1889 and from thence sent to Banstead Lunatic Asylum for about another year.93
Second, it claims that the man’s brother had vouched for his movements on the morning of the Chapman murder. That
would be difficult for two reasons. One, according to Mary, Jacob had no relatives in England. Two, are we to imagine
that a brother would have accompanied a wandering lunatic as he walked the streets of London? If Isenschmid were the
man spotted by Mrs Fiddymont and her friends, where was his brother at that point?
Third, and most troubling, there is absolutely no record at the Met indicating that such a thing happened. And, as is
well known, the remaining file on Isenschmid is more detailed than any other extant file connected to the Whitechapel
murders.
In light of these considerations, I would suggest that this report is better taken with a grain of salt. It may well be
that Scotland Yard dismissed Isenschmid as a suspect for the murders of Polly Nichols and Annie Chapman and it may be
that this occurred in mid to late September. Yet, if so, we have absolutely no record of it.
Acknowledgment
I thank Simon Wood for suggestions on an earlier draft of this article. His help is very much appreciated.
92 Morning Advertiser, 22 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/morning_advertiser/18880922.html.

LYNN CATES Lynn Cates lives in Pflugerville, Texas. He teaches classes in Logic, Philosophy, Humanities
and Freshman Orientation for three different institutions of higher education. He lives with his wife of 23
years, Deborah, and his son John Calvin, aged 20.

Find Their Past: in conjunction with
Jacob Isenschmid
JACOB ISENSCHMID (1843-1910)
Jacob Isenschmid was born in Switzerland on 20 April 1843. He married Mary Ann Joyce on
26 December 1867, and they had seven children: John Richard (1869-91), Kate (b. 1872), Ada (b.
1875), Annie (b.1879), Minnie (b. 1880), Jessie (b. 1883) and Amy (b. 1885).
1871 Census
4 Baldwin Street, Finsbury
Jacob Isenschmic Head 28 1843 Male Butcher Swiss, Burness
Mary Ann Isenschmich Wife 30 1841 Female Gilston, Essex
John Richard Isenschmich Son 2 1869 Male St Luke, London
1872 Birth of Kate

Catherine Annie Isenschmid (Kate) born Apr-Jun 1872 in Holborn
1880 Birth of Minnie

Minnie Isenschmid born Apr-June 1880
1881 Census
52 Kingsbury Road
Jacob Isemchmid Head 37 1844 Male Journeyman Butcher Switzerland
Mary Isemchmid Wife 41 1840 Female Gelston Essex
John R. Isemchmid Son 12 1869 Male Scholar St Lukes
Kate Isemchmid Dau 9 1872 Female Scholar St Lukes
Ada Isemchmid Dau 6 1875 Female Scholar Hackney
Annie Isemchmid Dau 3 1878 Female Islington
Minnie Isemchmid Dau 1 1880 Female Islington
1888
On 12 September 1888 Jacob Isenschmidt was admitted to Islington Workhouse and was discharged the same day.
1891 Census
37 Chatham Road, Camberwell
George Gayler Head 55 1836 Butcher
Ellen Gayler Wife 50 1841
Jim Gayler Son 22 1869 Butcher London
John Gayler Son 17 1874 London
Amy Gayler Dau 15 1876 London
Ada Gayler Dau 12 1879 London
George Gayler Son 10 1881 London
Jakob Isenschmid Lodger 48 1843 Porter Switzerland
97 Dunscombe Road, Islington
Mary Isenchmid Head 50 1841 Female Eastwick, Essex
John R Isenchmid Son 22 1869 Male Waiter Galston, Essex
Ada M Isenchmid Dau 17 1874 Female Dressmaker Galston, Essex
Minnie J Isenchmid Dau 11 1880 Female Kingsland, London
Jessie Isenchmid Dau 8 1883 Female Kingsland, London
Amy M Isenchmid Dau 6 1885 Female Kingsland, London

1891 Census (continued)
River Dale, High Street, Bridge, Canterbury
William Perry Head 35 1856 Grocer Sub Post Master Horsmonden
Edith Perry Wife 28 1863 ? London
William Hollis Stepson 13 1878 Scholar Bridge, Kent
Nellie Hollis Stepdau 14 1877 Scholar Bridge, Kent
Mary Perry Dau 9 1882 Scholar Bridge, Kent
Emily Perry Dau 6 1885 Scholar Bridge, Kent
Kate Isenschmid Servant 19 1872 Servant Domestic London
1891
Death of of John Richard Isenschmmid, Apr-Jun 1891 in Islington
1896
Ada Mary Isenschmidt married Apr-June 1896 George Edward Chipper
1901 Census
42 Grovedale Road, Islington
Mary Isenschmid Wife 60 1841 Female Eastwick, Essex
Minnie Isenschmid Dau 21 1880 Female Wholesale Chemists Packer Islington
Jessie Isenschmid Dau 18 1883 Female Domestic Servant Islington
Amy M Isenschmid Dau 16 1885 Female Dressmaker Islington
2 Avery Row, St George Hanover Square, London
Geo Edwd Chipper Head 32 1869 Gents Hair Dresser Marylebone
Ada Mary Chipper Wife 26 1875 Gilston, Essex
Stanley Geo Chipper Son 2 MON 1901 St Georges
1910
Jacob Isenschmidt died in Barnet, 9 March 1910
1911 Census
10 Lysander Grove, Upper Holloway, London N
Mary Isenschmid Head 70 1841 Female Wick, Hertford
Minnie Isenschmid Dau 31 1880 Female Manufact. Chemists Packer London
Amy Isenschmid Dau 26 1885 Female Dressmaker London
Studley Hillcroft Avenue Purley
Charles George Reed Head 1876 Estate Agent Brighton Sussex
Elsie Mary Reed Wife 35 876 London
Florence Kate Pitman Sister In Law 48 1863 London
Jessie Isenschmid Servant 28 1883 General Servant Domestic London
380 Garratt Lane, Wandsworth, London S W
George Chipper Head 42 1869 Hairdresser London
Ada Chipper (Isenschmid) Wife 36 1875 Essex
Stanley Chipper Son 10 1901
Doris Chipper Dau 8 1903
Marjorie Chipper Dau 6 1905
Edna Chipper Dau 4 1907 London
Ivy Chipper Dau 1 1910 Wandsworth
Jack Chipper Son 2 1909 Wandsworth
Leonard Parker Servant 19 1892 Hairdresser York
1911 Marriage Amy E Isenschmid

Married Charles W Griffiths in Islington Jul-Aug 1911
1929 Death of Mary Isenschmid

Mary Isenschmidt died Jan-Mar 1929
Minnie Jane Isenschmid

1922-1925 1 Royal Parade and 1a Royal Parade Mansions, Haringay
1925-1930 ?
1930-1933 43 Eswyn Road, Wandsworth
1934- 6 Chadwick Road, Peckham
Jessie Isenschmidt
Died Jan-Mar 1959 in Islington, London Ripperologist 125 April 2012 29
Occam’s Razor
By SIMON D WOOD
Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate.

William of Ockham (1285–1349)
Sir Edward Bradford was the very model of Victorian aplomb.
On 23 June 1890, The Times recalled:
More than 20 years ago Sir Edward Bradford, then in command of one of the Central Horse Regiments, was
shooting on foot in Central India in company with Colonel Curtis, of the Inniskillens. While the beaters were
driving up in his direction Colonel Bradford, from his position behind a bush, saw a wounded tigress approach.
He pulled the trigger, but a twig of the bush had got under the hammer - it was before the days of sporting
breech-loaders - his rifle missed fire. He then made for a small tank1 close by; but the tigress felled him by a
blow on the shoulder, and was about to seize him by the throat when her jaws closed upon the wrist of the arm
which he raised to protect himself.
It illustrates Sir E Bradford’s characteristic quality of nerve that he had the presence of mind to remain perfectly
motionless while the tigress slowly chewed his arm nearly up to the shoulder.
On 23 June 1890, Bradford, who for the previous three years had been secretary
at the Political and Secret Department of the India Office in London, took over from
James Monro as Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, with Robert Anderson
retained as Assistant Commissioner [CID] and Melville Leslie Macnaghten as Assistant
Chief Constable.
Thus did Bradford inherit the 1888 Whitechapel murder mystery.
All was silent on the Ripper front until 29 January 1891, when Later Leaves, the
second volume of reminiscences by Montagu Williams QC was published by Macmillan.
Williams had a vast knowledge and understanding of crime in London’s East End. In
Chapter Thirty One of Later Leaves, following a few words on the effect of kindness on
fallen women, he related a personal experience concerning the Whitechapel murders:
As my readers are aware, the murderer has not been arrested; but a curious set
of circumstances which tend, perhaps, to throw light upon the mystery came to
my knowledge at the time...
I was sitting alone one afternoon, on a day on which I was off duty, when a card
was brought to me, and I was informed that the gentleman whose name it bore
desired that I would see him.
Sir Edward Bradford from

Vanity Fair, 15 November 1890
1 Tank: a pond or tarn.

My visitor was at once shown in. He explained that he had called for the purpose of having a conversation with
me with regard to the perpetrator, or perpetrators, of the East End murders. He had, he said, taken a very great
interest in the matter, and had set on foot a number of inquiries that had yielded a result which, in his opinion,
afforded an undoubted clue to the mystery, and indicated beyond any doubt the individual, or individuals, on
whom this load of guilt rested...
My visitor handed me a written statement in which his conclusions were clearly set forth, together with the
facts and calculations on which they were based; and, I am bound to say, this theory - for theory it, of necessity,
is - struck me as being remarkably ingenious and worthy of the closest attention.
Besides the written statement, this gentleman showed me copies of a number of letters that he had received
from various persons in response to the representations he had made. It appeared that he had communicated
his ideas to the proper authorities, and that they had given them every attention.
Of course, the theory set forth by my visitor may be a correct one or it may not. Nothing, however, has occurred
to prove it fallacious during the many months that have elapsed since the last of this terrible series of crimes.
As I have said, I cannot take the reader into my confidence over this matter, as, possibly, in doing so I might be
hampering the future course of justice.
One statement, however, I may make, and, inasmuch as it is calculated to allay public fears, I do so with great
pleasure. The cessation of the East End murders dates from the time when certain action was taken as a result
of the promulgation of these ideas.
The identity of Williams’s visitor remained unknown to his readership, as did the nature of the information he
disclosed, but it appeared that the implementation of his theory - known to the police - was responsible for bringing
the murders to an end, although it did not result in an arrest. Williams was being circumspect about the details, careful
not to possibly hamper ‘the course of future justice’, implying that, although the murders had ceased, Jack the Ripper
was still alive.
On 7 February 1891, the South London Press ran an item entitled The Extraordinary Charge of Stabbing Young
Women. In this piece, the Press reported that 27-year-old John Edwin Colocott was accused of jabbing young women in
the buttocks with a knife. Although it was not known at the time, his case would have implications regarding Jack the
Ripper and the Whitechapel murders.
Four days later, on 11 February 1891, a Jack the Ripper story contradicting the statements of Montagu Williams QC
appeared in the Bristol Times and Mirror:
I give a curious story for what it is worth. There is a West of England member2 who in private declares that he
has solved the mystery of “Jack the Ripper”. His theory—and he repeats it with so much emphasis that it might
almost be called his doctrine—is that “Jack the Ripper” committed suicide on the night of his last murder. I
can’t give details, for fear of a libel action; but the story is so circumstantial that a good many people believe
it. He states that a man with blood-stained clothes committed suicide on the night of the last murder, and he
asserts that the man was the son of a surgeon, who suffered from homicidal mania. I do not know what the
police think of the story, but I believe that before long a clean breast will be made, and that the accusation
will be sifted thoroughly.
On the same day, the Pall Mall Gazette also ran the story, crediting its by-line to the London correspondent of the
Nottingham Guardian, but subtly altered its punctuation, making it read as though it was the surgeon father who
suffered from homicidal mania.
The two Ripper stories did not fit. But no matter. It soon transpired that both Montagu Williams and ‘the West of
England member’ had got their wires crossed.
Two days later, on Friday 13 February 1891, the body of Frances Coles, a 32-year-old prostitute, was found in a
Whitechapel railway arch.
Old memories were immediately stirred.
2 ‹...a West of England member…’: A Member of Parliament.

Lloyds Weekly London Newspaper reported on 14 February:
The body was first discovered at a quarter past two o’clock. At three a.m. the code message: “Another murder in
Whitechapel,” was flashed all over London, putting each division on the alert. Five minutes later the intelligence
was telegraphed: “Woman found in Swallow Gardens, Whitechapel, with throat slit. The supposed work of Jack
the Ripper.”
The situation was not lost on the Aberdeen Weekly Journal, which on the same day wrote:
It seems almost a queer irony but a few days ago Mr Montagu Williams was reassuring us with the account of
an interview which seemed to indicate that the murders were over and still more recently a west of England
member has, as mentioned a day or two since, been promulgating a theory that the “Ripper” had committed
suicide.
On 15 February 1891, Lloyds Weekly London Newspaper asked rhetorically:
Was it Jack-The-Ripper?
Sir Edward Bradford, Chief Commissioner of the Police, stated to a representative of the Press on Friday, that he
felt convinced from evidence of previous murders in Whitechapel that the murdered woman found that morning
was the victim of the same assassin who had previously struck terror in the East-end.
Lloyds Weekly London Newspaper next dismissed the idea of the Ripper committing suicide, running the West of
England member’s story under the sub-heading ‘Remarkable Fiction’.
The police confronted 53-year-old James Thomas Sadler, a ship’s fireman and prime suspect in Coles’ murder, with a
witness who in September 1888 had seen the Mitre Square victim in the company of a man just minutes before she was
found dead. But the witness could not identify Sadler as the Whitechapel murderer. Furthermore, Sadler had an alibi.
Between 17 August and 1 October 1888 he had been aboard the cargo ship Winestead, which had sailed from Deal, in
Kent, bound for Genoa, Fiume3 and Venice.
Later in February, at the County of London Sessions, Edwin Colocott was found guilty of maliciously wounding young
women ‘by stabbing them with some sharp instrument’ and bailed pending sentence.
On 1 March 1891 the Weekly Dispatch published a story written by the London correspondent of the Manchester
Evening News:
Mr Montagu Williams, the well-known stipendiary magistrate, has recently published a second instalment of his
reminiscences... in which he alludes to the Whitechapel murders...
I have at this moment before me all the details of the matter, and they are certainly curious... but I have some
scruple in publishing them to the world—first because I should not like to give the miscreant a useful hint; and
secondly because I should rather not incur any liability to what might follow if I seemed to be pointing at a
man who, after all, happened to be the wrong one. It is very startling to know, however, that I have before
me the name and full particulars of the man who is pointed at by various converging lines of evidence as the
infamous Whitechapel murderer; that he is perfectly well known; that there is no secret at all about his present
whereabouts, and that the London police actually did make an abortive attempt to catch him. It is very probable
that more will be heard of this before long, and I hardly think the action of the London police will derive much
credit from the affair.
The Home Office files detailing the background of the Montagu Williams episode tell a different story, but as far as the
newspaper-reading public was concerned this ‘I know but can’t tell you in case I’m wrong’ account appeared to trump
the ‘I can’t give details for fear of a libel action’ Ripper suicide story from the ‘West of England member.’
The police did nothing to clarify this conundrum, allay public fears or explain why, if the Whitechapel murderer was
either dead or his identity and present whereabouts known, they had investigated James Sadler as Jack the Ripper.
3 Fiume: At present Rijeka, Croatia.

In early March 1891, the family of 25-year-old Thomas Hayne Cutbush asked the parochial authorities that he be
detained at an infirmary with a view to being sent to a lunatic asylum. His mind was said to have become unhinged due
to excessive study. According to his aunt, Clara Cutbush, five men from the parochial authorities arrived at the family
home on 5 March and took him to St Saviour’s Infirmary at Newington.
Cutbush escaped but was soon caught. On 9 March, he was charged with maliciously wounding two young women by
jabbing them with a knife. The case sounded remarkably similar to that of Edwin Colocott, who returned to court for
sentencing on 18 March 1891.
Colocott’s defence counsel ‘referred to a case, now being investigated [Cutbush], in which another person was
charged with the commission of exactly similar offences in the same neighbourhood; and in view of the fact that the
defence of the prisoner at his trial was that a mistake had been made as to his identity, he asked the court to postpone
sentence until the result of those proceedings was known.’
The judge granted a further postponement, and just two days later it appeared that the Cutbush case had been
decided. On 20 March 1891, Colocott was released on two family sureties of £100. The Times also reported that his
father ‘had engaged to exercise such care and supervision over the prisoner as to protect the public from the possibility
of any repetition of the offence.’
This latter was an odd demand by the court, given that Colocott now appeared to have been the victim of mistaken
identity.
Cutbush did not fare so well.
On 14 April 1891, almost a month after Colocott’s release, Leopold John Manners De Michele, prosecuting for the
Crown at the London County Sessions, argued whether the defendant, Cutbush, was competent to plead. Dr Gilbert,
medical officer at Holloway prison, declared that although Cutbush was ‘not absolutely insane, he was sufficiently
so not to understand the gravamen of the charge brought against him, and was quite incompetent to plead.’ A jury
agreed, and, without trial, Cutbush was ordered to be detained ‘during her Majesty’s pleasure’. He was transferred to
Broadmoor lunatic asylum on 15 April 1891.
On the next day, George Kirk, Cutbush’s solicitor, wrote to the Daily Chronicle:
I had a large number of witnesses present on defendant’s behalf to establish his innocence, and I was advised
by eminent counsel, whom I had instructed to defend him, that his acquittal was almost a matter of certainty.
Owing, however, to the action of the Crown in raising the issue of insanity first, the case was not gone into,
although the defendant’s friends were most anxious to have his innocence established.
It would appear that Cutbush had been found guilty of the crimes of Edwin Colocott, who, although initially found
guilty, was released without charge.
Much indignation was expressed. What could have accounted for this apparent travesty of justice?
On 19 April 1891, Lloyds Weekly Newspaper stated:
What we plead for is inquiry, so that justice may be done, the innocent freed from suspicion, and the doubts of
the public set at rest...
It was here that the newspaper dropped its bombshell:
...For it is idle to deny that, in certain police circles, and among those who have had to inquire into the Brixton
mystery, there is a growing feeling that it may in the end prove to be in some way connected with the darker
and more tragic mysteries of the East-end.
Was Cutbush none other than Jack the Ripper? Had the Whitechapel Murderer finally been caught?
On 11 August 1891, Superintendent Charles Henry Cutbush resigned from the C.O. [Commissioner’s Office] Division at
Scotland Yard. He was 47 years of age.
Cutbush’s case was soon forgotten, as were Montagu Williams’ suspect, the Thames suicide and James Sadler. It
would be almost a year before another Ripper-cycle began.

On 17 January 1892, the Rocky Mountain News, Colorado, USA, reported:
London, Jan 2. A Royal Commission is to investigate the now almost forgotten Whitechapel murders.
The story continued:
It is understood that the death of a Catholic priest in the east end of London has placed some important
revelations in the hands of the police. There can be no doubt that the priest, under the seal of confession,
died possessed of information that might have led to the arrest of the murderer or murderers of the wretched
women known as Jack the Ripper’s victims. That the priest had qualms of conscience regarding the sanctity of
confession, even in connection with such atrocities, is evinced by the sealed packet he left behind him addressed
to Sir Edward Bradford, chief of London’s police department. On the package was inscribed, in the dead priest’s
handwriting, “This is to be opened after my death - my lips must never reveal it.” Beyond the above, carelessly
mentioned by a garrulous official who has since been severely reprimanded for his indiscretion, no further
information can be obtained from the police.
Three weeks later, on 8 February 1892, Chief Inspector Frederick George Abberline resigned from the C.O. Division of
the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard. He was 49 years of age.
Nothing more was heard of the Royal Commission investigation or the mysterious packet delivered to Bradford, but
it wasn’t long before another story, apparently emanating from Scotland Yard, appeared in the Western Mail on 26
February 1892.
Written by James McKenzie Maclean, Conservative MP for Oldham, part owner of the Western Mail and also its
London correspondent, the story cast further doubt upon the 1891 Ripper suicide story which had appeared in the same
newspaper.
‘Remarkable Statement By A Scotland Yard Detective’, ran the headline. ‘The Chain of Evidence All But Complete.’
I am in a position to give, on the authority of a Scotland Yard detective, a somewhat remarkable piece of
information respecting the hunt of the English police after the perpetrator of the terrible series of East End
murders which convulsed the whole country with horror a while ago. We have heard nothing of “Jack the
Ripper” for some time past - over a year - and his murderous operations have not been renewed.
There followed confirmation that the Ripper had not committed suicide nor been incarcerated in an asylum. Jack was
very much alive and, until recently, had been under surveillance.
The reason of this is that the police have, for many months past, been perfectly certain that they have discovered
the man. The chain of evidence has been completed with the exception of a single link. That link they have
been making unavailing endeavours to supply. The suspected criminal, till within a month at any rate, has been
shadowed night and day, awake and asleep, by Scotland Yard detectives. Everything points to the conclusion that
he has himself been perfectly aware of this vigilance on the part of the police, and it is, no doubt, from this
cause, and this alone, that the Whitechapel murders have ceased.
The Western Mail next identified the author of its 1891 Jack the Ripper suicide story:
Mr [Henry Richard] Farquharson, MP for West Dorset, was credited, I believe, some time
since with having evolved a remarkable theory of his own in the matter. He believed
that the author of the outrages destroyed himself. But if the police have been on the
right track this theory is naturally exploded.
It was a big ‘but’. An element of doubt had crept in, for if it proved that the police were
on the wrong track then the murders had to have ceased for a different reason, perhaps
putting the Jack the Ripper suicide story back in play. However, the police had a ready
explanation for any inability to bring the suspect to justice.
Henry Richard Farquharson MP

from The Graphic, 13 February 1886.

The Western Mail explained:
There is, as a matter of fact, nothing improbable in the belief arrived at by the Scotland Yard detectives in this
matter. It is quite common, indeed, for a criminal to get off in this manner... about two years ago the London
police were on the track of a begging letter writer... They knew who the man was perfectly well, shadowed him
persistently in the East End, knew his address, and several of his friends and accomplices. Yet they could not
complete their chain of evidence. The man was never nailed, and he finally left London because his business was
too much hampered by the police. But he has never to this day been arrested.
It was hardly reassuring to all those people in the East End who still trembled in fear at the mention of Jack the
Ripper.
Two weeks later, on 12 March 1892, Frederick Bailey Deeming was arrested for multiple family murders in Southern
Cross, near Perth, Western Australia. The details of his case need not detain us. What is important about Deeming is that
the Australian press got it into its collective head that he was Jack the Ripper. An account was published of his being
seen in London on the night of the ‘double-event’; reports told of an acquaintanceship with Catherine Eddowes, the
Mitre Square victim; his handwriting was compared with certain ‘Ripper’ letters.
On 28 March 1892 a story from Perth, Western Australia, appeared in The Times reporting that Deeming had actually
confessed to being the perpetrator of the ‘last two so-called Jack the Ripper murders in London.’
Five days later, on 2 April 1892, the Hull and North Lincolnshire Times published a story - again seeming to emanate
from Scotland Yard - written by ‘A Belfast newspaper’s London correspondent’.
It began:
The Scotland Yard authorities did not believe the alleged confession of the Whitechapel murders by Deeming.
Scotland Yard then took the unprecedented step of announcing a more likely candidate.
The fact is they consider, rightly or wrongly, that they have the author of the Whitechapel tragedies now under
lock and key at Portland prison undergoing a sentence of 20 years’ penal servitude. He is a Belgian, and was
tried and sentenced some six months ago for attempting to obtain money from ladies by threats of violence.
There is just one link in the chain of evidence missing, and they expect, sooner or later, to be able to supply it.
The newspaper article then changed tack.
This information reached me yesterday [1 April], and a few hours later, strange to say, another letter from an
alleged Jack the Ripper was received by Mr Hopkins, stipendiary magistrate at Lambeth Police Court... The
latest intimation is to the effect that “Jack the Ripper” means to commence his tricks about Cable and Flower
and Dean Streets, and he asks the magistrate to see if the bluecoats have their eyes open.
This is a fascinating newspaper article.
The Belgian in Portland prison may, in fact, have been a Dane. Charles Le Grand, a blackmailer and erstwhile
private detective who made a fleeting appearance during the investigation of ‘Ripper’ victim Elizabeth Stride, had been
sentenced in November 1891 to 20 years’ hard labour for writing threatening blackmail letters, plus another seven years
for attempted fraud. There is also evidence to suggest that he was deported after completing his sentence.
It has been suggested that the ‘Belgian’ and the suspect in the previous newspaper report were one and the same
person, but at the time of the Western Mail story Le Grand had been in prison for almost three months, whereas the
suspect under surveillance had ‘finally left London because his business was too much hampered by the police’ and had
‘never to this day been arrested.’ Also of interest is the letter ‘from an alleged Jack the Ripper’ having been sent to Mr
Hopkins, the stipendiary magistrate at Lambeth Police Court. Why him, of all people? Possibly because he had been the
magistrate before whom Thomas Hayne Cutbush first appeared.
Two years passed, during which the missing links in the chains of evidence against these ‘suspects’ remained elusive.
Interest in the Whitechapel murders was resurrected on Tuesday 13 February 1894 in two newspaper stories; one in the

Morning Leader, which asserted that Jack the Ripper was in Dartmoor Prison Asylum, and a second in the Sun, which
stated that the Ripper had been ‘sent forthwith to the living tomb of a lunatic asylum’ but without immediately naming
the institution.
The Morning Leader had obtained its story from ‘a Scotland Yard officer’, an Inspector in the Criminal Investigation
Department who had been watching the movements of this man for three years, and from the evidence in his possession
hoped to be able to bring home to him the charges of the Whitechapel atrocities.’
That the Inspector had been ‘watching the movements of this man for three years’ ruled out the Thames suicide, the
‘Belgian’ in Portland prison and Thomas Hayne Cutbush.
Meanwhile, the Sun was ploughing its own Jack the Ripper furrow. From Tuesday 13 to Monday 19 February 1894, it
ran a six-part story, lavish in circumstantial detail and employing a dramatic narrative style. The story had its origins in
a series of incidents which took place in 1891 at around the same time as the Frances Coles murder. The Sun polished
this rough gem of a story into sparkling brilliance:
Jack the Ripper... was first brought to imprisonment on the charge of being simply a dangerous lunatic. And the
evidence of his lunacy - hopeless, abysmal and loathsome - was so palpable that he was not permitted even to
plead. In the brief of the counsel who prosecuted, in the instructions of the solicitor who defended, there was
the same statement - that he was suspected of being Jack the Ripper. In the case of both the one and the other,
the very mention of this or any other dark suspicion was precluded; for, unable to plead, the wretched creature
in the dock was saved from all indictment; was spared the necessity of all defence. He was sent forthwith to the
living tomb of a lunatic asylum, and there he might have passed to death without mention of his terrible secret
if a chance clue had not put a representative of The Sun on the track. The clue thus accidentally obtained has
been followed up by months of patient investigation, and has been thoroughly sifted. Today we lay before the
world a story - consecutive, careful, and firmly knit - which we believe will offer the solution of the greatest
murder mystery of the nineteenth century.
Although unnamed in the story, the suspect was Thomas Hayne Cutbush.
The Sun concluded:
We understand that the attention of the highest police authorities has been called to our statements, and we
confidently look forward to our story being subjected to the closest and most searching investigation.
The Metropolitan Police maintained its stern official silence, neither confirming nor denying matters in the London
press, but a Canadian newspaper, the Qu’Appelle Progress, reported that ‘The police who have been interested in
the Whitechapel murder cases are not disposed to give much credit to the Sun’s story, which is generally regarded as
sensational, and open to grave suspicions as to its veracity.’
Lloyds Weekly Newspaper welcomed an inquiry into the circumstances of Cutbush’s incarceration at Broadmoor,
but did not believe he was Jack the Ripper. It remarked: ‘...the journalistic embellishments’ of the Sun story are ‘as
manifold as the assertion is daring.’
The Sun’s editor was T P [Thomas Power] O’Connor, Irish Parliamentary Party MP for the Liverpool Scotland
constituency. A supporter of Parnell and Irish Home Rule, in 1888 he had been editor of the Star, the newspaper which
in the energetic style of ‘new journalism’ had virtually single-handedly defined the Whitechapel murders.
Before publishing its story, the Sun had interviewed Henry Labouchere MP. In 1887, Labouchere and O’Connor had co-
founded the Star, the latter’s journalistic skills offering Labouchere a further opportunity to advance his radical Liberal
agenda in the face of a predominantly Tory evening press.
Labouchere’s comments appeared in the Sun’s final instalment:
The Broadmoor lunatic may have been Jack, he may, for all that you know. Jack very probably was the same
sort of man as the lunatic. But this, I should fancy, might be said of many inhabitants of the metropolis. But
when you have to prove the commission of a murder by an individual, you must show, not that he might have
committed it, but that there is no other hypothesis for an admitted effect but one. This you have not done.

Labouchere did not think the Sun had made its case. But he continued:
I read through attentively all the proofs and suggestions of the Sun, for they interested me. The conclusion I
arrived at was that the Sun had made out a fair case for public investigation.
Then you would recommend public investigation?’ asked the Sun.
Yes,’ replied Labouchere; ‘if I were Mr Asquith [Home Secretary] I should elect a clever officer to look into the
matter. He would do so carefully, for I suppose that the reward still remains valid.
Other Sun readers agreed. A reader signing as ‘A Liberal’ wrote:
Surely some action by the Home Office is necessary. What have the Police authorities to say? It reflects no credit
on Scotland Yard that the detection of this infamous scoundrel should be left to the enterprise of the Sun. If
Scotland Yard still entertains a doubt, let Mr Asquith appoint a committee of experts to examine into and sift
the mass of evidence which you have gathered with so much labour.
Another reader signing as ‘Pall Mall, W’ wrote, ‘I have slowly come to the conclusion that you have, at least, made
out a very good case for official investigation.’
There was no reaction to the Sun’s call for an official inquiry. No questions were raised in parliament and the story
died a quiet death. However, unknown to the press, parliament or public the Sun had struck a nerve with a senior police
officer at Scotland Yard.
The mystery of Jack the Ripper was about to undergo its most defining moment.
On Friday 23 February 1894, four days after the Sun’s final instalment,
Metropolitan Police Chief Constable Macnaghten signed and dated a
confidential memorandum.
There are two versions of the ‘Macnaghten Memorandum’.
Taken in chronological order of discovery, the first, supposedly a ‘draft

version’, came to light in 1959. Found amongst the papers of Macnaghten’s
daughter, Christabel Lady Aberconway, it was revealed by journalist and
investigative TV reporter Dan Farson. The second, filed at the National
Archives as the ‘Macnaghten Report’, was first seen in the mid-1960s by
Robin Odell and reproduced in part in the paperback edition of his book Jack
the Ripper in Fact and Fiction (Mayflower, London, 1966).
Although there are both significant and insignificant differences between

the two versions, the following is based on the signed and dated Macnaghten
Report, which might reasonably be termed the definitive version.
The Sun’s suspect was unnamed, but Macnaghten immediately identified

him as Thomas Cutbush.
Before dealing with Cutbush as the Whitechapel murderer, Macnaghten

countered the Sun’s ‘terrible list’ of nine Jack the Ripper murders, which
included Francis Coles as the final victim, by writing:
Now the Whitechapel murderer had 5 victims -- & 5 victims only, -- his
murders were... ‘(1) 31st August ‘88. Mary Ann Nichols... (2) 8th Sept.
‘88 Annie Chapman... (3) 30th Sept. ‘88. Elizabeth Stride & on same date
The first page of Sir Melville Macnaghten’s report.
Catherine Eddowes... 9th November. Mary Jane Kelly...

Macnaghten continued:
No one ever saw the Whitechapel murderer; many homicidal maniacs were suspected, but no shadow of proof
could be thrown on any one. I may mention the cases of 3 men, any one of whom would have been more likely
than Cutbush to have committed this series of murders:
(1) A Mr M. J. Druitt, said to be a doctor & of good family - who disappeared at the time of the Miller’s Court
murder, & whose body (which was said to have been upwards of a month in the water) was found in the Thames
on 31st December-or about 7 weeks after that murder. He was sexually insane and from private info[rmation] I
have little doubt but that his own family believed him to have been the murderer.
(2) Kosminski - a Polish Jew- & resident in Whitechapel. This man became insane owing to many years indulgence
in solitary vices. He had a great hatred of women, specially of the prostitute class, & had strong homicidal
tendencies: he was removed to a lunatic asylum about March 1889. There were many circumstances connected
with this man which made him a strong ‘suspect’.
(3) Michael Ostrog, a Russian doctor, and a convict, who was subsequently detained in a lunatic asylum as a
homicidal maniac. This man’s antecedents were of the worst possible type, and his whereabouts at the time of
the murders could never be ascertained.
It is believed that the Macnaghten Report, which bears no Scotland Yard or Home Office ‘date received’ stamps, was
written as an informal briefing note for Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Edward Bradford or Home Secretary Herbert
Asquith in the event of the Sun story turning politically septic. Whilst at a glance this idea appears plausible, it is hard
to believe that the Macnaghten Report could have ever hoped to obviate an official enquiry for, had Macnaghten been
asked any searching questions, his inaccurate and wildly misleading document would not have withstood a moment’s
careful scrutiny. In fact, as we shall later see, there is much to suggest that the Macnaghten Report never saw the light
of official day and remained in his desk drawer.
Macnaghten stated quite categorically that the Whitechapel murderer had ‘5 victims -- & 5 victims only’: and that,
perforce, the killer ceased operations after his fifth victim, Mary Jane Kelly, on 9 November 1888. He next enumerated
three suspects who, out of ‘many homicidal maniacs’, were ‘more likely’ than Cutbush to have been the Whitechapel
murderer.
The first was Mr M J Druitt, ‘said to be a doctor’, whose body ‘was found in the Thames on 31st December 1888’ and
had been in the water for ‘upwards of a month’.
If police, inquest and newspaper reports from January 1889 had been searched in 1894 it would have been established
that on 31 December 1888 the body of Montague John Druitt, a barrister and schoolteacher, was recovered from the
Thames. Druitt committed suicide following what appeared to be a troubling personal incident. The name and date were
correct, but Druitt was not a doctor, nor did he disappear at the time of the Millers Court murder. When discovered, his
body had been in the Thames for slightly less than a month. Nothing emerged at his inquest to offer a whisper of any
connection with the Whitechapel murders.
Druitt’s candidature as a Ripper suspect may have been prompted by the story from West of England MP Henry
Farquharson, who in 1891 claimed that Jack the Ripper had been the son of a surgeon.
Druitt’s father had been a surgeon, but apart from this fact there was nothing in the story to support the idea of the
young barrister and teacher being the Whitechapel murderer. Quite the contrary. Far from Druitt committing suicide on
the night of the last murder, 9 November 1888, reference to the Law Journal would have shown that on 27 November
1888 he had appeared as counsel before the Court of Appeal. It was also revealed at his inquest that in his pocket was
found a second-half return ticket from Hammersmith to Charing Cross dated 1 December, which established the earliest
date on which he could have committed suicide.
The Druitt story purported to explain why the murders had ceased and why the murderer had not been caught. But
this could not have been because Jack the Ripper drowned himself in the Thames in 1888, for in 1891 the police had
investigated James Sadler as the Ripper; furthermore, according to newspaper reports purportedly emanating from
Scotland Yard, the police had ‘watched and shadowed’ Jack the Ripper until as late as January 1892, and still later
revealed that he was doing a 20-year stretch at Portland prison.

Since Druitt was dead, who were the police shadowing in January 1892? Certainly neither of Macnaghten’s two other
‘more likely than Cutbush’ suspects for, as we shall see, at this crucial time both were in lunatic asylums.
Macnaghten’s second suspect was ‘Kosminski’, a Polish Jew who ‘was removed to an asylum about March 1889’.
This date was wildly off the mark. At a casual glance, a measure of cause and effect might have been drawn from
Metropolitan Police Commissioner James Monro’s 15 March 1889 report informing the Home Secretary of the ‘cessation
of special patrol duty in Whitechapel.’
What Macnaghten neglected to explain, however, was why, if Kosminski was the murderer and had been removed
to an asylum in March 1889, four months later James Monro ‘was inclined to believe’, in a report to the Home Office
dated 17 July 1889, that the murderer of Alice McKenzie was ‘identical with the notorious Jack the Ripper of last year.’
In 1891 Bradford said much the same thing about the Frances Coles murder. Why two Commissioners of Police were
unaware that the Whitechapel murderer either was dead or had been removed to an asylum must remain a matter for
conjecture.
Macnaghten would briefly address these inconsistencies in his 1914 memoirs. Yet from an 1894 perspective there
were other issues for him to resolve. And none more so than with his third suspect.
Michael Ostrog, a thief and confidence trickster, was described in the Police Gazette in 1873 as ‘a Russian Pole,
evidently an educated man... said to speak seven different languages and of plausible and pleasing manners.’
Macnaghten wrote that Ostrog’s ‘whereabouts at the time of the murders could never be ascertained’; also that he
was ‘subsequently detained in a lunatic asylum as a homicidal maniac.’ Both assertions contained an element of truth.
A notice had appeared in the Police Gazette on 26 October 1888:
Convict Supervision Office... Michael Ostrog... On 10th March 1888 he was liberated from the Surrey County
Lunatic Asylum, and failed to report. Warrant issued. Special attention is called to this dangerous man.
Michael Ostrog was rearrested in 1891. On 18 April he was charged at Bow Street Magistrates Court for failing to
report himself whilst under police supervision. It was also alleged at the time that he was in the habit of feigning
insanity when in custody. On 7 May 1891 he was committed to Banstead Lunatic Asylum in Surrey, which received pauper
lunatics from the county of Middlesex.
On the same day Macnaghten wrote to the medical officer at Banstead:
I shall feel obliged if you will cause immediate information to be sent to this office in the event of his discharge,
as the Magistrate adjourned the case sine die in order that he [Ostrog] might again be brought up and dealt with
for failing to report himself if it is found that he is feigning insanity.
Michael Ostrog was discharged, ‘recovered’, from Banstead Lunatic Asylum on 29 May 1893. Whether Dr T Claye Shaw,
Principal and Medical Superintendent, advised Macnaghten as requested is not known.
More details about Ostrog’s earlier criminal career would later emerge.
On 2 July 1894, five months after Macnaghten wrote his memorandum, Ostrog appeared at Aylesbury Quarter Sessions
charged with two counts of theft, one of which involved a jeweller in Eton, Berkshire, on 13 May 1889. Ostrog pleaded
his innocence, telling the court he had been in a French asylum until 1890, but the court did not believe his story and
sentenced him to five years’ penal servitude.
In the National Archives at Kew is a bound ledger, HO34.

It is a collection of correspondence between government
departments, some handwritten, some typewritten, covering
all manner of topics. Contained in the index is an entry under
the name of Michael Ostrog. The file reference is A56090/8.
It refers to a blue carbon-copy letter, dated 9 October 1894,
from the Home Office to ‘The Secretary to the Treasury’.
HO34 Ledger

Ostrog Ledger Entry
The letter reads as follows:
Sir,
I am directed to acquaint you that a man named Michael Ostrog

alias Stanislaus Lublinsky was sentenced at Aylesbury Quarter
Sessions on the 2nd July last to 5 years’ Penal Servitude for
obtaining goods by false pretences, but that the Secretary
of State has given instructions for his discharge from prison
and has recommended the remission of the remainder of the
sentence on the ground that Ostrog has established the fact
that in 1889, when the offence was committed, he was in
prison in France.
Ostrog has made application for compensation for wrongful

conviction and the Secretary of State has directed the Police
to give him £10, taking his receipt as in full discharge of all
claims. I am accordingly to request that you will move the
Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty’s Treasury to sanction
the payment of this sum as in previous cases from the Civil
Contingencies Fund.
I am, Sir, Your obedient Servant, [signature on top copy only].
Philip Sugden has established that throughout the 1888

Whitechapel murders Michael Ostrog was being held in a Parisian
jail awaiting trial for the theft of a microscope, upon which charge
he was sentenced on 14 November 1888 to two years’ imprisonment
and ordered to pay costs of almost 450 French francs.
In short, Macnaghten’s ‘more likely than Cutbush’ Jack the

Ripper suspect Michael Ostrog had an iron-clad alibi in respect of
the 1888 Whitechapel murders.
All government departments are parsimonious; they also like to Ostrog Letter
think of themselves as infallible. This £10 compensation payment
might therefore have caused something of an embarrassment at the Home Office. For if, as has been suggested, the
Macnaghten Report was a political briefing note and the Home Secretary, Herbert Asquith, the Commissioner Sir Edward
Bradford or a senior civil servant recalled reading it, it is not unreasonable to suggest that Macnaghten might have been
quizzed as to the basis upon which, just eight months earlier, he had fingered Ostrog as a ‘more likely’ Jack the Ripper
suspect.
If at this time questions had also been asked about Kosminski’s removal ‘to an asylum about March 1889’, Macnaghten
might have been asked to explain why the only person of that name to enter the asylum system did not do so until
almost two years later, when Aaron Kosminski was committed to Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum on 7 February 1891.
Yet even at this later date Kosminski’s ‘removal to an asylum’ could not have signalled an end to the Ripper’s career.
As previously noted, a week after Kosminski’s committal the police were investigating James Sadler as the Whitechapel
murderer; furthermore, until January 1892 they were following a man they could not arrest through want of evidence.

Macnaghten did not express a particular preference for any of his three ‘more likely’ suspects in his Report. He wrote:
A much more rational theory is that the murderer’s brain gave way altogether after his awful glut in Miller’s
Court, and that he immediately committed suicide, or, as a possible alternative, was found to be so hopelessly
mad by his relations, that he was by them confined in some asylum.
The phrase ‘or, as a possible alternative’ suggests that the suspect may have been either Druitt or Kosminski. Yet in
the ‘draft version’, or Aberconway Version - which, since my last article concerning Macnaghten4, I have come to believe
bears the reflective hallmarks of having been written at a much later date - he wrote:
I enumerate the cases of 3 men against whom Police held very reasonable suspicion. Personally, after much
careful & deliberate consideration, I am inclined to exonerate the last 2 [Kosminski and Ostrog], but I have
always held strong opinions regarding no. 1 [Druitt], and the more I think the matter over, the stronger do these
suspicions become. The truth, however, will never be known, and did indeed, at one time lie at the bottom of
the Thames if my conjections be correct.
There is no such certitude in the 1894 Macnaghten Report.
In Days of My Years, Macnaghten’s amiable memoirs of 1914, all reference to the doctor who drowned in the Thames
was dropped, but with the benefit of hindsight it is not difficult to identify his candidate for the Whitechapel murderer.
In a chapter entitled Laying the Ghost of Jack the Ripper, he wrote that, ‘...the Whitechapel murderer, in all probability,
put an end to himself soon after the Dorset Street affair in November 1888... ’
Seven pages later the ‘probability’ of the Whitechapel murderer’s

suicide got no closer to becoming a matter of proven fact.
‘There can be no doubt,’ Macnaghten continued, ‘that in the room at

Millers Court the madman found ample scope for the opportunities he had
all along been seeking, and the probability is that, after his awful glut on
this occasion, his brain gave way altogether and he committed suicide;
otherwise the murders would not have ceased.’
Gone was his earlier ‘possible alternative’ of the suspect having been
‘confined in some asylum.’ But he did give an indication as to when he first
determined the probability of his scenario:
...certain facts, pointing to this conclusion, were not in possession of

the police till some years after I became a detective officer.
These ‘certain facts’ could not have come to light prior to mid-February
1891. If so, there would have been no reason for the Metropolitan Police to
investigate James Sadler as the Whitechapel murderer. And, as previously
discussed, nor could these facts have come to light prior to January 1892,
for at this time the Metropolitan Police had just ceased surveillance on a
suspect. It therefore had to be after February 1895, for the same reasoning
applies to the police investigation of William Grant [Grainger] as the
Whitechapel murderer.
Yet the Macnaghten Report had been written twelve months prior to this
latter event, in February 1894. Melville Macnaghten’s Declaration, dated 3 June 1889
Macnaghten foisted blame for confusion onto the press:
...the public were... quite ready to believe that any fresh murders, not at once elucidated, were by the same
maniac’s hand. Indeed, I remember three cases, two in 1889, and one in early 1891, which the Press ascribed to
the so-called Jack the Ripper...
4 Wood, Simon D: The Macnaghten Memorandum & Other Fictions, Ripperologist 109, December 2009.

His memoirs did nothing to resolve the issues contained in the Macnaghten Report.
So why had he written this wildly misleading document?
Three men ‘more likely than Cutbush to have committed this series of murders’ can be interpreted as ‘Cutbush was
less likely than these three men to have committed this series of murders.’ But Macnaghten would ultimately claim
Druitt as his preferred Ripper, so Cutbush being less likely didn’t enter the equation.
Less likely next became improbable, or very unlikely. He wrote about Cutbush:
It seems, then, improbable, that he should have suddenly stopped after November ‘88 and been content to
resume operations by merely prodding a girl lightly from behind some 2 years and 4 months afterwards.
Nobody had made any such suggestion. That Druitt’s suicide had marked the cessation of the Ripper murders was
unknown to the Sun. As far as T P O’Connor was concerned, the Ripper’s reign of terror ended with Frances Coles in
February 1891:
These murders immediately came to an end – as well as other crimes of violence – from the moment he
[Cutbush] was safely under lock and key.
There is documented evidence which lends weight to Cutbush not having been the Whitechapel murderer.
That Jack the Ripper was about to become a resident at Broadmoor might have been a genuine cause for alarm. Strict
precautions may have been taken; perhaps even special security measures put in place for the 19th Century’s most
notorious murderer. Yet in Cutbush’s recently-released asylum admission record there appears the following notation:
‘Give brief account of the crime by which he became a criminal lunatic,’ to which is appended, ‘He was charged
with maliciously wounding two persons by stabbing.’
This didn’t sound like the work of the Jack the Ripper. And, compared with the fate of Edwin Colocott, neither did it
sound like a crime deserving detention in a lunatic asylum ‘during her Majesty’s pleasure’.
Almost three years after Cutbush’s incarceration two Sun representatives travelled to Broadmoor.
On 16 February 1894 the Sun reported:
To the representatives of The Sun the structure [of Broadmoor] had an added interest from the fact which
they alone knew at that moment - that it contained the most noted, mysterious, and world famous criminal of
modern days.
Here they met Dr David Nicholson, the asylum’s Medical Superintendent.
The mention of the name of the one man above all others in whom the representatives of the Sun were
interested caused the production of a large brown envelope, which contained the whole of the documents
relative to the case for which he was incarcerated in Broadmoor. In these there was naturally no mention of
his supposed connection with the Whitechapel crimes, and Dr Nicholson was absolutely astonished, not to say
incredulous, when informed as to the identity of the wretched lunatic in whom he had previously taken no more
than an official interest. However, it was but natural to expect that Dr Nicholson would not commit himself to
any opinion or give any help towards elucidating the mystery other than so far as lay in his power by showing
the representatives of The Sun every hole and corner of the asylum.
Dr Nicholson next took the Sun representatives to meet Cutbush.
As we gazed at him we wondered whether awful visions of the past did not at times flit across his brain and
twinge with horror that impassive face - visions of squalid, ill lighted streets and alleys, with draggle haired
women, of whispered consultations, of sudden stabbing and hacking at palpitating bodies, of hair breadth
escapes from capture, and mad races for life through the darkness and gloom of London. But if such dreams
came to Jack the Ripper, waking or asleep, there were no signs of them in his livid face on this occasion.
All objectivity had been thrown out of the Sun’s top-floor window. This was purple prose at its Victorian best.

There is no mention in the Sun articles of Dr Nicholson being offered any evidence in support of Thomas Cutbush being
Jack the Ripper. In taking the Sun representatives to see Cutbush he appears to have taken their word entirely on trust.
What evidence might the Sun have possessed? According to the newspaper’s own narrative, the large brown envelope
contained no mention of any evidence of Cutbush’s ‘supposed connection with the Whitechapel crimes...’
Supposed connection? Was this the best the Sun could muster? Small wonder ‘Dr Nicholson was absolutely astonished,
not to say incredulous, when informed as to the identity of the wretched lunatic... ’
As Macnaghten left matters, each of the four named men remained equally likely or unlikely suspects. But if Druitt
- or anyone else, for that matter - was the Ripper, then clearly Cutbush was not the Ripper. Simple. Why not say as
much? And if Cutbush was not the Ripper, why did the Sun go to such lengths to incriminate him? What good could the
newspaper have hoped to achieve by rehashing the brutal and bloody events of 1888? If the Sun story was true, then
surely Jack the Ripper had received his just deserts by being ‘sent forthwith to the living tomb of a lunatic asylum,’ as
T P O’Connor put it.
This brings us to what the Sun may have discovered. Also, what it hoped to achieve by a public investigation into the
Whitechapel murders. The Sun certainly knew more than it was prepared to tell.
‘But at this moment our readers must be satisfied with less information than is at our disposal,’ T P O’Connor
wrote in the Sun’s second instalment. ‘Jack the Ripper has relatives; they are some of them in positions which
would make them a target for natural curiosity - for the unreasoning reprobation which would pursue any
person even remotely connected with so hideous a monstrosity, and we must abstain, therefore, from giving his
name in the interest of these unfortunate, innocent, and respectable connections.’
As the Sun’s suspect was unnamed, its readers must have been intrigued by who this relative might possibly have
been, but luckily for history the name of the relative was revealed in the confidential Macnaghten Report:
Cutbush was the nephew of the late Supt. Executive.
The late Supt. Executive was Superintendent Charles Henry Cutbush, of Scotland Yard’s Executive Branch.
Writing about Thomas Hayne Cutbush in 1891, Lloyds Weekly Newspaper stated ‘that, in certain police circles, and
among those who have had to inquire into the Brixton mystery, there is a growing feeling that it may in the end prove
to be in some way connected with the darker and more tragic mysteries of the East-end.’
Three years later the Sun endorsed that ‘growing feeling’ asserting that ‘in the brief of the counsel who prosecuted,
in the instructions of the solicitor who defended, there was the same statement - that he was suspected of being Jack
the Ripper.’
The Sun continued:
In the case of both the one and the other, the very mention of this or any other dark suspicion was precluded;
for, unable to plead, the wretched creature in the dock was saved from all indictment; was spared the necessity
of all defence.
The apprehension and incarceration of Jack the Ripper would have put a much-needed feather in Scotland Yard’s
badly-battered cap. Yet, had there been indeed proof of his guilt, there would have been no reason for the ‘more likely’
Druitt, Kosminski and Ostrog to appear in the Macnaghten Report three years later.
Still, Jack the Ripper being related to a high-echelon Scotland Yard officer might have been a matter of some
embarrassment and an understandable reason for keeping quiet about Thomas Hayne Cutbush and perpetuating the
mystery.
But here we encounter yet another Macnaghten anomaly. For Thomas Hayne Cutbush and Superintendent Charles
Henry Cutbush to be nephew and uncle, the Superintendent would have to have been the brother of Thomas Taylor
Cutbush.

Cutbush Pedigree.
Click to enlarge. Image enhanced for legibility.
Yet Superintendent Charles Henry Cutbush does not appear in a Cutbush ‘Pedigree’, or family tree, drawn up for the
1891 case of Cutbush v. Cutbush. Thomas Taylor Cutbush did not have a brother; only three sisters. The two men were
born six months apart to quite separate and unrelated sets of parents: Charles Henry in Ashford, Kent, in January 1844,
and Thomas Taylor in Enfield, Middlesex, in July 1844.
Macnaghten’s identification of Thomas Hayne Cutbush as the nephew of Superintendent Charles Henry Cutbush is
perplexing. So, too, is a remark he made about Thomas Hayne Cutbush’s early years. After stating that ‘Cutbush’s
antecedent[s] were enquired into by Ch: Inspr. (now Supt) Chis[holm], by Inspr. Race, and by P.S. McCarthy CID - (the
last named officer had been specially employed in Whitechapel at the time of the murders there) -’ he wrote:
His father died when he was quite young and he was always a “spoilt” child.
Conversely, the Sun had written:
This man was born in 1865 in London. His father separated from his mother, whom he was said to have treated
badly. In the case of the father, the morbid element appears in the treatment of his wife, his neglect of his
child, and, finally, in his flying from his responsibilities and in his contracting a bigamous marriage abroad.
The Sun was right on the money. Here is what is known about the Cutbush families.
Thomas Taylor Cutbush, aged 20, married Kate Hayne, aged 18, In September 1864 at Newington, Surrey. Their
son Thomas Hayne Cutbush was born in Lambeth, South London, on 29 June 1865. His younger brother Ernest, born 6
September 1866, died on 30 March 1869, aged two-and-a-half.
In November 1866, Thomas Taylor Cutbush, aged 22, deserted his wife, baby Thomas, aged 15 months, and baby
Ernest, aged 2 months. On 20 January 1867 he arrived as a steerage passenger aboard the Commodore in Wellington,
New Zealand.
Charles Henry Cutbush, aged 23, married Ann Dowle at St Mary the Virgin Church, at Dover in Kent, on 6 October 1867.
Two months later, on 2 December, he joined the Metropolitan Police.

CLICK TO CLOSE
Just over a week later, on 10 December 1867, Thomas Taylor Cutbush bigamously married Agnes Ingles Stoddart,
daughter of the late James Stoddart, financial agent for Cornish and Bruce, railway contractors, at St Johns Presbyterian
Church, Wellington, New Zealand.
Across the world, a daughter, Amelia Jane, was born to Charles and Anne Cutbush in 1868. Constable Cutbush was
promoted to Sergeant [A Division, Whitehall] on 19 July 1869.
Agnes Ingles Cutbush died on 17 July 1870, aged ‘20 years and 6 months’.
Thomas Taylor Cutbush wasted no time in securing another wife. Two months
after Agnes’s death, on 24 September 1870, he married Frances Augusta
Evelyn Watson at the Office of the Registrar, Wellington. The newly-weds
lived in a freehold property in Tasman Street, Wellington.
Kate Cutbush, who by this time had reverted to her maiden name of Hayne,
and young Thomas appeared in the 1871 UK census as, respectively, ‘Visitor’
and ‘Grandson’ at 14 Albert Street, Newington, Lambeth, the address of
Kate’s parents, John and Anne Hayne. The census entry reads:
Visitor: Kate Hayne, aged 26, born Philadelphia, North America - Clerk’s
wife.
Grandson - Thomas Cutbush, aged 5, born Kennington.
A second daughter, Ellen, was born to Charles and Ann Cutbush in February
1871. The 1871 UK Census records the Cutbush family living at 10 North
Street, Westminster.
By the following year, 1872, Thomas Taylor Cutbush and his wife had
arrived in Australia. In Melbourne, he was described as a perfumer and fancy
goods dealer, and declared insolvent owing to ‘unexpectedly being asked to
repay money borrowed to enable him to start in business.’
On 2 December 1873, Sergeant Cutbush was promoted to Inspector and

transferred to C Division at Vine Street, Piccadilly, which covered the Mayfair
Agnes Ingles Cutbush’s headstone and Soho districts.
On 30 March 1875, Thomas Taylor Cutbush sailed alone as a cabin passenger aboard the You Yangs from Melbourne to
Sydney.
In September 1875, a third daughter, Winifred, was born to Charles and Ann Cutbush in London.
In 1876 Frances Cutbush, who had joined her husband in Sydney, gave birth to a daughter, Clara Augusta.
On 19 February 1876, Inspector Cutbush was transferred back to A Division.
In 1877, in Australia, Frances Cutbush gave birth to a son, Thomas Watson Cutbush. Another son [name unknown]
arrived in 1880. In the same year, Thomas Taylor Cutbush, now described as a commercial traveller, was again declared
insolvent owing to ‘want of employment’, ‘death in family’ and ‘pressure of creditors’.
In June 1878 a fourth daughter, Caroline, was born to Inspector Cutbush and his wife Ann. On 22 December 1879
Inspector Cutbush was promoted to Chief Inspector. In September 1880, a son, Charles Albert, was born to Chief Inspector
Cutbush and his wife Ann.
By this time Kate Hayne was using the name Cutbush again. In the 1881 UK Census, she listed herself as ‘W’—a widow.
Together with her son, Thomas, her sister Clara and two lodgers, she was living at her parents’ address at 14 Albert
Street, Newington, south London. Clara derived her income from property, Kate was her assistant, and 15-year-old
Thomas Cutbush was a commercial clerk.
Sometime in the late 1870s, most probably after his 1879 promotion to Chief Inspector at a salary of £300 per annum,
with annual increments of £10 to a maximum of £350, Charles Henry Cutbush moved house. The 1881 UK Census records
him, his wife, five children, mother and a ‘Lady Help (D&S)’ living at 36 St Paul’s Road, Newington. This was less than

half a mile from the other Cutbush
family living at Albert Street. The two
streets have long since gone, but are
shown on this 1868 map.
In Australia, in 1883, a third son

[name unknown] was born to Thomas
and Frances Cutbush.
In Britain, in March 1884, another

son, Albert Harry, was born to Chief
Inspector Cutbush and his wife Ann.
Thomas Taylor Cutbush was last

recorded alive in 1885, living at Pickles
Street, Port Melbourne, Victoria.
A notation on the 1891 Cutbush
‘Pedigree’ records that Thomas Taylor
Cutbush, aged 42, died intestate on 19
August 1886. Australian newspapers
would later report that he had long
been suffering from consumption.
On 12 May 1887, Chief Inspector

Cutbush was promoted to
Superintendent at a pay rate of £450
per annum, with annual increments of
South London Map 1868
£10 to a maximum of £550.
Later that year, the Sydney Morning Herald reported from Suva, Fiji, on 4 November 1887, that two children of ‘the
recently-widowed Mrs Cutbush’ - boys aged four and seven - had died from poisoning after eating quantities of ‘Pride of
Madagascar’, a species of acacia. The Auckland Star added that ‘a subscription was opened on behalf of the bereaved
mother, who is in poor circumstances, and it has been liberally responded to.’
In 1890, Thomas Taylor Cutbush’s

widow, Frances Augusta Evelyn, married
Arthur James Swann, a prominent
chemist and druggist at Suva, under
her maiden name of Watson.
The 1891 UK Census [conducted in

early April] records that Superintendent
Charles Cutbush and family [details as
previously recorded in 1881, except
for their son Charles, now aged 11, and
the ‘Lady Help (D&S)’] had moved to 3
Burnley Road, Stockwell, Lambeth.
On 15 April 1891, Thomas Hayne

AJ Swann Chemist, right of picture, at Suva. 1920s Postcard Cutbush was committed to Broadmoor.
Four months later, on 11 August 1891, Superintendent Charles Henry Cutbush resigned from the Metropolitan Police
at the age of forty-seven. With annual increments, his 1891 salary would have reached £450 per annum. His pension was
£221 per annum. No reason for his resignation appears in his available pension documentation.
Later the same year a protracted legal wrangle, Cutbush v. Cutbush, commenced at the High Court of Justice,
Chancery Division. Little documentation has survived, but it is known that Rose Eliza Cutbush was the plaintiff. Her
stepmother Rosa Elizabeth Cutbush, her cousin William Robert Stokes, and a family relative named Fasham Venables
were the defendants.

In June 1892 a notice appeared in both The Times and the London Gazette. The errant Thomas Taylor Cutbush was
being sought by Mr Justice Chitty in the case of Cutbush v. Cutbush, 1891, and ‘if living, or his representatives, if dead’,
requested to attend the Royal Courts of Justice, London, before 11.00 am on 15th November 1892 to prove any claims
he might have on hereditaments [inheritable properties] at 6 & 7 Fieldgate Street, Whitechapel, London. It is not known
whether a representative of Thomas Taylor Cutbush appeared before the appointed hour at the Royal Courts of Justice.
It later transpired that Thomas Hayne Cutbush was involved in the legal action, and that his incarceration at
Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum presented difficulties to the family when it came to disposing of certain properties. Buyers
had been found for unspecified properties which appear to have been inherited by him, and the purchase money paid
into an escrow account. Only when it became necessary for Thomas Hayne Cutbush to execute the conveyance was it
learned by counsel that he was incarcerated at Broadmoor. Paterson Sons & Candler, solicitors for all parties, had not
been advised of his ‘unsoundness of mind.’
On 26 July 1893, Kate Cutbush’s sister, Clara Elizabeth Hayne,

signed a document agreeing to be appointed guardian ad litem
to execute the conveyance in Thomas’s stead and the sale went
ahead. It is not known what happened to Thomas Hayne Cutbush’s
share of the proceeds. In accordance with the Lunacy Act, some
of the money might have been used to defray the day-to-day costs
of his incarceration at Broadmoor, where he would die on 5 July
1903, aged 38.
From the foregoing there is nothing to suggest a family

relationship between Charles Henry Cutbush and Thomas Hayne
Cutbush. Both Macnaghten and the Sun appear to have been
mistaken. Yet the question lingers as to why Macnaghten would
have taken the trouble to report a non-existent relationship and
also whether the Sun would have run with its story had such
relationship not existed. It has been suggested that the relationship
between the two men was that of father and son; that Macnaghten
was downplaying what he feared the Sun had learned. It has also
been suggested that Superintendent Cutbush may have somehow
been complicit in securing Thomas Hayne Cutbush’s incarceration
at Broadmoor ‘during her Majesty’s pleasure’ on the pretext of
his having been Jack the Ripper, perhaps because of his property
interests. Such an idea might well explain the stark contrasts in
fate between Thomas Hayne Cutbush and Edwin Colocott.
The idea that Cutbush may have been framed is worrisome. But
whilst there can be no doubt that he was mentally unbalanced,
that he was a danger both to himself and others, it is difficult to
believe that the Crown was led falsely to imply he was Jack the Guardian Ad Litem Document
Ripper in order to secure his lifetime’s incarceration at Broadmoor

Lunatic Asylum without trial. It also begs the question whether solicitor George Kirk and his ‘eminent counsel’ would
have pressed for an acquittal knowing, or even suspecting, that Cutbush was history’s most infamous murderer.
Such an idea betokens unimaginable corruption at the highest levels, for committal to an asylum ‘during Her Majesty’s
pleasure’ followed strict protocols. At the time, it required examination by two Justices of the Peace, a physician,
surgeon or apothecary and, finally, a warrant signed by the Home Secretary. In the case of Cutbush this procedure
appears to have been carried out with indecent haste. At the time of his arraignment on 14 April 1891 he was being held
at Holloway prison. On the very next day he was removed to Broadmoor.
But whatever the true nature of the Cutbush case, in the event of a public inquiry brought about by the Sun, the
Macnaghten Report would have landed the Metropolitan Police in something of a dilemma.

The Sun’s evidence as to Cutbush’s alleged guilt would have been subpoenaed and, had it been watertight, the
Metropolitan Police would have been asked to explain why its Chief Constable had sought to establish Cutbush’s
innocence. Questions would also have been asked as to why the Ripper’s identity had been kept secret and the
mystery perpetuated. Conversely, had the Sun’s evidence been found wanting, there would have been demands to
see details of any evidence against Macnaghten’s three ‘more likely’ suspects, which would have inevitably raised the
embarrassing matter of Michael Ostrog’s iron-clad alibi for the Whitechapel murders and his £10 compensation for
improper imprisonment.
In the event, there was no inquiry into the Whitechapel murders, and it is therefore unlikely that the Macnaghten
Report ever saw the official light of day.
This brings us to the nature of the Morning Leader story which was published on the same day as the first instalment
of the serial in the Sun. The strange coincidence of two Jack the Ripper stories appearing in different newspapers on
the same day was explained by T P O’Connor in the Sun’s final instalment.
‘It was not our intention to have published the story for some weeks to come,’ he wrote, ‘but on Monday
night I was called out to the Lobby of the House of Commons by two of my staff, to tell me that a portion
of our information was to be offered to two morning papers. I am glad to say, for the credit of journalism,
that The Morning, a Conservative contemporary, refused to have anything to do with a discovery the credit
of which belonged to another office; in other quarters the taste and the honour were not so delicate as we
had anticipated, and there was consequently nothing for it but to stop up all night and bring out the Sun as a
morning paper at five o’clock instead of an evening paper at the usual hour.’
That a portion of the Sun’s exclusive story was being peddled amongst the competition doesn’t quite add up, for
although the two stories shared certain details - most notably that after the last Jack the Ripper murder, in 1891, the
murderer had been removed to an asylum - they had many differences, the most obvious being The Morning Leader’s
substitution of Dartmoor for Broadmoor.
The Sun’s elaborately detailed 17,000-word story was intended to provoke an official inquiry into Scotland Yard’s
failure to catch Jack the Ripper. In contrast, The Morning Leader’s condensed 1,000-word version was little more than
the tale of a Scotland Yard Inspector who had a hunch about a lunatic in Dartmoor Asylum and claimed to have in his
possession a ‘knife of Chinese manufacture with which the Whitechapel murders had been perpetrated’.
‘Do the Scotland Yard authorities believe in your story?’ asked The Morning Leader.
‘Well,’ said the Inspector, ‘they believe in my story to this extent, that they have allowed me a bonus for the
information I have supplied.’
However, not satisfied with financial reward and still wholly convinced of his case against the lunatic in Dartmoor
Asylum, the anonymous Inspector, thwarted by red tape and also the victim of professional jealousy from within the
Metropolitan Police at having solved the Whitechapel murders mystery, sought the aid of The Morning Leader:
Only with the aid of the press can I hope to succeed, and you will do a public service by disclosing my story, and
the statements so specifically made ought easily and readily to be either confirmed or contradicted.
Two days later The Morning Leader sought an opinion on its story from one of Scotland Yard’s ‘head officials’. By this
time the Sun had published the second of its six-part Ripper series and a sub-editor at The Morning Leader, suddenly
aware that there was no Lunatic Asylum at Dartmoor, expeditiously moved Jack the Ripper to ‘the infirmary at Dartmoor
Gaol.’
‘There is a large basis of truth in it,’ said the Scotland Yard official without elaboration. ‘It’s only defect is that it is
about three years old... Its leading incidents are as familiar to me as the features of my 10-year-old child.’
Where did the ‘large basis of truth’ lay in the Inspector’s story? That Jack the Ripper was incarcerated in a non-
existent lunatic asylum? If this was so, how could the Inspector have been watching ‘the movements of this man for
three years’? And which three year-old ‘leading incidents’ were so familiar to the Scotland Yard official? The implication
was the 1891 case of Thomas Hayne Cutbush. But there were no incidents in the Inspector’s story; only a litany of
frustrated suspicions. What, then, could have been the truth? Was it, perhaps, that the Whitechapel murders had been
perpetrated with the knife of Chinese manufacture?

The Scotland Yard official equivocated:
I have seen the Chinese knife, and I have seen many other Chinese knives that have never seen China.
The Morning Leader soon realized its story wasn’t worth the candle.
Even the original police-inspector who is said to be responsible for the story rejects the deduction which is
sought to be drawn from it.
‘I never said,’ the anonymous Inspector declared, now wildly back-pedalling, ‘that I had secured the Whitechapel
murderer. All that I have endeavoured to establish has been a carefully collected chain of circumstantial
evidence, pointing almost entirely in one direction, yet at the same time capable, with added information and
fresher facts, of being diverted into other possible channels.’
The Morning Leader dropped its story, and the anonymous Inspector, still apparently believing in the truth of his story,
walked off into history to the sound of his own footsteps.
Whilst there is not a hint of the anonymous Inspector and his Chinese knife in the Sun story, modern theorists have
posited that both newspaper stories were essentially the same and that their single source was Inspector William Nixon
Race, L Division (Lambeth).
It was Inspector Race who, in 1891, had arrested Thomas Cutbush. Despite an excellent service record, in later years
he was overlooked for promotion. Beset by ill health brought on by the untimely death of his son, in July 1898 - a month
short of eighteen years’ service - he was invalided out of the Metropolitan Police on a reduced pension at the age of
thirty nine.
Theorists claim that Inspector Race’s being passed over for promotion was official payback from Scotland Yard for his
dealings with the Sun and the embarrassment its revelations had caused. Hence the need for the Macnaghten Report,
written perhaps as some sort of damage-limitation exercise.
The Morning Leader’s anonymous Inspector having been William Race is a neat construct, but does not bear much
scrutiny.
In the Sun’s first instalment T P O’Connor explained how the lunatic’s ‘terrible secret’ would have passed unnoticed
had a ‘chance clue not put a representative of the Sun on the track. The clue thus accidentally obtained has been
followed up by months of patient investigation, and has been thoroughly sifted.’
In the final instalment O’Connor again stressed how long his newspaper had been working on the story. ‘We had this
information for months in our office; for months the representatives of the paper have been searching for witnesses,
examining them, often finding them only after weeks of patient labour.’
If this ‘chance clue’ was William Race it implies that the Inspector took his story to the Sun ‘months’ beforehand,
during the last quarter of 1893. By 13 February 1894 the investigation he apparently so eagerly sought was ready to
go to print. Yet we are asked to believe that on the day before publication he undermined the Sun’s ‘weeks of patient
labour’ by seeking the assistance of a rival newspaper in a circumstantial story which was looked upon by his superiors
with an amused tolerance.
There is also the matter of The Morning Leader’s Inspector admitting that in going to the press his ‘statements so
specifically made ought easily and readily to be either confirmed or contradicted.’ This didn’t exactly speak volumes
about his level of confidence, so unless he had some sort of death wish it is unlikely in the extreme that he might have
risked his future career by breaking ranks and going to the press if there was the slightest possibility of his suspicions
ultimately proving unfounded.
So what could have been the source and purpose of the Morning Leader story if not an act of self-immolation by
Inspector Race, or, as T P O’Connor averred, a leaked portion of his own six-part series in the Sun?
The Sun and The Morning Leader were no ordinary rival newspapers.

In his 1928 volume of reminiscences, Memoirs of an Old Parliamentarian, T P O’Connor, co-founder and first editor
of the Star, recalled earlier days:
I was recommended by Sir John Robinson, of the Daily News, to a young man named Ernest Parke, then working
in the office of a City newspaper... He was, as he is, a singular mixture of shrewdness and ideals; an intense
Radical, and at the same time a thoroughly practical journalist. He might be trusted to work up any sensational
news of the day, and helped, with Jack the Ripper, to make gigantic circulations hitherto unparalleled in
evening journalism.
Ernest Parke became chief sub-editor of the Star. He also edited his own obscure radical weekly, The North London
Press, which in 1889, following disclosures at the Star offices by ‘certain detectives’ with whom T P O’Connor wanted no
truck, had named Henry Fitzroy, Earl of Euston, in ‘an indescribably loathsome scandal in Cleveland Street’. Parke was
sued for libel and in January 1890 sentenced to twelve months imprisonment [he was released after twenty-five weeks,
allegedly on grounds of ill-health], during which time he lost a stone [14 pounds] in weight and the Star floundered.
On 27 May 1890 an unnamed London correspondent wrote in the New Zealand West Coast Times:
Whether Mr Ernest Parke did or did not keep the wheels of the Star running smoothly may be judged from the
fact that though only a couple of months have elapsed since his departure, the editorial department of the
paper is in a state of chaos... The ‘Star’ in fact, seems within an ace of collapse, and all for want of Parke’s cool
head, and infinite tact, and consummate knowledge of his comrades.
Later that year T P O’Connor parted acrimoniously from the Star, pocketing £15,000 compensation for his interest in
the newspaper whilst giving a promise not to start a rival daily newspaper for three years. Henry Massingham continued
as the Star’s editor, resigning in January 1891 to be temporarily replaced by James Stuart MP, Chairman of the Star’s
board of directors, and, ultimately, Ernest Parke.
Adhering strictly to the terms of his promise, on Sunday 10 May 1891 T P O’Connor launched a new weekly newspaper,
the Sun, whose immediate popularity soon killed off the weekly edition of the Star.
In the spring of 1892 the Star launched a rival to the new halfpenny daily newspaper, The Morning, a move which
made Ernest Parke editor of both the Star and its new sister paper The Morning Leader.
In mid-July 1893, on the day following the expiration of his three-year promise, T P O’Connor launched his own
evening daily, the Sun. Its first edition reached a circulation of 277,540 copies as against the Star’s 142,600.
And so it was that seven months later, in February 1894, T P O’Connor and Ernest Parke, the two pioneering journalists
who whilst working together on the Star had virtually defined the 1888 Whitechapel murders, found themselves at odds
over a story about the identity of Jack the Ripper.
The Morning Leader story had not done T P O’Connor any favours - quite the opposite, in fact - so any idea that the
two editors were in cahoots can safely be dismissed. In all probability the Star group had somehow got wind of the Sun
story and Ernest Parke dressed up its core essence in a narrative involving an anonymous and quite non-existent police
Inspector whilst at the same time throwing in a few misleading details [Dartmoor, for instance]. Small wonder the
Scotland Yard ‘head official’ gave the story such short shrift and the anonymous Inspector subsequently back-pedalled.
On 16 February 1894, the Western Mail, reprinted the second Morning Leader story, noting in a sub-heading that
Scotland Yard had discredited it, before going on to condemn the Sun’s version as ‘entirely uninteresting’ and intimating
that it was an attempt to get mileage out of a rejected story by means of a different suspect.
It seems scarcely possible to imagine that there should be two men so closely associated with Whitechapel, and
at the same time capable of such a succession of crimes all more or less alike.
The Morning Leader, with the imprimatur of Scotland Yard, had run a spoiler story. Exactly who was behind it is
anyone’s guess, but it rendered T P O’Connor’s lavish serial, plus any possibility of an official inquiry into the Whitechapel
murders, dead in the water right from the start, which makes Macnaghten’s suggested knee-jerk rationale for writing
his memorandum even less understandable.

Just over two years after the Macnaghten Report, on 14 March 1896, the South London Press reported:
Suicide at Stockwell.
Scotland Yard Official’s Sad End.
On Monday night Mr George P Wyatt, coroner, held an inquiry at Stockwell respecting the death of Charles Cutbush,
aged 52 years, late superintendent of the Executive Department, Scotland Yard, and residing at 3, Burnley-road,
Stockwell.
Ann Cutbush, the widow, deposed that her husband had latterly been very depressed on account of his indifferent
health. He suffered greatly from insomnia. On Thursday afternoon he shot himself whilst sitting in the drawing-
room. He had previously threatened to commit suicide.
Ellen Cutbush, a daughter of the deceased, said that about 2 o’clock on Thursday afternoon she was sitting with her
father in the drawing-room reading. She noticed that he appeared very strange, and suddenly she heard the report
of a pistol, and saw that her father had shot himself in the head. She knew that he always carried a revolver in his
pocket.
Dr William Waite, of 241, South Lambeth-road, stated that he had been attending deceased for insomnia and pains
in the head. At times he had delusions, one being a rooted antipathy to Roman Catholics, whom he believed were
following him in order to bring about his ruin. The witness visited him on Thursday and found him very excited, and
later in the day he was called and found him dead, with a bullet wound in the right temple.
The jury returned a verdict of suicide whilst temporarily insane.
Macnaghten’s memorandum stayed safely in his desk drawer, to be leaked in later years to writer and journalist friends.
Contradictory stories about the identity of Jack the Ripper rumbled on in the press and in police memoirs and reminiscences
- some emanating from the contents of the Macnaghten Report - their narrators each claiming to be privy to some sort of
inside scoop. With each retelling history got further and further distanced from the truth, leaving no sound basis upon which
to believe any one theory or senior policeman over another.
Sir Robert Anderson died in 1918, James Monro in 1920 and Sir Melville Macnaghten in 1921. All the top Ripper hands were
disappearing. Surely by this time Jack the Ripper had run his course and should also have disappeared.
But the elusive Jack hadn’t lost his ability to dazzle and confuse.
On 23 October 1923, the Empire News reported:
In his book, Things I Know, published this week, Mr William Le Queux claims to have revealed the actual identity of
Jack the Ripper. He cites a Rasputin manuscript to the effect that the amazing criminal who terrorized London was
a mad Russian doctor sent here by the Secret Police to annoy and baffle Scotland Yard.
This elaborate story of international intrigue garnered little popular credence, but it certainly struck a nerve at Scotland
Yard, which took the unprecedented step of responding in the Star newspaper with a detailed dismissal of the story, but this
time without offering up an alternative suspect as it had done with Deeming.
Still, in 1924 the retired Sir Basil Thomson, Macnaghten’s immediate successor at Scotland Yard and later Director of
Intelligence at the Home Office, wrote in the Radio Times:
...the Jack the Ripper outrages are now believed by the police to have been the work of an insane Russian medical
student whose body was found floating in the Thames immediately after the last of the outrages.
Whilst Macnaghten might have been amused by this final imaginative conflation of Michael Ostrog and Montague Druitt,
there is no escaping the fact that, 36 years after the Whitechapel murders, Jack the Ripper was still a sensitive subject at
Scotland Yard, and remains equally so today.
The 14th-century English philosopher, theologian and Franciscan friar William of Ockham formulated the scientific and
philosophic rule known as Occam’s Razor: ‘Entities are not to be multiplied beyond necessity.’ This rule, which is often
wielded in arguments about the Ripper, may be interpreted as ‘a simpler explanation is generally better than a more complex
one.’
And yet we insist upon the most complex arguments to explain why the Whitechapel murders remain a mystery. Arguments
such as that, whilst all the top police officials wildly contradicted each other as to the identity of Jack the Ripper, they were
actually telling the truth as they understood it, and may have been misremembering, confusing or conflating suspects and
events.

Now let’s apply Occam’s Razor.
The most simple and elegant explanation for the Whitechapel murders remaining a mystery is that all these top
policemen were being deceptive.
T P O’Connor and Henry Labouchere were two hard-nosed journalists and political bruisers. They had no time for
quaint urban folklore or the split-second quasi-supernatural antics of Jack the Ripper, but at the same time had no
hesitation about exploiting them in order to sell newspapers. Business will always be business, just as politics will always
be bigger business.
The art of politics is timing, and whilst three years after the last putative Ripper murder the Sun story may appear to
have arrived out of the blue, it actually made its entrance at a politically-decisive moment.
On 10 February 1894, three days prior to the first Sun article, the 84-year-old Prime Minister, William Gladstone,
frail and further afflicted by failing eyesight, returned from Biarritz. There were rumours of his resignation and of
parliamentary dissolution, and the matter of his successor was one of bitter Cabinet disagreement, which would
eventually be settled by sovereign intervention. T P O’Connor had been reported in The Times as saying that if an
election was to take place under present circumstances the Liberals would undergo a crushing defeat and that a big Tory
majority would dash any future hopes of Irish Home Rule.
The fate and future agenda of the Liberal party was in the balance.
In the midst of much constitutional finagling, the matter of Jack the Ripper, normally the stuff of silly-season
journalism, would appear to have been of trifling interest. But the Sun had a sting in its tail. With the additional political
weight of Henry Labouchere, the newspaper was calling for an official inquiry into the Whitechapel murders, which had
taken place during the previous Tory administration.
Exactly what the Sun had discovered regarding the supposed culpability of Thomas Hayne Cutbush remains unknown,
but it was undoubtedly a matter of embarrassment in certain quarters and therefore of political value; and, despite T
P O’Connor’s assertion that ‘It was not our intention to have published the story for some weeks to come,’ its timing
cannot be disregarded as coincidence. What better political moment than this to attempt to expose the bogeyman at
the heart of the Whitechapel murders?
The attempt was ultimately torpedoed by The Morning Leader’s spoiler story. Now, one hundred and eighteen years
later, the Sun’s failure is our opportunity.
But in order to learn the truth we must first stop believing in Jack the Ripper.
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Adam Wood at Ripperologist and to the ever-sharp penseli buluu of my esteemed editor Señor/Bwana
Eduardo Zinna. Mei wewe milele kusafiri kwa matumaini!
Thanks are also due to Debra Arif, Robert Linford and A P Wolf, plus a host of other dedicated researchers upon whose
sterling efforts I have drawn in the writing of this article. I hope that in some small way I have added to your store of
knowledge. Any mistakes are purely my own.
My special thanks must go to Sarah Minney, my researcher in London. What a godsend. You are not only intrepid, but
also a sheer delight to work with. Thank you.
SIMON WOOD’s first foray into the mystery of Jack the Ripper was in 1976 when he wrote a rebuttal of Stephen
Knight’s The Final Solution. Simon knew he was onto something and had struck a nerve, for in a letter to a
friend Stephen Knight wrote, “...I have been unable to do any more about the work of Mr Simon D Wood, other
than throwing some poisoned meat to his dog and shooting his mother.” Simon’s mother died peacefully, after
which, eight years ago, he and his wife Susan moved from Wales to California—not in any form of witness
protection program, but to be with their daughter and granddaughters. As an antidote to Ripperology, Simon
writes children’s stories. Fairy Story was published last year and has received a number of enthusiastic reviews.

A Lesson Unheeded
Walter Lewis Turner and
the Horsforth Child Murder
By BARRY DIGGLE
When police constable Will Moss discovered the mutilated body of five-year-old Barbara Whitham
Waterhouse in a back street in the centre of Leeds shortly before midnight on Wednesday, 10 June
1891, the newspapers did not delay in reminding their readers of the similarities this outrage had
with the Whitechapel murders of 1888. It was, “the most foul and ghastly crime ever discovered in
the town; and attached to it are many of the fiendish features found in connection with the now
celebrated ‘Ripper’ cases which have been perpetrated in London”, ran a line in the North Eastern
Daily Gazette the following day.
Walter Lewis Turner, who was subsequently tried and hanged for the murder of little Barbara, does not figure in the
canon of Ripper suspectology, and indeed there is little evidence that he should, but nonetheless his life and crimes are
worthy of a second glance if only because he was a bit-part player in the milieu of Ripper imitational behaviour which
the media were so keen to portray in the late eighties and nineties.
Before examining in detail the facts surrounding the Leeds tragedy, a few words about Turner’s background are
instructive. The Turner family originated from the village of Whetstone in Leicestershire, where Walter’s father, George,
was born in 1822. He was by trade a slipper maker and Walter was to follow this occupation also. Sometime before 1851
George married Ann and a daughter Ellen was born in 1848 followed by another girl, Jessie in 1858. Jessie was deaf and
dumb, a condition brought about by “fever”, according to a note on the 1871 Census return. Walter Lewis was born in
1860. Further evidence from the Censuses suggest that the family were quite mobile, in fact moving house seems to
have preoccupied them until almost contemporaneously with the event in Leeds in 1891. Walter was born in Nottingham,
a year later the family were living in Leicester, and in 1871 they had moved to Beehive Yard in Hunslet, Leeds. Ten years
later they had settled in Saltaire Road, Shipley. Another house move brought them to a cellar dwelling in Thompson
Street, not far from their previous address.
It was whilst living in Thompson Street that Walter struck up

a relationship with Ellen Hainsworth, a worsted weaver at the
celebrated Titus Salt mill in Saltaire. The couple were married
towards the end of 1882 and set up home at Thompson Street
after his mother and father moved to a house nearby. Walter
gave up the trade of slipper making and himself obtained work
at Salt’s mill as a weaver.
The marriage was not a happy one largely because of

Walter’s propensity for drink, which cost him his job in the
teetotal environment of Salt’s mill. There followed a succession
of jobs at other mills, but the drinking got the better of him
and culminated in a long period of separation from Ellen in
Titus Salt’s mill, Saltaire. the late part of 1888 and early 1889. There was an attempt at

reconciliation sometime in July 1889 when Walter promised to mend his ways. It worked for a while but he soon relapsed
and would come home drunk virtually every night.
Matters came to a head on Saturday, 17 August 1889, when Walter arrived home the worse for drink at about 11
o’clock. Ellen had reached the end of her tether and words were exchanged during which Walter muttered something
about cutting her throat. He retired to the bedroom, but Ellen slept across two chairs, refusing to have anything to do
with him.
At about 7 o’clock the following morning Ellen was rudely awakened by a sensation of cutting along her throat,
grabbing at her husband’s wrist, she asked, “What are you doing Lewis?”
“What have I done?” he replied, and with that he coolly put on his coat and headed for the door, to be met by Mrs
Davison, his wife’s widowed sister, who lived next door.
Resignedly the sister said, “What have you been doing to that lass?” To which he replied, “Nay, I’ve done nothing,
she’s turned me out, that’s all, and I’m going.”
Were it not for the intervention of Mrs Davison, Ellen would probably have died. According to Dr Thornton who was
summoned almost immediately, she had a quarter-inch deep cut extending from her left ear to the point of her chin,
and directly above her jugular vein, the wound having being inflicted with a sharp knife and considerable force used. He
later testified in court that it was an attempt to kill.
There was some delay in contacting the police, and in the meantime, Turner had made his escape. He was on the run
for two days having made his way towards Undercliffe, Bradford, spending a night sleeping rough in Peel Park, before
handing himself into the police at the West Riding Courthouse in Bradford, tired and hungry.
Walter Lewis Turner was tried on a charge of attempted murder at Leeds Assizes on 12 December 1889. In the event,
the jury were lenient in their decision, swayed no doubt by Turner’s intoxication and his inability to form an intent
to kill, finding him instead guilty of the lesser charge of unlawful wounding. Mr Justice Manisty commented upon the
narrow escape the prisoner had had of being charged with murder, and hoped that this would be, “A lesson to him for
the rest of his life”. Turner was sentenced to nine months imprisonment with hard labour.
Turner’s marriage to Ellen was, of course, at an end, but she sought a new
life for herself by emigrating to the USA along with a number of other Salt’s
mill employees, whilst Walter went to live with his mother at a new address,
Back Lane, Horsforth, a village some three miles from Leeds, where he had
found work at a local mill. This fateful move was at last to take him to the
gallows.
Barbara Whitham Waterhouse was the third youngest child of David and
Elizabeth, residing at Alma Yard in Horsforth. Her middle name, as was usual
at the time, was that of her mother’s family. David was a stone quarryman
and the family were well-established in the village with several members of
the extended family living nearby. Barbara was described as a precocious
little girl, in Yorkshire parlance, meaning that she had “plenty off” and was Back Lane, Horsforth
not afraid to speak to strangers.
On Saturday, 6 June 1891, she left home at about 11.15 to play with her friends. The last sighting of her was at
1 o’clock when she was seen, along with a playmate, standing outside a shop window looking at some illustrated
advertisements. Pointing to the figure of a man in one of the advertisements she remarked, “Look isn’t that like my
Dadda?” When Barbara had failed to arrive home by mid-afternoon her parents contacted the police who issued a
description of her and commenced a search of the area. She was of stout build, hair cut short, dark eyes, dressed in a
black cashmere dress, dark brown pinafore, black stockings and laced boots with a dark blue cap, all rather worn. Being
one of seven children, inevitably some of her clothing would have been passed down to her.
PC Moss had the usually uneventful beat around the Town Hall area of Leeds. It took him to Alexander Street, on
one side of which stood the Municipal offices, faced on the other side by the Leeds School Board building, and was
only some fifty yards away from the Central Police Office in the Town Hall. Alexander Street was generally very quiet
in the evenings. At 10.15 he had walked down Alexander Street, checking that all was secure, particularly the large

iron gates which led into the Municipal offices and through which coal
and other goods were taken. All was well. He repeated the exercise at
twenty minutes to twelve, but, shining his lantern on to the iron gates,
in a dark corner, he noticed a bundle tied up in an old striped grey shawl.
It had not been there on his earlier round. A cursory examination of the
bundle aroused the constable’s suspicions and he reported the matter
to Sergeant Craddock, who then passed on the information to Inspector
Thackrah. The bundle was subsequently taken by hand ambulance to the
police headquarters.
The shawl was found to contain the mutilated remains of a small child,
and it was soon apparent that it was the body of Barbara Waterhouse. The
parents were informed and, along with several neighbours, made their
way to Leeds on the 5.42am train from Horsforth. They were taken to the
mortuary at Millgarth Street and David Waterhouse was shown the body
with all but the face covered. Bursting into tears he exclaimed, “Oh yes.
That’s my poor Barbara.” He conveyed the dreadful news to his wife, who
against police advice insisted on viewing the remains but instantly fainted
and was unconscious for several minutes. The Municipal Buildings, Leeds
from The Graphic, 26 April 1884.
The post-mortem was conducted later in the day by Mr Edward Ward,
the police surgeon and Mr H A Smith. They observed that the child’s legs were folded up against the body, which was
badly mutilated and that rigor mortis was well developed. Many of the wounds had not bled indicating that they had
been inflicted after death. The main wounds comprised two very deep cuts to the neck, severing all the main vessels,
a longitudinal cut down the centre line of the body from the neck above to the opening of the genital passage below,
altogether some 15 inches in length, and completely opening the chest and abdominal cavities. There were cuts to the
legs and numerous stab wounds which had penetrated the heart and lungs and liver. The actual cause of death was the
loss of blood from the large wounds. The body was fully clothed, but it was suggested that the dress may have been
raised to inflict the wounds since there were no corresponding cuts to the garments. In the estimation of the surgeons,
death must have taken place between twenty four and sixty hours before discovery, and a quantity of chloride of lime
had been applied to preserve the body. It was not possible, they said, to confirm one way or the other that there had
been a sexual assault.
There was a frenzy of feeling in Horsforth upon news of the discovery of the little victim. Most were unanimous in
their assertion that there was no one in the village bad enough to do such a thing. The general feeling was that she had
been abducted by a stranger on account of the fact that she was described as the type of child who might be persuaded
to go anywhere. One theory suggested that the murderer was living in a lowly lodging house in Leeds to which he had
lured her and then carried out his ghastly work. Others suggested that he was a stranger to the city because he had left
the body within thirty yards of the police headquarters. One newspaper went so far as to assume that it was the work
of Jack the Ripper and that unless he was caught red handed his identity would never be ascertained.
Two almost simultaneous events brought forth the arrest of Walter Lewis Turner. On Friday, 12 June, an anonymous
letter addressed to “The Inspector, Horsforth police station”, was opened at about three o’clock in the afternoon. It
read, “Charge Walter Lewis Turner, of Back Lane, Horsforth with the crime. He will convict himself at once”. At about
the same time, the Horsforth police were conducting house-to-house enquiries in the village, when they arrived at
Back Lane. Police Sergeant Poyser and PC Croskery knocked on one door several times, but obtained no response. It
was apparent that the house was occupied since footsteps could be heard on the inside stone stairs. Fortunately, the
door was unlocked and they entered the house. Shouting if anybody was there, Turner came out of one of the bedroom
doors and descended the staircase. Seeing the officers, he began to tremble from head to foot. Poyser became very
suspicious, left the house to consider the matter, and then re-entered to find Turner sat reading a newspaper account of
the discovery of the murder victim. He was at once arrested on suspicion of murder but exclaimed, “You will have it to
prove!” He was taken to Leeds on the 3.37 train.
Eventually, the bizarre circumstances of the crime began to unfold.

On the day that Barbara Waterhouse disappeared, Turner had risen at about six o’clock, seemingly in anticipation
of going to work. Mrs Turner left the house an hour later to do some shopping, but returned home about 9.30, and was
surprised to find her son still at home, and that he had been drinking. He went upstairs to lie down and Ann Turner set
off to Leeds. She spent a good part of the day with her deaf daughter, Jessie, who was by now married to Thomas Joy,
also deaf and dumb, at their home in Crown Street. Visiting other friends in town she did not arrive back at Horsforth
until early evening, bringing with her, her grandson, George Joy. George was 12 and that night shared a bedroom with
Walter. In fact by this time the cellar of the house in Back Lane had another occupant.
On Sunday, Ann Turner went picking bluebells with young George, before returning him home to Crown Street in the
afternoon.
It was on Monday morning that Ann made the terrible discovery. Going in to the cellar for some coals, she noticed a
bundle which had not previously been there, and, touching it with her hand, recoiled with horror. Screaming wildly, she
fully intended raising the alarm, but was grabbed by her son who conveyed to her his terrible secret. His story was that
on Saturday he had gone drinking with a man called “Jack”, having both become drunk they returned to Back Lane to
sleep it off. It was “Jack” who had the bundle and when Walter awoke, “Jack” had gone and left the body of the young
child behind.
At the same time as these gruesome events were taking place, almost inevitably, the Turners were in the throes of
another house move. The Back Lane house had become damp and they were in the process of taking a lease on a house
in Robinson’s Row, about a hundred yards away. The actual day of the move was Wednesday, although it could not be
completed since they had insufficient funds to hire a cart for some of the heavier items, including a piano which it was
said belonged to Walter and which he played proficiently. Anyway, they had a more pressing concern.
The body was beginning to decompose, and Mrs Turner obtained some chloride of lime to neutralise the smell. The
body covered by the shawl was then placed in a tin trunk and taken to Leeds by train. It was then taken across the city
to the Joy’s house who of course were completely unaware of its contents. Thomas Joy readily consented to it being
stored in his workshop, after which the Turners and Joys had supper.
At about 8pm, Ann Turner went to see John and Mary Cotterill, good friends of hers whom she had known for sixteen
years. John was actually out on business at Horsforth when Ann arrived. When he arrived home, Ann had told Mary of
the whole sordid affair in the forlorn hope of some wise counsel. However, the Cotterills were in no doubt as to what
Ann should do. Go at once to the Town Hall and report the matter to the police. Ann protested her son’s innocence, but
John Cotterill was resolute; she must make a clean breast of it. If she did not, he certainly would report the matter. Ann
left, promising that she would take the body to the Town Hall.
She returned to Crown Street and after some discussion with Walter, they both left carrying the tin box the contents
of which were subsequently discovered in Alexander Street. Their object may have been to take the body to the central
police station but got cold feet at the last minute. Carrying the tin box, they returned yet again to Crown Street and
managed to get the box back into the house unobserved. Shortly before midnight, the Turner’s made their way back
to Horsforth. Whilst they were walking down the main street of the village in the shadow of a high wall, they saw a
mounted police constable, who did not see them. In fact he was on his way to inform Mr and Mrs Waterhouse that
Barbara’s body had been found.
Meanwhile the Cotterills spent a very uncomfortable night contemplating their new found knowledge, but anticipating
that the following day’s newspapers would bring news of the Turners having gone to the police. John was particularly
disappointed when the news was of the body being found. It was he who penned the anonymous letter to the police.
On Friday morning, Mrs Turner went again to see the Joys. She sent a message to Mary Cotterill to visit her there,
but she was too ill and distressed and instead Mr Cotterill went. He insisted again that a confession should be made to
the police and was joined in this by Mrs Joy who had now become aware of the situation. Ann agreed at last that she
would do this and was advised to leave the tin box at the left-luggage office in the Midland station. In fact she left it on
the platform and then made her way to Horsforth, found that Walter had been arrested and returned yet gain to Leeds
where this time she did walk into the police station, at 6.25.

In the presence of Detective Chief Inspector Sowerby and Detective Sergeant MacKenzie, Ann Turner made a statement
in which she confessed to having helped dispose of the body. The shawl she admitted was hers and had been used as
bedding by her son. She was taken to the railway station and identified the tin trunk which she had left there. Returning
to the police station it was opened, found to be empty, but with a strong smell of chloride of lime. She was also able to
identify the spot on Alexander Street where he bundle had been left.
Both prisoners appeared before the West Riding Police Court on Saturday, 13 June. Walter Lewis Turner pleaded not
guilty to murder and Ann Turner not guilty to being an accessory to murder.
Walter, it was reported, was shabbily dressed and seemed indifferent to what was happening. His face was rather
characteristic with a prominent forehead brought into stronger relief by the narrow proportions of the lower part of his
face; it reminded one journalist of the murderer Charles Peace. The press unearthed further details about him. Those
he had worked with at Horsforth described him as being, “unsociable”, and, “having summat on his mind”. Whole days
would pass with him not communicating with his colleagues more than was necessary. He would have his head down
completely lost in his own thoughts.
The “Horsforth Child Murder” was a sensational affair, reported

in all the national and provincial papers. The Leeds Mercury of
15 June devoted a whole page to the arrest of the pair with
enormous detail. Crowds of people visited Horsforth peering in
at the two houses occupied by them, and the courts were packed
when they made their appearances.
Barbara Waterhouse’s funeral took place on the Saturday after

her disappearance. It was estimated that over a thousand people
thronged the vicinity of the cemetery where she was interred and
some were able to catch a glimpse of the little coffin through the
window of the hearse, and the pitiful sight of her parents and five
of their children in a carriage following. The cost of the funeral
was covered by money raised in the locality.
The prisoners were tried separately before Mr Justice

Grantham at the West Riding Assizes in July, 1891. Ann Turner
had little defence, only that she did what any mother would do
to shield her son. After huddling for three minutes the jury found
her guilty with a recommendation to mercy. She was sentenced
to penal servitude for life.
Walter Turner’s trial took place the day following, 31 July, and
lasted two days. The public gallery and surrounding rooms were
packed with onlookers. Ann Turner gave evidence which centred
largely upon the disposal of the body. Again very little was offered
in the form of a defence, no witnesses were called, and Turner’s
counsel pointed to the shortcomings of the prosecution case,
mainly that no witnesses had been called to testify that they had
seen the little girl with the prisoner at any time.
The jury retired shortly before six o’clock and after fifteen
minutes returned a verdict of guilty. The black cap was placed on
Dundde Courier & Argus, 16 June 1891.
the judge’s head and sentence of death passed.
A very thoughtful gesture on the part of Mr Justice Grantham was to hand his bouquet of flowers to the mother
of Barbara Waterhouse, a token of sympathy which she greatly appreciated. This munificence was repeated on the
following Monday when the judge requested that Mr and Mrs Cotterill and Thomas and Jessie Joy be brought to court.
They were told that Ann Turner’s sentence would be reduced to one year’s imprisonment, a decision received with much
satisfaction by all those in court.

Walter Turner was duly hanged by James Billington at
8.00am on 18 August in the new scaffold shed adjoining the
cook house at Armley prison, Leeds. His mother served her
sentence at Wakefield gaol and was released on 23 July 1892.
Walter never confessed to his crime, and three days before
his execution he made a statement to his solicitor repeating
his earlier claim that the body had been brought to his house
by a drinking companion, whom he knew very little about
other than that he lived at Pudsey or Farsley, and that given
his previous record, Turner felt that if he had reported the
matter he would not be believed. In consequence he wrapped
the body in the shawl and put it in the coal cellar. This man
whom Turner called “Jack” worked in one of the Horsforth
quarries, but despite all efforts by the police he was never
located. One Horsforth wit, trying to lighten the prevailing
Entrance to Armley prison, Leeds. gloom, remarked with true Yorkshire humour, that the missing
Courtesy prisoninfo. “Jack” might be “Jack the Ripper”.
There is no apparent reason why Turner committed his atrocious crime. Clearly he had a violent streak, but he was
not particularly noted for this before the attack on his wife in 1889. However, there was considerable speculation
around the time of his arrest in 1891 that he might also have been responsible for the brutal murder of eight-year-old
John Gill in Manningham, Bradford, on 27 December 1888. Patricia Cornwell, in Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper
Case Closed, ascribes this murder to her suspect, Walter Sickert. At the time, Turner was footloose and living away
from his wife but probably in the Bradford area. There were significant similarities between the two murders and it
was reported that officers from Bradford, including the Chief Constable, James Withers, came to Leeds to investigate
a possible link. He was accompanied by the Deputy Chief Constable of the West Riding force. Although Withers refused
to link the killings, it was said that when the Deputy Chief Constable’s name was mentioned to Turner he staggered and
was considerably shaken. He shared the same surname as the Manningham victim!
References
There has been no full treatment of Turner and the Horsforth Child Murder. Short accounts appear in Foul Deeds
and Suspicious Deaths in Leeds by David Goodman (Wharncliffe Books, 2003 and Murderous Yorkshire by Barry Shaw
(Express Print, 1980). Turner is mentioned on the website Casebook: Jack the Ripper at www.casebook.org/forum/
messages/4920/9504.html. The murder of John Gill is referred to in Portrait of a Killer Jack the Ripper Case Closed by
Patricia Cornwell (Time Warner, 2005).
This article is based largely on contemporary newspaper accounts from the Leeds Mercury, North Eastern Daily
Gazette (Middlesbrough), The Huddersfield Daily Chronicle, The Yorkshire Herald and the York Herald.
Justices Grantham and Manisty each have an entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography.
BARRY DIGGLE is an Historian by training, but has taught Law for the past twenty years in
a variety of schools, colleges and adult education centres throughout West Yorkshire. He is
particularly interested in researching and writing about nineteenth- and early twentieth-century
crime. Other interests include family history - at least one ancestor transgressed the law!

CHRIS SCOTT’S
Press Trawl
Huddersfield Daily Chronicle
12 October 1888
A SUSPECT AT ELHAM
A Hythe correspondent says:- A suspicious looking individual, who applied for admission to the casual ward
for Elham Union, Kent, has been detained by the master, as he answered the description of the man wanted in
connection with the Whitechapel murders, published in a daily paper. Blood was found on his trousers and shirt,
the cuffs of his shirt had been torn off, and a piece of sponge was found on him. He was dressed in a genteel
style - black cloth coat, check waistcoat and had in a felt hat. He had given three or four different names, and
several contradictory accounts of himself. Superintendent Masted, of the county police, has communicated with
the Metropolitan Police regarding the suspect.
Sheffield and Rotherham Independent

12 October 1888
The Scotland Yard authorities, having satisfied themselves that the man arrested at Elham could have had
nothing to do with the Whitechapel murders, he will be set at liberty in due course.
Bristol Mercury
13 October 1888
The “casual” who was arrested at Elham, Kent, has been released, the police having satisfied themselves that
he could have had nothing whatever to do with the murders. There was blood on his trousers and shirt, and his
cuffs had been torn off.
Glasgow Herald
13 October 1888
An arrest was made near Dover yesterday in connection with the Whitechapel murders, a man, giving the name
of George Wm. M’Carthy, who was employed at Elham Works, having been detained on instructions from Scotland
Yard. Accused is discharged soldier, and admits having been in one of the lodging houses in Red Cross Court,
London, several days previous to the Mitre Square and Berner Street murders.
Echo
19 Nov 1888
THE TRAMP AT THE WORKHOUSE

The fact (says the Daily Chronicle) that the Scotland Yard authorities took no pains to verify the statements and
the identity of the tramp who was recently detained at the Elham Union Workhouse has caused some surprise to
the authorities there. It will be remembered that the front of this man’s trousers had been soaked in blood, that
there were blood spatters on his shirt front, and that his shirt wristbands had been recently torn off. By his own
showing, he was familiar with the low lodging houses at the East End of London, and had been staying in one in the
Borough for some period until he started, as he said, on the night of the Berner Street and Mitre Square murders

were committed, for the country. The authorities at the union detained him as long as they could, on one pretext
or another, and at length allowed him to depart, about ten days before the woman Kelly was killed. Prior to the
man’s departure, Dr. Bishop, the medical officer of the union, examined the man’s clothing somewhat minutely,
and found traces of bloody finger marks in both his pockets. the man’s shirt sleeves, beyond where the wristbands
had been, were also spattered with blood. He was seen afterwards on the road, carrying a paper parcel. His dress
and appearance answer pretty accurately to one of the descriptions in the daily papers of a man said to have been
seen in Kelly’s company on the night of the murder.
Kansas City Star

28 February 1889
THE FLASH NOVEL

A Writer of Sensational Stories Describes His Work and Methods
From the New York Sun
There is an active young business man in town who is not suspected by any of his friends of being one of the
most popular writers of that class of literature best described by the term “flash.” He has written at least twenty
of these stories, and they have been so successful that he is well known by the publishers of that class of books,
and is in constant receipt of orders.
His particular field is detective stories. He is an amiable young man, brother to all the girls he knows but one,
and to her he is engaged. He never drinks, he doesn’t chew, but gore flows from his pen like water from off a
duck’s back; his pages reek with crime. He spends an evening with amiable discourse with some young woman,
and then goes home, and from 11 o’clock until 2 riots in murder and mystery.
His facility seems phenomenal. He will write a story from 40,000 to 50,000 words in abut thirty five hours - solid
work - or in about a week. Of course before this the story is sketched in his mind, but the detail is left until the
pen is taken up. In a moment of expansiveness his method of writing was drawn from him, for he has reduced it
to a working system, and is given almost in his own words:
“My detective stories are not the works of the imagination. They are founded on facts. These I get from the
newspapers. For example, I have just finished a story founded on the Whitechapel murders. In the Sun of last
October and November the entire history and catalogue of the murders were given up to date. I took them as a
basis. Then I had to become familiar with the locality. I got a large map of London and studied it. I then drew
a sectional map of the Whitechapel district and located all the crimes. I then procured the London illustrated
papers for the pictures, and the daily papers for the picturesque description, so that I had the entire thing -
locality, character of the houses and streets, and characteristics of their habitues.
Of course as the book had to sell here it was only good business policy to tickle the national pride. So I made my
detective hero an American. Now, in writing “flash” literature, it is essential to have the first, middle and closing
chapters highly sensational. Why? Because a person picking up a book casually will read a little of the first chapter,
dip into the middle and swallow the finale. If these chapters are intense enough to excite his anticipation, the
casual glance may evolve into a purchase. I think I finished that sentence rather neatly.
Now, after I have all my facts down and my locus criminus well established my imagination sets to work on this
skeleton and builds up that creature known as a flash novel. It may be all trash, but it pays from $125 to $150.
But, to return to this particular story. I found out, through channels known to myself, that some time ago there
lived in Bishopsgate Street a character known as “Copper Tom.” He was a full blooded Sioux, whose Indian name
was In-yan-ti-o-pa, which means “Hole in the rock.” He had been implicated in that Indian massacre in ‘64 and
‘65, and while twenty five of his comrades were hanged at Mankato, he escaped to Manitoba, where he entered
into the employ of the Hudson Bay company, and eventually drifted to London, where he kept a bar, restaurant
and gambling house and was known as “Copper Tom.”
Moreover, he had a daughter, Wah-cou-ta, or “Talking Bird.” Her mother had French blood, and the girl was
educated in some Canadian school. I have heard her described as graceful, with a sort of weird beauty, and the
weirdness comes in pretty pat when I tell you she was a mesmerist of no mean quality, and practiced the Indian
doctress and black art in Bishopsgate Street after she joined her father, “Copper Tom.”

As a detective story to be successful must always deal with the unexpected, and as the Whitechapel fiend still
exists in the deepest obscurity, I have written my story on the assumption that this Indian maiden is “Jack the
Ripper.” No; I am not afraid of being scalped for the liberty I have taken for the good reason that both she and
Copper Tom are now dead.
The reasonableness of any hypothesis lies in the fact that all the victims of the Whitechapel murders are
women, killed in the same manner and with the same weapon, and the mutilation of the bodies show a degree of
anatomical knowledge that only one who is a physician may be expected to have, and this Indian woman studied
medicine. Now my theory is that she first hypnotized these women, then killed them; that it was the breaking out
of her Indian blood, which education had long served to scotch, not kill; and that the long inheritance of brutality
and ferocity showed in the mutilation of the bodies so like what is practiced in Indian warfare.”
“Very clever; but where do your detectives come in?”
“They are over there on another errand, and they stumble on a clew. Curiosity leads one to investigate it, and
circumstantial incidents divert suspicion to him and he is arrested as the murderer himself. His comrade, my hero,
in endeavoring to serve his companion, runs down the false clew and finds the true one.
Right here I want to tell you one thing. If you ever intend writing a “flash” novel, you must always deal in
parallels, and you must always have your incidents and situations bounded by these parallels in such a way that
while they never touch, they are so contiguous that your innocent man is always looked on as the guilty man until
you are ready for your grand climax.”
“How did your detectives catch the Indian girl?”
“Oh, now the Whitechapel murderer has never been caught. Let me tell you another thing, it is harder to write
a detective story founded on facts than to grind it out. For example, I had to learn the distances in London in
order to make characters coming from different directions meet at a given point in the same time. Details of that
sort demand accuracy to keep up the plausibility of the story.”
“After working up such an exciting story, how long do you have to give your brain a vacation?”
“It don’t get it. I have an order for a story now in which all the scenes are to take place in this city. I am now
having the testimony typewritten that was taken in a case which occupied the attention of the newspapers and
the public not so very long ago, and which contains material enough for twenty novels and fifteen plays. These
will give me my facts, which I will arrange into a skeleton and then discharge my imagination at them with such
fervor that their dry bones will get up and live. I have calculated to use up to about 70,000 words in doing this,
which will oblige my publisher to put me into two volumes of 35,000 words each. As my story is longer my check
is the stronger.”
Logansport Reporter
20 June 1895
NIGHT IN DARKEST HELL

Edward Marshall Describes a Trip Through Whitechapel
The other night I rode into hell on the top of an omnibus. I entered through Oldgate (sic) and met a guide
– an ex Scotland Yard detective – at the corner of Leman Street and Whitechapel Road. The hell was London’s
Whitechapel district, which was once probably the most thoroughly vicious area in the world, and it is still
probably the most depraved. Leman Street and Commercial Road meet Whitechapel Road together, and the
three thoroughfares make a junction that is not equalled in London. Thirty thousand wretched women roam the
district, and these corners are its most prominent spot. Jack the Ripper probably loitered in their whereabouts
as he selected his victims from the miserable procession that is ever passing them. That his example made its
impress on the neighbourhood in a way other than frightening the women is shown by the fact that two women
have been killed in somewhat similar ways not far from his old haunts since I have been in London. This was told
to me by reliable persons, and I visited the scene of one of the murders on Butler Street before the crime was
twenty four hours old. Yet not a word has appeared in the London papers about the murders. The police here are
fond of keeping their own counsel.

We went first to a Whitechapel lodging house, within a block or two of the scene of the first Ripper murder. It is
one of the few of the old style left. Since Jack’s flashing knife attracted the attention of the world to this district
and its conditions, most of the lodging houses which formerly accommodated men and women indiscriminately
have been forced to confine their business to one sex. But in a half dozen or so of the places the old custom is
still permitted, on the ground that the homeless are as likely to be husband and wife as to be single and that they
must have places to sleep. The police watched these lodging houses with even closer attention than they devote
to the others, however, and see to it that their patrons are not young. The result is such a collection of tottering
wrecks of manhood and toothless, crooning hags as Dante might have drawn ideas for his “Inferno” from.
Picture a long, low room, half filled with benches and narrow tables. At one side a great glow of coals in a
mammoth brazier, over which such of the human outcasts as can find refuse food to eat are cooking it. Probably
a hundred people are in the place, which is clouded by the output of many tobacco pipes, and fouled by the
smell and smoke which come from a bone which some clumsy fingers have dropped irreclaimably into the bed of
coals. Combined with the reeking odor of burning flesh and bone is the reeking odor of the hundred squalid human
beings.
A hundred human beings, and among them not one hint of youth or beauty; not one person which is clean;
not one person whose clothes are other than in the last stages of dilapidation and decay; not one face unmarked
by the vicious lines of depraved age, or the vacuous imbecility with which kind time sometimes wipes away the
traces of a bestial life. No collection of young criminals could be half so horrible as is this gathering of time tossed
scum. Sum up the ages of the crowd and you will reach an average of half a century. Five hundred years of horror
lurk in the muddled memories in this room and look out from blear eyes at the inquisitive visitor. Nothing good,
nothing pure, nothing innocent, nothing that is not utterly and irredeemably vile is here. It is not a pleasant place
to visit.
It was in this lodging house that we met “Murderer Mag.” She gained her name from the fact that since the
very first of the Ripper murders she has devoted her life to the crude study of the crimes. The first woman killed
was her mate, and the crime may have turned her mind. At any rate whenever she has had money enough to pay
the miserable rental which would secure the place she has made it a practice to live, for at least a month each in
the rooms in which the murders were committed, and to haunt the accursed spots on which the street butcheries
took place. She can talk of nothing else and details with a horrid relish the minutest gossip of the bloody killings.
It is her theory that the murders were done by a sailor who went on a long voyage after he finished his first series
and will come back before long to begin a second. She hailed the news of the recent Butler Street murder with a
kind of glee, assuming instantly that her prophecy had come true. But after she had gone posthaste to the scene of
the crime and examined its gruesome details, she sorrowfully announced that she was wrong, and that the crime
had been by less skilful hands than Jack’s. Mag is one of the character’s of Whitechapel - horribly in keeping with
the place. She followed us when we visited one or two of the murder rooms and her explanations could not be
suppressed. She is probably right in one theory which the police cry out against, viz. that one of the murders was
actually witnessed by a constable who was too badly frightened to interfere with its commission or to attempt to
capture the murderer after he had finished. The crime was done in a room opening off a small courtyard at the
end of a short blind alley. This court is not more than twelve by sixteen feet in size, and a constable was surely
standing in it while the murder and its following horrors were going on. Add to this fact the others that the man
could not have done his work without a light, and that the window of the room was curtainless and the proof that
the crime was actually witnessed by that cowardly constable seems complete. But, after all, it is scarcely fair to
expect a man who works for thirty shillings a week to risk his life in an encounter with such a desperate cut-throat
as Whitechapel’s historic murderer must have been.
On the scene of one of the sidewalk murders a tiny cockney was swinging on a chain hanging from the tail of a
truck. He observed us with indifference, but when he saw Murder(sic) Mag he scurried away into one of the hole
like doorways, as might a frightened rat. She was too horrible for even a case hardened Whitechapel gamin to
gaze on with complacency.
I refer thus at length to the Jack the Ripper murders because they marked an era in this strange district. For
many years it had been allowed to act as a sinkhole, into which the worst of London’s moral sewage drained,
there to fester in its own decay, unheeded by the other sections of the city, practically unknown to any but the
police, and only disturbed by them when some particularly flagrant offense forced them to momentarily probe the
depths. London officialdom had gone on the theory that a certain percentage of humanity must necessarily sink

to this degraded level, and was rather proud that the refuse was concentrated in one locality.
But the Ripper murders – frightful climax of this neglect – were so ghastly in their nature and persistent in their
recurrence, that the attention of not only all London but of all the world was focused on the neighbourhood,
and the authorities were forced to such action as I have described in previous letters. The number of police
was quadrupled down there, and with such speed as was possible destruction of the old slum environment was
begun. Nearly every one of the old narrow streets on which the murders were committed has been torn out and
widened, with both sides built up in substantial and sanitary “artisans’ dwellings” to take the place of the old time
rookeries, and the lodging houses, hitherto permitted to conduct their business as they pleased, have been placed
under strict regulations, rigidly enforced. This has resulted in a one sided reform. The actual criminal classes – the
thugs, highway robbers, room thieves and like persons – have been to a great extent driven out or compelled to
mend their ways. Thus Whitechapel now is probably freer from that manner of offense than the Fourth ward of
New York. But, as this is the case throughout London, vice – as distinguished from crime – had not been interfered
with. No effort has been made here or elsewhere in the city to drive depraved women from the streets. The
public houses have been conducted in a way which would not be tolerated for one moment in any American city
with which I am familiar, and, so far as I have been able to discover, modesty and virtue are unknown quantities
in Whitechapel.
Womanhood is without the safeguards of either law or custom. A woman anywhere in England gets little enough
consideration; in Whitechapel she gets none. She drinks quite as freely as does the man, and attends the public
house as often and as regularly. It is by no means uncommon to find women predominating in the bar-room crowds
down there, and the hard working matron is quite as numerously in evidence as the woman of the streets. Indeed,
they rub shoulders constantly, and this rubbing has so far worn away the moral class distinction that the mother
of daughters who drops into the pub for a social glass of bitter beer, taking her whole brood with her, in no way
resents the presence of the frail sisterhood, nor objects to her daughters’ observations of the miserable spectacle.
Jewish Standard
22 March 1889
SOCIALIST SABBATH BREAKERS

The so-called procession of Jewish unemployed which nearly provoked a riot last week, and which actually
culminated in some discreditable cases at the Thames Police Court, would be scarcely worthy of serious notice
but for the publicity which the general press has given to its ridiculous proceedings...
So many people calling themselves Jews... cannot fail to instil a poisonous dislike of our people in many
bosoms...
We contend that the men concerned in the demonstration of last Saturday are not Jews in any sense of the
term. They and their action have been disavowed by every meeting of genuine Jews, foreign or English, that has
been held this week. They may have been born of Jewish parents, but here their Judaism began and ended. They
are not unemployed, except in the sense that they prefer loafing to honest work...
The guiding spirits of this outrage upon all the loftier feelings of humanity belong to the Berner Street Club.
They are Jews by birth, but they are Socialists and Atheists by profession. These are the men who had a festival
banquet on Yom Kippur. If they prefer not to believe in God, that is their lookout; but that they should go out of
their way to deliberately insult the Jews from whose midst they have sprung, by violating the most sacred day
in the year, shows that they are vile creatures for whom no contempt can be too strong, who excite the loathing
called forth by the most disgusting reptiles. We can see no connection between Socialism and Judaism. Socialism
is a revolt against the unequal distribution of the good things of this life, and is therefore a revolt against the
inscrutable decrees of the Most High...
To talk as these pestilent agitators talk is to cause bad blood between the rich and poor, to make enemies of
those who should be friends. Such men may have ends of their own to gain by propagating such nonsense. It is
the duty of every Jew to expose their fallacies, and to take his stand upon the laws of political economy and the
Divine command to help the poor.

The Sporting Times
13 October 1888
The subjoined letter has been forwarded to us as a reply of Mr. Gladstone to the letter of a Whitechapel radical,
calling his attention to the murders, and asking him his opinion of the murderer:-
To Mr. _____, Whitechapel.

Dear Sir,
I have read your letter with much interest, and hasten to reply to your well timed questions, “What do you
think of the occurrences in Whitechapel, and what degree of guilt do you impute to the murderer?” As, in the
present excited state of the public mind, these questions concern every thinking man, you have my permission to
publish this letter, as a sort of contribution towards allaying a spirit of resentment and revenge which is greatly
to be deprecated, and which is calculated to defeat its own object.
It seems generally admitted that the murders - for such they undoubtedly are - were the means for attaining an
end, that end being the procuring of certain anatomical “subjects necessary to the advancement of an important
branch of medical science. That the said means were and are horrible and wicked few will be disposed to deny,
and if they were employed for selfish purposes, the guilt of the person who thus employed them would be deep
indeed; but the question is, Were they thus employed? Hundreds of thousands of women - that is, hundreds
of thousands of the best and fairest portion of humanity - are daily and hourly suffering from diseases and
ailments, the nature of which requires certain “subjects” for properly understanding and subsequently treating
them. Now, it is not for me to enquire why through some prejudice or culpable exercise of authority those
“subjects” are not easily obtainable. Suffice it that such seems to be the case, and if the unknown dispenser
of fate in Whitechapel thought that by inflicting a certain amount of sharp, but very transient suffering, in a
few isolated cases, he would procure the means of alleviating the woes of thousands, would that not make him
stand forth in a brighter, or at least in a less lurid light, and would not a part, aye, and the greater part, of his
blood guiltiness cling to those, whoever they may be, who by repressive action and retrograde enactments have
rendered the possession of proper “subjects” impossible to the humbler student of anatomy? I have had in the
interests of nationality and justice to point out extenuating circumstances in crime before, and I may say have
done so successfully as far as the vast majority of my fellow countrymen are concerned by analogous reasoning.
Just as I was right before, may I not prove to be right now?
If the Executive of this country would, instead of enforcing fresh enactments upon a shuddering people,
employ its influence in eliciting free expression of opinion, who knows but that under the weight of enlightened
popular pressure the “subjects” would have been easily attainable and the poor women of Whitechapel still
alive?
In conclusion, I should be inclined to offer a few words of practical advice. Let Mr. Matthews and Sir Charles
Warren, instead of molesting harmless and virtuous milliners, and forming a Praetorian guard out of the lineal
descendants of British watchmen, disguise themselves as the class of women whose society the so called murderer
more particularly affects. Let them pretend a taste for grapes and haunt the localities where these occurrences
have taken place! They will then, doubtless, have the chance of reinstating themselves in the opinion of their
countrymen by capturing the unknown author of these assassinations; while should they succumb the state of
their bodies will afford precious information to their successors and establish the fact whether the pursuit of
science or the lust of blood instigated a series of catastrophes which every right thinking man must deplore.
Again thanking you for calling my attention to this interesting question.
I am, faithfully yours,
W.E.G.
Reform Club, Pall Mall, S.W.

Amazing Dogs
The Amazing Railway Jack
By JAN BONDESON
In the sixth of the series, Jan Bondeson reveals the amazing deeds, often criminal or heroic, of dogs of the
Victorian era.
The British Library’s copy of George R Jesse’s Researches into the History of the British Dog
contains some very curious newspaper cuttings pasted onto its endpapers by a previous owner.
In June 1881, a correspondent to the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News wanted to know if
any other reader had seen the extraordinary fox-terrier Jack, who used to travel on the London,
Brighton and South Coast Railway trains.
Jack lived at the Lewes railway station, but every day, he made excursions to
Portsmouth, Horsham or Brighton. He used to sit by the guard’s wheel, looking
out through the window. Jack always caught the last train back to Lewes,
where he used to sleep. One day, a railwayman had traced Jack’s movements.
The dapper little fox-terrier boarded the 10.50 from Lewes to Brighton, where
he disembarked and walked to a local pub, where he was given a biscuit. After
another walk, he took a later train to East Grinstead, where he spent the
afternoon before returning to Brighton and Lewes. How could a dog have such
extraordinary talents of direction and punctuality, the writer asked himself,
and did Jack regard himself as sub-guard, director or general overseer of the
railways?
Another correspondent to the same newspaper added that he, too, had
seen this famous travelling dog in Lewes as a curiosity. Not long after, he had
met Jack at Victoria Station, where the fox-terrier jumped off the train like
an experienced traveller. The guard said that Jack was a frequent visitor to
London. This time, he had changed trains at Clapham Junction, knowing well
which train to catch to get to Victoria. The guard speculated that Jack would
“probably take a trip round to London Bridge and go home that way. There is
no accounting for him.”
A military officer wrote that he had known Jack for four years. The fox-terrier
Railway Jack before the accident,
knew London Bridge and Victoria stations as well as himself, particularly the
a drawing in Chatterbox, December 30 1882. refreshment rooms where he had many friends. Jack had private apartments
at Croydon, Three Bridges, Tunbridge and Eastbourne stations. He once caught
the wrong train at Croydon and went all the way to Edinburgh by mistake. Fortunately, the friendly Scottish
railway guards and porters had heard of this famous travelling dog; they fed and housed him for a week, before
returning him to Lewes. Occasionally, Railway Jack went to Dieppe or Paris for the weekend. Noting the officer’s
uniform, Jack took him for a railway guard and did not object to riding with him in the first class compartment,
sitting on his lap and watching each station carefully.
*****
Many people went to Lewes to see Railway Jack as a curiosity. If they tipped the Stationmaster, a rotund, bushy-
bearded character named Mr F G Moore, he allowed them to see and feed Railway Jack, and to watch the dapper
little dog jump onto any train that took his fancy. Although Jack treated the Lewes railway station as his home,
he did not consider that he needed a master; neither Mr Moore nor any other person had any authority over him,
and he came and went as it pleased him. Jack knew all local railway stations, and the principal London ones; he
had friends everywhere. He had an almost uncanny ability to always catch the right train to take him home. Once,
a guard had tried to be helpful, lifting the dog on board his train, but Jack seemed to sense that this train would
not carry him home, and immediately jumped out again.
For some reason, this eccentric Railway Jack was very fond of funerals.
When John Isgar, the old head porter at Lewes, departed this life in
September 1881, Jack was one of the chief mourners, despite Mr Moore’s
attempts to prevent him from going into the church. In November the same
year, Jack arrived in Eastbourne and insisted on taking part in the funeral
of the old platform inspector Mr Bryant. He ran alongside the hearse, sat by
the coffin during the ceremony, and later entered the chapel, where he had
a final look at the coffin. This incident had been less significant, a journalist
solemnly wrote, if the dog had not turned up in an equally singular manner,
and conducted himself with the same commendable sobriety, at the funeral
of Mr Isgar a few weeks earlier.
In early 1882, there was no shortage of newspaper interest in Railway
Jack: there were features about the Lewes celebrity in both the Girl’s Own
Paper and Chatterbox magazine. A wealthy lady, Mrs J P Knight of Brockley,
presented Jack with a silver-mounted collar with the inscription ‘I am Jack,
the L.B. and S.C. Railway Dog. Please give me a drink, and I will then go home
to Lewes.’ Another present from the same lady, a sumptuous dog-basket with
a soft mattress, was spurned by the eccentric dog, who preferred to sleep in
the waste paper basket in the booking-office. By this time, Jack had been to
Railway Jack, from Graphic magazine.
Canterbury, Exeter, Glasgow and Edinburgh. A reporter once followed Jack
on one of his expeditions. First the dog took the morning train to Brighton, then decided that he had business
in Portsmouth, where he ate his luncheon. He left that town by the 1.30 train and proceeded to Littlehampton,
where the journalist persuaded him to have his photograph taken at Mr White’s studio at No. 32 High Street.
Just a few weeks later, Railway Jack travelled to Norwood Junction, where he was busy sniffing around the
platforms. When crossing the rails, his attention was caught by a dead bird. Just at that moment, a fast train was
running through the station. Sensing the danger, Jack took a flying leap at the platform, but missed and fell under
the wheels of the train. The railwaymen feared that he had been killed, but it turned out that Jack had escaped
death, although his left forepaw was badly crushed. The travelling dog was said to have showed great fortitude
after the accident: he licked the hands of those who helped him, and only whined a little when the mangled limb
was bandaged. A surgeon was consulted: his verdict was that Jack’s forepaw had to be amputated. A telegram
was sent to Mr Moore, who ordered that Jack was to be put onto the next train to Lewes. When he arrived, the
skilful veterinary surgeon Robert Stock stood ready to operate: once his assistant had put Jack under with the
chloroform, the limb was amputated at the shoulder.
Mrs Stock nursed Railway Jack devotedly, and the railway porters took turns to keep vigil by his basket. As a
result, the dog survived both accident and operation, and soon learnt to jump around on three legs with alacrity.
Mr Moore gave interviews to the press, introducing the journalists to the now three-legged canine celebrity. He
had received more than a hundred of inquiries from anxious railwaymen, he said, and a shelf in his office was
full of presents and ‘get well’ cards for the dog. Just before the accident, Jack had been on one of his long trips,
attending a wedding in Berwick and arriving back home gaily bedecked with ribbons in honour of the event. Later,
Railway Jack made an appearance at a benefit for the disabled railway porter William Medhurst in Eastbourne,
since they had both lost a leg.
*****

When Judge Sir Henry Hawkins came to the Lewes assizes in July 1882, he decided to pay Railway Jack a visit.
Although he was known as a ‘hanging judge’ of unremitting severity, Sir Henry was very fond of dogs. He travelled
nowhere without his little fox-terrier Jack, who apparently got on quite well with his namesake, the three-legged
Lewes celebrity. Sir Henry himself witnessed Railway Jack board the Brighton train, and heard many stories of
his sagacity from proud Mr Moore. A week later, Sir Henry sent Railway Jack a collar mounted in silver, with the
inscription “I am ‘Railway Jack’. Treat me well and send me home to the station master, Lewes. Presented by Sir
Henry Hawkins’s ‘Jack’, July 1882.”
When the Prince and Princess of Wales visited Eastbourne in July 1883, they expressed a wish to see Railway
Jack. Proud Mr Moore brought the dog on the train from Lewes, where traveller and dog-lover Lady Brassey
introduced the three-legged dog to the royal couple. Mr Moore looked something like a curiosity himself with his
huge belly, bald head, bushy beard and enormous tall hat; it is to be hoped that the irreverent Prince did not make
fun of this ludicrous figure when he was admitted into the presence of royalty. The Princess was very interested
in Jack and asked Mr Moore many questions. He presented her with two photographs of Jack: one where he was
seated on a trunk before his accident, another taken since, with the three-legged dog seated in front of Mr Moore.
Railway Jack’s life became much less adventurous after his accident. Mr Moore was worried that he might be
run over again, and restricted his travels to a daily journey from Lewes to Brighton and back. When Mr Moore
retired in 1884, he bought a house in Mayfield and took Jack with him to live there. Thus Jack’s independent life
as a Travelling Dog was over; he had become just an Ordinary Dog, a dog with a master. Instead, Mr Moore, who
had been in serious danger of becoming just an Ordinary Man, a retired old station-master without much purpose
in life, had become Railway Jack’s Master, a minor newspaper celebrity who was always keen to give interviews
about his famous dog.
Throughout the 1880s, Mr Moore and Railway Jack clung
to their status as minor celebrities with the tenacity of
last year’s Big Brother contestant. They were often invited
as guests of honour at dog shows or at railwaymen’s
conventions. At the Southdown Fox-Terrier Club Show in
November 1884, a Sporting Gazette journalist thought
Railway Jack a very interesting feature of the show; he was
looking well, and was the recipient of many caresses. Mr
Moore and Railway Jack often made trips together as the
invited guests of railway companies. The bushy-bearded
old man in his huge black coat and oversized tall hat sat
contentedly on his seat, perhaps thinking of what to say to
the provincial journalists invited by the railway company;
the three-legged old dog sat on his lap, eagerly watching
the trains and locomotives when they reached a station,
and perhaps dreaming of his old life as a proper Travelling
A photograph of Mr Moore. the three-legged Railway Jack, Dog. Their greatest triumph came at the Cowes regatta,
and his saviour Mr Stock the veterinary surgeon, from an old cabinet card.
where Lady Brassey introduced them to Prince and Princess
Edward of Saxe-Weimar. By 1889, Jack could boast three silver presentation collars and a large silver medal. In
October 1890, Railway Jack made his last journey, dying of old age in the arms of Mr Moore.
*****
This is an edited extract from Jan Bondeson’s book Amazing Dogs (Amberley Publishing 2011).
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.

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
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.
William Marshall Craig’s Itinerant Traders

The latest wonder in my ongoing exploration into the innumerable prints of the “Cries of London” published
over the centuries is William Marshall Craig’s Itinerant Traders of London in their Ordinary Costume with Notices
of Remarkable Places given in the Background from 1804. A portrait artist who exhibited at the Royal Academy
between 1788 and 1827, Craig was appointed painter in watercolours to the Queen. This set of prints was
discovered on 15 February at the Bishopsgate Institute, bound into the back of a larger volume of Modern London
published in 1805, and the vibrancy of their pristine colours suggests they have never been exposed to daylight in
two centuries. All images courtesy Bishopsgate Institute.
Hair brooms, hearth brooms, brushes, sieves, bowls, clothes horses

and lines and and almost every article of turnery, are cried in
the streets. Some of these walking turners travel with a cart, by
which they can extend their trade and their profit, but the greater
number carry the shop on their shoulders, and find customers
sufficient to afford them a decent subsistence, the profit on
turnery being considerable and the consumption certain.
Shoreditch Church, standing at the northern extremity of Holywell
Street, commonly called Shoreditch, is a church of peculiar beauty.
It has a portico in front, elevated upon a flight of steps and
enclosed with an iron railing, which is disgraced by a plantation of
poplar trees.

Baking & boiling apples are cried in the streets of the metropolis
from their earliest appearance in sumer throughout the whole winter.
Prodigious quantities of apples are brought to the London markets,
where they are sold by the hundred to the criers, who retail them about
the streets in pennyworths, or at so much per dozen according to their
quality. In winter, the barrow woman usually stations herself at the corner
of a street, and is supplied with a pan of lighted charcoal, over which,
on a plate of tin, she roasts a part of her stock, and disposes of her hot
apples to the labouring men and shivering boys who pass her barrow.
At Stratford Place, on the north side of Oxford Street.
Band boxes. Generally made of pasteboard, and neatly covered with coloured
papers, are of all sizes, and sold at every intermediate price between
sixpence and three shillings. Some made of slight deal, covered like the
others, but in addition to their greater strength having a lock and key, sell
according to their size, from three shillings and sixpence to six shillings each.
The crier of band boxes or his family manufacture them, and these cheap
articles of convenience are only to be bought of the persons who cry them
through the streets.
Bibliotheque d’Education or Tabart’s Juvenile Library is in New Bond Street.
Brick Dust is carried about the metropolis in small sacks on the backs
of asses, and is sold at one penny a quart. As brick dust is scarcely used
in London for any other purpose than that of knife cleaning, the criers
are not numerous, but they are remarkable for their fondness and their
training of bull dogs. This prediliction they have in common with the lamp
lighters of the metropolis.
Portman Square stands in Marylebone. In the middle is an
oval enclosure which is ornamented with clumps of trees,
flowering shrubs and evergreens.

Baskets. Market, fruit, bread, bird, work and many other kinds of baskets,
the inferior rush, the better sort of osier, and some of them neatly coloured
and adorned, are to be bought cheaply of the criers of baskets.
Whitfield’s Tabernacle, north of Finsbury Square, is a large octagon building,
the place of worship belonging to the Calvinistic methodists.
Buy a bill of the play. The doors of the London theatres are surrounded
each night, as soon as they open, with the criers of playbills. These are
mostly women, who also carry baskets of fruit. The titles of the play
and entertainment, and the name and character of every performer for
the night, are found in the bills, which are printed at the expense of the
theatre, and are sold by the hundred to the criers, who retail them at one
penny a bill, unless fruit is bought, when with the sale of half a dozen
oranges, they will present their customer a bill of the play gratis.
Drury Lane Theatre, part of the colonnade fronting to Russell Street,
Covent Garden.
Bellows to mend. The bellows mender carries his tools and apparatus
buckled in a leather bag to his back, and, like the chair mender, exercises
his occupation in any convenient corner of the street. The bellows mender
sometimes professes the trade of the tinker.
Smithfield where the great cattle market of London is held, on which days
it is disagreeable, if not dangerous to pass in the early part of the day on
account of the oxen passing from the market, on whom the drovers sometimes
exercise great cruelty.

Cats’ & dogs’ meat, consisting of horse flesh, bullocks’ livers and tripe
cuttings is carried to every part of the town. The two former are sold by
weight at twopence per pound and the latter tied up in bunches of one
penny each. Although this is the most disagreeable and offensive commodity
cried for sale in London, the occupation seems to be engrossed by women.
It frequently happens in the streets frequented by carriages that, as soon as
one of these purveyors for cats and dogs arrives, she is surrounded by a crowd
of animals, and were she not as severe as vigilant, could scarcely avoid the
depredations of her hungry followers.
Bethlem Hospital stands on the south side of Moorfields. On each side of the
iron gate is a figure, one of melancholy and the other of raging madness.
Chairs to mend. The business of mending chairs is generally conducted

by a family or a partnership. One carries the bundle of rush and collects
old chairs, while the workman seating himself in some convenient corner
on the pavement, exercises his trade. For small repairs they charge from
fourpence to one shilling, and for newly covering a chair from eighteen
pence to half a crown, according to the fineness of the rush required and
the neatness of the workmanship. It is necessary to bargain for price prior
to the delivery of the chairs, or the chair mender will not fail to demand
an exorbitant compensation for his time and labour.
Soho Square, a square enclosure with shrubbery at the centre,
begun in the time of Charles II.
Doormats, of all kinds, rush and rope, from sixpence to four shillings each,
with table mats of various sorts are daily cried through the streets of London.
The equestrian statue in brass of Charles II in Whitehall, cast in 1635 by
Grinling Gibbons, was erected upon its present pedestal in 1678.

Cherries appear in London markets early in June, and shortly afterwards
become sufficiently abundant to be cried by the barrow women in the
streets at sixpence, fourpence, and sometimes as low as threepence per
pound. The May Duke and the White and Black Heart are succeeded by
the Kentish Cherry which is more plentiful and cheaper than the former
kinds and consequently most offered in the streets. Next follows the small
black cherry called the Blackaroon, which is also a profitable commodity
for the barrows. The barrow women undersell the shops by twopence or
threepence per pound but their weights are generally to be questioned,
and this is so notorious an objection that they universally add “full
weight” to the cry of “cherries!”
Entrance to St James’ Palace, its external appearance
does not convey any idea of its magnificence.
Green Hastens! The earliest pea brought to the London market is distinguished
by the name of “Hastens,” it belongs to the dwarf genus and is succeeded by
the Hotspur. This early pea, the real Hastens, is raised in hotbeds and sold in
the markets at the high price of a guinea per quart. The name of Hastens is
however indiscriminately used by all the vendors to all the peas, and the cry
of “Green Hastens!” resounds through every street and alley of London to the
very latest crop of the season. Peas become plentiful and cheap in June, and
are retailed from carts in the streets at tenpence, eightpence, and sixpence
per peck.
Newgate, on the north side of Ludgate Hill is built entirely of stone.
Dust O! One of the most useful, among the numberless regulations that
promote the cleanliness and comfort of the inhabitants of London, is that
which relieves them from the encumbrance of their dust and ashes. Dust carts
ply the streets through the morning in every part of the metropolis. Two men
go with each cart, ringing a large bell and calling “Dust O!” Daily, they empty
the dust bins of all the refuse that is thrown into them. The ashes are sold for
manure, the cinders for fuel and the bones to the burning houses.
New Church in the Strand, contiguous to Somerset House
and dividing the very street in two.

Hot loaves, for the breakfast and tea table, are cried at the hours of eight
and nine in the morning, and from four to six in the afternoon, during the
summer months. These loaves are made of the whitest flour and sold at
one and two a penny. In winter, the crier of hot loaves substitutes muffins
and crumpets, carrying them in the same manner, and in both instances
carrying a little bell as he passes through the streets.
St Martin in the Fields, the design of this portico was taken from
an ancient temple at Nismes in France and is particularly grand and
beautiful.
A Showman – This amusing personage generally draws a crowd about him

in whatever street he fixes his moveable pantomime, as the children who
cannot afford the penny or halfpenny insight into the show box are yet greatly
entertained with his descriptive harangues and the perpetual climbing of the
squirrels in the round wire cage above the box, by whose incessant motion the
row of bells on the top are constantly rung. The show consists of a series of
coloured pictures which the spectator views through a magnifying glass while
the exhibitor rehearses the history and shifts the scenes by the aid of strings.
Hyde Park Corner, this entrance to London is worthy of the grandeur and
extent of the metropolis. On one side of the spacious street of Piccadilly are
lofty and elegant houses and on the other is a fine view of Green Park and
Westminster Abbey.
Hot Spiced Gingerbread, sold in oblong flat cakes of one halfpenny each, very
well made, well baked and kept extremely hot is a very pleasing regale to the
pedestrians of London in cold and gloomy evenings. This cheap luxury is only
to be obtained in winter, and when that dreary season is supplanted by the
long light days of summer, the well-known retailer of Hot Spiced Gingerbread,
portrayed in the plate, takes his stand near the portico of the Pantheon, with
a basket of Banbury and other cakes.
The Pantheon stands on Oxford Street, originally designed for concerts,
it is only used for masquerades in the winter season.

Rhubarb! – The Turk, whose portrait is accurately given in this plate,
has sold Rhubarb in the streets of the metropolis during many years. He
constantly appears in his turban, trousers and mustachios and deals in
no other article. As his drug has been found to be of the most genuine
quality, the sale affords him a comfortable livelihood.
Russell Square is one of the largest in London, broad streets intersect at
its corners and in the middle, which add to its beauty and remove the
general objection to squares by ventilating the air.
Mackerel – More plentiful than any other fish in London, they are brought
from the western coast and afford a livelihood to numbers of men and women
who cry them through the streets every day in the week, not excepting
Sunday. Mackerel boats being allowed by act of Parliament to dispose of their
perishable cargo on Sunday morning, prior to the commencement of divine
service. No other fish partake that privilege.
Billingsgate Market commences at three o’clock in the morning in summer and
four in winter. Salesmen receive the cargo from the boats and announce by a
crier of what kinds they consist. These salesmen have a great commission and
generally make fortunes.
Milk below! – Every day of the year, both morning and afternoon, milk is
carried through each square, each street and alley of the metropolis in
tin pails, suspended from a yoke placed on the shoulders of the crier. Milk
is sold at fourpence per quart or fivepence for the better sort, yet the
advance of price does not ensure its purity for it is generally mixed in a great
proportion with water by the retailers before they leave the milk houses. The
adulteration of the milk added to the wholesale cost leaves an average profit
of cent per cent to the vendors of this useful article. Few retail traders are
exercised with equal gain.
Cavendish Square is in Marylebone. In the centre of the enclosure,
erected on a lofty pedestal is a bronze statue of William Duke of Cumberland,
all very richly gilded and burnished. In the background are two
very elegant houses built by Mr Tufnell.

Matches – The criers are very numerous and among the poorest inhabitants,
subsisting more on the waste meats they receive from the kitchens where
they sell their matches at six bunches per penny, than on the profits arising
from their sale. Old women, crippled men, or a mother followed by three or
four ragged children, and offering their matches for sale are often relieved
when the importunity of the mere beggar is rejected. The elder child of a
poor family, like the boy seen in the plate, are frequent traders in matches
and generally sing a kind of song, and sell and beg alternately.
The Mansion House is a stone building of considerable magnitude standing at
the west end of Cornhill, the residence of the Lord Mayor of London. Lord
Burlington sent down an original design worthy of Palladio, but this was
rejected and the plan of a freeman of the City adopted in its place. The man
was originally a shipwright and the front of his Mansion House has all the
resemblance possible to a deep-laden Indiaman.
A Poor Sweep Sir! – In all the thoroughfares of the metropolis, boys and
women employ themselves in dirty weather in sweeping crossings. The
foot passenger is constantly importuned and frequently rewards the poor
sweep with a halfpenny, which indeed he sometimes deserves for in the
winter after fall of snow if a thaw should come before the scavengers
have had time to remove it, many streets cannot be crossed without being
up to the middle of the leg in dirt. Many of these sweepers who choose
their station with judgement reap a plentiful harvest from their labours.
Blackfriars Bridge crosses the river from Bridge Street to Surrey Street
where this view is taken. The width and loftiness of the arches and the
whole light construction of this bridge is uncommonly pleasing to the eye
and St Paul’s cathedral displays much of the grandeur of its extensive
outline when viewed from Blackfriars Bridge.
Strawberries – Brought fresh gathered to the markets in the height of their

season, both morning and afternoon, they are sold in pottles containing
something less than a quart each. The crier adds one penny to the price of
the strawberries for the pottle which if returned by her customer, she abates.
Great numbers of men and women are employed in crying strawberries during
their season through the streets of London at sixpence per pottle.
Covent Garden Market is entirely appropriated to fruit & vegetables. In the
south side is a range of shops which contain the choicest produce and the most
expensive productions of the hot house. The centre of the market, as shown
in the plate, although less pleasing to the eye is more inviting to the general
class of buyers.

Lavender – “Six bunches a penny, sweet lavender!” is the cry that invites
in the street the purchasers of this cheap and pleasant perfume.
A considerable quantity of the shrub is sold to the middling-classes of the
inhabitants, who are fond of placing lavender among their linen - the
scent of which conquers that of the soap used in washing.
Temple Bar was erected to divide the strand from Fleet St in 1670 after
the Great Fire. On the top of this gate were exhibited the heads of the
unfortunate victims to the justice of their country for the crime of high
treason. The last sad mementos of this kind were the rebels of 1746.
Knives to grind! – The apparatus of a knife grinder is accurately delineated

in this plate. The same wheel turns his grinding and his whetting stone. On a
smaller wheel, projecting beyond the other he trundles his commodious shop
from street to street. He charges for grinding and setting scissors one penny
or twopence per pair, for penknives one penny each and table knives one
shilling and sixpence per dozen, according to the polish that is required.
Whitehall – this beautiful structure stands in Parliament Street, begun in
1619 from a design by Inigo Jones in his purest manner and cost £17,000. The
northern end of the palace, to the left of the plate, is that through which
King Charles stepped onto the scaffold.
Sweep Soot O! – The occupation of chimney sweep begins with break of day.
A master sweep patrols the street for custom attended by two or three
boys, the taller ones carrying the bag of soot, and directing the diminutive
creature who, stripped perfectly naked, ascends and cleans the chimney. The
greatest profit arises from the sake of soot which is used for manure. The
hard condition of the sweep devolves upon the smallest and feeblest of the
children apprenticed from the parish workhouse.
Foundling Hospital, a handsome and commodious building in Guildford Street,
stands at the upper end of a large piece of ground in which the children of the
foundation are allowed to play in fine weather.

Sand O! – Sand is an article of general use in London, principally for
cleaning kitchen utensils. Its greatest consumption is in the outskirts of
the metropolis where the cleanly housewife strews sand plentifully over
the floor to guard her newly scoured boards from dirty footsteps, a carpet
of small expense and easy to be renewed. Sand is sold by measure, red
sand twopence halfpenny and white five farthings per peck. (St Giles’
Church at the west end of Broad St Giles is a very handsome structure.
Over the gate, entering the church yard is fixed a curious bass-relief
representing the Last Judgement and containing a very great number of
figures, set up in the 1686.
New potatoes – About the latter end of June and July, they become
sufficiently plentiful to be cried at a tolerable rate in the streets.
They are sold wholesale in markets by the bushel and retail by the pound.
Three halfpence or a penny per pound is the average price from a barrow.
Middlesex Hospital at the northern end of Berners Street is the county
hospital for diseased persons. It stands in a large court with trees, covered
by a wall in front with two gates, one of which is represented in the plate.
Water Cresses – The crier of water cresses frequently travels seven or eight
miles before the hour of breakfast to gather them fresh. There is a good
supply in the Covent Garden Market brought along with other vegetables
where they are cultivated like other garden stuff, but they are inferior to
those grown in the natural state in a running brook, wanting that pungency of
taste which makes them very wholesome.
Hanover Square is on the south side of Oxford Street, there is a circular
enclosure in the middle with a plain grass plot. In George Street, leading into
the square, is the curious and extensive anatomical museum of Mr Heaviside
the surgeon, to the inspection of which respectable persons are admitted, on
application to Mr Heaviside, once a week.

Slippers – The Turk is a portrait, habited in the costume of his nation, he has
sold Morocco Slippers in the Strand, Cheapside and Cornhill, a great number
of years. To these principal streets, he generally confines his walks. There are
other sellers of slippers, particularly about the Royal Exchange who are very
importunate for custom while the venerable Turk uses no solicitation beyond
showing his slippers. They are sold at one shilling and sixpence per pair and
are of all colours.
Somerset House is a noble structure built by the government for the offices of
public business. The plate shows the west side of the entrance which contains
a gate for carriages and two foot ways. A visit will amply repay the trouble of
a stranger.
Rabbits – The crier of rabbits in the plate is a portrait well known by

persons who frequent the streets at the west end of town. Wild and tame
rabbits are sold from ninepence to eighteen pence each, which is cheaper
than they can be bought in the poulterers’ shops.
Portland Place is an elegant street to the north of Marylebone. From the
opening at the upper end is a fine view of Harrow and the Hampstead and
Highgate Hills, making it one of the airiest situations in town. The houses
being of perfect uniformity and no shops or meaner buildings interrupting
the regularity of the design, it is one of the finest street in London.
THE BOOK OF SPITALFIELDS LIFE. It is my delight to announce that the book of

Spitalfields Life was published by Saltyard Books (an imprint of Hodder & Stoughton)
on March 1st. For over a year, I have been working to bring this mighty four hundred
and fifty page book into existence, and here you will find one hundred and fifty of
your favourite stories, published as a handsome illustrated hardback designed by
distinguished typographer David Pearson.
When I set out to write my daily stories of Spitalfields Life in 2009, I had hardly
written prose before and I did not know where it would lead, but it was my intention
to pursue the notion of recording the stories that nobody else was writing. Although
it was not in my mind that this would become a book, over time many readers wrote
asking for a collection of these stories and then, in the Summer of 2010, several
esteemed publishers came over to Spitalfields to discuss the notion of publication in
print. Buy a copy at spitalfieldslife.com/the-book

Obituary: Lina Romay
Actress, 25 June 1954 – 15 February 2012
An Appreciation by Eduardo Zinna
‘I love the cinema, as an actress, an editor,

a technician and a spectator. They say
I am an exhibitionist. Every actor is one.
I gladly accept that. I’m not a hypocrite.’
Lina Romay
The Lina Romay File: The Intimate Confessions of an Exhibitionist,
Kevin Collins,1-Shot Publications, Madrid, Spain, April 1996.
There is a group of women who have little in common except that they all played real or fictional victims of
Jack the Ripper. Quite a few of them appeared in feature or television films; many more, in obscure theatre
productions. Most of them were English, but some were American or German or Hungarian. Some were blondes,
some brunettes and at least one or two were redheads. They were all, in their various ways, attractive. None
was more beguiling, uninhibited or resilient than Lina Romay, who succumbed to cancer last February at the age
of 57.
Rosa María Almirall was born in Barcelona, Spain, in June 1954. Little is known about her childhood. In her
mid-teens, she was an art student and member of an amateur theatre company which staged Catalan-language
plays. At the time, she was romantically involved with the stills photographer Ramón Ardid. While visiting him on
location in Murcia, in southern Spain, she met Jesús Franco, the wunderkind of Eurotrash, the man of a thousand
pseudonyms, the wholesale purveyor of sleaze cinema. ‘I found her,’ he said years later. ‘She was the thing. The
beauty. When you have the practice I have, when you look through the camera you see whether the face you
have in front of you is telling you something or nothing. Most people tell you nothing. But when you find someone
who tells you something you have to try to go on to uncover what you see.’
Franco offered Rosa María work as an extra in his current production. She accepted, and he took over her
career and, eventually, her life. He started by rechristening her Lina Romay, after a Mexican-American singer
in Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer musicals, and casting her in small parts in films quickly made in various versions for
different markets. Her first featured role, Esmeralda the gypsy in The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein, ended on the
cutting-room floor in all but the Spanish version. But other parts would presently follow. In her first leading role,
she was the iconic Countess Irina Karlstein in La Comtesse Noire (1973), also known as The Female Vampire, The
Loves of Irina, ErotiKill, Les Avaleuses, El ataque de las mujeres vampiros, Un caldo corpo di donna and, for
good reason, The Bare Breasted Countess. As the film opens and the credits roll, eighteen-year-old Lina comes
slowly out of the fog, dressed only in black knickers, a flowing cape and knee-high boots. The camera focuses
closely on her and travels lovingly up and down her body as she walks on. Her progress through the countryside
proceeds unimpeded until a young man happens upon this dark, sultry, scantily clad beauty and asks her, in
an understandably tremulous voice: ‘Can I help you, Miss?’ Indeed he can, though perhaps not in the way he
intended.
But if Franco became Lina’s Svengali, Lina became much more than his Trilby. For the rest of her life, she
would be his muse, lover and collaborator. They made well over a hundred films together, including thrillers,
comedies, horror epics, adventure sagas, sadomasochistic extravaganzas and straight-to-tape-or-DVD pornofests
ranging from soft-core to hard-core. He wrote, directed, scored and produced the films and often took supporting
roles in them. She played prostitutes, nuns, convicts, nymphos, lesbians, vampires and secret agents for Franco
and, in time, worked alongside him as writer, editor and co-director. A self-proclaimed exhibitionist, Lina was
willing to perform every variety of straight or lesbian acts onscreen. When asked how she felt about these roles

Lina Romay as Marika in Franco’s Jack the Ripper
she replied simply that if she had had reservations at all she wouldn’t have played them. Once she revealed her
secret: when she made love with someone else in one of Franco’s films, she didn’t mind, because in her thoughts
she was with him.
During his early years as a filmmaker Franco had made horror
classics like The Awful Dr Orlof and helmed a series of star vehicles
for Christopher Lee, including Count Dracula, The Bloody Judge and
Castle of Fu Manchu. In 1976, Franco wrote and directed a German-
Swiss production of Jack the Ripper. No ostensible effort was made
to adhere to the real history of the Ripper murders and, apart from
some establishing shots of Big Ben, the film was shot entirely in Zurich,
with the cloisters of the Fraumünster standing for Whitechapel alleys
and the old moat, the Schanzengraben, for the Thames. The Ripper,
played by the mercurial, charismatic Klaus Kinski, is a close relative
of similar characters in The Lodger, Man in the Attic and Study in
Scarlet: a psychopathic physician who hates prostitutes because his
mother was a member of the profession. Amid an Austrian, German
and Swiss cast, Lina Romay as one of the victims gets to perform an
energetic dance and sing a bawdy song before being dispatched in
the Botanical Gardens standing, perhaps, for Hyde Park. When the
Scotland Yard Inspector in charge of the investigation fails to catch
the Ripper, his girlfriend disguises herself as a prostitute in order to
lure the murderer. She does, and the police catch him, just in time
to prevent her from being raped, killed and mutilated. When the Inspector asks her why she took such risks, she
replies: ‘I think I love you.’ The words are spoken by Josephine Chaplin, but Franco must have thought of Lina
Romay when he wrote them.
On 23 April 2008, after a relationship lasting nearly forty years, Jesús Franco and Lina Romay were married.
On 2 February 2009, when the old reprobate was awarded an honorary Goya (the Spanish film academy Oscar),
Lina went on stage with him, pushing his wheelchair, adjusting his microphone and listening entranced to his
acceptance speech. It was their last public appearance.

Victorian Fiction
How the Mail Steamer
went down in
Mid Atlantic by a Survivor
By WILLIAM T STEAD
Edited with an Introduction by Eduardo Zinna
INTRODUCTION
Most people are remembered, if they are remembered at all, for one thing they did, or said,
or were. William T Stead did and said and was many things, many of them good and a few not
altogether bad but perhaps ill-advised. Most were memorable.
William Thomas Stead was born at Embleton, Northumberland, on 5 July 1849, the son
of a Congregational minister. He received his first education at home and was barely out
of his teens when he started his career in journalism. In 1871, he was appointed editor of
the Darlington Northern Echo. At 22 years of age, he was the youngest newspaper editor
in the country. In 1880 he went to London to be assistant editor of the Pall Mall Gazette.
Only a few years later, in 1883, he became its editor.
Together with other newspaper editors such as T P O’Connor, Stead became one of
the creators of the ‘New Journalism’. The newspapers they published went beyond the
dry recording and dissemination of news to become bold, committed, entertaining,
scandalous and extremely profitable into the bargain. Stead pioneered the use of the
interview, the special article, the signed contribution and the pictorial illustration and
introduced investigative reporting. A man of strong convictions, he never hesitated to
mobilise public opinion in support of his favourite causes.
In January 1884, Stead interviewed General Gordon for the Gazette. Gordon was critical
W T Stead
of the Prime Minister, Gladstone, who intended to withdraw from the Sudan in the face
of the Mahdi’s uprising. Stead embraced Gordon’s cause so vigorously that the old soldier was sent to Khartoum
to organize the orderly evacuation of soldiers and civilians. But he overstayed his welcome. One year later, the
Mahdi’s followers overran Khartoum and massacred Gordon along with the rest of his troops. Undaunted, Stead
continued to take strong positions in public affairs. In a series of articles in the Gazette, he claimed that Britain
was vulnerable to attack by sea. Such was the public outrage at his assertions that the government increased the
navy estimates by £3.5m.
Next came the event which was at the same time Stead’s finest hour as a journalist and the cause of his
downfall. Catherine Booth, the wife of the founder of the Salvation Army, William Booth, had recruited Stead for
the Purity Campaign, which sought to provide legal protection for children. All efforts to raise the age of consent
from 13 to 16 had failed.
Stead decided to rouse public opinion by proving to everyone’s satisfaction that buying the sexual favours of
a child in London presented no difficulty. Through the Salvation Army’s contacts among ‘fallen women,’ Stead
secured the services of a reformed brothel keeper, a procuress and a pimp who arranged for him to buy thirteen-
year-old Eliza Armstrong for £5 - £3 when her mother accepted the deal and £2 more when her virginity was
confirmed. The relevant evidence obtained, money changed hands and Eliza was taken to a brothel where she was
sedated with chloroform and placed at the disposal of her would-be seducer – in the occurrence, Stead himself. Of
course, he had no intention of taking advantage of the girl. He contented himself with entering the room where

she was with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigar in the other - the very image of an insouciant roué.
In his mind, he had proved his point. Eliza was taken forthwith to a doctor who confirmed that she was still virgo
intacta. From there she went straight to the Salvation Army’s rescue home in Nimes, France.
On 6 July 1885, the Pall Mall Gazette published the first installment of The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon,
where Stead described in lurid language what he claimed was the real sale and rape of a child. Public indignation
rose almost as exponentially as the circulation of the Gazette. A million copies of the four issues carrying the
Maiden Tribute were sold in a week. The new Prime Minister, Salisbury, agreed to raise the age of consent to 16
and the Criminal Law Amendment Act followed presently. Then disaster struck. Little by little the truth about
Eliza Armstrong’s adventure leaked out until Stead was forced to admit his deception. His tribulations, however,
were not over. Everybody involved in the ploy, including the doctor who had confirmed that Eliza’s maidenhood
was undisturbed, were sent for trial at the Old Bailey.
The tide had turned against Stead. He had seen to every detail except obtaining the consent of Eliza’s father
to her purchase. Found guilty of abduction, he was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment, which he spent in
comfortable surroundings at Holloway. For many years afterwards he wore his prison uniform on the anniversary
of his conviction.
Following the Maiden Tribute scandal, Stead left the Pall Mall Gazette and founded the monthly Review of
Reviews and, later, The Daily Paper. He also published inexpensive reprints of literary classics, such as Penny
Poets and Penny Popular Novels, edited a spiritualistic quarterly called Borderland, advocated Esperanto, the
international language, and opposed the Boer War. An enthusiastic supporter of the peace movement, he founded
and edited a weekly paper, War against War, and covered the Hague Peace Conferences of 1899 and 1907. As a
result of his activities, he was repeatedly nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.
In early 1912, Stead was invited to participate in a peace congress to take place in New York on 21 April. On
10 April, he boarded the White Star Line’s ocean liner RMS Titanic at Southampton. After calling at Cherbourg
and Queenstown, the Titanic headed west towards New York. At 11:40 pm on 14 April 1912, one hundred years
ago this month, she hit an iceberg about 375 miles south of
Newfoundland, Canada. Over the next two and a half hours,
she slowly filled with water. Some passengers and crew
members were evacuated in lifeboats, the number of which
proved utterly inadequate. Others were left behind. Just
before 2:20 am, the Titanic broke up in two and sank bow-
first with over a thousand people still on board. Stead was
among the 1,500 dead. His body was not recovered.
There have been many legends about the sinking of the
Titanic and about Stead in particular. Some claimed he spent
his last moments on earth reading a book in the first-class
smoking room. Some, that just before the end he had been
seen on the deck of the sinking ship helping the women and
children into the boats. A man called Philip Mock said that
Stead had fallen into the sea where he clung to a raft with
another survivor. ‘Their feet became frozen,’ recalled Mock,
‘and they were compelled to release their hold. Both were
drowned.’ It has also been said that Stead had foreseen his
fate. In 1892, he had published in the Christmas issue of the
Review of Reviews a story called From the Old World to the
New in which a ship, the Majestic, rescued the survivors of
the Ann and Jane, a ship that had collided with an iceberg.
Even earlier, on 22 March 1886, he had published in the Pall
Mall Gazette the present entry in our Victorian Fiction series.
Whether Stead truly had the gift of prophecy is arguable at
best. But the coda to the short story that follows, Stead’s
The Daily Mirror of 18 April 1912 reports
on the loss of W T Stead in the Titanic sinking caustic Editor’s Note, won’t fail to make you wonder.

How the Mail Steamer went down
in Mid Atlantic by a Survivor
We took in 158 mail bags and 342 passengers at
Queenstown, and there was a good deal of confusion
as the steamer headed away to the west, for we
had shipped 560 passengers in all at Liverpool, and
it was a pretty tight fit in the steerage. I stayed on
deck till after eleven at night.
‘She’s going it,’ I said, by way of opening
conversation. ‘Yes, by the hokey, she’s doing
sixteens now, and if the wind only conies round
she’ll score eighteens like a winking.’
‘It’s rather thick to drive her, isn’t it?’ ‘Thick be
‘Embarking at the gangway, Liverpool.’blowed. We ain’t got to mind that much. We shall
From W T Stead’s From the Old World to the New
slow her down a bit if we blunder into a regular
fog, but she can’t spare a yard. Reckon we shall average seventeens right across.’ Our talk went on till the
curtain of midnight was fairly folded round us, and then I went aft to lend a hand with the log. Sure enough
we were going ‘sixteens,’ and our progress was rather like that of a mackerel than a ship. The enormous
pulse of the engines sent great tremors from stem to
stern, and at every wheeling lash of the propeller the
boat thrust her way through the black mountains that
came down on her, tossing their savage white crests.
In the morning the gale blew harder, and the decks
were almost deserted save by the few seasoned hands
who came up to smoke in the alleys. It was not till the
fourth day we had a fine spell of sunshine, and from the
fore hatch to the spare wheel the deck was crammed
with jostling lines of pale but cheerful people. I did
not much like the appearance of our Liverpool lot. I
had an intermediate ticket, but I wandered among the
steerage company without much interruption until I
happened to stumble against one of the English roughs.
I begged pardon, but the surly fellow said: ‘What be’est
moochin’ round here for? Say, Curly, see this blank
swine majorin’ round’s zif the place b’longed to’m. I’ll
give you my toe, my joker, ‘fore you can say knife if ‘Keeping their feet with difficulty.’
you come that agin!’ I said: ‘I’ve asked your pardon, From W T Stead’s From the Old World to the New
my man, and I assure you it was an accident. As for your toe, I advise you not to try it on. I have a full
allowance of toes and boots.’ He was a fellow with that type of snake head which denotes the fighting
man; his jowl was vast, the point of his jaw was covered by the strained skin which showed how he was
clenching his teeth; and his evil little eyes looked venomous under his rugged, bestial brows. He said:
‘Do you know who I am? I’m Jim Cormick and I’m going out to spar with the Boston Boy.’ I was not much
alarmed, though I saw that his fist would mark me if he got home. His friends came round, and I am bound
to say that they were as unpleasant a lot as you can meet. There was no sign of discipline among the 560
steerage passengers, though it is fair to say that the foreigners behaved admirably. When a vessel hove
up there was a nasty rush to the side where she could be seen, and the women had to get out of the way
as best they could. The officers’ uniforms cowed the most offensive of the rowdies, but I don’t think the

terror was very deep-seated. The after-cabin passengers were a nice lot, and I particularly admired some
of the ladies who came out in their sea rig, and made the deck gay. One Englishman of distinction attracted
me strangely. He had his wife and family with him, and a more beautiful group I never saw. The eldest girl
was a dark beauty about eighteen years of age, and it was a pretty sight to see the father beau-ing her
about. The time went by pleasantly enough with us all, but I did wish that some sort of discipline could
have been established among the more blackguardly males, for their games were senseless and offensive.
On the fifth night out the moon shown beautifully, and we were surrounded by a fireworks of silver. I
could not sleep for the very delight of living, and I walked up and down crooning over old rhymes under the
glad mystery of the night. A sudden freak prompted me to hoist myself up from the alley, and I had a look
at four of the boats. The thole-pins were laid ready, water casks made fast forward, oars lashed handily,
plugs out. I counted the thwarts, and it struck me that the other four boats must be pretty big, for the
four amidships were certainly small enough. At the finish I calculated that, by loading all the eight boats
down to the water’s edge and packing the children along the bottom boards, we might accommodate 390
people. We were carrying 916 altogether.
The next morning at three o’clock I felt restless;
so I came up, and found that we were lungeing
over a long, true sea, that moved in grey hillocks
under a thick haze. It was not really a fog, but
it was puzzling. The look-out man sang shrilly,
‘Vessel away on the starboard bow, sir.’ ‘All right.’
We steamed on, and I watched the looming ship.
‘Shows his green, sir!’ ‘All right.’ A minute after
the boatswain ran swiftly aft, and said softly to the
officer on the bridge: ‘He’s going about, sir. D—d if
‘The Tender on its way to the Majestic.’ I know what he wants to do.’ We lost sight of the
From W T Stead’s From the Old World to the New vessel’s green just as we cleared the big bank of
haze, and then I saw that a big barque was standing right across our bows. I glanced at the mate, and saw
him compress his lips; then I saw that we were edging away to port, and I knew that our man was going
to shoot across the barque’s bows. Distances are so deceptive that I still had no thought of nervousness
till the barque suddenly shook out her square mainsail and came surging away till we saw her red light.
What could one make of this? The officer yelled of a sudden, with an oath, ‘Starboard, for Christ’s sake,
starboard!’ and then, as if by magic, the cloud of canvas seemed to overtop us. I saw the officer hanging
to the rail, and as I jumped on the hatches I noticed, with forlorn curiosity, that his knuckles were white.
I heard a long scrunch, and then the barque bounded back a few yards, while the steamer trailed on; she
came slowly into us again, and I heard her bows crashing, for she had dashed clean against the bulks of the
stokehole. One shrill scream came shuddering up from the cabin—only one—then a murmur, then a hoarse
burst of yelling; then a man came up and cried, ‘Oh, my God!’ and then, in a wild, remorseless, ferocious
crowd, the steerage men trampled up, struggling, tearing each other’s clothes, cursing, praying. Some of
the women battered and screamed as they tried to force the bolts of their door; then the whole crowd
broke clear, and soon they were clinging to the men, praying, jabbering with notes of horrible pathos all
kinds of incoherences. I ran aft, and saw the barque waver, lurch, and then sink.
I remember now observing how her masts quivered, and I heard a report like that of a heavy cannon as
her hatches were thrust up by the air. A green and white mountain gleamed in the grey of the dawn, and
then the ship was no more seen. The ladies from the cabin were mostly in their nightdresses, and the men
also had taken no time to dress. I saw white, drawn faces, and I noticed particularly my English gentleman
and his daughter. She was hanging to his arm, and I thought she was shaking convulsively, but she kept
her lips tight, and only the deadly stare of her eyes flashing from the pallor of her writhing face told of
her trouble. The captain rushed forward, buckling his belt as he came. He was in his shirt sleeves, and I
saw the butt of a Derringer peeping from his Yankee pocket behind him. From below there came a queer

sucking sound, with an occasional long gurgle, and I saw that the vessel seemed to ‘hang’ as the seas met
her. The second officer, who was a smart man, had passed a spare sail over the side, and I knew he wanted
to reeve it under her, but he might just as well have tried to stop the middle arch of London Bridge. The
engines were still kept going, but the deck slanted, slanted steadily, and the list to starboard reached an
angle that made it difficult to stand at all, especially as the uneasy, staggering lunges of the steamer were
taking her anyhow. An awkward rush of men swayed forward; the boxer and his gang made a desperate
attempt to get one of the boats clear; cursing and praying, they hacked at the tackles with knives; some of
them swarmed up, and stood on the thwarts tearing savagely at the chains; but the boats were made fast
to stand heavy weather, and only skilled sailors could launch them. A loud crack, followed by a wallowing
noise like thunder, rendered all other sounds insignificant, and a captain who was going out to New York
said; ‘The bulkhead’s gone. We must take our chance now.’ The ship stopped nearly dead, and began to
tremble curiously, but that was only the river of water pouring aft, and we soon saw the firemen driven up
like rats from a burrow. ‘Stand by the boats!’
The order was given, and the boatswain’s call rose in a long,
tremulous screech. The sailors tried to get to their quarters, and I
observed that their occasional drills had done them good. But then
the drills had been carried on while the passengers stood aloof, so
that the sailors were used to having their own way. At this juncture
there was a maddened host of cowardly men and hysterical women to
be dealt with. I forced my way forward toward one of the starboard
boats, and as I thrust my way through the crush, an Irishwoman clung
to me with one arm, while she held up a shivering baby with the
other. The woman was nearly naked, but she never heeded the cold.
‘Mother of God,’ she cried, ‘take my little one, and make sure of
him.’ I shook her off and pushed on. A terrified navvy sought to keep
me back, and he scratched at my face like a cat; but I reached the
davits. The men had the boat swung round, and the carpenter was
about to let her run, when a mixed mob of English and foreigners
took possession, and in an instant the little craft was packed with
a weltering heap of men who had quite lost their senses. I saw the
captain leave the bridge with a flying spring, and I saw also the gleam
of the pistol barrels; then I heard on the starboard side the rapid
‘Smash, smash’ of a revolver-shot, and the captain shouted, ‘You hear
‘The Captain of the Majestic.’
what they’re getting on the other side! Out of it, or I take you one From W T Stead’s
after the other.’ The sailors were fighting hard, but the men in the From the Old World to the New
boat fought also with the oars and boathooks; one seaman had his head split; another received a wound
from a boathook which took his cheek away in one nasty flap.
Still the ruffians did not know how to lower away, and one of them began to lash at the forward fall
with an axe. ‘Come down, you sir.’ ‘You be d—d.’ Crack! The man flung up his arms, dropped his axe, and
fell headlong into the sea. ‘Now down with you,’ said the captain, livid and half-blind with fury. But no. A
furious fool succeeded in letting the boat go by the head and the whole crowd of poltroons were dumped
into the swashing sea, where they gasped and struggled till the last two men throttled each other and
rolled under. One of the starboard boats was successfully launched, and the chief officer stood, revolver
in hand. ‘Women first here. Thompson, you will steer her. Take four men, and no more. The young English
lady was lowered down, although she clung hard to her father and begged him to let her stay. ‘No,
darling, good-bye. Be happy!’ he said, and then stood composedly amid the hurly-burly. A pretty actress
and two Irish women were next sent down; then four children were put in, and then the sailors sprang
over the side and prepared to help others. An Irishman shouted, ‘Now, boys!’ His voice seemed to send an
impulse through the crowd, and the roughs tore themselves away from the women, and flung themselves
recklessly—some into the boat, some into the water. The officer fired two barrels and missed each time; a
sailor shoved off, and we saw an overladen boat lumber heavily away astern.

All this scene of horror took place in less
than two minutes, and the ship settled more
and more every second. The prize fighter and
his gang were not successful in their attempt
to steal the boat forward. The purser and the
steward armed themselves with firemen’s rods
and beat the fellows down; then the baker—a
quick young lad, who had learned his business
as a seaman in addition to his trade—let the
boat slip, and four gallant men withstood the
ferocious rowdies until eighteen women had
been pitched over the side and carelessly
lowered. A seaman took the tiller, four stokers,
the purser, and the baker jumped in at the last
moment, and this second boat went adrift.
Meanwhile the captain had reloaded—alas!
what a pity he only had two barrels— and a
third and fourth boat went off with half their
proper complement. Another boatload might
have escaped, but six men sprang from the port
side, and actually stove the cutter in. At last,
only one light boat remained, and still there ‘The passengers cheered as they rowed away.’
were over 700 of us jammed in the narrow From W T Stead’s From the Old World to the New
space left by the awful list. The captain had dropped his hands; he could do no more. The third mate took
a handspike and went smashing among the men who were wrestling around our last hope. One sailor said,
‘We’ve stood it long enough, Tom. Let’s have our turn.’ And he, with three sturdy Swedes, managed to
get at the davits. They were just in time, for the steamer began to sway as they floated, and they flung
themselves into the water. Then I was left with a great multitude, whose agonized clamour stunned me. I
felt a mighty, convulsive movement; then the sea seemed to flash down on me in one mass, as if the wall
of water fell from a high crag. Then I heard a humming noise in my ears, and with a gasp I was up amid a
blackened, wriggling sheet of drowning creatures. A boat came past me, and I struck out lustily. I raised
myself to the gunwale. ‘Shall I hit his fingers,’ said a man. ‘No, let him come,’ and then I was laid, sick and
dizzy, on the bottom boards of a crowded boat. You know that we were picked up after a nasty time, and
I am at home minus my kit.
[NOTE: This is exactly what might take place and what will take place if the liners are sent to sea short
of boats. ED.]
IN MEMORIAM: BRAM STOKER

(8 November 1847 – 20 April 1912)
In the year 1912, April was indeed the cruellest month. On the 15th, the Titanic sank with most of its
passengers and crew. On the 20th, Abraham ‘Bram’ Stoker died. Stoker, who spent most of his working life
as the manager of the celebrated actor Henry Irving’s theatre company, achieved long-lasting fame through
the creation of a character that proved to be, in more senses than one, immortal: Dracula. Much has been
written about the eponymous novel, which various scholars assert was partly inspired by the Whitechapel
murders and its anonymous author. Stoker’s works include 12 novels, three short-story collections, several
uncollected stories, The Duties of Clerks of Petty Sessions in Ireland, Personal Reminiscences of Henry
Irving and Famous Impostors. We will be back in the next issue of Ripperologist with an appreciation of
Stoker and one of his short stories in our Victorian Fiction series.

Dear Rip
Your Letters and Comments
Dear Rip,
Ripperologist 123: The Last Gunfight
In Ripperologist 123 (December 2011), Paul Begg, in reviewing Jeff Guinn’s book The Last Gunfight: The Real Story
of the Shootout at the OK Corral, remarked that American bookstores must have shelves devoted to their own history
with as many books about the Old West as British stores have about Victorian Britain. Indeed they do! My own interest in
the gunfighters/outlaws/lawmen of the Old West actually pre-dates my interest in Jack the Ripper by about five years. I
can claim an interest in gunfighter history from about the age of 8 (in 1954) and the Ripper from 1959 after seeing Daniel
Farson’s television documentary. I became seriously ‘hooked’ in 1965 with the publication of the Cullen and Odell books.
I have about 800 books on Western history in my library: 84 on Billy the Kid and the Lincoln County War; 114 on Wyatt
Earp and the Tombstone events; and 66 on T E Lawrence. I have ‘just’ 162 Jack the Ripper and East End titles! Readers
may not be aware that the two leading authorities on two Old West icons - Billy the Kid and ‘Wild Bill’ Hickok - are
English, and both wrote their first book on their subjects before ever visiting the USA, completely researching their
books from this side of the pond. Frederick W Nolan of Chalfont St Giles is recognised as the leading authority on Billy
the Kid, while Joseph G Rosa of Ruislip wrote the definitive biography of ‘Wild Bill’ Hickok in 1964 (revised in 1974) with
help and encouragement from Hickok’s niece, Ethel Hickok, who supplied letters written by her Uncle James (James
Butler Hickok aka “Wild Bill”).
Wyatt Earp allegedly had a hand in arresting the Texas gunfighter Ben Thompson in Ellsworth, Kansas, in 1873.
Thompson (1843-1884) was a native of Knottingley, Yorkshire, and was a famed man-killer and also Marshall of Austin,
Texas. The Yorkshire Evening Post of Saturday, 20 January 2001 made claims that linked Thompson to Jack the Ripper,
alleging that the killer known as the Midnight Assassin who killed 7 women and 1 man in Austin between 30 December
1884 and 24 December 1885 may have been known to Ben Thompson when he was City Marshall at Austin, and was
therefore too afraid to kill while Thompson was alive. The Midnight Assassin murders began 9 months after Thompson
was assassinated at San Antonio on 11 March 1884.
Texan writer Allan McCormack was to publish a book, The Midnight Assassin, about the Austin killings. Details can be
found on the Knottingley and Fordingbridge Online website at www.knottingley.org/history/jtripper.htm. McCormack
apparently says that “one of the theories police in England worked on was that the Midnight Assassin then moved to
London and murdered as Jack the Ripper in 1888 before returning to the US.”
The Knottingley and Fordingbridge Online website mentions Mr McCormack’s website where press releases regarding
the killings in Austin are reviewed, and mention the forthcoming book. I couldn’t locate the website, and I am not aware
if this book has yet been published. Perhaps other readers of the Rip know about this book?
Sincerely,
Ray Luff
Dear Ray,
Allan MCormack’s book is a new one on us, although we note that Shirley Harrison discusses the possibility of James
Maybrick being the Midnight Assassin in Jack the Ripper: The American Connection.
Rip

I Beg To Report
Prime Suspect:
Jack the Ripper
By MIKE COVELL
On 7 March 2012, the Yesterday television channel broadcast an hour-long documentary on the
Ripper featuring research conducted in Australia and the UK. The Rip’s Mike Covell was consulted,
and here reveals how the programme came into being.
Pre-production
During the month of July 2010 I was busy reading and responding to messages that were posted on my Ripper Casebook
Blog. The blog gets quite a few messages, many of which ask for private responses. As such I usually take time out to
reply to everyone that asks for help. These range from historians, people tracing their family trees, students, teachers,
and the occasional media representative. It was during this session that I came across a message from an Australia-
based television production company named Prospero Productions. To be honest, I had not heard of the company and
began to Google them to ascertain who they were and whether they were genuine. I have, in the past, been asked to
proofread scripts for non-existent companies wanting to make low budget indie movies but rather than ask direct they
have made up elaborate stories regarding their productions. After Googling Prospero Productions I was satisfied they
were genuine and on 11 July 2010 I made contact. The following morning I received a lovely reply from a representative
of the company based in Australia asking for a chat via telephone. What followed was a series of telephone, email and
Skype exchanges. The team would ask certain questions about Deeming and I would fill in the blanks or point them in the
right direction. This phase of production went on until 6 November 2010, when I would meet with Executive Producer
and Producer Julia Redwood and Ed Punchard, who were in the UK for a film/documentary festival. The duo visited me
at my home in Kingston-upon-Hull, and it was here that I was able to show them dozens of files of primary sources on
Frederick Bailey Deeming. Many of these files have never been published nor have they been alluded to in any published
work on Deeming, so the material was new and fresh - at least for a 120-year-old document. After this meeting the
emails, telephone calls and Skype chats with researcher Eliot Buchan became more and more regular. Eliot is a fantastic
guy and really knows his stuff on both Deeming and the Ripper case, so it was nice to be challenged with questions and
theories from someone who had obviously done their homework and was aware of the pitfalls and perils of researching
Frederick Bailey Deeming. Eventually a date of May 2011 was set for filming with the team in Britain. They would make
it up to Hull on 24 May, 119 years and 1 day after Deeming had been hanged for the Melbourne murder.

Filming
Location: My House
Over the years my house has seen visits from the local
media, with BBC Look North filming me at my computer
once, and the Hull Daily Mail taking photos of me and
my computer on several occasions. This occasion would
be somewhat different. When the team arrived, it was
bedlam on my street. People passing by stopped to
watch, and neighbours were looking out of windows at
the developing scene. The director, Franco Di Chiera,
wanted me to meet Robin Napper for the first time on
film on my doorstep. I wasn’t ready for the number of
cameras, both film and still, which would be pointed at
me. It was an experience I will not forget. Franco was
a really nice guy and knew exactly what he wanted and
how he wanted it filmed. It was inspiring to watch the
creative process and see how it would come together. The day was warm and sunny, but a strong wind prevailed making
external shooting difficult. The team shot and photographed my meeting with Robin Napper, who was a lovely gentleman
and also well versed on the case, as well as serial murder and cold cases.
Location: Hull Prison

The next port of call would be a visit to Hull Gaol, the building that housed Frederick Bailey Deeming for nine months
between 1890 and 1891. The Gaol has an old imposing front gate that dates back to the creation of the Gaol and this
seemed like a great spot to film. Attempts had been made for months to secure filming inside the Gaol, but all efforts
failed and the team settled for an external shoot instead. The Gaol itself stands approximately 1.9 miles away from my
house so I took the crew past the birthplace, around the corner from my house, of movie mogul Joseph Arthur Rank,
who was born in Hull in December 1888. The route also took us along Southcoates Lane where the family of Mary Jane
Langley had resided before her untimely death. As the Gaol stands immediately next to a dual carriageway, shooting
would be noisy and the wind seemed to pick up as there is only a short distance between the Gaol and the local docks.
Luckily, within an hour we had got everything that was needed so we packed up and moved back to the relative warmth
of my house.
Location: My House
On arrival, the next phase of shooting was set up. Lights were set up, film and photographic cameras, microphones, and
a large boom fitted into the living room. At this point my wife decided to vanish into the kitchen to avoid the commotion.
The first thing the crew noticed was the Ripper book collection, and when I showed them the photograph of Deeming
that was taken for the Hull Police a collective sigh was heard around the room. I was filmed discussing Deeming with
Robin Napper and we sat and talked about Mary Jane Langley, Deeming’s time in Beverley, Hull and Rainhill. I showed
the team various documents that I have uncovered at various archival centres and it was nice to see them reading them
and taking in the information that was on show.
The next set up involved me in the back room of my house with my filing cabinets. It was a simple shot of me walking,
no talking, and it worked out really well. Afterwards the equipment was packed away whilst some of the crew looked
at my son’s collection of model Spitfires! At that point my children arrived from a visit to their grandparents and they
sat talking to the film crew. It was really surreal seeing the children talking with these guys that had travelled across
the globe.

Location: Hull City Centre
At this point, Franco Di Chiera
mentioned that they had seen several
possible locations in the town centre
on the way over to my house and
asked if we could film there while the
light was still good. We took the 1.8
mile journey in two cars into the town
centre and parked up on the oddly-
named Land of Green Ginger, near
the George Hotel, home of England’s
smallest window. The crew were taking
photos of some of the older buildings
and I showed them the bank that
Deeming defrauded and the former
site of Reynoldson’s Jewellers. Whitefriargate is quite a busy thoroughfare so it was decided to film somewhere quieter.
At this point I took the team a little further down to Posterngate, a street that runs parallel to Whitefriargate, and that
has plenty of Georgian and Victorian properties to form a backdrop. We filmed several passes but decided again to find
somewhere much quieter. At this point I mentioned Prince Street which runs parallel to Posterngate, is much quieter,
and has some fantastic Georgian properties that are now under a protection order. The street also bends, so that when
you are walking along the old stone setts the backdrop changes from a Victorian arch to these wonderful houses. We
walked up and down for several passes and ended filming a little after teatime and the crew decided to partake in the
local ale. I took them to the nearest public house, The Kingston, which sits on the northern side of Hull’s Holy Trinity
Church. We sat outside in the sun and had several drinks before the team took me home then made their way to their
hotel before heading up west to Rainhill near Liverpool.
Post Filming
Weeks after the team returned to Australia, I came across several files locally that had remained undiscovered since
1891. These files showed Deeming’s time in Hull, Hull Prison, and what the authorities in London thought of Deeming.
They were sadly discovered too late for filming which is a shame as they would have given a clearer picture on Deeming’s
time in Hull.
Script
On 21 September 2011, Susie Cocks from Prospero Productions contacted me with a view to proofreading the script,
to which I agreed, with several examples sent to me later that day. The format was similar to ones that I had used
before, so I agreed to help. The following day, 22 September 2011, the first script arrived via email. I downloaded it
and read it aloud several times before making my comments in red. There followed a number of emails and Skype calls
but eventually, after a couple of days and a number of revisions, the final script was produced and handed back to the
company on 29 September 2011.
Press Pack
One of the tasks asked of me was to write a brief outline of Frederick Bailey Deeming’s career, based only on primary
sources, for the press packs that would be sent out to newspapers and magazines. For this, I was sent all the material
from the Australian trial, to add to the case files I had from the Hull trial and Home Office investigations as well as the
Hull watch minutes. I was also asked to write an introduction to the case and my own bio which was sent on 17 October
2011 along with my picture that would be included in the press packs.

Run Up to the Show
As soon as the advertisement hit the UK I was bombarded with emails and messages via social networking sites Facebook
and Twitter. It was announced that Yesterday TV was to show the documentary and that it would be televised within
the week of the first advertisement showing. The website for Yesterday TV had a brief blurb, a picture of Robin Napper
outside New Scotland Yard, and the advertisement.
The response struck me as several people began posting that the show would air and that I would be taking part.
This was really nice and it was lovely to see that the people in Hull were behind the show. I was invited on BBC Radio
Humberside and interviewed by The Hull Daily Mail for shows and articles respectively.
Several local history sites started running little campaigns to attract viewers and both the Hull History Centre and Hull
Heritage Centre were telling people with similar interests to watch the show.
Broadcast and Feedback

The show was watched by almost all my street, with neighbours and family members watching their sets at home. At 17
minutes past 9 o’clock, when I first appear on screen, you could hear a cheer from partially open windows. The footage
which was shown included the frontage of Hull Prison, Robin and I walking towards the prison, and the two of us outside
the prison talking. Other shots included a shot of me and Robin in my living room, a shot of me and Robin walking from
camera on Prince Street, and a shot of me and Robin walking towards camera on Prince Street.
During the show I turned my mobile phone on silent and left it downstairs overnight. The following morning I had 300
messages from Twitter, Facebook, and Hotmail from people who had viewed the show. The feedback was very positive
and many people mentioned the segment I had appeared in. That morning, as I was taking the children to school, a lady
stopped me and informed me she had seen me on TV! Since then I have been stopped in the street, appeared on Seaside
Radio, and had staff from the Hull History Centre discuss the show with me. I was also contacted by a member of Hull
City Council who informed me of his interest in the show, and the field as a whole. To date I am still getting messages via
Facebook, Twitter, Hotmail, my blog, Hedon blog, and through both the Hull History Centre and Hull Heritage Centre.
I was even stopped in Hull City Centre recently by a group of lovely elderly ladies who told me that they had always
thought that Michael Caine was right! I guess we will never know!

I Beg To Report
NEWS ROUNDUP
THE MAN WHO WOULD BE JACK. Sam Carter, Editorial Director at Biteback Publishing, has bought the English rights
to The Man Who Would be Jack from the Andrew Lownie Agency. The book is written by David Bullock, an actor who
appeared in the BBC series Friends and Crocodiles and who now works for Thames Valley Police, and who has been
researching the subject for 15 years. He believes that Jack the Ripper is... Thomas Cutbush! The press blurb gets a
little carried away, as they usually do, claiming: that Cutbush “was sent to Broadmoor for similar crimes” to the Ripper,
which, even assuming he committed the crimes attributed to him, isn’t true; that the murders ceased after he died
in 1903, which isn’t right either; and that Bullock is “the first person to have been granted access to the Broadmoor
files”, which as far as we are aware isn’t the case. Richard Jones and Paul Begg were. But that’s all small beer. Bullock
promises to tell us about the cover up to prevent the identity of the Ripper being revealed and why, and we hope he’ll
answer some questions about Cutbush. In any events, a book detailing the life and times of Thomas Cutbush has long
been needed, so this is a book to look forward to.
andrewlownie.co.uk/authors/david-bullock/books/the-man-who-would-be-jack
‘DORSET STREET’ DEMOLITION

DETERRED. Campaigners fighting
regeneration plans which
would result in the demolition
of The London Fruit and Wool
Exchange, the White’s Row car
park, Barclays bank and the Gun
pub on Brushfield Street were
celebrating on 6 March when
Tower Hamlets Council turned
down planning proposals by
property developers Exemplar.
Exemplar’s proposed office and retail building, with Spitalfields Market to the right of Brushfield Street
The planned scheme, a 300,000
sq ft office and retail development would have seen the former site of Dorset Street covered completely. Although
Exemplar’s plans show a desire to retain the existing frontage of the London Fruit and Wool Exchange, campaigners
objected to the demolition of the 1929-built building, once Britain’s largest auction room and a shelter during the
Blitz, and the appearance of the new building. Exemplar were awarded the regeneration contract in 2010 by the City
of London Corporation. Their Development Director, Maxwell Shand, said the decision was “disappointing,” adding: “If
we need to change the design or the mix of the development then we will do that.” The campaign was launched by the
Spitalfields Community Group, with an online petition attracting over 400 signatures.
Petition slams “ugly” rebuild of historic building
Alice Yehia, Tower Hamlets News, 28 February 2012
www.eastlondonlines.co.uk/2012/02/council-to-seal-ripper-streets-fate
Spitalfields’ historic wool exchange saved,
Mark Blunden, thisislondon.co.uk, 8 March 2012
www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/london/spitalfields-historic-wool-exchange-saved-7545205.html

JACK IN TIGHTS. While Ripperologist’s social calendar is filled with visits to Ripper-related plays and conferences, we
don’t normally spend an evening at the ballet, preferring to leave that to Mrs Ripperologist. Our interest was roused
recently, however, by news of a new ballet to be staged at the Royal Opera House featuring Walter Sickert and the
Whitechapel Murderer. World-reknowned choreographer Liam Scarlett spent two years researching Sickert’s life and
developing the ballet, Sweet Violets, around the darker side of the painter’s personality. The 50-minute work is set in
late Victorian London, and is constructed as a series of scenes or ‘canvasses’ with Sickert and “Jack”, appearing as a
dark alter-ego, narrating. “The whole Ripper issue has hung over Sickert like a curse.” says Scarlett. “Spinning stories
about the Ripper was one of Sickert’s party tricks. It went with his need to be noticed, to appear avant-garde and
mysterious.” The ballet begins with the Camden Town murder, followed by a scene depicting Sickert, Robert Wood and a
female model in the former’s studio, recreating the murder. Jack the Ripper appears in the second half, within elements
of the Prince Eddy/Annie Crook story. Scarlett realises that the Whitechapel murders isn’t typical subject matter for the
Royal Opera House, and is quick to dispel possible accusations of glamourising violence: “If the audience are voyeurs,
they are voyeurs of Sickert’s imagination. They are spying on his thoughts. It should be a very uneasy journey.” Which
leaves Ripperologist with just one question: where will Jack hide his knife? The ballet opened at the Royal Opera House
in Covent Garden, 5 April 2012, to a two-star review from the Financial Times, while The Observer of 15 April reported
“Sweet Violets may be flawed but it captures the spirit of its era.” A 30-minute feature on Sweet Violets can be viewed
at www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3vHgPUGN1Y.
Walter Sickert and the Dance of Death
Judith Mackrell, The Guardian, London, UK, 17 March 2012
www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2012/mar/19/walter-sickert-dance-of-death?newsfeed=true
IT’S GRIM UP NORTH. Feathers were ruffled recently when Yorkshire Ripper Peter Sutcliffe
appeared as part of the group of famous Yorkshire people on a t-shirt titled ‘T’Only Way Is
Yorkshire’, marketed by Totally Original T-Shirts presumably to cash in the current popularity
of TV show The Only Way Is Essex. The inclusion of Sutcliffe alongside the likes of former
Prime Minister Harold Wilson, cricketer Geoffrey Boycott and The Avengers’ Emma Peel
was condemned by Bradford Councillor David Green, who called the garment “thoughtless,
tasteless and the most disgusting, exploitative piece of clothing I have ever heard of. To
make money out of something like this is outrageous. I would suggest this company needs
to re-think its design and withdraw it from sale until Peter Sutcliffe is removed.” Richard
McCann, son of Sutcliffe’s first victim Wilma McCann, told the Bradford Telegraph & Argus
that he’d asked his network to email the company requesting the withdrawal of the t-shirt.
“I’ve had over 100 e-mails that I’ve been copied into from as far and wide as India and Africa. I think my comments and
the obvious outrage from the public have pricked [Totally Originally T-Shirts’] conscience and [they’ve] done the right
thing.” Whether Kenyan locals complained after seeing the Rip’s Eduardo Zinna parading in one of the shirts is unknown
at this point, but Totally Original T-Shirts commented: “You grumbled, we listened – no more Ripper.” The redesigned
garment featured actor Brian Blessed in place of Sutcliffe, but this move caused yet more trouble, as Blessed’s agent
said: “Brian is horrified. We have not been approached or asked for permission to use his image on this T-shirt. He would
not want to be associated with anything that has had anything to do with the Yorkshire Ripper. We will be asking that
the T-shirt is withdrawn immediately.” Luckily, novelty merchandise has yet to taint the Jack the Ripper field. Ahem.
‘Yorkshire Ripper’ T-shirt design sparks outrage in district.
Bradford Telegraph and Argus, 13 February 2012
www.thetelegraphandargus.co.uk/news/9526375._Yorkshire_Ripper__T_shirt_design_sparks_outrage_in_district
Brian Blessed joins controversy over Ripper T-shirt.
Kathie Griffiths, Bradford Telegraph and Argus, 4 March 2012
www.thetelegraphandargus.co.uk/news/9568561.Brian_Blessed_joins_controversy_over_Ripper_T_shirt
OLYMPIC TORCH ROUTE THROUGH EAST END REVEALED. With the London Olympics scheduled to open on 27 July,
organisers have released the route which the torch will take through the capital. While keen athlete Mrs Ripperologist
was turned down as an official torchbearer, whoever does carry the flame through the East End will do so on Saturday
21 July. Departing Greenwich Park at 07.21, the torch will arrive at Mile End Road at 13.50, then via Sidney Street,
Whitechapel Road, Osborn Street, Wentworth Street and Commercial Street before passing through Shoreditch High
Street at 15.54. Be sure to arrive early, and don’t forget to purchase your souvenir jellied eels.

HAMMER FILMS PICKS UP RIGHTS TO NEW RIPPER MOVIE. No sooner had
we enjoyed a romantic Valentine’s night out at the movies with Mrs
Ripperologist watching Hammer Films’ The Woman in Black than we
read news of the studio landing a new project featuring the Whitechapel
murderer. Gaslight, by Ian Fried, appeared on Hollywood’s 2011 Black
List, which features the top unproduced screenplays. The script,
described as “From Hell meets The Silence of the Lambs”, features Jack
the Ripper being secretly held in a lunatic asylum and asked by Scotland
Yard to help solve a series of murders in which victims are linked by
wounds in the form of dual puncture wounds. The film will be produced
by Guy East and Nigel Sinclair along with Hammer CEO Simon Oakes.
The Woman in Black, starring Harry Potter’s Daniel Radcliffe, enjoyed
the most successful opening for a film from the famous horror studio in
the UK, grossing £15 million in its opening three weeks. The mention of ‘dual puncture wounds’ has led to speculation
that vampires will feature heavily, a return to Hammer’s heyday of the 1960s. If Gaslight features Ian Holm battling
Christopher Lee we’ll be very happy indeed.
Hammer picks up Jack the Ripper project ‘Gaslight’.
Mark Langshaw, Digital Spy, 9 February 2012.
www.digitalspy.co.uk/movies/news/a364673/hammer-picks-up-jack-the-ripper-project-gaslight.html
‘Woman in Black’ Producer Targets Scary Script ‘Gaslight’.
Borys Kit, Hollywood Reporter, 8 February 2012.
www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/woman-black-producer-gaslight-288005
ARTWORK FOR CANCELLED RIPPER VIDEO GAME EMERGES. Good and bad
news for true crime gaming addicts. First the bad news: EA Games’ proposed
The Ripper, of which we broke news back in Ripperologist 108, has been
shelved. The good news is that the designer who produced concept art for
the title, Joey Spiotto, has decided to post sketches which enables us to
see how the game might have looked. As with Hammer’s Gaslight movie,
the game was to have featured Jack as a vampire hunter.
Meanwhile, news has also filtered through of another cancelled game,

Gotham by Gaslight, which was to have featured Batman hunting the
Ripper. It was to have been based on the 1989 graphic novel of the same
Art from the aborted Jack the Ripper game
name. A prototype animation video has now been leaked on the internet.
While we don’t see Jack in the short clip, the sight of Batman patrolling Victorian London is exciting enough. But, while
we recognise that video games are big business, we hope that’s where the use of the Ripper ends. What next? Jack being
chased by H Division coppers led by Sonic the Hedgehog and Super Mario?
Is This Concept Art From EA’s Jack The Ripper Game?
Spencer, siliconera.com, 23 February 2012
www.siliconera.com/2012/02/23/is-this-concept-art-from-eas-jack-the-ripper-game
Steampunk Batman Gameplay Video Leaked
Pete Haas, Cinema Blend, 27 February 2012
www.cinemablend.com/games/Steampunk-Batman-Gameplay-Video-Leaked-39940.html
AND FINALLY, SPORTS NEWS. Ripperologist’s favourite boxer, Badou Jack “The Ripper”, continued his impressive start
to a professional career by defeating Grover Young at BB Kings Blues Club & Grill in Midtown Manhattan on 7 March
2012. We’ll be following the progress of the 28-year-old “Ripper”, who now has 10 wins (8 KOs) and no defeats. His next
bout is set for 11 May. Co-promoter Leon Margules claims Jack is on schedule for an eventual world title fight at super
middleweight level.
Badou Jack The Ripper staying busy and racking up wins.
ProBoxing-fans.coms, 12 March 2012
www.proboxing-fans.com/badou-jack-the-ripper-staying-busy-and-racking-up-wins_031212

RIPPING YARNS
Reviews
JA
CK ER
THE RIPP
This book argues that Jack the Ripper was the wife of Sir John Williams: the same Sir John
Williams who was advanced as a suspect in Tony Williams’s awful Uncle Jack. Although James
Morris, a solicitor working for the Carlyle Institute in Dublin, dismisses Tony Williams’s theory, albeit
apparently unaware of Uncle Jack’s many and memorable deficiencies, his case for Lizzie Williams
is no better. Basically, the author and his father concluded that Jack the Ripper was a woman and
settled on Mary Elizabeth Ann Williams, although for no good reason that I can now recall other than
suggesting that she killed as a reaction to her husband’s infidelity.
What one might find remarkable about this book is that James Morris is utterly undiscerning
when choosing his sources, which is somewhat surprising given his profession. He also makes a
few howlers here and there, which initially caused me to wonder if this book was some sort of
spoof. It begins with the four authors who most influenced
Jack the Ripper: Morris: Stephen Knight, Patricia Cornwell, Tony Williams, and ...by this time one’s jaw has
The Hand of a Woman Philip Sugden. One is soon after taken aback even further already gone slack from reading that
when the author, acknowledging that his theory that the Caroline Maxwell, a housewife living
John Morris
murderer was a woman is not new and that even Abberline
Bridgend, Wales: in a lodging house opposite Miller’s
Seren Publishing, 2012 advanced it as a theory - to Dr Dutton (pg.30) - seems wholly
www.serenbooks.com unaware that whilst Dutton was real, the Dutton story is
Court, saw the murderess as she
softcover; 208pp; illus; uncorroborated and cannot be traced beyond the unreliable emerged from the court ‘though her
appendices; biblio; index;
Donald McCormick. Then we’re told that Joseph Barnett vision would have been somewhat
ISBN: 978-1-85411-566-9
£9.99
‘hinted’ that Mary Kelly was a lesbian in a sexual relationship impaired by the thick foul mists
with Maria Harvey (pg.32), which is a possible but highly swirling around the street.’
questionable interpretation of Barnett’s complaint that an argument with Kelly
ensued when she allowed prostitutes to use the room. But by this time one’s jaw has already gone slack from reading
that Caroline Maxwell, a housewife living in a lodging house opposite Miller’s Court, saw the murderess as she emerged
from the court ‘though her vision would have been somewhat impaired by the thick foul mists swirling around the
street.’ (pg.27)
Encountering such basic errors and questionable details so early in the book didn’t inspire one to think that the theory
would cut the mustard, and it didn’t. The collector will want this one; otherwise, save your tenner.
READ SOMETHING WE SHOULD REVIEW?
If you’ve read something that belongs here, let us know!

Email us at contact@ripperologist.biz

The author of this book - ‘Frank Pearse’ is a pseudonym – claims to have been bequeathed a
briefcase containing photographs of some forebears, a masonic apron and collar, a few other bits
and pieces, and inside a manila envelope six sheets of closely written lined paper on which was
a story written by a man named John Pavett Sawyer shortly before his death in 1921, in which he
confessed to the Whitechapel murders. Basically, the story is that Sawyer was required to commit
the murders as part of his initiation into the exclusive Triptolemus Occult Lodge (in Greek mythology
Triptolemus was a priest of Demeter and associated with the Eleusinian Mysteries). The ritual had
been picked up by the Grand Pontiff of the Lodge, Captain J Lister, when in Egypt with the 35th
Regiment of Foot, Sussex Regiment.
Hidden Suspect is Pearse’s account of the story, how he came by it, and his efforts to verify
Hidden Suspect: The the facts, which basically consisted of confirming the existence of Sawyer, confirming that the
Whitechapel Murders 35th Regiment was in Egypt, and confirming that Captains Lister, W Hotham and G Duberly (two
companions in Egypt) actually existed. Sawyer certainly did. The son of Elisha Sawyer and Sarah
Frank Pearse
Egerton-Bear, 2012 (nee Pavitt), he was born on 19 December 1839, married Kate Pochin in 1861, and lived with his
www.amazon.co.uk ever-growing family on Whitechapel High Street. The author also claims to have established that
Kindle e-book; a Captain Duberly and a company of soldiers had been responsible for securing a road for the
File size 149kb withdrawal of troops and civilians from Khartoum, and that a Lieutenant Hotham had served with
£0.77
the main force under a General Graham. Of Captain Lister, however, there was no trace, at least
not involved in any way with Egypt.
The problem with all this is that it could have been known in advance, not researched subsequent to the discovery of
the confession, and crucial information, such as biographical detail about Lister. Hotham and Duberly, is lacking. Who
were they, what were their names, were they living in London when the murders took place, and so on. There is much
lacking here, not even a photo of the confession and other items. On the other hand, there is no ostensible reason why
the author should be hoaxing anyone.
Inspector Frederick George Abberline and Jack the Ripper:

The Reality Behind the Myth
Peter Thurgood
2011
www.amazon.co.uk
Kindle edition. 395kb;
£3.99
A basic account of the Ripper crimes, not necessarily from Abberline’s perspective, and a lengthy
roundup of the suspects, dominate this book, which comes as no surprise given the title. Otherwise
there is a basic recounting of the Cleveland Street affair, which is actually ready for a scholarly
book-length re-assessment. H Montgomery Hyde’s classic having been written in the 1970s, and a
passing nod at Abberline’s work for Pinkerton’s and his time in Monte Carlo. His early life and police
career are quickly and curtly dealt with, and tinged with fictional elaborations to add a little colour. Hopefully M J Trow’s
forthcoming Ripper Hunter: Abberline and the Whitechapel Murders will give us some greater detail.
Jack the Ripper

Mark Whitehead and Miriam Rivett
Harpenden, Herts.: Pocket Essentials, 2012
softcover; 160pp; Biblio; index
ISBN:978-1-84243-841-1
£7.99
An updated reissue of the Whitehead and Rivett pocket guide to everything Ripper, and very good
it is too, but I’m not sure where it has been updated. Without making a page by page comparison, it
looks to me like a paperback of the revised and reissued 2006 hardback, most tellingly in its listing
of media and websites, Ripperologist isn’t listed (but then we’ve only managed to survive for 125

issues so we probably don’t merit a note), neither is JTRForums.com, the only walking tour company mentioned is
London Walks, some of the websites are defunct in all but name, and sometimes even in name. But the book is still a
handy little guide and I’ve spotted it in discount bookshops for a couple of pounds, so it’s a good investment for a rough
and ready reference to facts and theories.
VI N
CT DO
ORIA
N LON
Victorian England was not a great place to live if you didn’t have money and the greatest blot
on the landscape of London and other major cities were the street children, the product of the
Victorian underclass, vividly portrayed in Dickens’s Oliver Twist. There are several excellent books
on the subject. Heather Shore’s Artful Dodgers and Jeannie Duckworth’s Fagin’s Children sit proudly
on my bookshelf, but these deal predominantly with criminal
children. Other books, like Alan Gallop’s Children of the Victorian England was not a great
Dark, deal with the way children were forced into work at a place to live if you didn’t have money
very young age. Helen Amy takes a broader look at the street and the greatest blot on the landscape
children of Victorian England to see where they came from, of London and other major cities
what they were like, and how they battled and struggled
were the street children, the product
to survive, and she demonstrates that they weren’t more
of the Victorian underclass, vividly
criminally inclined than necessity made them.
The Street Children portrayed in Dickens’s Oliver Twist.
of Dickens’s London The bulk of the book covers the period 1837-1870 and
Helen Amy there are chapters given to the different ways children survived, from selling stuff they found to
Stroud, Gloucestershire: being street entertainers or labourers, through prostitution to out-and-out crime. It looks at where
Amberley, 2012 they came from, where they lived, and whose hands were reaching out to help them. The shorter
www.amberleybooks.com
second half, 1890-1901, is to a greater extent concerned with the philanthropy so prevalent at that
softcover; 157pp; illus;
time as people slowly became more consciously aware that children not responsible for their plight,
notes; biogs; biblio; index
ISBN: 978-1-84868-846-9 but were the victims of poverty and hardship.
£14.99
The Street Children of Dickens’s London has an excellent selection of photographs, but a pretty
dismal index, and it goes without saying that it is harrowing reading. It is nevertheless a book anyone
interested in Victorian London should read.


SL
UM NOVELS
In the 1880s a new genre of fiction emerged which enjoyed a brief popularity – the slum novel. It’s an almost
forgotten genre today, largely of interest to those researching and writing about the Victorian underclass, but, with its
origins in the social novels of Charles Dickens and pioneered by Walter Besant (All Sorts and Conditions of Men, 1882)
and George Gissing (The Nether World, 1889), it blossomed hand-in-hand with the factual work of Mearns (The Bitter
Cry of Outcast London) and Stead (The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon). These books aren’t always easy reading, but
they are required reading and it’s great to see several coming into print.
In Darkest London
(Victorian Series)
Margaret Harkness
Black Apollo Press, 2009
www.blackapollopress.com
softcover; 200pp;
Originally published: London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1889
9781900355636
£12.00
Margaret Elise Harkness (1854–1923), who wrote under the pseudonym of John Law, wrote five
‘slum novels’, of which her second, Out of Work (1888), set in London in 1887 and featuring events
of the Jubilee year, is probably her best. Her third, Captain Lobe: a Story of the Salvation Army
(1889), later re-titled In Darkest London, written after she had embraced the Salvation Army, is
undoubtedly her best known. Harkness lived in the East End and her exploration of East End poverty
written with direct first-hand experience is not only regarded as a superb insight into the grinding
poverty of the East End but also as one of the best accounts of East End slum life.
Children of the Ghetto

Israel Zangwill
Black Apollo Press, 2012
softcover; 342pp;
Originally published: Macmillan and Co., 1895
9781900355629
£13.95
I first read this book a good many years ago and I have dipped into it many times since. It
isn’t particularly easy reading, but it repays the effort. Zangwill was an excellent writer, full of
fun and Jewish wordy wit. Here he documents the lives of mostly immigrant East End Jews in a
series of affectionate and well-observed stories. A wonderful and rare insight into ordinary life as
experienced by those living it, rather than through the eyes of evangelists, earnest social reformers
and shocked West End philanthropists, Children of the Ghetto is essential for anyone wanting an
idea of Jewish life in the East End.

A Child of the Jago
(Oxford World’s Classics)
Arthur Morrison
Edited with an Introduction by Peter Miles
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012
www.oup.com/worldsclassics
softcover; 217pp; select biblio; chronology; appendices; notes
ISBN: 9780199605514
£8.99
Arguably the most famous of all slum novels, Arthur Morrison’s story of Dicky Perrott, living amid
the poverty and violence of the Jago, the worst of the East End’s slums, and dreaming of becoming
a High Mobsman, whilst Father Sturt foresees a different course for Perrott’s life if he’ll accept
the outstretched helping hand, perhaps did as much as Mearns and Stead to highlight the plight of
slum children. The great thing about this edition, the only critical edition available, is Peter Miles’s
introduction and notes, both worth the cost of the book alone.
London Labour and the London Poor

(Oxford World’s Classics)
Henry Mayhew
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012
www.oup.com/worldsclassics
472pp; illus; chronology; select biblio; appendices; explanatory notes;
ISBN 978-0-19-969757-1
£8.99
Originally published in four volumes in 1861-62, Mayhew’s investigations
into the underclass of London isn’t a slum novel, though it is as gripping as ...an excellent selection
one, and you should find a space on your bookshelf for it. We reviewed this about the lives of street
edition superbly edited by Douglas-Fairhurst when it came out in hardback traders, entertainers,
(see Rip 118). It’s an excellent selection about the lives of street traders, thieves, and beggars -
entertainers, thieves, and beggars - and you can’t help but be amazed at the
and you can’t help but
lives of some of them, such as the seller of nutmeg graters, crippled from
be amazed at the lives of
birth, forced to pay someone to dress and undress him, selling graters on the
street from dawn till dusk, sometimes selling none, rarely making for than a
some of them.
few pence a day and having to buy his graters out of the coppers he earned.
The reality of life on the streets, and we complain about our lives!
Douglas-Fairhurst’s introduction and informative notes are, as ever in the Oxford World’s Classics
series, excellent and valuable additions.
RIPPEROLOGIST eBOOK
You can now read Ripperologist on a Kindle, Nook, Smartphone or any other eBook Reader.
If you’d like to try a sample, email us at contact@ripperologist.biz

east end
This wonderful book contains a selection of the best short essays from the blog of the same
name (spitalfieldslife.com), which began in a small way on 26 August 2009 with a promise by ‘the
Gentle Author’, whoever he or she is, to write everyday about life in Spitalfields. The essays are
well crafted, the prose is clear and dignified, and the writer clearly has a very deep affection and
respect for the place and people. His ability to describe both has caused some to liken him to Pepys
and Dickens, which is perhaps an over-aggrandizement but wholly understandable. I itch to visit the
restaurant run by cook Maria Pellicci, buy a bagel from Brick Lane and have it put in a bag supplied
by paper bag seller Paul Gardner, watch a modern-day mudlark like Steve Rooker and then go for a
pint served by Sandra Esqualant, dubbed ‘The Queen of Spitalfields’ by The Gentle Author. In fact,
though I have knocked around Spitalfields off and on for about half my life, being served a pint by
Sandra Esqualant, the landlady of the Golden Hart, is about the only thing of the many things in this
Spitalfields Life
fantastic book that I have done. And I’ve done that many times. Many, many times.
The Gentle Author
London: Saltyard Books, The East End is full of ordinary people, some doing extraordinary things, all working hard in a part
2012 of London undergoing regeneration, and The Gentle Author writes about them with warmth and love,
www.saltyardbooks.co.uk and never has a bad word to say about anyone. And that’s really the great thing about this book and
428pp; illus; index about the blog: as a contrast to the bad news that seems to fill the media these days, The Gentle
ISBN: 978-1444703955
Author focuses on the good in people and the good in places too. And, thankfully, The Gentle Author
£20
has the ability and dedication and love to share it with us in this book that is a tribute to life.
LONDON
London In The Eighteenth Century:

‘A Great and Monstrous Thing’
Jerry White
London: Bodley Head, 2012
www.bodleyhead.co.uk
hardcover; 682pp; illus; notes; biblio; index
ISBN: 978-1847-92180-2
£25.00
During the eighteenth century the population of London grew by half a million to a million to
be far and away the largest and most populous city in Britain, rising Phoenix-like from the ashes of
the Great Fire. The beginnings of what would be the Industrial Revolution were stirring, business

thrived, banks were founded, politics and the administration of government expanded, superstition was thrown off, the
press and publishing were establishing themselves, and architecture, art, music, and literature, were thriving, creating
an image of elegance and refinement. It all belied a grim and often grotesque underbelly which made London a city of
riots, vice, debauchery, crime, and violence – the Bow Street Runners were created in 1750, and public executions for
even minor offences were common public spectacles.
Having written books about London in the 19th century and the 20th century, in this latest volume Jerry White turns
his attention to London in the 18th-century, a London Daniel Defoe called ‘this great and monstrous Thing’, and in less
deft hands it could have been a dry-as-dust retelling of already well-known things, but White is a historian from whom
nothing remotely dull can be expected. As anyone who had read his Rothschild Buildings knows, White could draw
interest and fascination from the phone book.
This book, arranged chronologically and by theme is gripping from the opening pages - where we witness the end
of John Waller’s passage through life at the hands on an incensed mob – to the maturing 19th century. The three books
combine to show where we came from to how we got to where we are today. Excellent stuff.
Chilling True Tales of Old London

Keith Johnson
Ammanford, Carmarthenshire: Sigma Leisure, 2012
www.sigmapress.co.uk
softcover; 191pp; illus;
First Published by Sigma, 1992
ISBN: 978-1-85058-891-7
£9.99
As we all know, 19th century London could be a dangerous place to be, especially before the New
Police were properly organised and publicly accepted, and this book, with lots of short chapters to
dip into when you have an odd five minutes or so, is a collection of stories about the grim side of
London life – and death - from assassination attempts through assorted acts of murder and violence
to several celebrated cases of the day. Inevitably, the story of Jack the Ripper gets a retelling, curiously adding the Dr
Stanley story as a postscript! This book was originally published in 1996 and it’s good to see a new edition.
In the early hours of 13 June 1944 a strange sound was heard in the sky above London. Some
people saw what they thought was a plane on fire which suddenly plummeted towards the ground. It
hit a railway bridge in Grove Road, demolishing several houses and killing six people. It was the first
flying bomb, called a V1, of WWII. The East End would also be the recipient of the last ‘doodlebug’,
a V2, which hit flats in Vallance Road, 127 people being killed.
The V bombs were Hitler’s secret weapon and their destructive potential was misjudged in London
where they were thought to be far more powerful than they were and where plans were made to
evacuate the city. A lucky break enabled the British to learn how powerful they really were, to
conclude that the potential casualty figures were within acceptable limits, and to decide not to go
ahead with retaliatory plans to kill 25 million German civilians with gas (a plan which only needed
the go-head to be implemented).
Christy Campbell, best known to Ripperologists for his Fenian Fire, here parallels the unfolding
Target London:
Under Attack from story of the men working at Peenemunde to develop the bomb, the code breakers at Bletchley Park
the V-Weapons during who were trying to learn as much about it as they could, and perhaps most remarkable, the efforts
WWII the government went to protect Ultra. This is a remarkable book which confirms Campbell as a fine
Christy Campbell investigator of the darker side of the truth.
London: Little, Brown, 2012
www.littlebrown.co.uk
hardcover; 516pp; illus;
notes; biblio; index
ISBN: 978-1-4087-0292-5
£20.00

CRIME
There has always been something gruesomely, repulsively, ghoulishly fascinating about the body
snatchers creeping out in dead of night, and in the silence of the graveyard, the flickering oil lights
or candles casting ghostly shadows, hauling a freshly buried corpse from what relatives and friends
and the corpse itself, when alive, hoped would be its final resting place. Men like William Burke and
William Hare removed the ‘romance’ and reduced bodysnatching to mundane and sordid murder, yet
they, and the anatomist Robert Knox who bought their victims for dissection, are remembered today,
two centuries after their activities shocked the finer sensibilities of Edinburgh society, and they
stand, along with Jack the Ripper, as fiends who have transcended reality to become almost fictional
monsters, like Dracula and the Wolfman. Why they have become so well known, not just in Britain
but around the world, forms the heart of this book by McCracken-Flesher, a Professor of English at
the University of Wyoming.
If you want the story of the Burke and Hare murders then there are several books to choose from.
The Doctor Dissected: McCracken-Flesher gives a shortened account, but her book is primarily concerned with the elements
A Cultural Autopsy of
in the story which have ensured both its longevity and its place in Scottish social history and folklore,
the Burke and Hare
Murders tumbling, as did Jack the Ripper, from the annals of horrific crime into the pages of penny-dreadful
fiction, melodrama, novels, and eventually movies and television programmes. The author even
Caroline McCracken-Flesher
argues that Knox was the origin of Jekyll in Robert Louis Stevenson’s masterpiece, Hyde being the
Oxford: Oxford UNiversity
Press, 2012 alter-ego of Knox as he colludes with Burke and Hare, as guilty as they.
www.oup.com McCracken-Flesher’s research seems to have been pretty thorough, noting Burke and Hare in
hardcover; 272pp; illues;
myriad entertainments including the Edinburgh Dungeon where they enjoy the same central position
notes; biblio; index
978-0-19-976682-6 as Jack the Ripper does in the London equivalent. Good reading, entertaining, though sometimes a
£40.00 little too dryly academic. And the price tag is on the high side, but if you want to know about Burke
Kindle e-book £26.37 and Hare’s legacy in cultural history it’s hard to imagine that this thorough book will be surpassed.
The Classic Guide to Famous Assassinations

Sarah Herman
Newhaven, East Sussex: Golden Guides Press, 2012
www.goldenguidespress.com
softcover; 192pp; illus; bliblio; index
976-1-78095-014-3; £9.99
This is an entertaining, interesting and fairly comprehensive account of well-known and not so
well-known assassinations throughout history, plus some of the more serious assassination attempts,
and it’s the first title in the ‘Classic Guides’ series from a new publisher called Golden Guides
Press. I must confess, however, that I was somewhat baffled by nothing being said on the jacket
or in the book about the purpose of the series, what made the books ‘Classic Guides’. Unless I
missed something, the book is a straightforward re-telling of famous assassination stories and there
is nothing to suggest that Sarah Herman has any special knowledge of or particular interest in the
subject that would distinguish the book. Indeed, the jacket mentions only the best-selling Does
Anything Eat Shit? and that she works for the Canadian arts magazine The Lab, both of which seem
far removed from assassinations. None of this should detract from the content. If assassinations are
your bag, you’ll enjoy this book, but I just wish there was an explanation for why it was written.

POLICE
The First English Detectives:

The Bow Street Runners and the Policing of London, 1750-1840
J M Beattie
Oxford: Oxford University Press 2012
www.oup.com
272pp; illus; graphs, biblio; index
ISBN: 978-0-19-9695-16-4
£65.00
In the mid-1700s there was a crime wave of hitherto unknown proportions and it was the novelist
and magistrate Henry Fielding, operating out of offices at 4 Bow Street, Covent Garden, who had
a solution, as outlined in a pamphlet published in 1751. The poor were to blame, as ever, but also
the fact that there was nothing in place to track down the criminals, help the victims of crime to
recover their property, and to put sufficient criminals before the magistrates. His solution was to put
together a group of men to apprehend the criminals and in 1754 the government gave him sufficient money to pay his
men a full-time wage. So it was that Mr Fielding’s Men came into being and soon became popularly known as the Bow
Street Runners.
In this book, apparently the first comprehensive study of the 90-year history of the Bow Street Runners, John Beattie,
Professor Emeritus at the University of Toronto, makes a strong case for the Runners being the first detectives – albeit that
they were not known or perceived as such, the word ‘detective’ not being in use until the 19th century. Interestingly, by
the end of the century the continued existence of the Runners was being challenged by reformers who considered crime
prevention to be more important than crime detection, a view which eventually led to the creation of the Metropolitan
Police, the Runners finally being disbanded in 1839.
How many Runners joined the Metropolitan Police is not known, but one certainly did. His name was Nicholas Pearce,
and he began his police career in Whitechapel with H Division. When the ‘Detective’ was officially formed in 1842,
Pearce headed the section eight detectives.
The destruction of most of the Fielding’s papers when Bow Street was sacked during the Gordon Riots means that
their history is difficult to research, but Beattie’s book is very welcome, and very readable.
Policing the Roman Empire: Soldiers, Administration, and Public Order

Christopher Fuhrmann
New York: Oxford University Press 2012
www.oup.com
330pp; illus; appencies; biblio; index of ancient sources; index
ISBN: 978-0-19-973784-0
£45.00
The word ‘police’ is derived from the post-classical Latin ‘polis’. I mention this because I find it
interesting that the pronunciation which stresses the first syllable, as the Irish do (po-lice) is correct,
and because it is not commonly thought that anything recognisable as a police existed in imperial
Rome. The word actually derives from an Ancient Greek word the meaning of which ultimately boils
down to ‘policy maker’, otherwise ‘government’ and its use in the way we use it today actually
derives from the French. Also, as Christopher Fuhrmann argues in this excellent book, Rome did have

stationarii, night watchmen, people who pursued bandits or chased runaway slaves, and a variety of other people whose
job in one way or another was to prevent crime, pursue criminals, and maintain the peace.
Fuhrmann, Associate Professor of History at the University of North Texas, draws upon a wide variety of source
materials to prove his point and in so doing he gives us a rare insight into ordinary life and everyday criminal practices
of Imperial Rome. This is a fascinating book, clear and understandable, though tough going in places, especially if Roman
history isn’t your bag, but a valuable contribution to policing history as well as the ancient Roman world.
h
ist es
o ry e ri
’s mysT
Who Wrote Shakespeare’s Plays?

William D Rubinstein
Stroud, Gloucestershire: Amberley, 2012
www.amberleybooks.com
hardcover; 158pp; illus; select biblio; index
ISBN: 978-1-4456-1090-8
£18.99
William Rubinstein is a Professor of History at Aberystwyth University and was for a while a familiar
face at Cloak and Dagger Club meetings in London and at the odd conference when researching a
book about ‘amateur’ historians, reckoning Ripperologists to be well read and intelligent, which,
of course, we are. He also championed the Maybrick diary, which possibly on a much smaller level
probably did for his reputation what the Hitler diaries did for Hugh Trevor Roper’s. But fearless in
the face of controversy, perhaps even thriving on it, the good professor here delves into the highly
contentious Shakespeare authorship question – contentious, that is, among those who think there is a question about
the authorship of Shakespeare’s plays to begin with. If you do, and over the years a lot of frighteningly intelligent
people have thought it really is a question worth asking, or if you want to know why it is asked, then you’ll enjoy this
gallop through the how and why the authorship question arose, why a certain sniffy, snobbery exists between almost
everyone with an opinion, and a brief examination of the primary candidates for wielding the quill if Shakespeare didn’t,
from Edward de Vere through to Sir Henry Neville (who Rubinstein favours). A great introduction to the ‘mystery’, it is
nevertheless overpriced for a little over 150 pages.
Who Killed Sir Walter Ralegh?

Richard Dale
Stroud, Gloucestershire: The History Press, 2012
www.thehistorypress.co.uk
ISBN: 978 0 7524 5666 9
£18.99
Sir Walter Ralegh was one of the great, multi-talented and most influential and flamboyant figures
in Elizabethan England, though he is probably popularly remembered today for his ‘discovery’ of
tobacco and the potato. Do you remember comedian Bob Newhart’s great sketch: ‘You can chew it!...

or put it in a pipe!... or you can shred it up... and put it in a piece of paper, ha! ha! ha!... and roll it up, ha ha ha...
Don’t tell me, Walt, don’t tell me, ha! ha! ha! you stick it in your ear, right? ha! ha! ha!... Oh! between your lips!...
Then what do you do, Walt? ha! ha! ha!... Walt, I think you’re gonna have rather a tough time selling people on sticking
burning leaves in their mouths....’
Following Elizabeth’s death, Ralegh was arrested and found guilty of treason. James I spared his life and even
permitted him to voyage to the New World, but on his return the death sentence was reinstated and he was beheaded
on 29 October 1618, so we’ve always known who killed Sir Walter Ralegh - it was some big bloke with an axe. What the
title of this book refers to is who was responsible for manoeuvring Ralegh’s downfall and execution - the Spanish? King
James? Sir Robert Cecil, brilliant but ever ready with a knife for the back? Or was Ralegh rightfully executed, genuinely
guilty of treason?
Richard Dale, a barrister and professor emeritus of the University of Southampton, reviews the evidence with a
practiced legal eye in what is as much a mini biography of Ralegh and Cecil as it is an exploration of the circumstances
of Ralegh’s fall from grace and eventual execution.
Who founded England is probably the most important mystery in English history. We know, of
course, that England was created by the unification of several small kingdoms established by Germanic
raiders and settlers who started arriving in the century or so following the end of Roman Britain, and
we know that the founder of our royal dynasty is traditionally Cerdic, who founded the kingdom of
the West Saxons, but how did it all come about?
Matthews’s basic thesis is that when the usurper Constantine III withdrew the Roman troops from
Britain c. 410 he left the political and administrative institutions of government in place, which is
probably what he did do, and that they survived in some recognisable form well into the second half
of the 7th century, which is contentious, to say the least. He further argues that Ceawlin was the
last vicarius –or wide-ruler as he refers to him – and that it was with his death that Britain collapsed
into the Saxon rule from which England emerged. If Matthews is right then it was arguably Ceawlin’s
Ceawlin: The Man successor, Ceol, who created England, but the theory has more to worry over than nit-picking the
Who Created England
book’s title!
Rupert Matthews
Ceawlin is traditionally the grandson of Cerdic. He was a very
Barnsley: Pen & Sword
Military, 2012 01 powerful figure, the second of seven kings listed by Bede as holding the Chapters begin with burning
www.pen-and-sword.co.uk title Bretwalda, meaning that he had authority over all the kings south at the stake, hanging in
hardcover; 233pp; illus; of the Humber. Ostensibly Ceawlin was a Saxon king, but the problem is chains, branding, and
biblio; index
ISBN: 1848846762
that he and his forebears, Cerdic and Cynric, have British, not Germanic whipping, through what was
names, suggesting that they were Britons. They also appear to have
£19.99 sounds like comparatively
belonged to the Gewissae, a people centred on Dorchester-on-Thames,
comfortable but in fact
who seem to have been distinct from the West Saxon lineage of Ceol.
Furthermore, Ceawlin was overthrown in 592 amid a ‘great slaughter’, either by Ceol decidedly unpleasant
or someone else, and Matthews argues that this led to the complete collapse of the old imprisonment and
Romanised government. transportation.
Traditionalists will unquestionably baulk at the idea that Romanised government could
have lasted so long, and the theory certainly flies in the face of the standard view of successive waves of invaders
spreading destruction across the land, but this traditional view is possibly due for serious revision as archaeological
evidence and closer analysis of some written sources suggest that Britain was politically more stable than hitherto
supposed. Nevertheless, Matthews unquestioningly accepts quite a lot, such as the identification of Ceawlin with St
Collen, the founder of Llangollen, and it is by no means clear how Ceawlin’s overthrow would have caused the collapse
of the existing political structure, but the theory isn’t as off the wall as it may seem.

Finding Merlin: The Truth Behind the Legend
Adam Ardrey
Edinburgh: Mainstream, 2012 01
www.mainstreampublishing.com
softcover; 384pp; illus; notes and references; biblio; index
Published in hardback Edinburgh: Mainstream, 2007
ISBN: 978=1=84596-786-4
£8.99
Did Merlin exist? In Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain, he is a shadowy figure
who does little more than use shape-changing magic to arrange for Arthur to be conceived. Geoffrey
otherwise merges Merlin with Ambrosius Aurelianus in a tale about fighting dragons, possibly recalling
symbolically a real conflict between Ambrosius and Vortigern about which we know nothing other
than that they fought a battle at Wallop in Hampshire. Otherwise, there is the bard, Myrddin Wyllt,
possibly the origin of the Arthurian Merlin, who became insane following the terrible slaughter at Arderydd in the second
half of the 6th century. With so little real history to go on, any book about Merlin is going to venture along the coasts
of pseudo-history, but Ardrey drops anchor and goes well inland. Using the unoriginal placement of Arthur in Scotland
to springboard an outlandish theory which identifies Arthur with Artuir mac Aedan, he proceeds to re-write accepted
‘history’ and weave a conspiracy tale suited to Robert Langdon and some albino monks. Nikolai Tolstoy’s The Quest For
Merlin hasn’t yet been surpassed and, together with Geoffrey Ash’s more recent Merlin: The Prophet and His History,
will give you a far better and realistic insight into the possible reality of Merlin.
H I S T O RY
History: An Introduction to Theory, Method, and Practice

Peter Claus and John Marriott
Harlow, Essex: Pearson Education, 2012 01
www.pearson-books.com
softcover; 461pp; biblio; index
ISBN: 978-1-4058-1254-2
£22.99
What is history? This seems like a simple question with an easy answer, but that simplicity is
deceptive and it is awfully easy to fall into the mistake of thinking that history is something any
reasonably intelligent person can do by calling on their life experience and common sense. How we go
about collecting, evaluating, contextualising and understanding the evidence of our past is requires
training, it is a discipline, a craft, with ways of doing things and ways of not doing them, and even then historians
argue about how they are doing it, the boundaries having been pretty much set by the fierce spat between E H Carr,
the proponent of history as an art, as argued in his What Is History?, and G R Elton, who believed history is akin to a
science, as set out in his The Practice of History, with the views of assorted postmodernists, feminists, Marxists, and
others have thrown into the mix.
This immensely enjoyable book, written, as the authors explain, for ‘the prospective historian or enthusiastic
amateur’, gives a very good, fundamental grasp of the subject. Lucidly and entertainingly written, it can be read cover-
to-cover or you can dip into it wherever the need or fancy takes you. There are loads of examples to aid comprehension,
lots of pointers to other sources, including one’s on the internet, and a fair few references to the East End, as one might
expect with one of the co-authors being John Marriott. I can’t recommend the book more heartily.

Historiography: An Introductory Guide
Eileen Ka-May Cheng
London: Continuum Publishing, 2012
www.continuumbooks.com
softcover; 244pp; appendices; notes; suggested further reading; biblio; index
ISBN: 978-1-4411-7767-4
£14.99
‘Historiography’ has always been difficult to apply because it means different things to different
people, ranging from the writing of history to the history of the writing of history to the history of
historical methodology, to name but a few. To Eileen Ka-May Cheng, an Associate Professor of History
at Sarah Lawrence College, it means the study of the history of historical writing, which is admittedly
a little on the esoteric side for the general reader, but is important to those who may wish to obtain a
more in-depth understanding of the background to how historical writing is perceived today.
The aim of the book, which is admirably achieved, is to provide an overview of historical writing from the Renaissance
to the present, the major schools of historical writing, and the different approaches taken to the past by historians
living at different times. These last few years have seen an upheaval in historical approach, with revisionism and
postmodernism challenging the very core of what historians do and how they do it, but this books shows how and
why that’s the name of the historical game, history for ever being in a constant process of change and conflict. An
informative and interesting read, but not an easy book if you are unfamiliar with the terms and concepts.
Ian Mortimer is unquestionably a gifted historian, but he’s also a somewhat controversial one,
largely because he has developed his own general theory of historical method and practice which
doesn’t appear to have garnered much acceptance from historians. In this book he explains and
vigorously defends it (in other words, he has a bit of a go at his critics), which makes the book almost
impenetrable for the general reader from the off and does inspire a feeling of “Oh, for goodness sake,
get a life”. However, Mortimer’s approach seems well-suited to examining some of the mysteries of
medieval history, mainly the long and often argued over fate of Edward II in 1327 – did he die from
natural causes, was he murdered (and, if so, was he really gruesomely killed by having a red-hot poker
shoved up his bum), or did he survive. Mortimer is a proponent of the survival theory, which was in fact
in circulation within a few months of being deposed.
Whilst Mortimer’s approach hasn’t won the approval of the historical establishment, there is much
that it can teach us about how to approach and treat historical sources, especially one’s relating
Medieval Intrigue:
Decoding Royal to uncertain events, and for those who take such things seriously, his thinking and arguments are
Conspiracies stimulating and interesting. His examination of several medieval historical mysteries is great, though
Ian Mortimer
one day he’ll maybe come back to the subject in a more approachable way.
London: Continuum 2012 Mainstream history titles received this month includes the not-to-be-missed Time Traveller’s Guide
www.continuumbooks.com
to Elizabethan England. A stunning biography of the often overlooked King Stephen, and a some
softcover; 375pp; biblio;
interesting new looks at Roman Britain. So if you fancy taking a break from Jack the Ripper…
index
First Published London:
Continuum, 2010
ISBN: 978-1-44110-269-0
£10.99


The Time Traveller’s Guide to Elizabethan England
Ian Mortimer
London: Bodley Head, 2012
www.randomhouse.com
www.ianmortimer.com
hardcover; 420pp; illus; notes; index
ISBN: 987-1-847-92114-7
£20
I thought Ian Mortimer’s The Time Traveller’s Guide to Medieval England was one of the best books
I read in 2010. The concept was clever and it was executed with honed precision, the book becoming
an unexpected best-seller which pushed Mortimer to the forefront of popular historians. The Time
Traveller’s Guide to Elizabethan England follows the same pattern, an intimate and conversational
‘Lonely Planet’-type guide to the past. As you imagine yourself preparing for your time travelling
adventure, you learn about what it takes to slip into the foreign land of the past like a born-and-bred native: what to
see, what to wear, what to eat, what to drink, where to stay, what fashions should occupy your thoughts, and all the
things you’ll find familiar and what will shock you to your boots.
Ian Mortimer is an accomplished historian, but also a very good writer (a combination that isn’t as rare as hens teeth
but comes close) who peppers his narrative with anecdotes and witty asides: after telling you that travelling was fraught
with danger, especially from highwaymen who will steal your possessions and strip you of your clothes, leaving you to
walk to the safety of the nearest habitation in a state of nakedness, finding consolation in the knowledge that you aren’t
the first person this has happened to, he reminds you that it will then start to rain!
On the subject of which, why haven’t we all heard of the highwayman Gamaliel Ratsey? On the gallows, the rope
around his neck and about to be plunged into eternity, he saw a heavy rainstorm approaching and stretched out his final
speech until he was satisfied that the attending officials would get thoroughly drenched. It was a small snook cocked at
authority, but one to be savoured.
This isn’t a perfect book and there are plenty of opportunities for sniffy carping criticism, but it is probably one of
the most entertaining non-fiction reads you’ll encounter this year. Just think of a superlative and apply it to this book.
If you have read Ellis Peter’s novels about Brother Cadfael or watched the Derek Jacobi TV
series then you’ll have some familiarity with the reign of King Stephen, the grandson of William the
Conqueror, who on the death of Henry I contentiously seized the throne of England, arguing that
maintaining political stability took presence over the claims of Henry’s daughter, the Empress Matilda.
The stability didn’t last long. The formidable Matilda invaded in 1139, supported by her half-
brother Robert of Gloucester, and plunged the country into “nineteen long winters” of civil war,
ending only when Stephen agreed to Matilda’s son, Henry (Henry II), succeeding him. The civil war
has seriously coloured our perceptions of Stephen, who because of the civil war is remembered as a
failure, greatly and somewhat unfairly overshadowed by Henry II. In recent years he has undergone
a slight rehabilitation, and Edmund King, Emeritus Professor of Medieval History at the University
of Sheffield, is somewhat kinder than many previous biographers, pointing out that Stephen was
inevitably and unavoidably something of a piece of flotsam at the mercy of the tides of his precious
King Stephen
supporters, and also contending with the strong personalities of family members.
(Yale Monarchs Series)
Edmund King Interestingly, Stephen’s son Baldwin and daughter Matilda were buried at Holy Trinity Priory,
London: Yale University Aldgate, founded by Maud, queen of Henry I on lands on and around what is now Mitre Square.
Press, 2012
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and warmly recommend it.
www.yalebooks.co.uk
382pp; illus; biblio; index
First published in hardback,
London: Yale University
Press, 2010
ISBN: 978-0-300-18195-1
£15.99

Roman Camps in Britain
Rebecca H Jones
Stroud, Gloucestershire: Amberley Publishing, 2011
softcover; 160pp; illus., many in colour; further reading, notes, index
ISBN: 1 84868 688 9
£18.99
The forts and fortresses of Roman Britain have been discussed at length and in detail, as have the
Roman towns, but what might be described as the temporary, travelling camps used by the troops
as they moved around the country established relatively briefly to deal with local disturbances,
have been largely neglected. Dr Rebecca Jones, an archaeologist with the Royal Commission on the
Ancient Historical Monuments of Scotland, does much to rectify this gap for the general reader in
this slim volume. It is in two parts, the first provides draws primarily on written sources to provide
a general history of the camps, why they existed, how they were built, and where they were located. The second part
focuses on the archaeology, new techniques making it easier than hitherto to identify the sites and to provide a better
understanding in terms of the chronology and context. Very readable, with a collection of interesting illustrations, many
in colour, the book is perhaps a little on the expensive side for 160 pages, but is a worthwhile and instructive read.
The Romans Who Shaped Britain

Sam Moorhead and David Stuttard
London: Thames and Hudson, 2012
www.thamesandhudson.com
ISBN: 978-0-500-25189-8
£18.95
There are countless books examining almost every conceivable aspect life in Roman Britain but
for most people the 400 years during which Britain was a part of the Roman Empire is a handful
of peaks and otherwise deep troughs of ignorance. Few will have heard of Allectus, Carausius,
Constantius, Paul Catena (‘the chain’), or Magnus Maxiumus, yet these individuals are not only highly
colourful characters who helped to shape Britain, but they were also made what is even now a barely
understood contribution to cultural Britain. For example, Carausius was the commander of troops in
Britain and charged with defending the country from barbarian Germanic invaders, but in circumstances that are far
from clear he was elevated to emperor, seized power in Britain and made London his capital. What’s interesting is that
Geoffrey of Monmouth picked up the story from somewhere and in his History of the Kings of Britain turns him into a
humble Briton who usurps power from the British king Bassanius – this is Lucius Septimius Bassianus, the real name of
the Emperor Caracalla – and Rome sends Allectus to defeat him. Allectus in turn seizes power and is duly defeated by
Constantius and Asclepiodotus, the latter a praetorian prefect who Geoffrey turns into a duke of Cornwall. Real people,
turned by Geoffrey into almost legendary people, but who were presumably the subject of native traditions and formed
part of Britain’s legendary history. Telling the real story of these men, the authors describe the evolution of society
during Roman rule, here, perhaps, giving a greater than due importance to Britain, but overall offering a smashing read.


FICTION
Until the First World War the greatest explosion in London was on 10 October 1874 when a barge
being towed along the Regents Canal with a cargo of sugar, nuts, petroleum, and 5 tons of gunpowder,
caught fire and exploded as it went under the Macclesfield bridge at North Gate. The crew were
killed, the bridge and the nearby house of the celebrated artist Alma-Tadema were destroyed, and
damage was done over a huge area, windows being blown out a mile away. This is the background to
the first in Joan Lock’s series of Victorian detective novels featuring Sergeant Ernest Best. Was the
explosion the work of Fenians or rival railway companies or someone else? And whose was the body
in the river? Set along the waterway among the canal folk, and among London’s avant guarde artistic
community, Best sets out to get some answers.
It’s about time that ex-policewoman Joan Lock’s meticulously researched series about Sergeant
Best was available in paperback and the first two of the series, which currently numbers seven,
Dead Image and Dead Born, are kicking off the new Mystery Press imprint of The History Press,
although the lack of publicity the new imprint has received makes one wonder whether it has stalled.
Dead Image
Nevertheless, the two ‘Deads’ are alive and kicking and offering a few hours sheer indulgence in the
Joan Lock
early days of the ‘Detective’. I hope this paperback publication encourages Joan Lock to write some
Stroud, Gloucestershire:
more Best novels; Peter Lovesey has abandoned his wonderful Sergeant Cribb series and Mei Trow
Mystery Press, 2012 02
www.thehistorypress.co.uk has forsaken Inspector Lestrade, and Edward Marston’s Inspector Robert Colbeck and Sergeant Victor
www.joanlock.co.uk Leeming are looking pretty lonely on those dark Victorian streets.
softcover; 191pp;
FIrst Published London:
Robert Hale, 2000
ISBN: 978-0-7524-6455-8
£7.99
Eight Weeks in the Summer of Queen Victoria’s Jubilee:

The Queen, The Jews and A Murder
Bob Biderman
Cambridge: Black Apollo Press, 2012
softcover; 316pp; ISBN: 978-1-900355-71-1
£13.95
Kindle edition £5.20
I am not sure that the Lipski case ‘shook the very foundations of British justice’, as the jacket
blurb claims, but it was unquestionably a major case of the day and still not altogether satisfactorily
resolved, Lipski’s guilt being far from certain, despite his confession. It seems generally agreed
that Lipski’s confession saved the career of Home Secretary Henry Matthews, however, and possibly
prevented the collapse of the government, so it wasn’t a mere bagatelle. The Lipski case is the
focus of this novel, the murder of Miriam Angel, being investigated by Maggie and Z, one a social
reformer, the other an Anglo-Jewish novelist. They are so obviously based on Margaret Harkness and Israel Zangwill,
and such is admitted in an endnote, that one wonders why the author didn’t drop any pretence to the contrary. That
annoyance aside, the novel is entertaining enough and will certainly interest anyone interested in the time and place.
Bob Biderman is one of the founders of Black Apollo Press, which published the books by Margaret Harkness and Israel
Zangwill reviewed above.

An Inspector Calls: The Graphic Novel
J B Priestley
First Published by William Heinemann, 1947
Towcester: Classical Comics, 2012
Original Text: ISBN: 978-1-906332-32-7
Quick Text: ISBN: 978-1-906332-33-4
£9.99
Sweeney Todd, The Demon Barber of Fleet Street: The Graphic Novel
Towcester: Classical Comics, 2012
Original Text: ISBN: 978-1-906332-79-2
Quick Text: ISBN: 978-1-906332-80-8
£9.99
Okay, an upfront admission: I don’t much like graphic novels. In fact I have a pretty low opinion
of them. I don’t know why. I think it probably has a lot to do with sweeping past the artwork to
follow the story and being left unsatisfied by a stripped-bare text which the artwork, often of an
exceptionally high standard, would have enhanced but which I don’t want to go back to look at. So, I
didn’t pick up these books with much enthusiasm. However, I was deeply impressed. In a word these
books are fantastic. The artwork is excellent and contextualises the story.
J B Priestley’s An Inspector Calls is a favourite play of mine and done well the final twist can
still send a chill down the spine even though I know it’s coming. Briefly, the wealthy Birling family
are sitting down to a celebratory family dinner when a police inspector calls concerning the suicide
of a young woman, and as the story unfolds it is revealed how through thoughtless and uncaring
behaviour each member of the family had contributed to the tragedy, leading to a plot twist that’s
quite unexpected.
Sweeney Todd is adapted from The String of Pearls, originally published in weekly instalments in The People’s
Periodical in 1846/47, and tells the well-known story of the barber and pie-maker Mrs Lovett. Grisly, gruesome, and
fabulous, the tale has unsurprisingly endured through numerous generations.
Classical Comics have created two editions of each book, one using the original text, the other adapted into modern
language. The target audience is children, An Inspector Calls being a popular school curriculum choice, and the aim is
to make classic literature accessible and understandable. I look forward to more books in the series.
TV
AND FILM
Lady Killers
PAL; Region 2; 2 discs running 350 minutes
Network DVD
www.networkdvd.net
£19.99
Not to be confused with the classic Ealing comedy The Ladykillers or Martina Cole’s recent TV
series, Lady Killers is the complete first series of Granada TV’s 1980 courtroom drama about women
murderers. Hosted by Robert Morley (a bad choice for the presenter but that’s about the only bad
thing one can say), the series’ sterling cast overcomes the slightly dated feel: Barbara Kellerman as
Mme. Fahmy in Murder at the Savoy Hotel, Elaine Paige as Kate Webster in Not For The Nervous (look
out for Michael Kitchen and Peter Sallis), Georgina Hale as Ruth Ellis in Lucky, Lucky Thirteen (Edward

Hardwicke is Christmas Humphreys), Joanna David as Mary Pearcy in Killing Mice (look out for Doreen ‘Mrs Warboys’
Mantle and Paul Nicholas), Elizabeth Richardson as Madeleine Smith in Miss Madeleine Smith, Joan Sims (brilliantly) as
Amelia Dyer in Suffer Little Children (Tim Seely plays our own, our very own Dr Forbes Winslow), and Rita Tushingham
as Charlotte Bryant in Don’t Let Them Kill Me on Wednesday.
It was a memorable series in its day and it’s about time it was available on DVD, so kudos to Network, which has some
good stuff lined up including two volumes of The Edgar Wallace Mysteries and the first series of Mr Rose with William
Mervyn in the title role and Gillian Lewis as his secretary Drusilla Lamb (I have her autograph somewhere; whatever
happened to her?).
SOFT
WA R E
PhotoZoom 4
www.avanquest.com/UK
Windows and Mac versions.
Windows: Windows XP, Windows Vista 32-bit/64-bit, Windows 7 64-bit/32-bit; Pentium IV 1.2 GHz and
compatible processors; 256 MB of RAM (512 MB of RAM for Windows 7/Vista) 15 MB of hard disk space
£144.99
This is a tongue-swallowingly expensive piece of software which resizes your photographs while
maintaining the quality. Photographers will probably want all the other tools that come with high-
end products like PhotoShop and may find this dedicated tool too expensive to justify, but that may not be the case
for researchers who have no need of all the fancy enhancement tools and just want to view the detail of historic
photographs. That said, digital has given photography a real kick in the pants and there’s a real and growing interest in
enhancing images that many may find the investment more than worthwhile.
Basically, PhotoZoom uses proprietary algorithms called S-Spline, S-Spline XL, and S-Spline Max to resize your images,
enabling you to zoom in on details, and I’m told, though haven’t had the opportunity to make any real comparisons
myself, that the result is better than can be achieved with PhotoShop. Whether that will remain the case with a new
version of PhotoShop on the horizon remains to be seen.
The screen is simple. On the right there is a large preview window and on the left a control panel. You can set your
favoured resizing method and control sharpness, edge quality, photo grain, and such like. It also has an option called
Artifact Reduction which helps to enhance low res JPEG compression. The image can be resized by entering dimensions,
choosing a preset from the selection provided, or by dragging on sliders. PhotoZoom integrates well with PhotoShop and
PaintShop Pro. Given these cash-stressed times, I would strongly recommend that you download the trial version before
flashing the plastic.
ENDNOTE X5
Windows XP, Vista (32-/64-bit), Windows 7 (32-/64-bit)
Pentium 450-megahertz (MHz) or faster processor, 180MB hard disk space, 256MB RAM
Adept Scientific
www.adeptscience.co.uk
Download from the website £190.80, £75 for an upgrade
I’m an EndNote fan. I’ve used it since the day it was launched. It was probably the first software I
reviewed professionally, and hardly a day goes by without it being fired up. However, I’m not the most
demanding user: I want it to store all my basic bibliographic data, output it in different ways (styles),
and integrate with my word processor to create a bibliography fairly easily and seamlessly. This is does and it is the
‘industry standard’, extensively used by academics and writers and pretty much de rigueur in universities in Britain and
the States. We reviewed EndNote X4 a few issues ago and now version X5 is available. But EndNote has a very hefty price
tag, even for an upgrade, and in these cash-poor times you have to demand some substantial improvements in return
for your money, especially as EndNote’s main competitors, Zotero, Quicca and Mendeley, are free!
So does EndNote X5 deliver? Well, yes, but only up to a point. The new features are few, not particularly breath-
taking, and largely a response to user demands, such as the new PDF feature which let you view PDFs, add highlights and
comments, and search them, comments and all. Welcome though this is, PDFs are far from new and one thinks ‘about
bloody time’. PDF is already a core feature of competing programs like Quicca and Mendeley. Apart from PDF stuff, the
new version introduces a Preview, Search and QuickEdit window, the latter being a particularly useful way to quickly
make changes or additions to the bibliographic data. The trouble is that you have to save the changes and switch to the
‘preview’ window to see the changes having taken effect.
I really like EndNote, which has the cleanest and simplest user interface and is still the best program of its type,
but it is far from out-of-the-box easy to use and things which should be simple can be time-consuming and clunky to
achieve, such as creating one’s own output style. Basically it’s an old program trying to compete in a modern world and
the time is coming when it is going to need a thorough overhaul. Think Nokia. Think WordPerfect. Who would once have
thought that Nokia would hit the iceberg? But it misjudged the future and is in trouble. WordPerfect was once the best
word processor on the planet, but it failed to respond quickly enough to the advent of Windows and Word moved in and
cleaned up. WordPerfect still exists and it’s still a great word-processor, but it’s pretty much an also ran.
So, whilst EndNote X5 addresses some of the wish-list user requests, one feels that it needs an overhaul, especially
as the competition is excellent too, and mostly free.
Reviews in this issue by Paul Begg.
MAIL ORDER ONLY 24 Grampian Gardens, London NW2 1JG. Tel 020 8455 3069, mobile 07947 573 326
www.laybooks.com lorettalay@hotmail.com
OVER 200 JACK THE RIPPER AND ASSOCIATED TITLES ON THE WEBSITE, INCLUDING:
Barnard (Allan) Ed. by: THE HARLOT KILLER p/b £20 Mussmann (Carl) HVEM VAR JACK THE RIPPER? Facsimile
Reprint softcover Scarce £70
Begg/Fido/Skinner THE COMPLETE JACK THE RIPPER new hb/
dw signed labels all 3 £18 O’Donnell/Parlour (Andy & Sue) THE JACK THE RIPPER
WHITECHAPEL MURDERS hb/dw signed by all 3 + Keith Skinner
Brook (Hugh) MAN MADE ANGRY (fiction) hb/dw Scarce £125
(Foreword) £20
Carnac (James) THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JACK THE RIPPER
Osher 583 (Frater Achad) DID ALEISTER CROWLEY KNOW THE
new hb/dw signed label Paul Begg (wrote Intro’) £16
IDENTITY OF JACK THE RIPPER? booklet £30
Cory (Patricia) AN EYE TO THE FUTURE. The Whitechapel
Raper (Michell) WHO WAS JACK THE RIPPER? softcover
Murders Rare £150
Numbered Ltd. Edn. £75
Dimolianis (Spiro) JACK THE RIPPER AND BLACK MAGIC new
Scott (Christopher) WILL THE REAL MARY KELLY...? softcover
softcover signed £33
signed £20
Farjeon (Clanash) LE MEMORIE DI JACK LO SQUARTATORE new
Wallace (Richard) JACK THE RIPPER “Light-hearted Friend”
softcover signed £13
softcover signed label Colin Wilson (Intro) £20
Gordon (R. Michael) THE POISON MURDERS OF JACK THE
Whittington-Egan (Richard) A CASEBOOK ON JACK THE RIPPER
RIPPER softcover £25
h/b signed £240
Levy (J.H.) Ed. by: THE NECESSITY FOR CRIMINAL APPEAL
Woodhall (Edwin T.) JACK THE RIPPER OR WHEN LONDON
AS ILLUSTRATED BY THE MAYBRICK CASE AND THE VARIOUS
WALKED IN TERROR Facsimile Reprint softcover Numbered Ltd.
JURISPRUDENCE OF VARIOUS COUNTRIES h/b signed Rare £500
Edn. £20
Dancers in Liam Scalett’s Ripper ballet, Sweet Violets.
See Editorial and I Beg to Report in this issue.

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No.

125 April 2012

LYNN CATES presents the case against Jacob Isenschmid

THE CASE AGAINST JACOB ISENSCHMID EDITOR-AT-LARGE

CHRIS SCOTT’S PRESS TRAWL

OBITUARY: LINA ROMAY SUBSCRIPTIONS. Ripperologist is

DEAR RIP BACK ISSUES. Single PDF files of issue

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 1

1 East London Advertiser, 31 March 1888; police officers identified at forum.casebook.org/archive/index.php/t-3578.html

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 2

Subsequent inquiries made by the police

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 3

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 4

Ada Elbury in the 1881 Census.

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 5

11 Standard, 22 September 1887; Pall Mall Gazette, 22 September 1887

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 7

• Discuss the case of the London Metropolitan Police against Isenschmid;

• Examine testimony from the Chapman case, particularly Mrs Long’s

• Discuss Isenschmid’s mental condition as recorded in the Colney Hatch

• In describing the case against the suspect, I will attempt to draw a

A Brief Biography of Jacob Isenschmid

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 8

The Met’s Case Against Isenschmid: The Murders

Let’s begin by discussing those first two murders.

At the inquest, Dr Llewellyn was more specific:

Dr Rees Ralph Llewellyn at

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 9

Dr Llewellyn described her abdominal mutilations as follows:

Indeed, Dr Phillips conjectured

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 10

What kind of weapon was employed in the two murders?

Wynne Baxter, the coroner at inquest, noted that:

The Met’s Case Against Isenschmid: Late Summer 1888

20 East London Observer, 15 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/east_london_observer/

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 11

HIS KNIFE AND STEEL

26 The Star, 18 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/star/s880918.html.

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 12

Although there is no Eltham Road in Holloway, there is

A second incident which led up to the denouncing and

In a report by Police Sergeant William Thick, it is recorded

32 The Echo, 10 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/echo/18880910.html.

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 13

BASED ON UNIVERSAL TERROR.

‘LEATHER APRON’ HAD BEEN ARRESTED

HE GETS HIS NICKNAME.

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 14

HE NEVER MAKES ANY NOISE.

Early on in the investigation of the Whitechapel Murders—on Friday, 7 September—a certain

41 Begg et al., A-Z, p 465.

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 15

Second, the physical description given for ‘Leather Apron’ approximates

44 Paul Begg, ‘Leather Apron’, Ripperologist no. 109, December 2009.

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 16

Later, he was identified as Henry James, a well-known, harmless lunatic.50

48 Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 9 September 1888, available at www.casebook.org/press_reports/lloyds_weekly_news/

Ripperologist 125 April 2012 17

THE OTHER CLUE