Murder at the Inn

by James Moore

  The doctor was duly arrested, but due to the public frenzy surrounding the case locally, it was felt Palmer would not be able to get a fair trial in Staffordshire. An Act of Parliament was hurriedly passed, allowing the case to be heard at the Old Bailey in London. Before the trial, which began on 14 May 1856, Ann Palmer’s body was exhumed and found to contain traces of the poison antimony. Palmer maintained his innocence at the twelve-day trial. Much of the evidence was circumstantial and it never became clear exactly whether it was strychnine that had killed Cook or a combination of poisons. But his symptoms and Palmer’s strange behaviour at the time, as testified to by a raft of witnesses, was enough for the jury to convict him of murder.

  Palmer was hanged on 14 June 1856 outside Stafford Gaol, in front of a crowd of 30,000 people. So infamous was Palmer – dubbed the ‘Prince of Poisoners’ in the press – that he even got his own waxwork at London’s Madame Tussaud’s. It remained on exhibit to the public for the next 127 years. Tales relating to Palmer’s supposed criminal activities flourished too – including the suggestion that he had once poisoned a navvy at The Cross Keys in Hednesford. One of the Palmer case’s more curious legacies is that it’s thought to have given rise to the expression ‘What’s your poison?’ when enquiring what alcoholic drink someone wants. The question is still popular in bar rooms across the land to this day.

  LOCATIONS: Lamb and Flag, Main Road, Little Haywood, Staffordshire, ST18 0TU; The Shrew, Market Street, Rugeley, Staffordshire, WS15 2JJ; Albion, No. 17 Albion Street, Rugeley, Staffordshire, WS15 2BY, 01889 358416; Cross Keys Hotel, No. 42 Hill Street, Hednesford, Cannock, WS12 2DN, 01543 879534

  TWO SISTERS MURDERED BY A SOLDIER, 1856

  Valiant Sailor, Folkestone, Kent

  The Valiant Sailor pub is situated above the romantic white cliffs between Folkestone and Dover near a place called Steddy Hole. First opened in 1780, it was called the Jolly Sailor until 1822. But in 1856 it was the scene of a double murder committed by a spurned soldier. Serbian-born Dedea Redanies was serving in the British army but had become consumed with jealousy after falling for a local girl who, it seems, was not quite as besotted with him. Unrequited love often leads people to extremes, but in Redanies’ case it drove him to kill not only the woman he loved but her unfortunate sister too.

  Aged just 26, Redanies already had plenty of experience of death. He was a decorated soldier who had spent time in the Austro-Hungarian army before travelling to Switzerland and signing up with the British Swiss Legion, one of the regiments of foreign troops recruited to help fight the Crimean War. During the conflict he had been stationed at Dover Castle where, able to speak both German and Italian, he worked as an interpreter.

  It was on an evening out to the theatre that Redanies met Caroline Back, 18, and her sister Maria, 16, who lived in Dover with their parents, John and Mary. Before long, Redanies was courting Caroline and had become friends with her family, regularly bringing his dirty laundry round to clean. Soon Redanies was posted for a short time to Aldershot in Hampshire. It appears that during this period, pretty Caroline’s affection for the dashing soldier diminished. When Redanies returned he asked to see the love letters he had written her but Caroline mistakenly included one from another admirer instead. A furious Redanies became convinced, wrongly, that Caroline was seeing an artilleryman in Woolwich. He also believed that she had misled him about being pregnant with his child, a ruse, so it was said, that the youngster had come up with to scare him off!

  On Saturday 2 August, Redanies bought a dagger from a shop in Snargate Street in Dover. That evening he went to ask Mary Back if he could take her daughter Caroline for a walk to Folkestone the following Sunday morning. She agreed as long as her sister Maria went along too. At the astonishingly early hour of 3.30 a.m. the trio set off in their Sunday best. Caroline and Mary were wearing smart black capes, bonnets and gloves while Redanies was wearing full uniform. At 5 a.m. Redanies was seen walking arm in arm with the pair in the village of Capel-le-Ferne, not far from the Valiant Sailor. A few minutes later, according to his own account, Redanies asked the girls to sit down on some grass to rest but they apparently refused because it was too damp. He then asked Caroline to lead the way on. As she set off he then plunged his new dagger directly into Maria’s heart. Caroline, seeing her sister fall to the floor dead, collapsed sobbing. Redanies said he then bent down to kiss her. When Caroline tried to grab the knife, Redanies repeatedly stabbed her too and then fled.

  At 8 a.m. that Sunday a carpenter called Thomas Gurling was trying to find a safe way down to the beach when he stumbled across the bloodied, dead bodies of the two girls, lying about 15yds apart. Racing to the Valiant Sailor nearby he told the landlord, Richard Kitham, of his discovery and the pair went back to the scene. Kitham then rushed off to fetch the police in Folkestone and the bodies were removed to a nearby cottage. A doctor, William Bateman, was also called. As well as three wounds to her chest, Caroline had suffered cuts to her left hand where she had tried to parry the blows. Maria had been stabbed four times, also in the chest. Both of the girls, identified that morning by Mary Back, were still wearing their gloves and bonnets but their black capes were missing. Chillingly, their mother told police that she had dreamed that morning that Redanies would murder the girls and that their bodies would be found on the beach.

  Redanies clearly regretted his moment of madness. The next day he called at a shop to buy some envelopes, writing paper and a pen. He then sat down and composed two letters, both in German. One was to his company commander and the other was sent to Mary Back:

  Dearest Mother Back—On the first lines, I pray to forgive me the awful accident to the unlucky Dedea Redanies which I committed upon my very dear Caroline and Maria Back yesterday morning at five o’clock. Scarcely I am able to write, by heartbreak for my ever memorable Caroline and Mary Ann. The cause of my deed is: 1. As I heard that Caroline is not in the family way, as I first believed. 2. Because Caroline intends to go to Woolwich. 3. Because I cannot stay with my very dear Caroline, it made my heart so scattered that I put into my mind at last that Caroline rather may die from my hands than to allow Caroline’s love being bestowed upon others. However, I did not intend to murder also Mary Ann, her sister; but not having other opportunity, and as she was in my way, I could not do otherwise – I must stab her too.

  At 4 p.m. that day a police constable spotted a man acting suspiciously on the road to Canterbury. It was Redanies, still carrying the capes of the two girls. He immediately tried to stab himself, before throwing the dagger to the ground. Redanies was badly injured but later recovered in hospital.

  Redanies’ trial for murder began on 16 December 1856, where he pleaded guilty and was quickly convicted and sentenced to death. His execution, carried out by William Calcraft, took place in Maidstone on New Year’s Day 1857 and was witnessed by a crowd of 5,000 people. Tragically, a man called James Anderson was killed by accident when he fell whilst helping to take down the scaffold.

  LOCATIONS: Valiant Sailor, New Dover Road, Capel-le-Ferne, Folkestone, Kent, CT18 7JJ, 01303 252 401, www.valiantsailor.com

  THE MURDER OF ‘SWEET FANNY ADAMS’, 1867

  The George and The Swan, Alton, Hampshire

  At 7 p.m. on Saturday, 24 August 1867, Frederick Baker walked into The Swan in Alton High Street with a fellow clerk, Maurice Biddle. The pair worked together at William Clement’s solicitors firm across the road. It was clear to Maurice that Baker, who had been in and out of the office that day, had already been drinking. Baker related how, whilst out for a walk that afternoon, a woman had accused him of taking away a child and said, ‘if the child is lost or murdered I shall be blamed for it.’ Baker then told Maurice that he might leave town on the Monday. After a boot boy overheard Baker’s plans and said he was also leaving Alton on the Monday, Baker suggested they could both leave together. When it was suggested that Baker might have difficulty getting another job he replied, ‘I could go as a butcher.’

  Baker’s odd state
ment at the bar took on a spine-chilling significance when Maurice later heard the rumours that Baker was indeed suspected of murdering an 8-year-old girl, Fanny Adams, whose body had just been found. Rushing to find Baker again he challenged him, saying, ‘They say you have murdered a child.’ Baker answered, ‘Never mind, it is a bad job for me then.’ At 9 p.m. the 29-year-old was arrested back at his place of work by Superintendent William Cheyney and marched to the police station. Word of the terrible deed – and the identity of the man suspected of perpetrating it – had already spread through the town and a baying crowd had assembled. Two days later, Baker’s office diary would be found. The entry for 24 August read simply: ‘Killed a young girl. It was fine and hot.’

  Young Fanny had left her home in Tanhouse Lane at 1.30 p.m. on the 24th to play in a meadow with her sister Lizzie and a friend called Minnie Warner. Here they encountered a man wearing a black coat, light waistcoat and trousers who gave them some halfpennies. He then asked Fanny to go into a hop field with him, while he gave the other two some more money and told them to go off and buy some sweets. Fanny took her money but was reluctant to go with Baker. He then scooped the child up in his arms and disappeared with her among the hop poles. Although she was out of sight of the other children, they could hear Fanny crying.

  At 5 p.m., Minnie and Lizzie returned home from playing without Fanny. They told a neighbour, Mrs Gardiner, what had happened. Mrs Gardiner immediately raised the alarm with Fanny’s mother, Harriet, and the two rushed up the lane to the spot where she was last seen. As they did so, they encountered a man coming the other way. Suspecting foul play, Mrs Gardiner said, ‘What have you done with the child?’ The man, who seemed utterly composed, told them that he had indeed given some children a few pennies but that he had left them all unharmed. While he didn’t offer up his name he did tell the name of the solicitors’ firm where he worked – Clement’s.

  At 7 p.m. a search party was formed and Fanny’s dead body was found a little later in the hop field. Her head and legs had been cut off and her eyes gouged out. There were many other hideous injuries and body parts were scattered over a wide area. She had also been disembowelled. Poor Harriet Adams ran to the cricket pitch at the Butts to tell her husband, George, the terrible news, before collapsing with grief. An equally devastated George had to be restrained from taking his own revenge on whoever the culprit might be with a shotgun. Meanwhile Fanny’s remains were taken to the Leather Bottle tavern in Amery Street (which later became a restaurant) and then to the police station.

  When Superintendent Cheyney heard the description of the man who had last been seen with Fanny, he immediately thought of Baker and headed to his office. Upon his arrest, Baker maintained that he was innocent. However, there were traces of blood on his shirt and trousers and some of the clothes he had been wearing were found to be wet as if they had been washed. Two small knives were also found in his possession. A local painter later found a large stone in the hop field with blood and hair stuck to it. This would turn out to have been the murder weapon.

  The inquest into Fanny’s death was opened at The Dukes Head Inn. This grade II listed pub has since been through several name changes and is now called The George. Here the jury had the unpleasant task of viewing Fanny’s remains. A handcuffed Baker, who appeared before the coroner, repeated that he had not killed the girl, but the jury quickly returned its verdict of wilful murder against him for the ‘slaying of Fanny Adams’. Feeling was running so high that by now a lynch mob had assembled outside the pub. In the end the prisoner was smuggled out of the Duke’s Head via a back exit, but Baker was still forced to run to the prison surrounded by policemen for his protection.

  Baker was tried at Winchester Assizes that December, where he pleaded insanity. The court heard that a cousin of Baker’s had been in Bedlam asylum in London and that the prisoner himself, it was said, had once tried to commit suicide. In Baker’s defence, it was also pointed out that the small knives found on Baker were surely too small to have been used to cut up Fanny’s body.

  Neither the argument that Baker was mad nor the fact that there was not enough evidence to link him to Fanny’s terrible fate was enough to convince the jury of his innocence. They took just fifteen minutes to find him guilty. At 8 a.m. on Christmas Eve – four months after the crime – some 5,000 people assembled at Winchester’s county prison to see Baker hanged. It was the last public hanging there.

  It turned out that, following his conviction, Baker had written to Fanny’s parents expressing sorrow for what he had done. He had murdered her, he said, when she began to cry. He had done it ‘in an unguarded hour and not with malice aforethought’. Baker maintained to the end that he had not sexually assaulted their daughter, though he had so badly mutilated her body that it was impossible for surgeons to be sure.

  The case shocked the whole nation and newspapers described the murder as unparalleled in its brutality. It also had a curious legacy for the English language. It gave rise to the use of the phrase ‘Sweet Fanny Adams’ to mean ‘sweet nothing’, which is still heard today. This came from the dark humour of sailors, who moaned about the new meagre tins of mutton that they were issued with for sea voyages from 1869.

  LOCATIONS: The George, formerly the Dukes Head Inn, Butts Road, Alton, Hampshire GU34 1LH, 01420 82331, www.thegeorgealton.co.uk; The Swan Hotel, High Street, Alton, Hampshire GU34 1AT, 01420 83777, www.oldenglishinns.co.uk

  WAS JACK THE RIPPER ONCE ARRESTED AT A PUB? 1873

  Burton Bridge Inn, Burton-on-Trent

  Few criminals could have used as many aliases as Michael Ostrog if, indeed, that was his real name. The shadowy figure was known to have used at least twenty different monikers during a bizarre career of misdemeanours. They included Bertrand Ashley, Stanistan Sublinsky, John Sobieski, Claude Clayton, Max Grief Gosslar, Ashley Nabokoff, Knuth Ostin and, perhaps most exotic of all, Mutters Ostrogoc. But the question that has faced crime historians for more than 100 years is whether this elusive eccentric should also be branded Jack the Ripper.

  Sir Melville Macnaghten, chief constable of the Metropolitan Police in the 1890s, certainly believed that Ostrog fitted the profile of the notorious serial killer who is believed to have viciously murdered at least five women in the Whitechapel area of London in 1888. In February 1894, Macnaghten produced a handwritten memorandum on the Ripper case in response to newspaper claims that a man called Thomas Cutbush was the culprit. Although not involved in the original Ripper investigation, Macnaghten named three suspects who he felt were more likely to be the murderer. These were Montague John Druitt, a barrister turned teacher who committed suicide in late 1888; Aaron Kosminski, a Polish Jew who lived in Whitechapel and was committed to an asylum in 1891; and Michael Ostrog. In the document Macnaghten described Ostrog as follows:

  … a mad Russian Doctor and a convict and a homicidal maniac. This man was said to have been habitually cruel to women and for a long time was known to have carried about with him surgical knives and other instruments; his antecedents (criminal records) were of the very worst and his whereabouts at the time of the Whitechapel murders could never be satisfactorily accounted for.

  The details of Ostrog’s life are sketchy. Possibly born in 1835 in Warsaw, Poland, Ostrog claimed both to have been a doctor and to have served in the Russian army or navy. What is certain is that he was educated and eloquent, as well as an expert con man and thief. Ostrog first came to the attention of the authorities in 1863 when he was to be found in Oxford passing himself off as a German student called Max Grief Gosslar. He was convicted of pilfering items from the university’s colleges and given ten months’ hard labour.

  Michael Ostrog, a man of Polish descent, who has been suspected of being Jack the Ripper. (Author’s collection)

  The following year he popped up in Bishop’s Stortford, Hertfordshire, this time posing as an impoverished Polish count on the run. In February he was convicted of more offences in Cambridge and given a three-month sentence. By July 1864 he was
in Tunbridge Wells, Kent, this time pretending to be the son of the King of Poland, selling hard luck stories to anyone who would listen in order to get cash. Ostrog came a cropper in Devon in December that year when he was found guilty of fraud and imprisoned for another eight months.

  In 1866, Ostrog turned up in Kent again where he stole a watch among other items. That July, in Maidstone, he was handed down a sentence of seven years, the judge being aware of his former convictions. Just three months after his release in 1873, however, he was at Woolwich Barracks in London somehow talking his way into the quarters of an officer and stealing £5 worth of his belongings. Moving on to Windsor in Berkshire he began, in July that year, taking valuables from the rooms at Eton College including a silver cup and some rare books. Knowing the police had his description, Ostrog soon did another runner. But he was not at large for long.

  On Sunday, 5 October 1873, Ostrog was tracked down to the modest Fox and Goose Inn, today known as the Burton Bridge Inn, at Burton-on-Trent where he had taken a room. Quite why he had popped up in the town is uncertain, but Ostrog seemed to have a habit of fleeing to random destinations if his nefarious activities generated too much heat in one location.