The Worst Street in London: Foreword by Peter Ackroyd

by Rule, Fiona

  From that time on, Polly drifted through various workhouses throughout London until 12 May 1888, when she was offered a position below stairs at a house in Wandsworth. This new job, which later turned out to be Polly’s last opportunity to get her life back on track, did not work out and on 12 July, she absconded from the house, taking £3-worth of clothing with her. Like so many of her kind, Polly then found herself in the rookeries of Spitalfields, taking nightly beds at common lodging houses in Thrawl Street and Flower and Dean Street.

  On the night of 30 August, Polly was seen plying her trade on the Whitechapel Road, a popular haunt of streetwalkers. At around midnight, she visited the Frying Pan public house in Brick Lane for some liquid refreshment and then visited one of her preferred lodging houses at 18 Thrawl Street where she tried to secure a bed for the night unsuccessfully on account of the fact that she had spent all her money in the pub. The last time Polly was seen by anyone who knew her was at approximately 2.30am on the morning of 31 August when her friend and fellow lodger Ellen Holland encountered her on the corner of Osborn Street; pretty much the exact spot where Emma Smith had been fatally assaulted four months previously. Ellen Holland found Polly to be very drunk but determined to obtain the money for her bed and the two women parted company. Polly set off in the direction of Bucks Row. Just over an hour later, she was dead.

  The police were once again baffled regarding both the killer and the motive. Polly had no money, so it was inconceivable that she was the victim of a violent robbery and all her friends and family said she was an affable person who had no enemies.

  Clutching at straws, the police re-interviewed anyone who they considered to be the slightest bit suspicious. Suspects included workers at the nearby slaughterhouse in Winthrop Street and an odd character named John Piser, commonly known as ‘Leather Apron’. Piser was well known among the Spitalfields prostitutes’ fraternity because he regularly tried to blackmail the women and would assault them if they didn’t comply with his requests. The press, who by now were beginning to see the opportunities for increased circulation in reporting on the murders, leapt on the Piser story and virtually convicted the man before he had even been interviewed by police.

  Not surprisingly, Piser went to ground and when police eventually found him (on 10 September) it turned out that he had a cast-iron alibi for the night of the Nichols murder. The police were back to square one, this time with the added problem of unwanted attention from the press. Polly Nichols’ inquest did not shed any further light on either murderer or motive, despite interviewing virtually anyone who had any sort of connection with the murder. The jury was forced to reach a verdict of ‘wilful murder against some person or persons unknown’ for the third time in little over four months.

  The three murders that had occurred in Spitalfields during the first eight months of 1888 had brought a lot of unwelcome attention to the lodging houses and furnished rooms of the area. So far, most attention had been given to the residents of George Street, Thrawl Street and Flower and Dean Street because they were the roads in which the victims had resided prior to their untimely deaths. Consequently, the residents of Dorset Street had gone relatively undisturbed. Landlords McCarthy and Crossingham were no doubt relieved that this was the case as they would have benefited from the relocation of erstwhile residents of the victims’ lodgings who were keen to avoid police interest at all costs. This is not to say however, that anyone who avoided the police did so because they were involved in the murders.

  On the contrary, although Spitalfields was notorious for its lawlessness, murder (particularly that of a woman) was rare. The tenants of the lodging houses, although considered the lowest of the low by the chattering classes, were no doubt horrified that such violence was being perpetrated on their doorstep. In addition to this, their livelihoods were threatened by the murders; since the murder of Polly Nichols, the police were more vigilant than they had ever been before, thus making the crimes of theft and burglary more difficult. The prostitutes’ job had become fraught with danger too and the women were more wary of strangers, until they were too drunk or desperate for a bed to care.

  Throughout August 1888, Crossingham and McCarthy reaped the benefits of the migration away from the east side of Commercial Street, blissfully ignorant of the fact that within a matter of days, they too would become embroiled in what the press had now christened the ‘Whitechapel Murders’.

  At about 2am on 8 September, Timothy Donovan, the deputy in charge of William Crossingham’s lodging house at 35 Dorset Street was visited by one of his regular lodgers. Annie Chapman (otherwise known as Siffey) was 45 years old. Like Martha Tabram and Polly Nichols before her, she had left her husband at the beginning of the 1880s, the break-up being precipitated by her addiction to alcohol. Since that time, Annie had wandered aimlessly through life (unknowingly with a potentially fatal disease of the brain) until she found herself on the streets of Spitalfields. Timothy Donovan was well acquainted with Annie. According to him, she had been working as a prostitute for well over a year and had become a regular at 35 Dorset Street some four months previously.

  Annie’s reason for seeing Donovan on the 8th was to try to blag a bed for the night, despite the fact that she had no money to pay for it. Donovan was well used to pleas for mercy such as this and refused. However, he did allow her to have a rest in the communal kitchen before resuming her hunt for punters. As she left, Annie told him not to let the bed as she would be back soon. It was the last time Donovan saw her alive.

  About four hours after Annie had left Crossingham’s lodging house, John Davis stepped out of the back door of a crowded, terraced house he shared at 29 Hanbury Street, Spitalfields and got the shock of his life. Lying at the bottom of the back steps was the body of a woman. Fearing the worst, Davis stumbled back through the house and out into Hanbury Street where he found two men on their way to work at Bailey’s packing case factory, which was situated a few doors away. The two men followed Davis down the side passage of the house, took one look at the body and immediately went to fetch a policeman, telling several colleagues about their gruesome discovery on the way.

  The men ran up Hanbury Street and soon found Inspector Joseph Chandler, who was on duty in Commercial Street. Inspector Chandler returned to the yard with the men. He found quite a few neighbours and passers-by loitering in the passage, but thankfully, all of them seemed too scared to approach the body in the yard. Seeing that the woman was either dead or dying, Inspector Chandler wasted no time in sending for the Divisional Surgeon, Dr Bagster Phillips, who lived in Spital Square.

  Once the doctor was on site, it became obvious that the woman had been violently and ruthlessly assaulted. Her throat was deeply cut and she had been disembowelled, just the same as Polly Nichols. Unlike Nichols however, her internal organs had been savagely hacked and strewn around her corpse. Following a closer examination, it was found that some organs, including her womb and part of her bladder, were missing, presumably taken away as trophies by the murderer.

  Still reeling from the shock of this latest brutal slaying, the police set about attempting to identify and apprehend the perpetrator, hoping they would meet with considerably more success than last time. They interviewed all the residents of number 29 Hanbury Street and searched their rooms. When nothing incriminating was found, they widened their search to the surrounding houses and sent officers to all common lodging houses in the area to find out if any of the deputies had admitted anyone that morning who either looked suspicious or was acting strangely. Again, nothing. Usual suspects were rounded up and interviewed, prostitutes were questioned, statements were examined and re-examined. Nothing yielded any clue. The Whitechapel Murderer had claimed another victim. And this time, Dorset Street was right in the thick of the police enquiry.

  Reasoning that it was probably best to be entirely cooperative with the police on this occasion, William Crossingham sent his deputy, Tim Donovan and his doorman (a man named John Evans), along to Annie Chapman’s inquest
with the instruction to be as helpful as possible.

  Both men were questioned by the coroner and they agreed that it was inconceivable that anyone would want to harm Annie in such a vicious and horrific way. Donovan stated that he had never experienced any trouble with Annie and believed her to be on friendly terms with all the other lodgers at 35 Dorset Street. Evans was slightly less complimentary, saying that Annie had fought with another woman in the kitchen of the lodging house on the previous Thursday. That said, he had never heard anyone threaten Annie and was not aware that she was afraid of anyone. Various other witnesses were called, including policemen, residents of Hanbury Street and people who admitted to being in the street on the night of the murder. None of their testimonies revealed any incriminating evidence and once again, the inquest jury were forced to agree on the verdict ‘wilful murder against some person or persons unknown’.

  While the police were tearing their hair out trying to capture the murderer or murderers, the press were having a field day. Spitalfields, with its gross overcrowding and its volatile mix of cultures and ethnicities had long since been in a state of crisis. The appearance of the ‘Whitechapel Murderer’ had brought things to boiling point. The impoverished Huguenots blamed the Irish. The Irish blamed the Jews. The Jews (most of whom were relatively new to the area) kept their heads down and hoped to goodness it wasn’t one of them.

  The press fed off this mutual distrust and began publishing salacious stories concerning the murders, many of which were pure fantasy. A common theory was that an Englishman could never have committed such heinous crimes. Therefore, it was a foreigner that was to blame. The Star even went so far as to name John Piser (who was Jewish) as the killer. This frankly stupid move almost resulted in a costly legal battle for The Star when Piser quite understandably threatened to sue.

  Rightly or wrongly, the police withheld a lot of information from the press and consequently, journalists began to speculate rather than report hard facts. Assuming the police were looking for just one man, the newspapers began to paint a disturbing picture of a spectral monster with an insatiable bloodlust who roamed the streets of Spitalfields searching for his prey. The fact that his victims were prostitutes gave journalists another angle and numerous valedictory articles appeared on the dismal plight of the fallen woman.

  The spectral image of the murderer also gave rise to a number of press reports with a supernatural theme, the most famous being the myth that the image of the murderer was preserved, like a photograph, on the pupils of the victims’ eyes.

  This sensational style of reporting resulted in the residents of Spitalfields developing a morbid fascination for the dreadful crimes that were being perpetrated in their midst. As a subscriber to the East London Observer, Jack McCarthy kept himself up-to-date with the press’s take on events. Meanwhile, his tenants in 13 Miller’s Court also read the newspaper reports. Mary Kelly was no doubt greatly relieved that as long as she stayed with Joe Barnett, she wouldn’t have to take her chances on the streets.

  Annie Chapman’s murder had brought things much closer to home. Chapman had been a long term resident of Dorset Street. Prior to her moving into Crossingham’s lodging house at number 35, she had regularly stayed at McCarthy’s lodgings at number 30. Therefore it is inconceivable that she was unknown to the McCarthy family and highly likely that she was acquainted with Mary Kelly and Joe Barnett. Annie Chapman was not some unknown, washed up unfortunate. She was a real person, possibly even a friend. As they read through the newspaper reports and dodged the increasing number of journalists that prowled Dorset Street for good copy, McCarthy, Crossingham and their tenants must have longed for the day that the miserable street they called home ceased to be front-page news on virtually every newspaper in Britain. That day would be a long time coming.

  Three weeks after the murder of Annie Chapman, at 1am on the morning of 30 September, Louis Diemshutz drove his pony and coster barrow down Berner Street, just off the Commercial Road in Whitechapel. He was making for the yard of International Working Men’s Educational Club, where he stored his goods. As Diemshutz turned to go through the gates by the side of the club, his pony shied to the left. Although it was very dark in the yard, Diemshutz looked down to his right to see what was obstructing the pony’s way and saw a shape on the ground. Unable to make out what it was, he tentatively poked it with his whip, and then when it didn’t move, he got down and lit a match.

  The wind blew the match out almost immediately, but Diemshutz had enough time to see that the object on the ground was a woman, presumably in a state of inebriation. He went into the club and emerged again with a candle. This time, he could see that the woman was not simply drunk. There was blood. Wasting no time, Diemshutz went off to find a policeman. At first his search proved fruitless despite him shouting as loud as he could and he returned to the yard with another man he had met on the street. This man knelt down to look at the woman and gently lifted her head. It was then that to their horror, the two men realised her throat had been cut.

  Eventually, Constable Henry Lamb was found on the Commercial Road and soon the police found themselves conducting yet another murder enquiry. The visitors to the Working Men’s Club were interviewed, as were neighbours and passers-by. Once again, absolutely no clue was to be found, but this time, there was apparently a witness.

  Israel Schwartz happened to be walking down Berners Street towards the Working Men’s Club about a quarter of an hour before Louis Diemshutz arrived with his pony and barrow. As he approached the yard, Schwartz saw a man stop and speak to a woman who was standing in the gateway. He then watched as the man grabbed the woman and tried to pull her into the street. When she wouldn’t move, he turned and threw her onto the ground. The woman screamed, though not very loudly.

  Not wishing to become embroiled in what seemed to be a domestic dispute, Schwartz crossed over the road and while doing so, noticed a second man standing a short distance ahead of him lighting his pipe. The man who had thrown the woman to the ground then called out, apparently to alert the man with the pipe of Schwartz’s presence. Alarmed at this rather strange series of events, Schwartz quickened his pace in order to get away from the scene but to his dismay, found that the man with the pipe was following him. Now quite afraid, Schwartz broke into a run but thankfully, the man did not follow him far.

  Israel Schwartz’s story was the biggest lead the police had received to date and they wasted no time in taking him to the mortuary where he identified the dead woman as the one he had seen outside the yard. He also gave detailed descriptions of the two men he saw: the first man was aged about 30, approximately 5’5” in height, with dark hair and a fair complexion. He had a small brown moustache, was broad-shouldered and had been wearing a black cap with a peak. The second man was about five years older than the first and about six inches taller. He had light brown hair and was wearing an old, black felt hat with a wide brim. The police immediately circulated the description of the first man to their officers. Strangely, they discounted the second man and no attempt seems to have been made to find him.

  In addition to finding themselves a possible witness, the police also managed to identify the murdered woman. Her name was Elizabeth Stride, although she was commonly referred to as ‘Long Liz’, seemingly a reference to her face-shape, as she was not a particularly tall woman. She was about 38 years old and was originally from Sweden. Interestingly, Liz had more than one thing in common with the previous victims. In addition to being a prostitute, she favoured two lodging houses more than any others. One was in Flower and Dean Street (number 32) and the other was at number 38 Dorset Street – one of Jack McCarthy’s properties and just three doors down from the lodgings used by Annie Chapman. As the police searched in vain for clues, a pattern seemed to be slowly forming, the epicentre of which appeared to be Dorset Street.

  Although they feared that Elizabeth Stride had fallen victim to the ‘Whitechapel Murderer’, the police were puzzled that her body had not been mutilated. Some
surmised that her killer had been disturbed by Diemshutz’s pony and barrow. Indeed it was quite likely that the killer had still been at large while Diemshutz was in the pitch-black yard and had only made his escape when he went inside the club to get a candle. A disturbing thought, especially for Louis Diemshutz. However, within a matter of hours, it became glaringly obvious that Elizabeth Stride’s killer had indeed been disturbed and he had left Berner Street to stalk prey elsewhere.

  As Elizabeth Stride was being savagely attacked in Berner Street, a 43-year-old woman named Catherine Eddowes left Bishopsgate Police Station and walked down the street towards Houndsditch. Catherine had been locked up in the police cells at the station for a few hours after being found extremely drunk and rather amusingly impersonating a fire engine on Aldgate High Street. Seeing that she was temporarily incapable of looking after herself, the police decided to put her in a cell until she was sober enough to get herself home. By 1am the next morning, she had sobered up sufficiently to give the desk sergeant a false name and address (Mary Ann Kelly of 6 Fashion Street) and was allowed to go. As the gaoler let her out of the station, Catherine asked him what the time was. When he told her it was 1am, Catherine responded by telling him that she would get ‘a damned fine hiding when I get home’.

  But Catherine never did go home. Although she began walking in the direction of the lodgings that she shared with her lover, John Kelly in Flower and Dean Street, she then changed direction and headed east, back towards the spot where she had been arrested.

  At about 1.30am, Joseph Lawende and his friends Joseph Levy and Harry Harris, left the Imperial Club in Duke Street, a short distance away from Aldgate High Street. As they passed a small passage that lead to a quiet backwater called Mitre Square, Lawende noticed a man and a woman standing in the shadows. The woman had placed her hand on the man’s chest. Thinking nothing of it, Lawende and his two companions continued their journey.