by Rule, Fiona
The police felt that Hall knew an awful lot of details about the story and decided it was worth remanding him in custody and sending him to London. Once back in the capital, Hall was put into an identity parade and one of the witnesses picked him out as the man he saw with Kitty on the night of the murder. Hall was charged with murder and imprisoned pending the trial.
The police were no doubt relieved to have seemingly solved this dreadful murder but by the time of the trial, they had grave doubts as to whether they had the right man. Under cross-examination by the defence counsel, the witness who had picked Hall out in the identity parade admitted that he had been suffering from a severe hangover at the time and was now unsure that Hall was the man he had seen with Kitty. Another witness was called who claimed that the penknife allegedly used in the murder was exactly the same as one that he and Hall had found whilst working in a paper sorting warehouse. The man claimed the blade was distinctly damaged and this was how he could identify it without doubt. The only problem with this testimony was that it was never conclusively established that the penknife was indeed the murder weapon.
Despite very flimsy evidence, Hall was found guilty. The judge sentenced him to death but the sentence was never carried out and it is unknown what eventually became of Harold Hall. Miller’s Court was once again the venue for a murder for which the motive and the perpetrator would be unclear. At the trial it was discovered that Harold Hall was a lonely drifter without friends or close family who had been deserted by his parents at an early age. Did he really kill Kitty Ronan or was he a troubled, lonely man desperate to gain acknowledgement through notoriety?
Despite Duval Street’s terrible reputation, the fact that the crumbling properties stood on land in such close proximity to the City meant that they were still worth a considerable amount of money to their owners. In 1910, the Government decided to assess the capital appreciation of real estate by individually surveying every property in every street in every town. This mammoth undertaking was known as ‘Lloyd George’s Domesday’ and never got completely finished. However, the vast majority of London was surveyed and Duval Street was no exception. By this time, Jack McCarthy owned or leased huge tracts of the road including numbers 2, 3, 4, 8 on one side and numbers 26, 27 (including Miller’s Court,) 28, 29, 30, 31 and 31a on the other. In total, these properties were valued at £6,170 – a very substantial sum of money despite the fact that most of them were falling to pieces. It transpired that the Valuation Survey was timely. In 1914, the City of London (Various Powers) Act was passed which granted the Corporation of London the power to finally widen the streets around Spitalfields Market that had been causing problems for so many years.
The freeholders and leaseholders of properties in Duval Street were all contacted to ascertain whether or not they were in favour of the proposed extension even though there was a good chance that their property would be subject to a compulsory purchase. Jack McCarthy voted in favour of the extension. This might on the surface sound surprising because of his long-standing business interests in the area, not to mention that fact that Duval Street had been his home for nearly 40 years and the place in which he had raised his children. But Jack McCarthy was not a stupid man. He realised that trade was in decline and that the market expansion would go ahead despite any reservations he may have had. His decision to support the expansion was finally cemented when, on 18 February 1914, his wife Elizabeth succumbed to bronchitis and died at home in the upstairs rooms of 27 Duval Street.
Elizabeth’s death marked the end of an era for Jack McCarthy. His children were grown up and able to look after themselves and his old friend and colleague William Crossingham was dead. He was also getting old himself and in his mid-60s, no longer had the energy to assert the constant control one had to wield over the unruly ruffians and gangs that proliferated the area. It was time to retire and Duval Street was about to lose its most influential resident.
Jack McCarthy’s retirement from the day-to-day running of his businesses was swiftly followed by an event that would have a much greater effect on Duval Street than any number of gangs or town planners could ever hope to achieve. On 4 August 1914, the Prime Minister announced that German troops had invaded Belgium. A bloody and devastating world war was about to begin that would change the face of Duval Street, Spitalfields, London and all the towns beyond forever.
Chapter 25
World War 1
Following the declaration of war, it soon became clear to the Government that more men were needed to fight. In August 1914, the British Army comprised approximately 250,000 regular troops. In contrast, the German Army had 700,000 soldiers and was considered the most efficient war machine in the world.
On 7 August, the War Minister, Lord Kitchener, began a massive recruitment campaign where he tried to persuade male civilians between the ages of 19 and 30 to join up. Keen to defend their country from the fearsome Hun and ignorant of the horrors that war could inflict, many young men complied with Kitchener’s request and by mid-August, an average of 33,000 men were joining the army every day. This initial flurry of enthusiasm was encouraged further when, at the end of August, the age limit was raised to 35 and by mid-September, half a million men had volunteered.
The casual labourers and market workers that resided in Duval Street and its surrounds were extremely keen to sign up as it offered them an opportunity to do something far more constructive with their lives than their current employment could ever offer them. However, at first many were thwarted in their attempts to join the army, which had certain regulations regarding who could enlist. All new recruits had to be at least 5’6” tall with a chest measurement no less than 35 inches. Many of the poor Spitalfields dwellers had been raised on a very bad diet and consequently were undernourished and small in stature. However, they received a second chance when, in 1915, volunteers began to reduce so the army relaxed its regulations to allow men over 5’3” to sign up.
The age limit was also raised to 40 and by July 1915, the army decided to create what were colloquially known as ‘Bantam Battalions’, which consisted of men measuring between 5’ and 5’3” in height. Many men from Spitalfields and the surrounding areas joined battalions of the City of London Royal Fusiliers. Local boy Arthur Harding later remembered seeing inebriated new recruits gathering at Columbia Road Market before marching off to Waterloo Station bound for training camps in Aldershot. Many of these men were destined never to return.
Although Spitalfields became caught up in the fervent patriotism that was universally prevalent during 1914 and the early months of 1915, there were many men who did not rush to join the queue at the recruitment office. These men had many reasons for not joining their friends and colleagues. Some were fearful of fighting, others objected to war in principle. Most thought it irresponsible to leave their families as they were often the sole wage-earner whose job it was to care not only for their young families, but also for elderly and sick parents. This reluctance by a large proportion of eligible men to join up was country-wide and so the Government hatched an elaborate plan to change these men’s views.
The War Propaganda Bureau was set up and amongst other tasks, was assigned the job of persuading more civilian men to join the army. The Propaganda Bureau responded with a highly sophisticated PR campaign that centred on the promotion of fervent patriotism combined with dissemination of terrible stories citing the horrific barbarism of the German army. Popular writers of the time were invited to produce pamphlets that were distributed around the streets. This resulted in the production of persuasive tracts from eminent authors such as Rudyard Kipling, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Arnold Bennett. A highly effective poster campaign was also launched and large businesses were encouraged to set up their own recruitment drives. The Manchester Guardian newspaper for example offered the following privileges to employees who decided to sign up:
Four week’s wages from date of leaving.
Re-engagement on discharge from service guaranteed.
H
alf pay during absence on duty for married men from the date when full pay ceases, to be paid to the wife.
Special arrangements for single men who have relatives entirely dependent on them.
Most of the recruitment drives organised by the Propaganda Bureau were successful but some of their schemes were heavily criticised. One such scheme was the creation of the Order of the White Feather. This organisation was set up in August 1914 by Admiral Charles Fitzgerald who believed that he could shame men into signing up. Young, attractive girls were encouraged to patrol the streets and hand out white feathers (signifying cowardice) to any man who looked the right age to fight. The main problem with the concept of the Order of the White Feather was that the young girls had no idea of their victims’ backgrounds. Many men that were given white feathers had previously failed the army physical. Many others had resisted joining because of personal tragedy, for example the death of a wife or child. The delivery of the white feather simply added to their misery by making them feel guilty.
Of course, these recruitment drives and PR campaigns cost money and with a hugely increased number of new soldiers to pay, the Government coffers soon began to look decidedly depleted. In a bid to significantly increase their funds, the Treasury introduced the War Loan scheme, a savings plan designed to prop up the economy for the duration of the war. Local businesses, unions, friendly societies, clubs and even private individuals were encouraged to invest money in the scheme. Following a national appeal, the Costermongers’ and Street Sellers’ Union, whose headquarters were in Spitalfields, generously invested virtually all its funds – £800 – in the fund. However, not all Spitalfields workers were quite as keen to help the war effort. Some time later, Joseph Goldberg, Joseph Coen and Abraham Applebrook were summoned before a judge accused of selling potatoes at a rate above the fixed price. It is not clear whether the three men were members of the union.
The army recruitment drives also had their detractors. In August 1917, Myer Gritzhandler Smerna, a 27-year-old warehouseman from Spitalfields, was arrested with two associates for using ‘insulting words and behaviour’. The Times reported that, ‘The evidence of two constables was that the men formed part of a crowd of 150 outside the Aliens’ Registration Office in Commercial Street at 10 o’clock on Tuesday night.’ Mr Smerna’s friend cried ‘**** the army, I am not going to join’ and Smerna concurred loudly and enthusiastically. The crowd didn’t take too kindly to the men’s outburst and in the words of The Times reporter, ‘became very hostile towards the prisoners. The Police had considerable trouble getting them to the station.’ Smerna and his associate were subsequently bound over to keep the peace, the judge sagely noting that they could have found themselves in a very dangerous situation had the police not intervened.
Following the massive recruitment drives of 1914 and 1915, London’s demographic changed considerably. A vast number of men aged between 19 and 40 vanished from the streets. In some areas, the entire male population vanished. Consequently, businesses that relied on these men suffered considerably and none more so than the common lodging houses.
The average age of a male common lodging house resident in Spitalfields before 1915 had been 35. By 1916, the lodging houses had been emptied of virtually all their labouring clientele and were left with older men and women. The landlords tightened their belts and hoped that the war would soon be over.
In Spitalfields, the landlords were not the only people to be affected by the sudden disappearance of the younger men. The prostitutes also found their trade was severely affected. They had no choice but to lower their prices and find trade where they could. Now with much more time on their hands, they sat and drowned their sorrows in the pubs alongside the lodging-house deputies, the old men and the wives and girlfriends of men away at the front.
As pubs increasingly became a place of refuge for those affected by the sudden disappearance of all the younger men, the Government became concerned at the level of alcohol consumed by the remaining proletariat. Work at munitions factories (which were essential to the war effort) was being constantly disrupted as the beleaguered workers turned up either drunk or severely hung over.
The amount of alcohol consumed by women was of particular concern: A survey of four London pubs revealed that in one hour on a Saturday night, alcohol was consumed by 1,483 men and 1,946 women. Keen to resolve this growing problem, the Government announced in October 1915 several measures they believed would reduce alcohol consumption: A ‘No Treating’ Order meant that pub visitors could only buy drinks for themselves. Taxes on alcohol were raised significantly and pub opening times were reduced to 12pm – 2.30pm then 6.30pm – 9.30pm. Previously, pubs had been allowed to open from 5am until 12.30am.
These new measures had a huge effect. In 1914, Britain consumed 89 million gallons of alcohol. By 1918, this figure had fallen to 37 million. The number of people arrested for being drunk and disorderly also decreased dramatically. While this was good news for the Government and the local police force, it spelt more bad news for the lodging-house landlords, many of whom (such as Gehringer and Cooney) owned pubs and relied on drunkenness and alcoholism to fill their beds each night.
Although Londoners’ drinking habits were forcibly changed during World War 1, the food they ate remained much the same despite the German navy’s attempts to starve Britain into submission. By 1916, German U-Boats were patrolling the seas and destroying about 300,000 tons of shipping per month. In response, Britain became much more self-sufficient and for a while this worked very well indeed although potatoes, sugar and meat proved hard to obtain. This was the one piece of good news for men such as Jack McCarthy who subsidised their losses in the lodging houses by hiking up the prices of the food and household essentials they sold in their shops. They also made a point of being publicly pessimistic about how long Britain could cope with having so much imported food destroyed by the Germans, thus creating panic buying.
Panic buying was not just a feature of London’s poorer streets. By the end of 1917, most civilians were genuinely fearful that Britain would soon run out of food. Their panic buying created a food shortage in itself and so in January 1918, the Ministry of Food introduced rationing on sugar and meat.
By this stage, many of the poorer families who had relied on their young husbands and brothers for an income were becoming desperate. As thousands of men died in bloody battles fought across French fields, thousands of families back in Britain lost their only source of income for good. Others received their once healthy menfolk back home having been discharged through injuries, some of which were horrific. For poor families, this was worse than receiving the dreaded telegram that informed them of a death as they now had to care for another person, who was often severely disabled.
Many thousands of Londoners suffered terrible injuries from bullets and shells during their time at the front. However a significant number of servicemen also endured the effects of a deadly new weapon that came in the form of gas. One man who witnessed the horrors of a gas attack was Jack McCarthy’s only son, who had been doing his bit for the war effort by entertaining the troops in France.
In April 1915, the German army stationed at Ypres began firing chlorine gas cylinders at French troops. At first the soldiers noticed yellowy-green clouds of smoke coming across the battlefield. Next they noticed a curious smell that seemed reminiscent of pineapples mixed with pepper. Seconds later, they experienced severe chest pains and a burning sensation in their throats. Once the gas had invaded their respiratory systems, it quickly attacked their lungs and the men slowly asphyxiated. Chlorine gas was used numerous times by the German Army and despite frantic efforts to save the victims, doctors could not find any successful treatment. By the end of the war, nearly 2,000 British soldiers had died from the effects of chlorine gas and over 160,000 had been injured by it.
Following the ‘success’ of chlorine gas attacks, the German Army looked for an even deadlier gas to unleash on the Allies. They found it in mustard gas and in September
1917, they launched their first attack with this devastating weapon. Mustard gas was the most lethal chemical weapon used in World War 1. It was very difficult to detect as it had no odour and took 12 hours to take effect. However, it was devastating for those who breathed it in. Soldiers exposed to mustard gas experienced blistering skin and very sore eyes. Soon after, they were violently sick. As the effects of the gas took hold, they experienced internal and external bleeding followed by the slow stripping of the mucus membrane from the bronchial tubes. Death could take up to five weeks and the soldier’s decline was slow and utterly agonising. Many had to be strapped to their beds to stop them thrashing about and their horrific death throes proved highly distressing for the medical staff caring for them, many of whom were young girls.
As the war raged on, those left in Britain began to despair of ever seeing an end to the conflict. London had been surrounded by a ring of barrage balloons in mid-1918, which effectively halted any aerial assaults from German Gothas because it was very difficult to fly the planes over the top. However, the people were becoming increasingly dispirited. Hardly any families escaped the despair of receiving a telegram telling them that a loved one had been killed. Many others were trying to cope with caring for their husbands and sons crippled from war and unable to work. Life had been tough before 1914. The outbreak of war had made it almost unbearable. As usual, those who suffered the most were the very poor. They tried to remain upbeat for their boys still at the front, but for many it was difficult, especially when they received word from the soldiers who themselves were becoming very dispirited. Charles Young, who served in France, told an interviewer in 1984: