Criminal Liverpool
Page 1
CRIMINAL
LIVERPOOL
DANIEL K. LONGMAN
For the mates, past and present
With special thanks to
Sabrina Chengalanee
Joy Dean
Martin Edwards
Rosalie Spire
First published 2008
Reprinted 2012
The History Press
The Mill, Brimscombe Port
Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG
www.thehistorypress.co.uk
This ebook edition first published in 2013
All rights reserved
© Daniel K. Longman, 2008, 2013
The right of Daniel K. Longman to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
EPUB ISBN 978 0 7509 5335 1
Original typesetting by The History Press
CONTENTS
Foreword by Martin Edwards
Introduction
With a View to Matrimony
The Toxteth Tot
Family Ties
A Heated Argument
Revenge of a Pimp
A Suspicious Son-In-Law
A Charred Concealment
The Solicitor Shooting
The Wrong Class
Depression of a Corn Dealer
Nudity at Lancelot’s Hey
Mistranscriptions
A Day at the Dentist
Mysterious Circumstances
The Bully
A Fiery Feline
The Die-hard Marketers
A Bit on the Side
Tragedy at Upholland
Coppers in the Dock
The Pact
Death of a Sweetheart
Madam Brennan
A Measurable Offence
A Question of Sanity
A Remarkable Capture
The Chocolate Box
The Mummy of Hope Place
An Unfortunate Hurry
No. 22 Mount Pleasant
Nurse Jones
FOREWORD
There are plenty of true stories about crime in Liverpool, as well as plenty of jokes. There is also a good deal of misunderstanding about it – statistics suggest that there is rather less crime on Merseyside than in various other parts of the country. But inevitably, such a rugged city has seen many crimes committed in its 800 years of history, and this book gathers together a variety of stories recounting them. The cases include murder, naturally, but also encompass other felonies.
One story to be found in these pages that I had never heard before concerns the solicitor James Wilcox Alsop. He was a member of a distinguished law firm and, although the tale dates back to 1908, the name of Alsop, Stevens was still pre-eminent in the city’s legal profession when I started out on my career as a solicitor – they occupied offices in India Buildings, a stone’s throw from where I work to this day, more than seventy years later. And although his story falls outside the scope of this book, Herbert Rowse Armstrong, ‘the Hay Poisoner’, said to be the only English solicitor ever to be hanged – but by no means the only solicitor to have killed someone – worked for Alsop, Stevens. He moved to Hay-on-Wye only a couple of years or so before the attack on Mr Alsop.
Once I had settled to working life in Liverpool, it struck me that, if I were to pursue my ambition of writing a series of crime novels, I could do much worse than set it in the city. I discovered that despite all that is said about the prevalence of crime in Liverpool, no fictional crime series had ever been located there. There had been occasional crime novels set wholly or partly in Merseyside – indeed, Hercule Poirot makes a trip to the city in Agatha Christie’s classic whodunit The Murder of Roger Ackroyd – but detective novelists traditionally favoured genteel settings, such as Oxford colleges, for their mysteries. This seemed strange to me, and I created a fictional Liverpool lawyer, Harry Devlin, to detect the criminal puzzles that I devised. Seventeen years after his first appearance, he continues to walk the city’s mean streets, though after so much regeneration they are rather less mean than they used to be.
It would, though, be hard for any crime novelist to top real life, when one bears in mind that Liverpool has provided the backdrop for two of the most famous murder mysteries of all time – I refer to the Maybrick and Wallace cases, which have fascinated generations of students of true crime, as well as such legendary detective novelists as Raymond Chandler, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Anthony Berkeley. The Maybrick case took an extraordinary turn in the 1980s, with the discovery of a diary, purporting to give the confession of James Maybrick (previously known as the famous victim of a Victorian arsenical poisoning) to the Jack the Ripper murders. If the diary is a hoax, it is an ingenious one. Any mystery novelist would have been proud to have dreamed up that particular twist.
Wisely, Daniel Longman has resisted any temptation to re-hash well-worn material, and has come up with a wide range of cases which will be unfamiliar even to seasoned readers of real-life cases. A capacity for research and a willingness to focus on fresh material are two important ingredients of success for any true crime writer; Daniel at nineteen is, as far as I know, the youngest specialist in true crime in Britain, but his industry and the breadth of scope of his writing augur well for the future. The recent death of Jonathan Goodman – who worked in Liverpool in the 1960s and who made his name with a famous study of the Wallace case – robbed us of an acknowledged master of the true-crime genre. One would like to think that, in Daniel Longman, we have someone whose researches will, in the fullness of time, achieve as much attention as did the late Jonathan Goodman’s.
Martin Edwards
www.martinedwardsbooks.com
INTRODUCTION
The year 2008 has seen Liverpool celebrate its coronation as Europe’s Capital of Culture. This accolade made interesting reading to many, not least to the residents and businessmen from those cities that narrowly missed out on the desirable title. Liverpool is undergoing massive aesthetic change, granting many parts of the city a much-needed face-lift; a procedure which it cannot be denied she desperately needs. At the start of the year local media reports teased us with a spectacular list of events that lay flirtatiously in wait. The area’s papers went absolutely giddy for 2008 and any eager reader would have been hard-pressed to find an article unconnected with the recent revelry. Merseyside’s radio airwaves became swamped with the same hearty hullabaloo leaving no one in any doubt that this year was Liverpool’s year.
Fun, music, glamour and, of course, culture were supposed to spill out onto the soon-to-be tourist-packed streets creating a haven of chic modern living in this once ailing and desperate shipping town. Towering cranes lined every street corner carefully constructing buildings that would hopefully climb to the clouds. Hotels, restaurants, bars and more sprang up like concrete daisies with the intention of creating a vast number of jobs and boosting the country’s economy. Famous children of the city, many of whom had not returned since leaving all those years ago, have made an exultant return, eager to be seen singing the city’s praises. Colourful flags blew cheerily on Liverpool’s pavements, huge purple posters covered the sides of whole buildings and commercialised Scouse excitement was virtually forced upon you.
It w
as crucial that Liverpool made the most of this year. It is a rare treat for a town to be given so much coverage and to be inundated with so much tourism. We were told that thousands – if not millions – of visitors will continue to flock to the city in search of cultural satisfaction and our job is to meet those hungry cravings. The fantastically educational World Museum stands grandly in William Brown Street, packed full of fascinating artefacts and exhibits. Next door lies the Walker Gallery, a building that boasts some of the finest artwork on the planet. Take a stroll through the centralised gardens and you shall find, quite easily, St George’s Hall, an incredible piece of Victorian architecture and one of the most recognisable buildings in the country. The Albert Dock, with the fabulous Tate, draws many a critic to walk its cobbled paths to muse on creation. You can’t forget about the music, even if you wanted to. Whatever your tastes, nobody can deny that some of the world’s most revered musicians hail from these streets. The Beatles Museum has become a place of pilgrimage for many a die-hard fan. However hard you try you cannot escape the Fab Four’s influence, even forty years on.
Liverpool Magistrates Court in Dale Street, where today’s delinquents are dealt with.
A recent addition to Merseyside’s culture checklist is the International Slavery Museum. Inside people can discover some of Liverpool’s more notorious heritage and reflect on exactly how the town’s abundant Georgian wealth was actually achieved. The history of this city is long and varied. Some is commendable; some is, perhaps, not so praiseworthy. Hopefully I can play my small part by relaying some of Liverpool’s historic past, even if it is slightly unsavoury, in this book.
Liverpool has never truly been any different to any other big city in terms of crime levels, and, despite the thankfully dying stereotype, the town is actually quite a safe place to be. Today the outdated view that the town is particularly dangerous just doesn’t ring true. From London to Manchester, Newcastle to Bristol, crime happens; it’s just a sad fact of life.
Assaults and injuries have always been a possibility. As this book will relate, murders, robberies, beatings, etc have existed since time immemorial: the only difference is the manner in which they were carried out and reported. Despite well-intentioned Government policy the police are still working flat out to curb illegality. Gangs are still managing to obtain weapons with what seems a relative ease and there is no sign of a letup. Things have transformed though: what was once the humble knife has become the automatic firearm. What was once a careless equestrian accident is now a callous hit and run. What was once a carefully planned bank hold-up is now faceless internet fraud. Crime and the ability to fight crime are constantly evolving, taking on new forms and disguises. Yet if history has taught us anything it is that the world shall never be free of it. It would be foolish to believe any city, even Liverpool, could prove otherwise and criminals, however cultured they now may be, shall continue to thrive within the shady underworld of scandal. We must continue to tackle such delinquency, not only in this city but across the whole nation.
The year 2008 has finally put Liverpool back on the map and this time for the right reasons. I predict that this year shall be remembered as the year this city turned itself around and successfully shed the old-fashioned, detrimental and stereotypical image that has a hung around her neck for so long.
But until that day, read on and investigate the eyebrow-raising antics of an alleged Lime Street brothel, the shocking shooting of a Scouse solicitor and the barbaric burning of a poor infant.
Daniel K. Longman
WITH A VIEW TO
MATRIMONY
Rose Griffiths was a shy and demure domestic servant from Liverpool. In the year 1905, she travelled across to West Kirby to begin new employment as a maid. Rose was an intelligent woman and enjoyed reading the newspapers of her home town. One afternoon, Miss Griffiths was casually scanning the broadsheets when an unusual notice caught her eye. It was an advertisement, a rather sweet one at that, from a young man wishing to become acquainted with a woman of similar age in the hope of a possible marriage. Rose was intrigued. She was single and had not had much luck with the game of courtship. The advertisement further stated that this lonely bachelor was an electrician earning 3 guineas and 3s a week and was currently staying at the Church Army Home in Bridge Street, Birkenhead. On 22 November, Rose eagerly penned a letter in answer to the advert, enclosing her ‘Girl’s Friendly Society’ card, and was thrilled to receive a swift reply:
A Victorian map of Bridge Street in Birkenhead, showing the location of the Church Army Home.
Referring to your answer to my advertisement, for which I thank you, I will in confidence give you a few particulars of myself. I wish you to clearly understand that my advert is genuine and honourable and would be pleased to hear from you.I am an electrical engineer and on the engineering staff on the electric light company here, where I have been since my father’s death.
Rose’s interest in Frederick Ward, her new pen pal, increased, and she was pleased to read further of his well-furnished home in Seacombe. Mr Ward also mentioned that he earned a little bit extra by holding the saintly job of organist at Holy Trinity Church and was also an avid member of several societies.
The smitten maid wrote back, but for several days heard no reply. She decided to pay Frederick a surprise visit and went along to the Church Army Home in the hope of finding him. To his utter shock Mr Ward was approached by the young woman and was immediately questioned.
‘Are you Mr Ward?’ Rose asked politely.
‘Erm, yes,’ answered the man hesitantly. ‘I’m sorry for not replying. I have been working late.’ He said that she would have to go as he was still working and followed her to the door. Frederick did however wish to speak with Rose again and made arrangements for the two of them to go out the following Saturday night.
The date went as well as could be hoped and as the evening went on Rose became even more infatuated with the charming Mr Ward. As the pair walked along the moonlit streets, the evening’s conversation turned to the future, and Mr Ward spoke of how he had been left quite a quantity of furniture in his mother’s will and was planning to set up a home. He sweetly asked Miss Griffiths if she would be interested in starting it with him. Rose couldn’t help but smile and her stomach filled with butterflies. Frederick told her how he owned a house on the promenade at Seacombe but was currently renting it out. ‘It’s called ‘Rose-Lea,’ said Fred, and from his pocket he produced an ivy leaf, plucked from the very wall of the cottage itself. Rose was only too happy to say yes to the proposal and ecstatically threw her arms round her new fiancé. The pair continued to meet and exchange affectionate letters for some time, one in which Mr Ward wrote, ‘I would only be too proud to make you my wife.’ Rose was overjoyed at the prospect and said that she would do anything that she could to make their dream a reality. Not long afterwards Rose received another letter from her beau. It read:
Now I have started with our home, and little expenses will keep coming, but it must be done now. My brother-in-law will help me with a few pounds on the 21st November. Do you think you could help me a little more? I’m sorry to trouble you, my loved one. I promise to share all with you. You shall have a nice present.
In December Frederick asked her to come over to see him as he wished to see her cheerful face as he was feeling low spirited. The pair met and went for a walk, during which the electrician told Rose that he had been having some money troubles. He had incurred some doctor’s expenses and had been sent a larger-than-expected invoice by the company storing his dead mother’s furniture. He asked Rose if she could help him out.
‘I’ll pay you back when I get my quarter salary for playing the organ,’ he promised.
For the first time, a sense of suspicion overcame Rose and she began to wonder why she, a mere domestic servant, had to help someone who had two jobs and a rental income. ‘So how much will you be getting then, Fred?’ asked the young maid inquisitively.
He said that the Holy Trinity C
hurch paid him £25 a year. Not only did he again promise to pay back the money, Frederick reverted back to the house at Seacombe and reminded Rose he was in the process of getting it ready for them both so that they could start living happily ever after. It would have electric lighting throughout and even a telephone!
Rose was once again blinded by Mr Ward’s wonderfully idyllic words and his verbal painting of what would soon be her life swept away any misgivings she may have had about her fabulous fiancé. Later that month Rose had a change of situation and began working at a house in Seaforth. On Boxing Night she met her ardent lover and handed him 15s while walking to Liverpool. A week later Rose gave Frederick a further £1, but made it clear to him that she had no more savings or disposable income. Fred felt guilty. He reached into his pocket and gave her 11d. The marriage he had promised was still on course and was set for February. He professed that the curate at their marriage ceremony was to be the same man who officiated over his sister’s nuptials, and the cottage was almost ready for them to move into. Furthermore, Frederick’s employer was apparently planning to promote him, meaning a better wage and better hours. All this, he claimed, was to be just the start of a wonderful life for them both.
Bridge Street, Birkenhead in 2008, the site of Frederick Ward’s ‘residence’.
They arranged to meet later in the week at College Road, Seaforth. With a warm embrace, the couple parted with a kiss. That was to be the last time the beautiful Rose Griffiths would ever see the audacious Mr Ward. She arrived at College Road as planned, and waited. Time passed and Fred was nowhere to be seen. A tear crept down Rose’s cheek as the painful realisation of how stupid she had been finally hit her. She had been duped.
She made enquiries at the Church Army Home as to the whereabouts of the wicked absconder, but could only find a smouldering trail of his lies. Joseph Davies, captain of the home, told the Liverpool lady that the man she was looking for came to him on 11 November 1905, and, as far as Mr Davies knew, had previously been a confectioner in Dewsbury, West Yorkshire. He also stated that Frederick mentioned something about working with a cousin in Belfast and had left, possibly to go there. The inmates of the home worshipped at Holy Trinity, but the organist certainly hadn’t been Frederick Ward. In fact, Frederick was paid 8s a week for chopping sticks.