The case was taken to court and on 13 September, the runaway husbandto-be was tracked down and forced to stand trial before magistrates. Evidence from Rose Griffiths and Mr Davies was heard, as well as from a book keeper from a Liverpool furniture company. He stated that the prisoner had ordered no services from the company and – contrary to his claims – that they had never stored any items belonging to him at all. Detective Sergeant Mountfield deposed that he had received Mr Ward from the Stockport police where, it seems, he was trying to commit similar crimes. Indeed, both the Liverpool and Norwich constabularies had a warrant out for Frederick’s arrest for past attempts at matrimonial deception. On investigation it was discovered that even the dream cottage, ‘Rose-Lea’, did not exist. Frederick did not try to defend himself but stood in the dock calmly, seemingly oblivious to the upset that his crimes had caused. The charge against him (that of obtaining money through false pretences) was deemed too severe for a police court, so the prisoner was sent to the sessions. It was there that he was found guilty by the deputy recorder, who took a very serious view of the case. It was decided that Frederick Ward would be sent to prison for twelve months with hard labour in the hope of persuading him to give up his culpable lifestyle on his eventual release. It is unknown whether the heartbroken Rose Griffiths went on to find a true, honest love.
THE TOXTETH TOT
On 30 January 1893, the county coroner, Mr Brighouse, held an inquest into the rather gruesome discovery made by two local lads. It was heard that at midday the previous Friday, fourteen-year-old Alexander Browne and his friend Reginald McGeorge had been playing on some wasteland in Marmion Road, Toxteth Park. The two boys were happily playing in the fresh air when Reginald’s attention was suddenly caught by something unusual in the mud. The friends decided to take a closer look.
Marmion Road, Toxteth Park in 1901.
Marmion Road, Toxteth Park as it appears in 2008.
The curiosity that lay before them was round and stumpy, not unlike a turnip. Keen to find out exactly what it was, Alex and Reggie beckoned a passing butcher boy and asked for his opinion on their bizarre find. The apprentice knelt down and peered into the ground. It did not take long for a sick sense of realisation to overcome him and the boy fell back in horror. The half-buried globular mass was no turnip. It was a head!
Sergeant Foster was contacted by the trio and he and a constable headed to Toxteth Park to investigate the lads’ revolting claims. There in the waste ground sat the head, hidden in a dirt hole approximately 1ft deep. Its features were unrecognisable due to the natural decomposition and weathering that had obviously taken place. Nevertheless, it was clear that this was the head of a young child. Not far from the head lay several pieces of burnt canvas and, on inspecting the blackened materials, Sergeant Foster and his colleague found more remains of the body: the back of the abdomen, the tiny left leg and several other body parts were all strewn about the area. Despite a thorough search, the right leg, the chest and one of the arms could not be located. From what could be found, the two men were left in no doubt that this was the corpse of a very young child.
Nine-year-old Reginald, of 12 Ivanhoe Road, told the court that he could recall witnessing some boys playing with a fire on the wasteland one day in December, but had thought nothing of it.
Margaret Joyce, a domestic servant from 35 Marmion Road, attested that she, also, could remember seeing a small fire burning in the exact location in question about month previously and that it had smouldered for the greater portion of the day.
Dr Oliver of Lark Lane stated that he had examined the remains and from the unusually hard state of the charred bones was of the opinion that the child was between three and six months old. He also believed that the remains had been in the ground for approximately five or six weeks, but pointed out that the missing parts would not have been destroyed by fire and would not have decomposed so rapidly. The doctor could offer no explanation as to the cause of death.
The jury retuned an open verdict; neither the identity of the baby nor the circumstances surrounding its repulsive fate were ever discovered.
FAMILY TIES
In the year 1877, forty-five-year-old Elizabeth Kirkbride lodged at a small and unremarkable house in the suburb of Tuebrook, West Derby. With the help of her two sons she was able to earn a paltry living selling her skills in fancy needlework. Things had changed considerably for Elizabeth, who had been a schoolmistress for a number of years in the village of Lonworthby in Penrith. The daughter of a customs surveyor, she had been born in Liverpool and was an only child. She had received a high standard of education and one of her many accomplishments was fluency in several languages. The middleaged woman had once enjoyed a relatively comfortable lifestyle but an unfortunate change of circumstance brought all of that to an end. Elizabeth’s husband, a government collector of reformatory fees, passed away, leaving her widowed. She moved away from Penrith to live with her parents in Helton, Westmoreland and to start her life again.
Sutton Street, Tuebrook as depicted in 1893.
Elizabeth Kirkbride’s lodgings in Sutton Street, Tuebrook.
Years passed, and Elizabeth once again found herself settled in Liverpool and struggling to earn a wage. In the month of January 1877, Mrs Kirkbride’s life was thrown into turmoil. At six o’clock on Sunday the 29th, Sergeant Robinson arrived at her lodgings, 21 Sutton Street, and informed her that he had a warrant for her arrest.
‘I am charging you with the concealment of child birth at Penrith,’ he told her. Elizabeth seemed confused and stated that there must be some sort of mistake. She made no attempt to get ready, forcing the officer to repeat his instructions.
‘Could you put on your shawl and bonnet, Mrs Kirkbride?’ asked Sergeant Robinson. This she did, but first Elizabeth asked if she could write a note to her sons explaining the situation; they were asleep upstairs and she did not wish to disturb them. Once this was done, the officer escorted the bewildered woman away for questioning.
She was told that the previous week a body had been discovered in a box at the Griffin Inn, Penrith, where Mrs Kirkbride had stayed some months previously. Staff at the premises found the box left by the woman and stored it away, expecting her to call to collect it. After some time and with still no news, employees began to notice a malodorous and sickly scent emanating from the lumber room where the item was being held. The decision was made to open the mysterious bundle and at once the cause of the odour became clear: a body, that of a small child, lay crooked and deformed under several layers of discoloured material. Staff recoiled in shock at the sight of the tiny corpse. A clean red slash was clearly visible across its minuscule neck.
An inquest failed to determine exactly who or what brought the child’s short existence to an end, but the investigation did bring to light the remains of a second child which had also been in the box but which staff had failed to notice. This second baby had evidently been dead for a considerably longer period than its presumed sibling and was in a most rancid state of decomposition. This baby had a length of cord or the hem of a garment bound tightly around its throat.
The following morning the Kirkbride sons came down from their room, with their friend. They left quickly as they were late for work and they wanted to avoid their landlady Emma Orbeti who would ask them awkward questions about the outstanding rent payment. Later that day however Mrs Orbeti met John, the elder brother, as he returned home from work and she was told about his mother’s note.
‘Did she not leave any rent?’ enquired the landlady.
‘No,’ said Mr Kirkbride awkwardly, ‘but I’ll settle it.’
Mrs Orbeti also explained that she was missing a few items from the house and wondered if he knew what may have happened to them. John replied that he did not, but would find some things to give her as security until his mother returned.
The two of them made their way upstairs so John could rummage around for anything of value. The nineteen-year-old kicked a large heavy box which they ha
d acquired shortly after moving in. The lid fell open and a horrible aroma began to fill the landing. John imagined the cause of the stench to be nothing but old damp clothes, so closed the lid and moved on to another trunk to see what he could find. On the top was a gummed paper label. It read, ‘Stockport, Mrs Hayton, Miss Laws, Hazel Grove’.
Alas, this box was shut tight, and Mr Kirkbride could not muster enough strength to open it. He shrugged and repeated that his mother would be back in a few days and that he was sure that the rent would be settled as soon as she returned. The disgruntled landlady accepted that the young man had tried his best and let him go about his business.
Later Mrs Orbeti’s curiosity, coupled with her need for the rent, got the better of her. She casually returned to the landing and tried again to crack open the sealed box. A wry smile beamed across her face as the lid loosened. A fearful stench was released. She was not smiling now. Emma put her hand to her mouth and retched. Inside she could see wrappings and sheets that caused alarm bells to ring inside her head. She closed the hellish container and dragged it down the stair. The heartbeat-like thump echoed throughout the property as the troubled woman slowly but surely heaved the trunk down the staircase and out into the backyard.
‘Sidney!’ she shouted. Her son soon came over to see what the matter was. Emma asked him to investigate the putrid stench and upon opening the coverings an unspeakable sight was revealed.
They closed the box and Mrs Orbeti went to inform the authorities. At Tuebrook police station two officers listened to Emma’s concerns and returned to Sutton Street with her to look into the matter. They knelt down to examine the foul-smelling chest and began to unwrap the pieces of carpet and wallpaper. One item appeared to be a small doll covered in rotten rags; the other was obviously a child in a ghastly state of decay. What was in another parcel was falling to pieces but the policemen could see part of the mass was a slice of skull. Superintendent Sheppard shook his head and closed the box tight. He told Mrs Orbeti that he and his colleague would have to take the box to the station for further examination and with that, the two men carried the trunk from the house.
Back in custody Mrs Kirkbride was informed by Superintendent Martin of the additional charge of concealment of three births. In reply she admitted to their concealment and neglect but strongly denied murdering them.
‘I made no mention of murder to you, Mrs Kirkbride,’ answered Mr Martin.
On the Wednesday morning of 31 January, Elizabeth Kirkbride attended an inquest into the suspicious bodies at her residence in Sutton Street. At the St George’s Hotel in Green Lane, evidence was presented by Dr Henry Yates Pitts. He stated that the previous day he and Inspector Walsh had examined the remains of three children in total.
The first was tolerably perfect. I could not tell whether it was male or female, it was in a state of dry-decay. I next drew out from the trunk a child with no head; this was newborn, fully formed and in a more advanced state of decay than the other. While seeking the child’s head I found more bones sufficient for the trunk and limbs of a third infant which may have been in the box for nine or ten years; the other two at distant periods, the last one about four to five years ago.
The jury listened in horror as the physician continued to relay his harrowing findings. ‘There was a rag tied about the neck of the child with a head. Comparing the size of the rag to that of the neck of a newborn child it must have been tightly tied. The shrinking of the neck had caused it to come loose,’ Dr Pitts stated. ‘I can give no idea of the cause of death or whether they were born alive owing to the condition of the bodies.’
John Kirkbride could offer no explanation for the bodies. ‘I never had the slightest suspicion that there was anything wrong in the box, nor that my mother was ever in the family way since my father’s death.’
‘You can not tell whether the children are hers or who the mother is?’ questioned the coroner.
‘No, sir, I have not the slightest idea.’
The teenager was then questioned about the containers themselves.
‘She had the boxes with her when she came from Carlisle station to Aintree in June last and they were left at the latter station until August. Our object in going to Aintree was to stay with friends there, and later in Aughton. My mother’s maiden name was Hayton.’
From this the jury could only determine that the children were found dead in an advanced state of decomposition in a box belonging to Mrs Kirkbride. Whether the children were born alive or how they came to their deaths the evidence failed to show. However, it was a case with the gravest suspicion attached, as the most recently born child was discovered to have had a ligature about its neck. If it could be proved that it was tied with a view to compression, proof was needed to show that the child was born alive. The matter would have to be left to a further tribunal before a decision could be made.
On Saturday 3 February, at the County Magistrates Court in Basnett Street, Elizabeth Kirkbride was tried on charges of concealment. Since the inquest it had emerged that another corpse had been discovered at the house where the prisoner had once lived in Helton. The discovery was made after William, one of her sons, remembered his mother burying something at the base of a peach tree in their garden several years ago. This was to be the sixth charge that Elizabeth faced.
When placed in the dock it was clear that the stress of her confinement had taken its toll. She seemed much weaker and older than she had appeared at the inquest just three days previously.
Inspector Walsh, who led the case, reiterated the details from the inquest but recounted to the jury some new information which had only recently come to light. At about 9 p.m. on Thursday, the officer had received a message that Mrs Kirkbride wished to discuss something of great importance. He and two other officers went to the woman’s cell to hear what she had to say. Inspector Walsh repeated her words:
I want to tell you who the father is of all the children I am here about. His name is Thomas Moss, he is a tea, ham and bacon dealer in Askham near Penrith. He is the only man I had ever had anything to do with in any way, and I think it is only right that he is exposed as it is entirely by his own persuasion that I am placed as I am, and he has always promised that he will make me his wife, instead of doing so, when he was in a position he married another.
Superintendent Fowler of the Cumberland Constabulary produced a warrant for the apprehension of Mrs Kirkbride by his fellow officers, and stated that the offences were committed in Westmoreland. He told the court that it was the opinion of the clerk of the peace that Elizabeth should be taken to be tried locally. The prisoner was handed over, and soon Mrs Kirkbride found herself heading for a train at Lime Street with an inquisitive mass of onlookers watching her every step. One or two people attempted to grab the woman but were held back by police reinforcements. Hundreds followed the cab to the station eager to catch a glimpse of the alleged serial child killer. Once Elizabeth was in the carriage the crowds made a rush. They overturned the barriers and charged hard to the side of the train. A porter quickly held up a rug to block the window as the train steadily sped out of the station leaving a swarm of angry spectators jeering on the platform.
At 6 p.m. the locomotive arrived at Penrith. There were large crowds, but no demonstrations took place. Mrs Kirkbride was sullen and appeared indifferent to the intense curiosity displayed towards her.
On Monday she found herself before Magistrate William Harrison, who formally remanded her until the following Saturday. Back in Liverpool, the three babies found in the box were finally buried in Anfield Cemetery. They were placed in a single coffin with no religious ceremony. Saturday soon came and the former teacher again found herself in the dock, this time before three stern-looking magistrates.
Eighteen-year-old William Kirkbride deposed that he was a tailor’s apprentice in Brampton, Westmoreland. Since his father’s death his mother had been living with his grandmother in Helton. Neither he nor his brothers lived at home, but with their maternal grandmother.
I was frequently at my mother’s house and I have another brother named Alfred. About five or six years ago, me and my brother were cleaning out the loft above the wash-house. We commenced to throw the dirt and stuff into the midden and observed a white bag. It was tied up and I loosened it. I noticed a red flannel petticoat covered in marks and stains amongst rags and other things. I saw a dead child. It was dry and mummified. The fingers and toes were perfected and it had white hair on its head. I threw it in the midden.
Mr Kirkbride also told the court that he had not told his mother, but instead spoke to his grandmother and two aunts the next day. They told him never to speak of what he saw again and not to return to his mother’s house.
‘I however did return to my mother’s house the next day,’ William continued, ‘and I noticed in the garden something in the ground covered in earth. It was the same child and I threw some more earth over without touching it.’
The young apprentice did not go near that spot again until recently, to show Police Constable Reed the location. Later, several bones were dug up from the site and taken for examination. Some were found to be human. Mr Kirkbride told the court that in February the preceding year, his mother and grandmother left Helton to live in Langwathby. The furniture was taken by a cab and amongst the items was a tin box which sat beside the driver.
Isabella Nicholson stated that she knew the prisoner well and confirmed that she had moved house with her at Candlemas. It was heard that in Langwathby Mrs Kirkbride had attempted to set up a school, but it had been an unsuccessful venture. Miss Nicholson had remained there until Whitsuntide, then moved to Carlisle. When Mrs Kirkbride’s mother died she too moved to Carlisle and Miss Nicholson had helped her unload her possessions, the tin box again being one of them.
Criminal Liverpool Page 2