After a few minutes discussing the matter in private, the jury returned to court and announced their decision.
‘We find the defendant guilty of wounding with intent to murder,’ proclaimed the foreman.
Judge Coleridge wished to deliberate on the sentence until the following Monday. It was then that Mr Sanderson handed His Lordship several letters written by the prisoner to Mr Alsop’s bankers, the coroner and to Scotland Yard. He stated that they were not relevant to the trials, and he did not wish to influence His Lordship’s decision, but would hope that they would afford his client some direction in regards to the prison authorities.
On passing sentence Judge Coleridge said that Mr Vaughan had been found guilty of wounding with intent to kill.
‘My duty as judge is clear. I have to act on the jury’s verdict, and the sentence of the court was that Vaughan must be kept to penal servitude for five years.’
William Stanley Vaughan was then led away to suffer his much-deserved period of incarceration.
THE WRONG CLASS
William Mawdsley of Walton was an apprenticed engineer and a contractor on the Lancashire and Yorkshire railway. On 4 September 1880 he arrived at Sandhills station and boarded a train. He entered the second-class compartment as allowed by his ticket and looked for a free seat. There was just one available, and it was opposite Mr Reader, a snobby solicitor’s clerk and next to Mrs Campbell. Mrs Campbell removed some packages she had resting to her side, allowing William to take the seat.
‘What ticket have you got?’ asked Mr Reader aggressively. ‘You have no business being in here. Get out. Go to the van!’
Sandhills station as depicted on this 1885 map.
Sandhills station at the time of its 2008 refurbishment.
‘I have as much right to be in here as you do,’ answered Mr Mawdsley, his temper quietly raging. He sat back in his seat and folded his arms with a proud smirk.
‘You’re drunk,’ remarked the clerk. ‘Guard! Guard!’
‘I am most certainly not!’ William replied. This hot-blooded exchange continued all the way to Kirkdale where, at the request of the train guard, Mr Mawdsley changed carriages to avoid any more arguments.
‘He’s definitely drunk,’ said Mr Reader as William begrudgingly left the carriage, muttering under his breath.
The case was brought before magistrates two weeks later as Mr Mawdsley pursued a charge of breach of the peace.
In remembering the afternoon’s events, William said that he had entered the carriage at Sandhills, dressed in his ordinary work clothes and being perfectly sober. He attested that as soon as he took a seat, the defendant Mr Reader took objection and accused him of being intoxicated. William now asked the clerk to apologise for the totally unfounded allegation, but that was not forthcoming. James Wilson was also travelling on the locomotive that day. He supported Mr Mawdsley’s testimony, confirming that he most certainly was not drunk, not even tipsy. He stated that Mr Reader repeatedly accused William of being so, but on what grounds he hadn’t the faintest idea. George Dineley said the same. He too was a member of the carriage and witnessed the confrontational events. Mr Norris, the stationmaster at Walton, also told the court that William seemed as sober as a judge and that he had witnessed nothing at all to the contrary.
Mr Madge stepped up for the defence and described the day in question as being extremely hot. Consequently, the complainant stank of grime and grease: his appearance was that of a railway worker and he had all the mechanical odours associated with such an occupation following him around. Mr Madge wished it to be known that his client only accused William of being in drink under stressful provocation and if it would be accepted now, he would like to apologise. In spite of his U turn, Mr Reader wished to call his friend, George Campbell, to the stand.
‘I joined Mr Reader at Tithebarn Street station and we travelled together from there in the same carriage, even though I myself am a first class contractor. There were four ladies with us, one being my wife. Both I and Mr Reader expostulated with the complainant for coming into the carriage in the dirty class he was. The young man was excited and impertinent,’ said George.
Magistrate Sir Thomas Moss in summing up said that it was improper for the defendant and his friend, Mr Campbell, while travelling in a second-class carriage with a first-class ticket to have issue with a second-class ticket holder coming into the carriage. ‘You should rather have gone to the carriage of your own class. Interference with passengers in the manner you displayed would upset all the arrangements of the company.’
Mr Reader was ordered to pay £20 bound to keep the peace for six months and pay all costs.
DEPRESSION OF A
CORN DEALER
Fifty-one-year-old George Ramsey Livingstone was a successful corn merchant. He had once been one half of the Messrs Haughton and Livingstone duo, a thriving partnership based in Brunswick Street. Mr Haughton, however, had died some fifteen years previously, leaving George to man the reins of the business single-handedly. Now in his later years, this was proving to be quite a strain and George had spoken to some close friends of his thoughts of retirement. He had always been known as a man of integrity and was very much respected by his fellow merchants, his word alone accepted as a bond. Despite his high standing in the corn community, Mr Livingstone was often subject to bouts of depression. It was not unusual for his view to be pessimistic and in recent times this had become morbid to the extreme. Mr Livingstone had not long before been diagnosed with diabetes; six months before, his brother had passed away. On Monday 15 October 1894, Mr Livingstone met with his other brother, the Revd Canon Livingstone, the vicar of Aigburth. It was no surprise that George was in a sorry mood and his sibling tried his best to raise his spirits. ‘You cannot understand!’ George seethed.
Brunswick Street, as shown in 1891.
Brunswick Street in the year 1923.
On Thursday the businessman was at his office in Brunswick Street. Edward Kynaston, the manager, was there and George beckoned him to his desk. ‘I’ll be going to Whitely’s to sort out some legal matters,’ said George, before standing to put on his coat and hat. The time was about ten to twelve and Mr Livingstone left the building to make the short journey to solicitor’s Whitely and Co. Shortly after midday he returned to the office in a somewhat cheery mood and Mr Kynaston left to go on his lunch break.
The view of Brunswick Street, looking towards the river Mersey.
An hour passed and Edward was feeling quite full. He returned to work and was approached by an office worker. ‘Mr Livingstone has been in the lavatory since twenty to one sir,’ said the employee nervously. The whole business knew of their boss’s disheartened temperament and all expressed grave concern for his health. Mr Kynaston waited some time before deciding to see what the matter was. He headed towards the main office to access the toilet, but this was found to be locked. Confused, Edward acquired a ladder, propped it up against the office door and carefully climbed up. He edged nearer and nearer up towards the partition, feeling more nauseous with every step. Edward peered over and was dumbstruck at the sight which lay before him. Crouched on the floor was the body of George Livingstone in a pool of blood, a revolver at his side. Mr Kynaston jumped down from the ladder and contacted a doctor and the police. Both arrived on the scene quickly but life was already extinct. Officers removed the body with great respect and it was taken away for later interment.
The deepest regret was created in both commercial and social circles at the news of George’s death, and at the Corn Exchange the afternoon ‘call’ was cancelled in respect.
On Friday 19 October an inquest was held into the tragedy by the coroner Mr Sampson. Evidence was given by the office manager Mr Kynaston, the Revd Canon Livingstone, employees Thomas Holloran and William Brown, as well as the testimony of Police Constable Benson, who was the first officer at the scene that fateful afternoon. The jury returned a verdict in accordance with the evidence and declared that Mr Livingstone committed suici
de while temporarily deranged. The deceased left a widow, two daughters and two sons.
NUDITY AT
LANCELOT’S HEY
In the early hours of 18 July 1869, Police Constable 229 was walking his beat towards Lancelot’s Hey, near Chapel Street. In the distance the law enforcer could see a man swaying drunkenly in an open doorway. It was not unusual for the officer to see an intoxicated person at that time in the morning – but the fellow in question was also shockingly naked from the waist down. The constable crossed the street and approached the nude spectacle with caution, before directing the man to go back inside his house, No. 14. The drunk, Robert Lockwood, mumbled an assortment of indecipherable ramblings and expletives, and threatened the constable with a blow to the head. Undeterred, 229 took hold of the drunk and tried to force him back inside.
An early map of Lancelot’s Hey from 1829.
At this manhandling Robert lashed out and was duly told that he would now have to be taken into custody. At that moment Mrs Lockwood came out on to the front along with their daughter Elizabeth, who was blind. They attempted to prevent the arrest and were warned that if they persisted they too would face a night in the cells. Elizabeth took off her outer skirt and tried to give it to her father in aid of his modesty. She was roughly shoved aside by the constable as he attempted to secure his rather exposed prisoner. The officer whistled for assistance and soon a second bobby was on the scene. ‘Please,’ pleaded Mrs Lockwood, ‘I’ll take him home if you will let me.’
The second constable took a more sympathetic view of the situation; the man was half-naked after all, and his poor daughter was disabled. It was no use. Constable 229 was adamant that the girl and her father would be taken to the station and he contacted a third constable. On his arrival a crowd of approximately fifty people had gathered, with angry cries of ‘Let her go, she is blind.’ The noise awoke Miss Harris who lived next door to the Lockwoods and was a very dear friend to the family. She witnessed the coarse conduct by Constable 229 and went to give him a stern talking to. A few moments into her outburst Miss Harris was grabbed by the officer and told to shut up. All in all he had a grip on Mrs Harris, Robert and Elizabeth. ‘You bloody old thing! You ought to be in Rainhill,’ he hollered. Witnesses also heard him refer to young Elizabeth as a blind bitch as he struggled to keep hold of the three offenders. A police inspector was contacted and he arranged for Robert Lockwood to be taken away for trial. Mrs Lockwood, Elizabeth and Mrs Harris were told to go home, as was the large and brooding crowd.
On 26 July Robert stood trial at the Dale Street Police Court on a charge of public drunkenness. The beerseller and eating-house keeper stated that on the night in question he had been in bed when he was awoken by the calling of his daughter. Apparently a barrel had burst in the cellar and he was needed to fix it.
‘How did you come to be outside?’ questioned Magistrate Livingston.
‘I was not outside,’ answered Mr Lockwood, despite numerous accounts contrary to his reply.
Elizabeth Lockwood was helped to the stand. She deposed that on the night of the 12th a barrel had burst in the cellar and that she had called for her father to go and take a look at it. Having seen to the barrel, the girl.said that Robert went towards the front door where he was at once called by a policeman. She heard her father jokingly ask if the officer was English, Irish or Scottish. To her it seemed that the PC was having none of it and she attested that the man soon assaulted her father quite seriously, and dragged him down the street. She said that she followed and took off her top skirt to hide his nudity. ‘That’s when the officer struck me,’ added the girl.
Typical Victorian houses in Lancelot’s Hey.
A neighbour alleged that he saw Mr Lockwood be taken down the street in nothing but his shirt. ‘I had never seen a man more abused in my life.’
The police inspector said that he had never had any trouble from the Lockwood household in the past, and they had lived there for a good twentyfive years. He told the court that he had been on the scene that morning and spoke to Police Constable 229. He was not drunk, as some people in the crowd had suggested.
Mr Livingston said that he thought the officer should have issued a summons in the first instance of trouble, rather than carry on with the preposterous charade that had unravelled. Evidence however was satisfactory to prove that Robert Lockwood was not sober and therefore a fine of 5s was imposed. Nothing more was said of the alleged brutality of Police Constable 229.
MISTRANSCRIPTIONS
In September 1848, registration inspectors were perplexed to find a number of unusually similar entries in the birth books for the Great Howard Street sub-district of Liverpool. Things didn’t add up, and after close examination by officials, registrar Charles Chubb was arrested. He was charged with obtaining commission under false pretences from the parish officers and brought before Mr Rushton to stand trial.
Eaton Street, just off Vauxhall Road, as shown in the early nineteenth century.
Eaton Street, the residence of witness Eliza McKenna.
Seven examples of Mr Chubbs’ alleged fake handiwork were shown to the court. All had been registered on 22 August of that year and five of the entries bore an uncanny resemblance to each other. It was clear that a certain curvature to the letters were virtually identical, suggesting that each had been written by the same individual.
A number of witnesses were called and testified against Charles Chubb. Eliza McKenna, of Moss Court, Eaton Street, stated that she had given birth on 21 July. Eliza said that she had visited the registrars’ office and informed Mr Chubb of the details. Her son James, however, had been mistranscribed as Patrick, and the father’s name as Thomas, when it too should have been James. The book was shown to the court and it was plainly visible that a mark, a small black cross, had been left by Mrs McKenna confirming the details.
‘But I never signed the book,’ asserted Eliza. If this was true, Mr Chubb had falsified her mark and therefore committed a forgery.
Magistrates sent the accused to stand trial before Sir William Erie, Justice of the Queen’s Bench. He was this time charged under the General Registration Act, that he being registrar of births and deaths for Great Howard Street district did feloniously make a false entry of the birth of Mary, the daughter of Ellen Bibby, of 4 Eaton Street, knowing such entry to be false. There were also several other indictments against him for similar offences.
The prosecution outlined how Mr Chubb should have carried out his work, before beginning their verbal attack on the clerk and his illegal misdemeanours:
The prisoner was the registrar of the Great Howard-street district. He filled the office for some time and had discharged his duty properly, but it was afterwards discovered that the population in that district increased in a very extraordinary manner, for the entries were much greater than could possibly occur in any fair register. This led to an inquiry, and it was found that the book contained a number of entries of births which had not taken place.
As the critical truth began to leak out, it quickly became obvious that Mr Chubb was in all probability a blatant fraud. Mary Bibby didn’t even exist, and no such person as her supposed mother Ellen Bibby had ever lived in Eaton Street. The entry in the document was fictional, as was the set of other entries which, as Charles still protested, were in fact genuine.
Charles’s assistant, John Eckersley, was asked to stand and testify. He described how on 8 September he had paid a visit to the prisoner and requested the birth register. John said he was given the large italicised book and scanned the notes. Seven entries were added the previous month on the day of the seventh, one being that of Mary Bibby. That addition and the six others were all seemingly written in Chubb’s own handwriting with all having only a seemingly innocent mark of an X, but no signature.
Pressed by the prosecution, John admitted that sometimes he had been ordered to have new mothers only sign a blank register book, taking down their particulars on a separate ‘waste book’ to be added later by
Charles Chubb.
The identity of Mrs Bibby was proving somewhat difficult to ascertain. James Jones told the court that he had lived at 4 Eaton Street and had never known any such woman in all his life. The same was said by Mary McCrudden who lived in the cellar under Mr Jones.
Charles employed another assistant by the name of John Hughes. He entered the witness box and told the court that he was an experienced clerk paid on commission of 1d per entry. Usually he would have the main book signed by new parents and take down their particulars roughly in the waste book to be added to the register later. John mentioned that if the client could not sign their name, he himself would put a little cross in his waste book to say so. By doing this he knew that on 22 August he had not taken the register anywhere as there were no corresponding notes in the waste book.
Mr Hughes confessed that he had frequently told Mr Chubb of errors and false information but no one had followed it up. Under cross-examination it was revealed that the witness had once been employed by a Dr Walton, working on a commission basis of 4d per child he vaccinated. During his time with the doctor he was accused of claiming more than his work’s worth, but the case had been discharged by Magistrate Rushton.
Charles’ attorney Mr Wilkins made one last plea for the jury to find his client innocent:
No doubt several false entries have been made, and presuming the jury should acquit the prisoner of the felony, he must leave the court subject to the charge of negligence and irregularity. In the first instance Mr Chubb was in the habit of sending round an assistant to collect as much information as possible. Mr John Hughes was so employed by Mr Chubb and after a time he unwisely believed that he could entirely repose confidence in Hughes and allowed him to take the register book. Mr Hughes obtained the information and entered it in a waste book, but had the informant sign in a blank register and Mr Chubb filled in information from the waste book and put his name to them, believing implicitly every one of them to be correct. Mr Chubb was in receipt of between £300 and £400 a year by his wife and the same amount was settled on him by his father.
Criminal Liverpool Page 5