Warwick

by Vanessa Morgan

  Warwick racecourse today.

  In 1891, Annie Wallbank appears to have had no lodgers. (ref: RG12/2468/105/21 held at Warwick Record Office)

  Later, Miss Pratt went up to her room and noticed a small ornament which she usually kept on her jewellery case sitting on the top of a chest of drawers. Further investigation showed that the lock on her jewellery case had been broken and there was some jewellery missing. When Miss Pratt informed Annie of the missing items, she too also discovered that some of her jewellery was missing – the total value of items missing amounted to £15. They questioned Miss Barnett and when she said that nothing of hers was missing, suspicion fell on her. However, when Alfred failed to return to the lodging house they deduced that it must have been him.

  * * *

  ‘the lock on her jewellery

  case had been broken’

  * * *

  But where had he gone and would the police be able to find him? Mrs Wallbank was convinced otherwise, and so decided to take matters into her own hands. She thought that Alfred ‘had the appearance of a regular race-goer’ and decided to visit the next few race meetings in the hope of finding him. She took her friend Annie Woodfield with her to help recognise him.

  First she went to Lichfield where a meeting was being held a few days later, but she didn’t see him. They then went to a meeting at Leicester on 20 September, and while standing outside the entrance Mrs Wallbank spotted Alfred. She immediately went to the nearest police constable and told him the story. But when Police Constable Hawkins arrested Alfred he said, ‘I have none of these things, I am a dupe of another man.’ Indeed, none of the missing jewellery was found on him; in fact, it was never found.

  Alfred appeared at Warwick Police Court on Monday, 25 September 1893. He was described as a ‘respectably dressed young man, who is said to be a professional boxer, but who described himself as a marble man of South Lambeth, London.’ After all the evidence had been heard, the Bench had a short consultation, before the Chairman told Alfred, ‘It is a case of very serious suspicion, but the Bench do not consider the evidence sufficiently strong to convict you; you are therefore discharged.’ Reports said that ‘the decision of the Bench created some surprise’.

  But had Alfred already committed a similar crime? An Alfred Suffolk, said to be a well-know boxer in the district, had been brought before Bradford Police Court in May 1893, charged with assaulting an Elizabeth Brook at a house in Trafalgar Square. Although the report did not go into details, it recalled that he was lodging at her establishment and was caught trying to steal some jewellery. Later, in March 1898, a well-known boxer by the name of Alfred Suffolk was charged in London for hitting Edward Newmarsh on the head with a poker.

  His career as a boxer was also often reported. In May 1889 he was knocked out by John Wright in the second round while fighting in London. On 16 October 1890 he fought J. Verall of Peckham: ‘The fight only lasted six rounds, Verall, who did most of the leading, knocking his man out and being declared the winner.’ And on 14 December 1891 he fought J. Gambie in Covent Garden and won in eight rounds.

  A planned fight between Alfred and Alf Hanlon of Manchester, in Salford Circus, Manchester, in March 1892 was called off by the police. To compensate the large number of people who had already paid for their tickets, a six-round exhibition match was arranged:

  Judging by the hard-hitting indulged in [by] both men it was not difficult to form an opinion of what the real contest would have been like if the police had not interfered. The hitting could hardly have been the least bit more punishing than it was. The result of the exhibition fight clearly showed that the local man would have had very little chance against Suffolk who was obviously much the better class man.

  ‘Essex, who was an elderly man, had made poaching his profession, and has always given the authorities a lot of trouble. Essex was a desperate fellow when cornered. On one occasion he ran up a drain-pipe to escape capture, and was pulled out by the legs.’ This is an extract from a report which appeared in the Leamington Spa Courier on Saturday, 4 July 1896. It was describing an inquest following a poaching affray, and it was the last of many reports which had included the name Mark Essex.

  On 27 May 1871 the same newspaper reported that:

  Mark Essex, an old offender, was charged with trespassing in pursuit of game on the estate of Mr E Greaves MP at Barford on the 12 inst. Thomas Skelcher, Mr Greaves’ gamekeeper, saw the defendant in a wheat field with a gun. He put up a hare, and witness then went up to him, and on searching him found a gun stock and barrel in his coat pocket – he was fined £2 and 15s costs, or two months’ imprisonment in default.

  Throughout the 1860s, Mark Essex had appeared in court on numerous poaching offences – 20 June 1860, 24 August 1860, 23 April 1862, 7 February 1863, 7 September 1864 and 9 April 1869. On all occasions he was sentenced to two months. In July 1873 he was again caught on Mr Greaves’ estate, and on 21 February 1874 he received another two months for a similar offence. The Leamington Spa Courier mentioned him again on 27 February 1875: ‘Mark Essex, labourer, was sentenced to fifteen months’ imprisonment for having, at Snitterfield, on August 4, about ten in the night, with divers other persons unknown, armed with bludgeons, entered certain land for the purpose of taking game and rabbits.’ The land was owned by Richard Smith, and Essex was sentenced to hard labour after the gamekeeper and watchers easily proved that Essex was one of those men.

  All the arrests and convictions over the two decades didn’t deter Mark Essex and he continued a life of poaching, which would eventually lead to tragedy.

  Mark, who was born in 1836 in Saltisford, spent most of his life living in Pigwell Lane, Saltisford. How many nights Mark spent out in the countryside is not known, but he was caught many more times before the fateful night in June 1896.

  On 28 September 1883 he was arrested for night poaching in Oakley Wood, a short distance from Warwick, together with John Bastock and Mark Vane. Michael Bass, the gamekeeper to Lord Warwick, said that between nine and ten on the Wednesday night he, Police Constable Lewis and ‘a man named Doughty’ found six men setting snares in a hedge. One of the men shouted, ‘Look out the ____ are here’ and ran away, followed by his companions. Bass, Lewis and Doughty chased after the men, who turned and pelted them with stones. Essex and Bastock were caught but Vane, although injured, escaped. He was eventually caught but the other three remained at large.

  The countryside around Warwick was a haven for poachers.

  A year later and Essex was in court again. This time he was accompanied by Robert Burgess and Thomas Kench. They had been summoned for ‘unlawfully taking fish otherwise than by angling from the River Avon’. They had been found on a particular stretch of the river which was owned by the Earl of Warwick and licensed to a Mr Bradley. He said he had only made the complaint to stop the nuisance of people taking fish with nets; there was a noticeboard stating that only angling was allowed there. The Bench administered a caution.

  One Friday morning in June 1886, at one o’clock, Police Constable Green of Snitterfield and three gamekeepers employed by Mr R.N. Philips of Welcombe were searching for a gang of poachers who were rumoured to be operating in the area. They took the gang by surprise in the bushes, as they were netting rabbits. The poachers offered violent resistance, thrashing the sticks they had armed themselves with and throwing large stones. Two escaped but Essex and Charles King, also of Saltisford, were caught. Searching around, the gamekeepers found 200 yards of netting and twenty dead rabbits. Essex once again appeared at the Warwick Assizes, on 28 July 1886, and was given twelve months.

  * * *

  ‘They took the gang by surprise’

  * * *

  For the next six years it seems he evaded capture, or perhaps led a more blameless life, but in 1892 he was brought before the Warwick School Board for a different offence.

  Mark had married Mary Ann Holt at St Mary’s parish church on 24 May 1876. The 1871 census shows, however, that they were already living
as man and wife and had a total of eight children between 1868 and 1885. Mary died in 1887.

  Over a period of three months, between July and September of 1892, John was fined a total of 10s for not sending his youngest son George to school.

  Mark Essex and his wife on the 1871 census. (ref: RG10/3199/70/19 held at Warwick Record Office)

  Three months after that he was back at the County Petty Sessions charged with his old offence of poaching. Described as ‘a well-known poacher’ he had been found on land owned by G. Rathbone at Morton Morrell. The gamekeeper and Police Constable Sansome had found him at two in the morning standing by nets and other ‘poaching appliances’. He had already caught forty-four rabbits, but it was thought he had been with a gang and he had remained guarding the nets and their pickings while the others searched for other possible catches. Essex, of course, did not divulge if this was true. He may have been a villain but he was a loyal villain, to his friends at least. After being sentenced to three months’ hard labour, he said that it was because he ‘could not get any work, as no one would employ him, and he was driven to poaching for a living.’

  The following year he was once again charged with crimes connected to the care of his children. At the Warwick Police Court on 28 August 1893 he was charged with neglecting his two youngest children, Samuel, aged nine, and George, aged seven. While he had been in prison earlier in the year the two boys had been placed in the workhouse. In June, an inspector from the NSPCC had visited Mark’s house, which consisted of one room downstairs and two bedrooms above. It was found to be in a filthy state. The boys were dirty, wore hardly any clothes and their heads were covered in vermin. He visited again with a police constable in August: ‘In the children’s bedroom the only articles of furniture were an old box, a tin trunk and an old wooden bedstead, on which lay a quantity of dirty loose frocks, which almost walked out of the room, so full was it of vermin.’ The two boys were huddled in a box in the corner of the downstairs room. Samuel wore a ragged coat and trousers and George was just wrapped in rags. Both were covered from head to toe in vermin. Some bread was found in a box but they had no idea it was there so were going hungry.

  Mark was sentenced to three months’ hard labour and a decision was made regarding the two young boys. The court heard that they had no mother and that Mark often took them with him when he was out poaching. They had two older brothers, but they were described as ‘bad lads’ and so an order was made to send Samuel and George to the Gem Street Industrial School in Birmingham until they were aged sixteen.

  No sooner had Mark served his three-month sentence when he was again caught poaching and fined £1. Police said they had chased him into a drain, to which he said, ‘They didn’t find me in the drain, a dog found me. I’d have went through it if I could have got through it.’

  In January 1896, two gamekeepers, Williamson and Ainge, who were employed by the Earl of Warwick, were checking the estate in an area known as New Waters by the gate leading to the Banbury Road. The newspapers reported that they ‘had a severe collision’ with six poachers. Ainge was repeatedly hit with a stick. Four of the poachers, Thomas Jones, Thomas Tew, Thomas Philips and Mark Essex, were eventually arrested – the other two escaped. Jones originally gave a fake name and address but was later convicted and sentenced to three months’ hard labour, as it was proved he was Ainge’s assailant. The other three were discharged, as identification was considered unsatisfactory. Reports said the gamekeeper was recovering but ‘remains a trifle deaf’.

  Six months later, on the night of Tuesday, 30 June 1896, William Barnes and his son James were patrolling Grove Park in Warwick, an estate that belonged to Lord Dormer. William was the head gamekeeper and his son was one of the assistants. At midnight they were in a field on Mr Shelswell’s farm and halfway up saw a man setting nets. Barnes heard voices call out, ‘Come on mate and kill the b_____’, before the poachers scattered. William picked one of the poachers to run after, which turned out to be Essex. William called to his son that he had lost his stick and so his son ran after him. He saw Essex brandishing a cudgel and shouting, ‘Before I’ll be taken I’ll smash your brains out!’

  The fields close to Grove Park.

  William and Essex got caught in the nets and they both fell down. James Barnes then heard a gunshot and called to his father, ‘Father are you shot?’ His father replied, ‘No, the revolver has gone off in my hand.’ Essex was lying on his side, with blood flowing from the back of his head. A bullet had entered his forehead near the eye and had passed through the brain. He had been killed instantly.

  William Barnes and his son went for the police at Hatton, and Essex’s body was taken to the workhouse to await the coroner’s inquest. William Barnes was arrested.

  The coroner’s inquest took place the following afternoon, and after all the evidence had been heard the jury had no hesitation in bringing a verdict of accidental death.

  The next day the case was heard before magistrates at the Police Court. It was just a formality really and the Bench agreed that it had been an accident and that William Barnes had had no intention of killing Essex. The case was dismissed but Barnes described himself as a broken man.

  Essex’s family sought legal advice. His two sons said they were with him that night but weren’t allowed to give evidence in court; they weren’t even allowed access to the public gallery. They appealed to the Home Secretary, and a few days later a letter sent to their solicitor from the Secretary of State appeared in the newspapers. It said that if the family did have ‘any evidence on which a charge can be laid against any person in connection with Essex’s death it is open to you to lay any information before the Justices’.

  No more was heard of Mark Essex, his career, or his death. He was buried at Warwick cemetery on the afternoon of Saturday, 4 July and ‘all funeral expenses were paid by Mr Ernest Hatton, the employer of the gamekeeper, Barnes’.

  At around the time the 1911 census was taken, a Leamington newspaper reported; ‘The prisoner’s iron grey hair fell in an unkempt mass over his forehead and his hands trembled slightly, while there was an intensely sad look upon his pallid features as the magistrates’ clerk read out the solemn charge.’ The census stated that at No. 34 Albert Street, Warwick, the head of the household was eighteen-year-old Elsie Gwilliam. Living with her was her daughter Eva, aged one, and a brother and sister; Ernest, aged thirteen, and Lily, aged fourteen.

  Visiting the house at the time was Hannah Howell, aged fifty, and Ethel Howell, aged fourteen. Elsie’s other siblings, Nellie, aged ten, Bertie, aged seven, Oliver, aged five, and Dolly, aged two, were in the Warwick Workhouse and Infirmary – the children’s father, the above mentioned prisoner, was awaiting trial at the Police Court.

  Richard Gwilliam first made an appearance at the Warwick Borough Police Court on Wednesday, 5 April 1911 and was remanded for a week. Superintendent Ravenhall said that ‘the woman was still in the hospital’ so wasn’t able to appear. A week later, Gwilliam, who ‘appeared in the dock wearing an overcoat and a scarf, looking very haggard, and his appearance was not improved by a fortnight’s growth of beard’, was again remanded for another week. On 21 April his victim was still unable to attend but doctors said she ‘was going on as well as could be expected and would probably be able to appear in court on Monday week.’

  The left turn to Albert Street off Saltisford.

  Another week went by until Monday, 1 May 1911 when, after being in prison for a month and remanded five times, Richard finally faced his victim in the Police Court – his wife, Mary.

  It was reported that the ‘prisoner, who again appeared in the dock wearing a blue overcoat and a scarf, behaved in a cool and indifferent manner; rarely asking a question upon evidence. He stared fixedly at his wife, but she was not seen to glance once in his direction.’ Mary Gwilliam was described as ‘a delicate-looking little woman dressed in black, with a white feather boa round her shoulders which completely hid the scar on her neck.’

  After a he
aring which lasted for four and a half hours, the Bench committed Richard to appear at the next assizes on a charge of attempted murder.

  Richard and Mary had married in Birmingham in 1889 and had lived in Birmingham, Wolverhampton and Coventry before coming to live in Warwick in 1908. They had had nine children, seven of which were still living. Richard was a boot repairer and his workshop was at the family home. They had friends, Charles and Hannah Howells, who lived in Linen Street and whom they had known for five years, having met while living in other towns. Richard had been ill during the winter and the Howells had helped him with his work, but it was this friendship that would be the cause of Richard making the vicious attack on his wife. He said he had intended to kill her because he believed she was having an affair with one of the ‘young Howells’.

  On Sunday, 12 March 1911, Mary had gone to the Howells’ house in Parkes Street and stayed there until eleven in the evening. She went home and found her husband in a bad mood. ‘You better go where you have been; if not I will kick you out,’ he had said. He did not strike her but he became agitated, and so Mary went to the police to report him. She then went back to Mrs Howell’s house and Richard was soon banging on the door shouting out that ‘he would rip her up’. After a while he left but was back in the morning to take her home.

  Over the next couple of weeks it seems they were living amicably again, but one day their daughter, Elsie, told Mary some disturbing news, and the next day Mary approached Richard with her daughter’s revelation – ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ she said. ‘Instead of being the one to protect her you have ruined her, and therefore I shall leave you.’