Unsolved London Murders

by Jonathan Oates

  In the case of Leah, it was concluded, ‘There is nothing to show, however, that there is a connection between any of these cases’. Retired and active senior detectives agreed. Ex-Chief Inspector Walter Dew wrote in a newspaper article that such killings occurred periodically among women ‘of a Bohemian character [who] invite strange men sometimes to their rooms or flats’ and were not part of a series. He thought the killers were ill-tempered men who attacked their victims ‘without any or little provocation’. He thought that the police would be sure to catch the guilty men and that, if not, they might know who was responsible but lack the evidence needed to convict.

  Similarly, Sharpe wrote as follows:

  The murders of French Fifi and Jeannette Cousins remaining unsolved drove us to redouble our efforts to solve the further crime of Soho, but it is unlikely it ever will be solved. I don’t think there was any connection between those killings or that they were in any way connected with any vice ring or other organisation. In my opinion: French Fifi was murdered for the money in her flat by someone she had picked up, and Leah Hinds for the same reason. Jeanette Cousins was killed by someone she knew and the motive was one which I believe I know but which I think it best not to mention.

  The culprits were never found. Sharpe wrote: ‘Despite the most exhaustive enquiries no evidence could be found upon which even suspicion could be attached to any known person and it is unlikely that the crime will ever be solved.’

  Sharpe was best placed to know about these crimes. Therefore, his verdict should hold good, unless other evidence comes to light. At time of writing, the police files on the two latter murders are still partially closed (despite the fact that over seven decades have passed) and until they are fully opened, we are no nearer the truth than the public were in 1936. The only consolation was that, after the death of Leah, there were no more known unsolved killings in this part of London for the rest of the decade.

  CHAPTER 18

  Murder in Southall, 1938

  Some people deserve all they get

  The reader will have noticed that a number of the characters featured in this book, whether as victims, suspects or witnesses, were immigrants from overseas – from France, Russia, Lithuania, Italy, Africa and India. Capital cities attract migrants, and whilst the level in London was by no means comparable to that in the later twentieth century and beyond, their numbers in the London of the 1920s and 1930s were not insignificant either. However, as they had for centuries, people came there from all over the British Isles, too, and usually they were seeking work.

  One such man was Frederick Henry Priddle, who was born in Thomastown, Glamorgan, in 1913. His father was a coal miner. The depression of the 1930s had badly affected employment in many parts of Britain, and these included the coal-mining districts of Wales. Many young men and women left Wales in the 1930s and looked for employment in London, as new industries were being set up in and around the capital.

  Priddle first arrived in London as part of the government’s transfer scheme and undertook training in acetylene welding at Park Royal, West London. From 1933 to 1936 he worked at Woolf’s Rubber factory in Cricklewood, and then in Hayes. Towards the end of 1936 he fell ill and returned to his home town, where, after recovering, he worked in a colliery for a few months. Bad health struck again, and he decided to return to London. From April 1937, he was employed by L Clarke & Co., engineers and welders of Acme Works, Pluckington Place, Southall. His employers described him as ‘a conscientious and capable workman’.

  Priddle was an inoffensive figure, described as being a ‘very quiet and reserved young man, who did not mix with a lot of people, but kept to the company of a few childhood friends’. It seems that there were several hundred Welsh in Southall in the later 1930s. He was a teetotaller and rarely went out. When he lived in Wales, he was interested in first aid and was a member of the St John’s Ambulance Brigade. In 1934 he had become engaged to a Welsh girl, Miss Eunice Wiggins, who had been born in Pontypridd, Glamorgan, in 1911. They had been friends since 1931. She had lived in Southall since February 1937, being her widowed brother’s housekeeper. Priddle often spent his evenings with her, going to one of the four cinemas in the town, or stayed in with her and her brother. Although the young couple had made no fixed plans, now Priddle had a steady job they were hoping to marry before long.

  On 31 December 1937, they went to the house of a fellow Welshman in Portland Road, Southall. A New Year’s party was being held and there were party games. Everyone seemed to have a good time. Although Priddle was a teetotaller, he was reported as drinking three glasses of wine. Miss Wiggins had her fortune told by another guest. She later recalled, ‘I was going to hear of a broken engagement’ and that ‘I should hear of an illness and be sent for quickly to someone’s bedside’. None of these predictions are difficult to make, as vague as they are. Unfortunately, they came true rather more quickly than anyone would have expected. At the time, Miss Wiggins only thought ‘I had the impression that it was meant to refer to an elderly person living a long way away.’

  Gordon Road, Southall, 2005. Author’s collection

  A sober Priddle and his fiancée left the party at 12.35 in the morning. He escorted her to where she lived and then went down South Road and the Green. He stopped off at the coffee bar on Station Road, before arriving at his lodgings in the quiet back street that was Gordon Road. Unlocking the front door, Priddle went into the living room. It was in darkness, but he could see a man by the fireplace. He was ‘wearing a light coat and a cap and was about 5 foot 8 inches’. Priddle was then kicked in the stomach and received a stab wound. He fell unconscious. His next memory was of staggering outside and reaching the garden gate.

  It was at 1.30 that his landlord, David Walker, aged 51, who found him there. Walker had been awoken by the loud groans he had heard. Looking out of the window, Walker saw the collapsed Priddle and, at his wife’s urgings, rushed downstairs. Once there, he said to his tenant, ‘Come on, old son, what is the matter with you?’ Then he noticed that blood was flowing from Priddle’s chest, where he had been stabbed. Walker called his wife down.

  The two helped him inside their house and called for the police and for an ambulance to take him to the local hospital. Apart from the chest wound, which was four inches deep, there was another stab wound to the head, too. The weapon which inflicted both of these was probably a narrow-bladed dagger, such as a stiletto. No weapon was found.

  Once in hospital, the police kept a watch at his bedside. Priddle did regain consciousness briefly and was able to give his confused account of the assault (as noted above). There were no witnesses and no one in that quiet back street had seen anyone acting oddly.

  It was unclear what the motive was. A few items, it was true, were missing from the room where Priddle had been stabbed. These were two boxes of matches, 8s 6d from the mantelpiece, and an electric light bulb had been removed. Hardly enough to provide a motive for murder. The police theory was that two homeless men had been in the locality and had got into the house seeking warmth, shelter and food. They would enter a house, make themselves comfortable, put coals on the fire and heat up some food. Anything valuable would be taken. The police made enquiries about these men.

  Events took a tragic turn in the early morning of 14 January when Priddle died in hospital. There had been hopes that he might recover, but the loss of blood and the onset of pneumonia proved fatal. Miss Wiggins and Priddle’s mother were with him when he died. His father had seen his injured son, but was not there at his deathbed, because he had to return to work. Although recalled, he did not arrive before his son died.

  This was now a case of murder and the police had lost their only witness to the attack. Divisional Detective Inspector Baker and his men investigating the case redoubled their efforts. The two homeless men were found and questioned, but nothing conclusive emerged. They had to be released due to lack of witnesses and evidence. Other witnesses claimed that a tall dark man had been seen running from the scene of t
he crime and that a motor car had been heard in the vicinity of the house, too.

  The inquest was convened at St John’s Hall on 17 January. It was very short. Priddle’s uncle identified the corpse and the inquest was then adjourned until 8 February, in order to give the police more time to conduct their investigation. Dr Broadridge, the police surgeon, carried out a post mortem on the body and hoped to be able to find a particle of the murder weapon. He was unable to do so. Reginald Kemp, the coroner for West Middlesex, announced at the concluding part of the inquest that the police ‘had an extraordinarily difficult task before them because there is so little for them to go on’. Miss Wiggins and Mr Walker thought that Priddle had no enemies and knew of no reason why anyone would have wanted to kill him. Frank Mortimer, proprietor of the coffee stall which Priddle had stopped at on his way back home on the fatal morning, recalled Priddle being his usual self: quiet, but cheerful. He said that Priddle hoped to catch a bus, but Mortimer told him that none were running at that time. Priddle had answered him ‘Allright, I’ll have to hoof it then.’ Mr Walker thought that Priddle had been attacked on the way home, yet Priddle’s testimony contradicted this theory, for he had said he was attacked only when he was inside the house. Frustratingly, the inquest could only end in one way – that Priddle had been killed by person or persons unknown.

  There was much local sympathy for the family of the dead man, who were numerous and not well off. A total of 156 people from neighbouring streets sent £4 7s 3d to the Priddle family. His workmates and employers also gave the family a collection, and sent a wreath. The funeral was in Wales on 19 January. His family wrote to their son’s friends in Southall to express their thanks at their kindness and generosity.

  The police investigation continued, but little concrete was discovered. A number of suspects emerged. One was Walker himself, who incidentally continued to live in the same house until the late 1970s. Yet Priddle had been asked about his landlord, and refuted this possibility. One Edward Hooper, a Scot and an army deserter, had a track record of breaking into houses for shelter. However, it could be shown that he had an alibi for the time of the assault on Priddle. He was illegally entering St Luke’s Vicarage in Hammersmith. Likewise, Llewellyn Davis, a well-known burglar, was another suspect, but again he had an alibi for the night of the crime.

  Others wrote to the police about lodgers and acquaintances who acted oddly at the time. People who had blood on their clothes were reported, for instance. A man who was heard commenting on the case, ‘Some people deserve all they get’, was reported. A local newsagent recalled being asked by a man, just after the deed, who lived in another part of London whether he could be sent local newspapers. A Mr Knight from Salisbury told the police that a man whom he had known in Lewisham possessed a stiletto. William Triffit, a prisoner, spoke about an acquaintance who was a burglar and carried a stiletto, but this turned out to be an invention.

  The mystery remained unsolved. It would seem that Priddle was very unfortunate in being in the wrong place at the wrong time, that his assailant/s did not attack him through any personal motive, but because he interrupted their illegal activities and they wanted to avoid being arrested. The lack of clues and witnesses hampered any successful investigation. The police concluded:

  the person who committed this murder was a paltry thief, in need of warmth and shelter, and by the ferocity of his assault upon the unfortunate man, is in all probability, youthful and inexperienced in crime.

  Baker concluded the case by writing in his official report, on 5 October 1938:

  Despite every possible enquiry and constant touch being kept with persons likely to be able to assist us in this difficult case, no progress has been made. In the event of any useful information coming to hand, it will at once be acted upon and a further report submitted.

  CHAPTER 19

  Death in Hyde Park, 1938

  The man struck me for nothing at all.

  This last case of murder is one of the most mysterious in this book. This is not only because the murderer escaped unscathed – all the killers whose crimes have been catalogued here did – but because there is so little information about it. There is no police file surviving for the case, unlike the majority of murders chronicled here. Furthermore, both the national and the local press only contained the scantiest details. Although there were many clues in the case of Vera Page, there were none in this and a featureless murder is the most difficult to solve. As Sherlock Holmes said in A Study in Scarlet, ‘The most commonplace crime is the most mysterious, because it presents no new or special features from which deductions can be drawn.’ The few known facts are as follows.

  Cecil Johnson, an osteopath, and his friend, Thomas Barnwell, aged 26, a commissionaire, who once served as a corporal in the Irish Guards, shared a flat at Holbein House, Pimlico Road, in Chelsea. The two men had known each other since the autumn of 1936. This was probably when the regiment was stationed at the Wellington Barracks in London (they had not been overseas since 1924). The flat belonged to Johnson, but he allowed his friend to stay there since Barnwell left the army in February 1938, after serving in Egypt, where his regiment had been posted in November of the previous year. Initially this was meant to be until Barnwell found a new job, but he was still there in May of that year. Johnson’s business premises were at Evelyn Mansions, Carlisle Place, Victoria.

  On the evening of Sunday 15 May, the two men went out at about 8.30, and spent the next hour and a half in public houses, the last one being on Edgware Road. They left at ten and headed for home. They were travelling south across Hyde Park on foot, probably on Broad Walk, and had just turned into the path which led to the Serpentine. Johnson later recalled that two men who they did not know passed them by. Without any provocation, or any words passing between them, one of the strangers apparently hit Barnwell on the face. Barnwell retaliated and a scuffle followed. Johnson joined in. The two men rushed off and Barnwell followed them. Johnson later recalled:

  The Serpentine Road and Band Stand, Hyde Park. Author’s collection

  When I got up to them a second time Barnwell was standing alone. The two men had walked away. Barnwell was holding his side. He thought he had been kicked. I did not know either of the two men. Barnwell said he did not know them.

  Barnwell and Johnson staggered to Marble Arch Gate and hailed a taxi cab on Park Lane. They went to St George’s Hospital, on Grovsenor Lane, and about a mile from the park, arriving at 10.40. Dr A C Grey found that Barnwell had been stabbed in the groin by a sharp instrument. He was operated upon two hours after admission – he could not have been operated on sooner because he was in a state of shock. Unfortunately, peritonitis developed and there were intestinal obstructions.

  Barnwell was questioned on 17 May by Divisional Detective Inspector Sydney Kidd. He told the detective:

  I was walking across the meeting ground. The man struck me for nothing at all. There were two men, both about 26 to 30. As far as I know I have never seen them before, and I don’t think I would know them again. I don’t know if they were Guardsmen, but they were of that type. I was not under the influence of drink.

  Johnson also asked if he could describe their attackers, but he said, ‘I might, but I don’t say for certain. I could not describe them.’

  On the same day, a police message was sent out asking for information. It read:

  At about 10.20 pm on Sunday night a man, aged 26, height 6ft., 4 in., was stabbed in the stomach during an affray at the meeting ground, Hyde Park, near Broad Walk. He was escorted to Marble Arch Gate and taken by taxicab to hospital, where he is critically ill. Anyone who saw the incident and who can give any information, please ring Whitehall 1212 or any police station.

  Marble Arch. Author’s collection

  Clearly the man who helped Barnwell was Johnson.

  Despite an improvement in his condition, on 24 May Barnwell died. According to Dr John Taylor, a pathologist at the hospital, heart failure was the cause of death, due to peritonitis f
lowing from the wound in the abdominal wall of the left groin.

  The inquest was held at Westminster on 27 May. Christopher Stephen Barnwell, the dead man’s brother, and a commissionaire at Richmond Hill Hotel, was present and merely stated that his brother had been in the Guards until February of that year. Oddie, the coroner, announced at its conclusion:

  It is a very strange story. Without a word of provocation one of these unknown strangers struck the deceased. Quite obviously it is a case of murder. All homicide is considered to be murder until the contrary is proved. It was a malicious attack, and has resulted in this young man’s death.

  There is no obvious reason why Barnwell was killed. As no one else witnessed the murder, it is tempting to suggest that Johnson killed him, but given his and Barnwell’s stories were the same, this would seem to have been ruled out. Furthermore, had Johnson attacked his erstwhile friend, why would he help him to hospital where he might recover and incriminate him? No, it was one of the two men they met who was guilty. Since Barnwell did not recognize his attackers, he was clearly unknown to them, so this was not a settling of a grudge. Therefore, it would seem that this was a spur of the moment killing, carried out by a young man who had a knife and used it during the second phase of the scuffle. The killer must have been in an angry mood when he and his companion met Johnson and Barnwell. It was the latter’s misfortune to chase after his assailant, not realizing the risk he was running. One possibility is that Barnwell and Johnson were lovers (they were certainly on friendly terms) and were showing signs of affection in public, and that this triggered violence on the part of the other two men. Barnwell and Johnson could not have alluded to this to the authorities for their activity would then have been classified as immoral (and illegal) behaviour. Whether or not this was the case is, of course, another question.