But that night, 30 September 1888, would see a second murder, so far the most violent in the series. It seems that the arrival of Louis Diemschutz stopped the Whitechapel murderer in the act and left him frustrated and unfulfilled, having not had the chance to carry out his ritualistic mutilations, driving him to kill again with renewed ferocity within three quarters of an hour.
CHAPTER FIVE
FROM HELL
The Death of Catherine Eddowes
At about the same time that Elizabeth Stride’s body was discovered in Berner Street, forty-six-year-old Catherine Eddowes was being released from Bishopsgate Police Station in the City of London. At 8.30 p.m. that night she had been found slumped in front of 29 Aldgate High Street in a very drunken, but still conscious, state. A small crowd had assembled around her which attracted the attention of City PC Louis Robinson. In vain, he tried to prop Catherine up against the front of No. 29, but she immediately slumped back down again. When he asked her name, she replied ‘nothing’. PC Robinson was soon joined by PC George Simmons and together they lifted Catherine and escorted her, perhaps with some difficulty, to Bishopsgate Police Station.
At the station, Sergeant James Byfield, who was on desk duty that night, booked Catherine in and she was taken to a cell to sleep off her drunken stupor. Throughout the evening PC George Hutt made regular checks on the cell and at 12.55 a.m., after hearing Catherine singing quietly to herself, he checked one last time. He felt that she was now sober enough to be released. Before leaving, she was asked her name and said that she was ‘Mary Ann Kelly’ and that she lived at 6 Fashion Street. It is strange that she chose as her alias a name so similar to two of the other victims, Mary Jane Kelly and Mary Ann Nichols. She also asked the time, at which PC Hutt told her that it was too late to get any more drink. Catherine muttered that she would get ‘a damn fine hiding’ when she got home and PC Hutt responded with something resembling a reprimand: ‘And serve you right, you have no right to get drunk.’
By the time she was released into the street it was 1 a.m.; PC Hutt asked Catherine to pull the door to on her way out. As she did so she said, ‘Good night, old cock,’ and he saw her turn in the direction of Houndsditch. Forty-five minutes later, she was dead, the next victim of Jack the Ripper.
The murder of Catherine Eddowes, the most violent yet in the series, provides the key to the entire story set out in this book, so I’m going to look at her life and the events leading to her death in detail.
She was born on 14 April 1842 in Graisely Green, Wolverhampton, to George Eddowes, a tin-plate worker, and his wife Catherine, the sixth child of twelve. By the time she was two years old, the family had made the big decision to move to London, probably walking all the way, and settled in Bermondsey, one of several impoverished neighbourhoods south of the river Thames. Catherine was educated at St John’s Charity School but tragedy soon struck when her mother died in 1855, when she was thirteen, followed by her father two years later. The children, now orphans, went their separate ways, many going to the Bermondsey Workhouse, but Catherine returned to Wolverhampton and stayed with an aunt, finding employment as a tin-plate stamper, a job she may have obtained through family connections.
By the early 1860s, she began a relationship with a man named Thomas Conway who drew a pension from the 18th Royal Irish Regiment. Together they eked out a living around the Midlands, often selling cheap ‘chap-books’ written by Conway, the content of which usually consisted of little histories, nursery rhymes or accounts of current events. One of their books was a ballad commemorating the execution of Catherine’s cousin, Christopher Robinson, which was sold among the crowds gathered for his hanging for murder.
In 1863, Thomas and Catherine’s first child, Catherine Anne (or ‘Annie’) Conway was born in Norfolk where Thomas was employed as a labourer. By 1868, the family had moved to London, taking lodgings in Westminster. By this time Catherine was using the surname Conway, a common enough thing to do when a couple were living as man and wife – she even had Thomas’s initials crudely tattooed on her arm – but there is no record that they ever married. It was at Westminster that their second child, Thomas, was born. Continually on the move, the Conways moved to Southwark where their last child, Alfred, was born in 1873.
By now, things were not going too well and Catherine’s growing taste for alcohol had become an issue, as had Thomas’s occasionally violent behaviour towards her. At Christmas 1877, Catherine’s older sister Emma met her for the last time and noted that she was sporting a black eye. With domestic problems mounting, the inevitable happened and Catherine separated from Thomas in 1881. Her daughter Annie had already left home, and the two boys stayed with their father.
Another older sister of Catherine’s, Eliza, lived in Spitalfields and Catherine followed her there, settling in the common lodging house at 55 Flower and Dean Street, where she began a relationship with a labourer named John Kelly. They were to remain as a couple at the lodging house for the rest of her life. Soon after, Catherine became a grandmother when her daughter Annie gave birth to a son, Louis. But although she lived not too far away in Bermondsey, Annie’s relationship with her parents was fraught. Thomas had come to stay with her at one time and had left on bad terms, and Catherine’s regular visits to borrow money resulted in Annie and her family moving house without telling her mother of the new address.
During September 1888, Catherine and John Kelly, now an established couple, decided to go ‘hopping’, a popular escape from the grime of the city. Every year many families from the poorer districts of London would go to Kent to pick hops, earning some money with the seasonal work and at the same time benefitting from the cleaner air of the countryside. Unfortunately, bad weather that summer resulted in a poor crop and soon the couple, along with many others in the same situation, were forced to make the long walk back from Kent to London, penniless. As Catherine and John did so, they struck up a friendship with a Mrs Emily Burrell and her partner, who were on their way to Cheltenham. Mrs Burrell gave Catherine a pawn ticket for a man’s shirt which was no use to them as they were not going to London.
When they reached the city on 27 September, weary and footsore, Catherine and John went their separate ways for the night: John stayed at 52 Flower and Dean Street and Catherine went to Shoe Lane, in the City of London, to stay at the casual ward there, where the homeless were allowed brief accommodation, usually for one night only. They only had four pence between them, and that paid for John’s bed. When she left the ward the following morning, she told others there that she had returned to London ‘to earn the reward offered for the apprehension of the Whitechapel Murderer. I think I know him.’ The superintendent of the ward warned her not to get herself killed, to which she replied: ‘Oh, no fear of that.’
On the morning of 29 September, Catherine and John reunited and went to Jones’s pawnbrokers near Christ Church Spitalfields to pawn a pair of John’s boots; with the two shillings and six pence they received, they bought some provisions and had breakfast in the kitchen at 55 Flower and Dean Street. The last time the couple were together was at about 2 p.m. in Houndsditch, by which time they appeared to be penniless again. John said he would find some casual work somewhere and Catherine said she would cross the river to see her daughter at an address in Bermondsey (which she did not know her daughter had left) and get some money from her. She never made it to Annie’s, but by 8.30 p.m. she had managed to get herself extremely drunk – where the money came from to pay for this is not clear, but prostitution could well have been one option, despite John Kelly later saying that he was not aware of Catherine ever having earned money through ‘immoral purposes’. And so Catherine Eddowes was found slumped, drunk, in a doorway in Aldgate High Street, arrested and placed in the cells at Bishopsgate Police Station.
Her release at 1 a.m. the following morning was charged with a tragic serendipity: being in the custody of the City police, she was allowed to go once she was deemed sober enough to look after herself, which was the City poli
ce policy. Had she been found drunk a short distance further east, she would probably have been spotted by a Metropolitan police officer and taken to Leman Street or Commercial Street police stations. It was Metropolitan police policy to hold drunks until the following morning – in which case Catherine would not have encountered the Whitechapel murderer.
It is an historical anomaly that the City of London has its own force within the boundaries of the Met police. It goes back centuries, when the city, the heart of London, had the first paid law men. When the Met was founded in 1829 Sir Robert Peel tried to take over the city area, but the City Corporation resisted, and despite another attempt ten years later, the City police was given statutory power to remain an independent force, as it is to this day.
It was Catherine’s bad luck that she was found drunk in the city area, and forty-five minutes after her release, her brutally mutilated body was found in Mitre Square by City PC Edward Watkins. Mitre Square was a small enclosure mostly surrounded by warehouses, except for two houses (one occupied, one empty) and the backs of properties on Mitre Street. There were three entrances, one from Mitre Street, another from St James’s Place (now called Mitre Court) and Church Passage, which ran from Duke Street. PC Watkins’s beat usually took fifteen minutes to cover and that night he was working ‘left handed’, which means he was walking his beat in reverse, a common enough ploy used by patrolling officers to confuse any potential wrongdoer who had become accustomed to the route of the beat. When he passed through Mitre Square at 1.30 a.m. there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen and he continued on his way. Yet at 1.44 a.m. he returned to the square and, turning to the dark, south-west corner, he saw a body lying on the pavement. As he shone his lantern across the body, he could see that the woman had been killed and her body mutilated. He later told a reporter from the Daily News that:
. . . her clothes were right up to her breast and the stomach was laid bare, with a dreadful gash from the pit of the stomach to the breast. On examining the body, I found the entrails cut out and laid round the throat, which had an awful gash in it, extending from ear to ear. In fact, the head was nearly severed from the body. Blood was everywhere to be seen. It was difficult to discern the injuries to the face for the quantity of blood which covered it. The murderer had inserted the knife just under the nose, cut the nose completely from the face, at the same time inflicting a dreadful gash down the right cheek to the angle of the jawbone. The nose was laid over on the cheek. A more dreadful sight I never saw; it quite knocked me over.
Watkins immediately ran the eighty yards or so across the square to the large Kearley and Tonge warehouse to seek help from the nightwatchman there, George Morris, who happened to be a retired Metropolitan policeman. After seeing for himself the gruesome sight splayed across the pavement, Morris left Watkins with the body, raced out of the square, through Mitre Street and into Aldgate, all the while blowing his old policeman’s whistle: City police officers were not issued with whistles at that time.
He managed to find PCs James Harvey and James Holland and they all ran back to Mitre Square. PC Holland was promptly dispatched to nearby Jewry Street to fetch Dr George Sequeira, who arrived at the scene at 1.55 a.m. At the same time, Inspector Edward Collard at Bishopsgate Police Station heard news of the murder and left for Mitre Square, after sending a constable to fetch Dr Frederick Gordon Brown, the City police surgeon, who lived at Finsbury Circus. Arriving at the scene at approximately 2.18 a.m., Dr Brown noted that several policemen were there along with Dr Sequeira, but nobody had yet touched the body.
According to Dr Brown’s report:
The body was on its back, the head turned towards the left shoulder, the arms were by the side of the body, as if they had fallen there. Both palms were upwards and the fingers were slightly bent. A thimble was lying in the ground near the right hand, the clothes were drawn up above the abdomen, the left leg was extended straight down, in a line with the body, and the right leg was bent at the thigh and knee, there was great disfigurement to the face, the throat cut across, below the cut was a neckerchief, the upper part of the dress was pulled open a little way, the abdomen was all exposed, the intestines were drawn out to a large extent and placed over the right shoulder, they were smeared over with some feculent matter, a piece of about 2 feet was quite detached from the body and placed between the body and the left arm, apparently by design, the lobe and the auricle of the right ear was cut obliquely through, there was a quantity of clotted blood on the pavement on the left side of the neck, round the shoulder and upper part of the arm, and fluid blood coloured serum which had flowed under the neck to the right shoulder, the pavement sloping in that direction, the body was quite warm, no death stiffening had taken place, she must have been dead most likely within the half hour, we looked for superficial bruises and saw none, no blood on the skin of the abdomen or secretion of any kind on the thighs, no spurting of blood on the bricks or pavement around, no marks of blood below the middle of the body, several buttons were found in the clotted blood after the body was removed, there was no blood on the front of the clothes, there were no traces of recent connection [meaning sexual intercourse].
Dr Brown stated that the cause of death was ‘haemorrhage from the left carotid artery. Death was immediate and the mutilations were inflicted after death.’ It is the same cause of death as given for Elizabeth Stride, so soon before, which confirms that the Ripper was about to start mutilating Elizabeth when he was disturbed, then felt compelled to strike again.
A pencil sketch of the crime scene, with the body in situ, was also made before Catherine Eddowes was taken to the mortuary in Golden Lane. The face had been horrifically mutilated; a piece of her ear dropped from her clothing when she was undressed at the mortuary, her nose had been cut off and two inverted ‘V’ cuts were evident under each eye. As if this was not enough, it was found that her left kidney and her womb were missing. Dr Brown later commented that someone who knew the position of the kidney must have done it. He stated that the killer must have possessed ‘a good deal of knowledge as to the position of the organs in the abdominal cavity and the way of removing them’.
A comprehensive list of Catherine’s clothing and belongings found on her person was made at the mortuary by a police inspector. Because she was homeless, she was wearing everything she owned and carrying all her belongings. As well as everything listed here, Dr Brown also noted in his report on her body that nearby was a mustard tin containing two pawn tickets: one for John Kelly’s shoes, the other the one she had been given as they walked back from hop picking. This is the list:
• Black Straw Bonnet trimmed with green & black Velvet and black beads, black strings. The bonnet was loosely tied, and had partially fallen from the back of the head, no blood on front, but the back was lying in a pool of blood, which had run from the neck.
• Black Cloth Jacket, imitation fur edging round collar, fur round sleeves, no blood on front outside, large quantity of blood inside and outside back, outside back very dirty with blood and dirt, 2 outside pockets, trimmed black silk braid & imitation fur.
• Chintz Skirt, 3 flounces, brown button on waistband. Jagged cut 6 ½ inches long from waistband, left side of front. Edges slightly Bloodstained, also Blood on bottom, back & front of skirt.
• Brown Linsey Dress Bodice, black velvet collar, brown metal buttons down front, blood inside & outside back of neck & shoulders, clean cut bottom of left side, 5 inches long from right to left.
• Grey Stuff Petticoat, white waist band, cut 1 ½ inches long, thereon in front. Edges blood stained, blood stains on front at bottom of petticoat.
• Very Old Green Alpaca Skirt. Jagged cut 10 ½ inches long in front of waistband downwards, blood stained inside, front under cut.
• Very Old ragged Blue Skirt, red flounce, light twill lining, jagged cut 10 ½ inches long, through waist band, downward, blood stained, inside and outside, back and front.
• White Calico Chemise, very much blood stained all over, a
pparently torn thus in middle of front.
• Mans White Vest, button to match down front, 2 outside pockets, torn at back, very much blood stained at back, Blood & other stains on front.
• No Drawers or Stays.
• Pair of Mens lace up Boots, mohair laces. Right boot has been repaired with red thread, 6 blood marks on right boot.
• 1 piece of red gauze Silk, various cuts thereon found on neck.
• 1 large White Handkerchief, blood stained.
• 2 Unbleached Calico Pockets, tape strings, cut through also top left hand corners, cut off one.
• 1 Blue Stripe Bed ticking Pocket, waist band, and strings cut through, (all 3 pockets) blood stained.
• 1 White Cotton Pocket Handkerchief, red and white birds eye border.
• 1 pr. Brown ribbed Stockings, feet mended with white.
• 12 pieces of white Rag, some slightly bloodstained.
• 1 piece of white Coarse Linen.
• 1 piece of Blue & White Shining (3 cornered).
• 2 Small Blue Bed ticking Bags.
• 2 Short Clay Pipes (black).
• 1 Tin Box containing Tea.
• 1 do. do. do. [ditto] Sugar.
• 1 Piece of Flannel & 6 pieces of soap.
• 1 Small Tooth Comb.
• 1 White Handle Table Knife & 1 metal Tea Spoon.
• 1 Red Leather Cigarette Case, white metal fittings.
• 1 Tin Match Box, empty.
• 1 piece of Red Flannel containing Pins & Needles.
• 1 Ball of Hemp.
• 1 piece of old White Apron.
Unlike the police list, a press report in the East London Observer said, ‘Her dress was made of green chintz, the pattern consisting of Michaelmas daisies.’ This description was repeated by other periodicals and newspapers at the time. This is a vital piece of information, and it is on this item of clothing that my whole investigation into the identity of Jack the Ripper rests. So why was it not on the police list of her belongings? As I found out, and as I am going to show you later, while the body was being transported to the mortuary, Acting Sergeant Amos Simpson who was accompanying it, asked another, more senior officer if he could have this piece of clothing, which was in fact a shawl not a skirt. He wanted it for his wife, because the silk was clearly of good quality, and he thought she might be able to use it for her dressmaking.
Naming Jack the Ripper: The Biggest Forensic Breakthrough Since 1888 Page 8