Foul Deeds and Suspicious Deaths in London's West End

by Geoffrey Howse

  John Bellingham was executed outside Newgate Gaol, before an enormous crowd on the following Monday. The executioner was William Brunskill. During the long wait for the prisoner to be brought out, several members of the public were injured, caused by the goring by a maddened, over-driven ox, which forced its way through the crowd.

  When the time came, Bellingham made his way from the condemned cell to the scaffold, which he ascended with a ‘rather light step, a cheerful countenance and a confident, calm, but not exulting air’. After the body had been allowed to hang for the customary hour, it was taken down and loaded onto a cart, and conveyed, followed by a large crowd, to St Bartholomew’s Hospital where it was dissected in the anatomical theatre before many spectators.

  Not everyone was content with Bellingham’s fate, as this contemporary account shows:

  Bellingham has been convicted of murder and hanged, but some unease is now felt, since his wits had apparently been turned by the wrongs he suffered, and it is not the mark of a civilized society to execute lunatics.

  Spencer Perceval is the only British Prime Minister to have been assassinated.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Cato Street Conspiracy 1820

  After the men had been hanged, their bodies were taken down and their heads removed by a masked man wielding a surgeon’s knife. The severed heads were each in turn displayed to the crowds of onlookers.

  Travelling in a northerly direction from Marble Arch along Edgeware Road, on the right hand side, after about a quarter of a mile, is Harrowby Street. Second left off Harrowby Street is a narrow road known as Cato Street, famous for what is known to history as the ‘Cato Street Conspiracy of 1820’. The plot was given that name because the conspirators met in a loft above a stable at No.6. This ill-conceived plot seemed doomed to failure from the start and is probably more notable for the high profile execution of the perpetrators, than the actual purpose of the conspiracy itself. It nevertheless caused quite a stir at the time. The plot involved a group of extreme radicals who were highly dissatisfied with government legislature, in the wake of the Napoleonic wars, a time when economic problems and high unemployment were rife.

  The stable in Cato Street and a floor plan of the room above in which the conspirators met. Author’s collection

  Arthur Thistlewood and the stable in which the Cato Street Conspirators met. Author’s collection

  The leader, Arthur Thistlewood, was a militia officer, who following visits to America and France, developed revolutionary sympathies and on 15 November 1816, had organized a demonstration at Spa Fields, intending to seize the Tower of London and the Bank of England. Thistlewood was arrested along with several others and tried before the King’s Bench at Westminster, on 9 June. He was acquitted. When Thistlewood began to recruit at Cato Street, he secured the support of about twenty-five men, including many hot-headed illiterates. One of the recruits was a government spy, named George Edwards, so the authorities were aware of the plot from the beginning. Edwards probably joined the conspirators for personal gain and immediately after joining the group, went straight to Windsor to inform Sir Herbert Taylor. The conspirators planned to murder Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister and his entire cabinet, while they dined at Lord Harrowby’s (the President of the Council) house at 29 Grosvenor Square, on 23 February 1820. Another conspirator, Thomas Hiden, also turned informer and gave the government exact details of the plot. The plot involved one of the conspirators to knock at the door of Lord Harrowby’s residence on the pretence of leaving a parcel. When the door was opened the whole band of men would rush into the house and, while a few took care of the servants, the others would fall upon Lord Harrowby and his guests. Hand-grenades were to be thrown into the dining room and during the noise and confusion the assassination of the entire cabinet would be accomplished.

  Thistlewood and others were closely watched and once matters were sufficiently advanced so as no doubt could remain as to their guilt, a detachment of soldiers, headed by Lord Frederick Fitzclarence, constables and Bow Street officials descended on Cato Street. During the ensuing fracas, Thistlewood killed one of the officers, Richard Smithers, with his sword, then promptly took to his heels and escaped.

  The four Cato Street Conspirators who were executed with Arthur Thistlewood on 1 May 1820. Author’s collection

  The stable in which the Cato Street Conspirators met, seen here, September 2005. The author

  Several others conspirators were captured and taken to Bow Street: Richard Bradburn, Charles Cooper, William Davidson, James Gilchrist, James Ings, John Monument, John Shaw Strange and Richard Tidd. A large number of weapons was found in the loft and taken away. Thistlewood was caught the next day at 8 White Street, Little Moorfields, to the north of the present day Moorgate station. He was in bed with his breeches on and in the pockets were found several cartridges. He was first taken to Bow Street, where he was examined and then appeared before the Privy Council. Other conspirators including John Thomas Brunt and John Harrison were arrested over the next few days. Thistlewood was taken to the Tower of London as State prisoners with his fellow ringleaders but most of the other conspirators were held in Coldbath Fields Prison.

  Six weeks after the proposed assassination of the cabinet, the trial of the Cato Street Conspirators took place at the Old Bailey. Thistlewood made a long and rambling defence. He also described the ‘informer’ George Edwards as a ‘contriver, instigator and entrapper’. It came as no surprise that the prisoners were all found guilty. Those conspirators who had pleaded guilty escaped execution but five were executed.

  Thistlewood, Ings, Davidson, Brunt and Tidd were hanged outside Newgate Gaol on 1 May 1820. The five conspirators were spared being disembowelled and quartered but the law still required traitors to be decapitated. Arthur Griffiths records in The Chronicles of Newgate:

  A crowd as great as any known collected in the Old Bailey to see the ceremony, about which there were some peculiar features worth recording. The reckless demeanour of all the convicts except Davidson was most marked. Thistlewood and Ings sucked oranges on the scaffold; they with Brunt and Tidd scorned the ordinary’s ministrations, but Ings said he hoped God would be more merciful to him than men had been. Ings was especially defiant. He sought to cheer Davidson, who seemed affected, crying out, “Come, old cock-of-wax, it will soon be over.” As the executioner fastened the noose, he nodded to a friend he saw in the crowd; and catching sight of the coffins ranged around the gallows, he smiled at the show with contemptuous indifference. He roared out snatches of a song about Death or Liberty, and just before he was turned off, yelled out three cheers to the populace whom he faced. He told the executioner to “do it tidy,” to pull it tight, and was in a state of hysterical exaltation up to the very last. Davidson, who was the only one who seemed to realize his awful situation, listened patiently and with thankfulness to the chaplain, and died in a manner strongly contrasting with that of his fellows …

  The execution of the Cato Street Conspirators outside the Debtor’s Entrance at Newgate Gaol. Author’s collection

  After the men had been hanged, their bodies were taken down after half an hour and their heads removed by a masked man wielding a surgeon’s knife. The severed heads were each in turn displayed to the crowds of onlookers. Afterwards the bodies were placed in the coffins, with the heads in the correct position and taken inside Newgate Gaol, where they were buried in the narrow passage which linked the gaol with the adjoining Sessions House, officially known as Birdcage Walk, on account of it being open to the air but covered with an iron grid; but more commonly known as Dead Man’s Walk. There carved in the stones was a row of letters T, B, I, D and T, for Thistlewood, Brunt, Ings, Davidson and Tidd, to mark the spot where they were buried. This was the fashion at Newgate. In all there were ninety-seven such burials there. When Newgate was demolished in 1903, the remains of all ninety-seven executed criminals were lifted and reburied in the City of London Cemetery. George Edwards, it was said, after the conviction of the
conspirators had been assured, went abroad, with an ample pension, provided on condition he did not return to England.

  The scene outside Newgate Gaol during high profile public executions. Author’s collection

  CHAPTER 11

  Murder at the Adelphi 1897

  Mad? Mad? You will hear of my madness. The whole world will ring with it.

  “Shadows we are, and shadows we pursue”,

  That was the motto dearest far to you!

  Old friend and comrade, having grasped my hand,

  I mourn you lost to me in Shadow Land.

  Brave Sailor Lad! And best of “pals” on earth,

  Whose triumph at your death, proclaimed your worth,

  They bore you down an avenue of woe,

  Where men and women sobbed, “We loved him so!”

  Why did they love him? The assassin’s knife,

  With one fell blow, mangled a loyal life,

  They loved him for his honour! Splendid Will!

  That made a hero of our “BREEZY BILL!”

  Punch, January 1898

  London’s theatreland has had a rich and varied history, and by the very nature of things theatrical, has attracted such diverse personalities and social classes it has often been the scene of crime, sometimes murder. This particular theatrical murder is one of the most sensational true-life theatrical tragedies, which made headline news. For the following five years or so, the crime around which this tragic series of events is based, was used by theatrical journalists to moralize about the theatrical profession. The victim was one of the most distinguished figures and celebrated actors of his day. This is the tale of a practical joke that went seriously wrong, of baseless jealousy arising from another actor’s cruel hoax. The scene of the murder was the Adelphi Theatre in the Strand, in 1897. At that time both the Strand and the adjacent Adelphi were highly fashionable areas, much more so than the present day. The Strand itself, was the hubbub of London’s high society and theatrical activity.

  William Terriss, wearing a soft brimmed hat. Author’s collection

  The principal players in this tragic tale are William Terriss (William Charles James Lewin), the actor and murder victim; Richard Archer Prince, a supernumerary, stagehand and the murderer; and William L Abingdon, actor and the perpetrator of the joke that turned sour.

  William Terriss was affectionately known by the British public as ‘Breezy Bill’ and ‘No.1, Adelphi Terriss’ (Adelphi Terrace being one of London’s most fashionable streets), and was noted for wearing a soft brimmed hat, which was considered old fashioned. Although not an actor manager, such was his standing that he was treated with the same respect as if he were, throughout the theatrical world. He was one of the kindest and most generous of men. Handsome, athletic and an accomplished swimmer, he rescued several people from drowning and once turned up at the theatre soaking wet, having rescued a drowning man from the Serpentine, shrugging the matter off, as if of no consequence. When he was living at Barnes he rescued several people from the Thames and during a holiday at Deal, whilst in a rowing boat with his son, Tom, he came across three youths in difficulty and rescued them. As a result he received the medal of the Royal Humane Society.

  William Charles James Lewin was born on 20 February 1847 in St Johns Wood, London. His family was affluent and well connected. His father, George Lewin, a well-known barrister, died when William was ten. He had two older brothers, Thomas Herbert and Friend (his mother’s maiden name). William had by the age of sixteen already left four schools. A letter written to his brother in about 1859 when he was twelve, gives an insight into his schooldays.

  Windermere College

  Westmoreland

  My Dear Friend:

  We have begun cricket, and I am in the fifth eleven. I have a good lot of marbles, and I have a nice little flask. I don’t think I told you that I had a fight with Farie, a new fellow, about as big as Rushton, and Jip Gibson was my second; and I think I fought very well, considering you were not there. Jump and Morty backed me, and I nearly got my head broken. I wish you had been there. I am getting on pretty well, and how are you? Is your tutor a good one?

  Love to all,

  And believe me,

  My dear brother,

  Your affectionate Brother,

  WILLIE

  Write soon

  Possessing a spirit for wandering, when it was suggested that he be entered for the Merchant Navy, William jumped at the chance. At the age of sixteen the firm of Green and Co. took him on and provided him with a uniform, which he relished wearing. His naval career did not last for long, in total just two weeks. Embarking at Gravesend and being seen off by members of his family, he jumped ship at Portsmouth and arrived back at the family home, then at 6 Talbot Square, Bayswater. His next seafaring expedition saw him accompanying his godfather John Henry Graves on a Mediterranean voyage. On his return he tried his hand at medicine and engineering. Neither of these suited him. He looked for excitement and found it on the stage.

  At the age of seventeen, Terriss inherited a legacy from his uncle. He bought extravagant things including a carriage, which he had designed himself. The money was soon spent, so his family decided that he should go to India, where his brother Thomas was Deputy Commissioner of Chittagong. Terriss was sent to Assam, where he became a tea planter. He did not take to it and was soon on his way back to England. His family encouraged him to take up engineering. However, this did not suit him, nor did medicine, a profession which his brother, Friend, had entered. At this time Friend Lewin was working as a houseman at St Mary’s Hospital, Paddington. Terriss became a member of the hospital’s Rugby Football Club and also of the Dramatic Society. After he had dabbled in amateur theatre he made his first professional appearance at the ‘Prince of Wales’, Birmingham in the 1867–68 season. He adopted the name William Terriss, which he chose from a street directory. This engagement saw Terriss doubling for the leading man in a difficult escape scene from Dion Boucicault’s melodrama, Arrah-na-Pogue. This led to a speaking role, the part of Chowser, in Boucicault’s thriller The Flying Scud. From these small beginnings, Terriss decided it was time to try his hand on the London stage. With that end in sight he went to St. John’s Wood, where opposite his old home lived the leading lights of the new drama on the London stage, Squire and Marie Bancroft. Bancroft’s account of his first meeting with Terriss explains the young man’s enthusiasm and determination to secure an engagement:

  During the previous summer we were constantly told by a maidservant that “a young gentleman had called” who seemed very persistent about seeing us. One day, returning from a walk, the girl informed me that “the young gentleman” had pushed past her and walked into our little drawing-room, where he then was. I joined our visitor rather angrily, but was soon disarmed by the frank manner of a very young man, who, within five minutes, in the course of conversation, pointed to the window of a house opposite and said,“That’s the room I was born in” … Of course “the young gentleman” was stage-struck, and “wanted to go on the stage”, adding that “he was resolved we should give him an engagement”. His courage, and if I may say it, his cool perseverance, amused and amazed me; the very force of his determined manner conquered me, and the upshot of our interview was that I did engage him. His name was William Terriss, and Lord Cloudwrays, in Society, was the part in which he made his first appearance on a London stage.

  Sir Squire Bancroft. Author’s collection

  Terriss was not an immediate success and he grew impatient for excitement. He married the actress Amy Fellowes (given name Isabel Lewis) in 1870, and he and his wife decided to emigrate to the Falkland Islands, where he became a sheep farmer and horse breeder and breaker in. Shortly before he decided to return home in 1871, his wife gave birth to a daughter, Ellaline on 13 April 1871. She blossomed into a great beauty and highly successful actress, of whom her father was very proud. She married the actor manager Seymour Hicks (knighted 1935). Sir Seymour died in 1949 at the age of seventy-eight. Ella
line, Lady Hicks lived until 1971, dying three months after her hundredth birthday. On his arrival back in England, Terriss was engaged once again by the Bancrofts and met with success. His wife never acted again. His reputation grew and he made his name as Squire Thornhill in Olivia at the Court Theatre in 1878, playing opposite Ellen Terry. It was said of Terriss that he possessed a charm and a smile which few women could resist and all men envied. Terriss played Romeo opposite Adelaide Neilson’s Juliet, and then in 1880 joined Henry Irving at the Lyceum, where he remained for some time. Irving had great respect for Terriss, who was one of the few actors who dared to stand up to him. In her book Exits And Entrances, the actress Eva Moore recalled:

  WILLIAM TERRISS.- “Breezy Bill Terriss”, the hero of the Adelphi dramas. Handsome, lovable, with a tremendous breadth of style in his acting that we see too seldom in these days of “restraint”. His Henry VIII to Irving’s Wolsey was a magnificent piece of acting. There is a story told of him, when Irving was rehearsing a play in which there was a duel –The Corsican Brothers, I think. At the dress rehearsal (“with lights” to represent the moon, which lit the fight), Irving called to “the man in the moon”: “Keep it on me, on me!” Terriss dropped his sword: “Let the moon shine on me a little, ”he begged; “Nature is at least impartial.”