by Paul Begg
Paul Begg and John Bennett
THE COMPLETE AND ESSENTIAL JACK THE RIPPER
Contents
Introduction
PART ONE: THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS
1. ‘Wilful murder against some person unknown’
2. ‘I forgive you for what you are, as you have been to me’
3. ‘A noiseless midnight terror’
4. ‘How can they catch me now?’
5. ‘No, not tonight, some other night’
6. ‘Good night, old cock’
7. ‘O have you seen the devle?’
8. ‘I hope I may never see such a sight again’
9. ‘Where have I been Dear Boss …’
PART TWO: THEORIES
10. Murder and Motive
11. Anecdote and Memory
12. Naming Names
13. Conspiracy
14. A Crisis of Identity
15. The Appliance of Science
PART THREE: MYTHOLOGIES
16. Genesis of the Ripper
17. The Lodger and Other Stories
18. A Question of Taste
19. Murderland Revisited
Afterword
Notes
Useful Resources
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PENGUIN BOOKS
THE COMPLETE AND ESSENTIAL JACK THE RIPPER
Paul Begg and John Bennett are researchers and authors, widely recognized as authorities on Jack the Ripper. Paul Begg’s books include Jack the Ripper: The Facts, Jack the Ripper: The Definitive History, and he is a co-author of The Jack the Ripper A-Z.
John Bennett has written numerous articles and lectured frequently on Jack the Ripper and the East End of London. He has acted as adviser to and participated in documentaries made by television channels worldwide and was the co-writer for the successful Channel 5 programme Jack the Ripper: The Definitive Story. He is author of E1: A Journey Through Whitechapel and Spitalfields and co-author of Jack the Ripper: CSI Whitechapel.
For
Elwyn Thomas,
who has helped in so many ways.
And for
Judy, Siobhan and Cameron
and
Laura.
Introduction
London, 25 September 1888
The red ink flows freely and elegantly across the fresh sheet of paper as the writer trembles slightly in anticipation of the deed about to be committed. On the edge of the desk sit several well-thumbed newspapers, their tightly packed columns filled with descriptions of the terrible murders in the East End of London that have held that most maligned of districts in a state of fear since the summer. Grinning mischievously, the writer puts himself into the mind of the murderer, recalling the events of the previous few weeks with relish and reinterpreting them in the first person. With one eye on the stalled police efforts to apprehend the killer of several Whitechapel prostitutes, he takes a mocking tone and laughs at their apparent inadequacies. Turning to the unfortunate victims, the writer declares a hatred of ‘whores’ and, relishing the growing aggression of his penmanship, delights in the skill with which the previous victim was dispatched. There will be more to come. The spirit is willing, the knife is ‘nice and sharp’.
With an overtaking sense of theatricality, the writer shifts a gear and explains the red ink, employed to replace the clotted blood of the last victim, which had been saved in a ginger beer bottle. The next victim will have her ears cut off and sent to the police, just for a laugh, you understand. Should the opportunity arise. Sensing an arrogance and ‘daring-do’ possessed by the murderer, the writer wishes the poor, confused police officers ‘good luck’, but, as if to prove that the miscreant is still one of us, he signs off politely and formally, giving the pretend author a name – ‘yours truly, Jack the Ripper’.
A quick afterword in pencil, and the job is done. Folded twice, the letter is slipped into a small envelope addressed to ‘The Boss, Central News Office, London City’. The following day the letter will be taken to a post office, where an unwitting staff member will furnish it with a one-penny stamp and send it on its way. Having completed this little piece of fun, the letter-writer will live out the rest of his life slowly realizing that he has created one of the most notorious names of all time. Long after his death, that name will outgrow the murders which inspired it to become legend.
In all probability we will never be certain who wrote the famous ‘Dear Boss’ letter which created the name ‘Jack the Ripper’. But this small, unremarkable-looking missive, now hidden from the world in a plastic file at the National Archives in Kew, south London, is perhaps one of the most noteworthy elements of a murder case which has many facets. It replaced the murderer’s original appellation, ‘Leather Apron’, with something infinitely more durable, persisting into the twenty-first century as the retold story of the Whitechapel murders and the ideas behind the culprit’s identity orbited around it. It would become a brand name for fear, a trademark for an unknown killer whose horrific crimes still grimly resonate over 100 years later. The murders were shocking enough in their own time and inspired great outrage; however it could be argued that the notoriety of Jack the Ripper, and thus his longevity in the scheme of things, was a result of the creation of that name.
Millions of words have been written and spoken about the Whitechapel murders, in print, online, in film and on television. The quest to determine the killer’s identity, despite taking on different methodologies over the years, is still a popular project for armchair detectives, true-crime enthusiasts and historians and shows no sign of abating. Every night, hundreds of people walk the streets of the East End to hear the chilling story and see for themselves the places fixed into history by the Ripper’s knife. These uniquely chilling crimes have seared themselves into the public consciousness the world over.
In what some may deem as ‘yet another book about Jack the Ripper’ we have endeavoured to explore as many facets of the Whitechapel murders as we can. To do so, this book has taken on a tripartite structure. Part 1 deals exclusively with the crimes themselves, from the confusing events surrounding the death of Emma Smith in April 1888 to the demise of Frances Coles in February 1891; the backgrounds of the victims are detailed and the last hours of their sad lives are recounted against a backdrop of the social conditions of the East End of London, which helped lead these women to their fates; we follow the reactions of the public and the police investigation in all their histrionic highs and worrying lows, as well as the press interest, which helped and hindered in equal measure.
Part 2 is reserved for theories surrounding the murderer’s identity, and here we have chosen to reflect on the methods and reasoning that led to certain individuals being named as the Ripper, starting from the autumn of 1888 itself, right up to the time of writing. In doing so, we have come up to date, analysing the effect of modern investigative techniques and the power of the internet, the latter having probably the most significant influence on Ripper studies of all.
Finally, in Part 3, we have chosen to look upon the mythology of Jack the Ripper: how an icon was created, how the media (most notably the movies) have shaped that iconography, and how public opinion has swung between fascination and abhorrence. We have also, perhaps for the first time in a book of this kind, acknowledged the phenomenon of the guided walks and how they have become the most tangible demonstration of the power of the Ripper legend today.
The Jack the Ripper mystery is a colossal subject, and a totally exhaustive overview of the case would need a publication comparable in size with the Encyclopaedia Britannica to contain it. We have sought to give as complete an overview of the essential facts as
we know them today and the mythologies that surround them, no mean task when considering that it must all fit into one volume. To that effect we must thank the following individuals: our agent Robert Smith and our editor Daniel Bunyard for their unending support and patience; Judy and Siobhan Begg (and Cameron); Laura Prieto; Alfred and Brenda Bennett; Stewart Evans and Keith Skinner (Evans Skinner Crime Archive); Neal Shelden; Stephen Ryder’s Casebook: Jack the Ripper and Howard Brown’s JTRForums; Richard and Joanne Jones at Discovery Tours; Lindsay Siviter; Ripperologist magazine; Whitechapel Society 1888; National Archives, London Metropolitan Archives, Bishopsgate Institute and Tower Hamlets Library and Archives; special mention must go to Adam Wood for his support and help over and above the call of duty; Neil Bell; Debra Arif; Chris Scott; Rob Clack; Eduardo Zinna; and Robin Odell. Naturally, there are many others – too numerous to mention – who might not be aware of their influence. Their names may not be here, but their input is very much understood and appreciated.
Paul Begg and John Bennett, 2013
Part One
THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS
1.
‘Wilful murder against some person unknown’
The Easter bank holiday weekend of 1888 would turn out to be one which Margaret Hayes, a fifty-four-year-old resident of a common lodging house at 18 George Street, Spitalfields, would perhaps prefer to forget, for it did not end well. No doubt she would have spent much of that day carousing in the East End pubs and generally getting into the spirit of what, for many people, would have been a well-earned respite from the daily toil. Although it has never really been determined, Hayes was in all likelihood a prostitute, one of over a thousand1 such women who plied their trade on the streets of Whitechapel and neighbouring districts at that time in an attempt to earn money for food and lodgings. The fact that the holiday would have attracted many revellers to the local hostelries meant that a woman disposed to this lifestyle could expect to make something from it. That night found Hayes in Poplar, a quarter of the East End close to the London docks, which she described as a ‘fearfully rough’ neighbourhood.
On nights such as this, the people of the East End were not unused to allowing their bank holiday Monday to drift effortlessly into the early hours of the following day, and as Tuesday 3 April began, Margaret Hayes was to get a sudden reminder of the unpredictability of Poplar when she was approached by a pair of young men; one asked her for the time, and then, for reasons unknown, his companion punched Hayes in the mouth, at which point both men ran off.2 Hayes later admitted to having been badly beaten just before Christmas the previous year, an assault that had resulted in time at the infirmary,3 and perhaps with that also in mind and no doubt shaken, she appeared to cut her losses, call it a night and make her way on foot back to the George Street lodging house a little over two miles away.
It was as she passed the corner of Burdett Road and Farrance Street that she caught sight of a fellow George Street lodger, Emma Smith, who was talking to a man. Hayes satisfied herself that this individual – who was wearing dark clothes and a white neckerchief – was not one of those who had attacked her a little while earlier and hurried on her way. The time was 12.15 a.m.
Emma Smith was a typical ‘unfortunate’ of the East End. As 1888 would progress, the public, courtesy of the press, would hear many more stories like hers as the issue of poverty and the problems it generated in the east London slums were brought into sharp focus by the shocking events that quickly followed that Easter bank holiday. Admittedly, what is known about her is scarce and basically comes from a police report made at the time,4 but it does allow us to build a perhaps vague, yet not wholly unexpected, picture of her.
Emma Elizabeth Smith was apparently forty-five years of age, about 5 feet 2 inches in height with fair hair and a small scar on her temple. She was apparently ‘from the country’, and one would imagine that, for some time at least, hers was a respectable, maybe ordinary life. She claimed to have been married and subsequently widowed, although some reports said that she and her husband had separated and that he was still alive.5 Two children were also mentioned, a boy and a girl, who by 1888 were supposedly living in the Finsbury Park area of north London. As with many women in her position, there obviously came a time of crisis, and thus Emma Smith found herself in the common lodging houses of Spitalfields. By 1888 she had apparently not seen any of her friends for ten years.
The lodging house or ‘doss house’ at 18 George Street was one of many in the small neighbourhood of Spitalfields which also included those in Flower and Dean Street, Thrawl Street and Fashion Street. Owned by Daniel Lewis since 1886, it was registered to accommodate around fifty lodgers, sharing a kitchen with a neighbouring premises, and it was perhaps a typical example of the houses available to those with no fixed abode of their own.6 As a result of the transient population of these lodging houses, many had mean reputations, offering shelter on a short- or long-term basis to all manner of people. Sure, there were the journeymen traders and their professional ilk, but also the dispossessed, the chronically homeless, criminals lying low and, naturally, prostitutes. The George Street area was particularly notorious and appeared in many philanthropic articles during the preceding decades as an example of where the great metropolis of London was going wrong. An attempt in the 1870s and early ’80s to begin clearance of this district with its numerous slum courts proved slow,7 and despite the appearance of Lolesworth Buildings and Charlotte de Rothschild Dwellings on the west side of George Street, built for the respectable working classes in 1886, there were still many notorious doss houses remaining. By 1888, the area of which 18 George Street was central had become a pariah.
In the eighteen months that she had been living there, Emma Smith appears to have developed a routine, and, as the deputy of the lodging house, Mary Russell was party to much of Smith’s habits and behaviour. According to Mrs Russell, she often left the house at around 6.00 or 7.00 p.m. and would return in the early hours, often drunk. It was the drink which would have appeared to elicit a transformation, for on several occasions Smith would return bruised and battered from brawling and on one occasion even claimed to have been thrown out of a window. When drunk, Mrs Russell claimed, Emma Smith behaved like a ‘madwoman’.8 And so it was on the evening of Monday 2 April, Smith took her leave of the lodging house in her usual manner and, like her fellow lodger Margaret Hayes, ended up in Poplar with its numerous drinking establishments no doubt filled with dockers, sailors and sundry other bank holiday revellers and, therefore, the chance of earning some money.
What happened after Margaret Hayes saw Emma Smith with the man in Burdett Road comes to us from Smith herself, and while the story seems consistent enough, there are a number of vagaries which still remain unresolved. She was making her way back to Spitalfields in the early hours of the Tuesday morning and had reached the western end of Whitechapel Road at about 1.30 a.m. As she passed the church of St Mary, she noticed a group of men standing in the road and, perhaps dubious as to their character, crossed the main road to avoid them and walked up Osborn Street. The men followed her, and as she reached Taylor Bros. cocoa factory at the junction of Osborn Street, Wentworth Street and Brick Lane, they set upon her.9 What followed was a horrendous attack. They beat her violently – her face was bloodied and one of her ears was partially torn – and stole what little money she had. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, a blunt instrument was rammed into her vagina with great force before the men made their escape.
Between 4.00 and 5.00 a.m., Emma Smith reached her lodging house in George Street in an obvious state of distress and in great pain. Among the lodgers present were Annie Lee and Mary Russell, who, on being told by Smith what had happened, decided to take her to the London Hospital, about half a mile away. Apart from mentioning that one of the assailants was a young man of about nineteen years, Smith did not describe the attackers to her companions and seemed reluctant to go to the hospital. Nonetheless she agreed, and as the three passed the spot where the assault had
taken place, by the cocoa factory opposite 10 Brick Lane, Smith pointed it out.
On arrival at the hospital Russell and Lee left Smith in the capable hands of the house surgeon, Dr George Haslip. While in his care, Emma Smith went into a little more detail about her attack, furnishing him with much of the detail we still rely on today, and eventually he discovered that the blunt object that had been thrust into her had ruptured the perineum. As time passed, Smith began to sink and fell into a coma; at about 9.00 on the morning of Wednesday 4 April, she passed away from the effects of peritonitis. What had started as a brutal and unprovoked attack had become murder.
Dr Wynne Baxter, the coroner for East Middlesex, presided over a brief inquest at the hospital on Saturday 7 April. From what little information we have – essentially from newspaper reports – those in attendance were Mary Russell, Dr Haslip (sometimes referred to as ‘Hellier’), Margaret Hayes and Chief Inspector John West, who was representing the Metropolitan Police’s H- (Whitechapel) division. In fact, the first the police had heard of this incident was the day before the inquest, when the coroner’s office informed them in the standard manner. What is peculiar about the attack is that apparently no constables who would have been in the immediate neighbourhood that morning had heard anything about the assault; nor had they seen any behaviour relating to it, and, unfortunately, none of the inquest witnesses had felt compelled to inform them of the incident when it happened. By all accounts, the streets appeared to be rather quiet at the time. The jury were advised to make a quick decision, as the fact that murder had obviously been committed and the cause of death had been ascertained without doubt, and so, after a brief deliberation, the verdict of ‘wilful murder against some person or persons unknown’ was given. Coroner Baxter advised that all facts surrounding the case be sent on to the Public Prosecutor, and Inspector Edmund Reid of H-division was given charge of the resulting enquiry. And that is where, owing to the scarcity of official reports, the case of Emma Smith’s murder ends.