by Paul Begg
The sight we saw, I cannot drive away from my mind. It looked more like the work of a devil than of a man. I had heard a great deal about the Whitechapel murders, but I declare to God I had never expected to see such a sight as this. The whole scene is more than I can describe. I hope I may never see such a sight again.2
Mary Kelly was lying in the middle of the bed, her body inclined to the left and her head resting on the left cheek. The face was unrecognizable, as the nose, cheeks, eyebrows and ears had been partly removed. Mary’s neck had been severed down to the bone and the vertebrae notched by the murder weapon. The left forearm was stretched across her abdomen, her right arm resting on the mattress; both arms had been mutilated. The breasts had been cut off, with one being placed under her head, the other put by the right foot. The heart was ‘absent’. The whole of the surface of the abdomen and thighs had been removed and the contents of the abdomen emptied and distributed around the body: the uterus and kidneys under the head, her liver between the feet, intestines on her right side, the spleen by her left. On the bedside table parts of the abdomen and thighs had been placed. The front of the right thigh was entirely stripped of skin, and the left thigh was denuded of flesh to the knee.3
A great number of officers descended upon the scene, and at 1.50 p.m. even Robert Anderson made an appearance. A tarpaulin-covered horse-drawn cart pulled into Dorset Street at 3.50 p.m., at the sight of which great excitement ensued:
The news that the body was about to be removed caused a great rush of people from the courts running out of Dorset-street, and there was a determined effort to break the police cordon at the Commercial-street end. The crowd, which pressed round the van, was of the humblest class, but the demeanour of the poor people was all that could be described. Ragged caps were doffed and slatternly-looking women shed tears as the shell, covered with a ragged-looking cloth, was placed in the van.4
As the body was transported to the small mortuary in the grounds of St Leonard’s Church, Shoreditch, room 13 was closed, the windows boarded up, and the door padlocked. Later in the day, the police cordon was lifted as the crowds began to disperse, their curiosity exhausted.5
According to various individuals who knew her, Mary Jane Kelly was about twenty-five years old at the time of her death, five foot seven inches tall and stout. She had blue eyes and a fair complexion; however, press reports after the murder variously gave her hair colour as blonde, ginger, light or dark.6 PC Walter Dew later said that he knew Kelly by sight and that she invariably wore a clean white apron, but never a hat.7 Sir Melville Macnaghten, later assistant chief constable of the Metropolitan Police, had heard that she was ‘said to be of considerable personal attractions’.8 But Mary Kelly’s appearance and character are as much of a mystery as her past. Much of what is known about her life came from Joseph Barnett, her former lover, and a few others. Any of it, or none of it, may be true.
She said she had been born in Limerick, Ireland, but whether she meant County Limerick or the town of Limerick is not clear. She said her father was named John Kelly and she had six or seven brothers and one sister. The family had moved to Wales when she was very young, and her father worked as foreman in an ironworks in either Caernarvonshire or Carmarthenshire, probably the latter. She had married when only sixteen years old, but her husband, a collier named Davis or Davies, was killed in a mine explosion some two or three years later. Mary then went to live with a cousin in Cardiff, where she turned to prostitution. From Cardiff she moved to London, where she said that she had worked for a French woman in a high-class bordello in the West End; she claimed that she had been dressed well, had been driven about in a carriage and had gone across to France several times in the company of ‘a gentleman’. However, she had not been enamoured by this life and had returned to London in 1884 – the time in France may have inspired her to use the alternative spelling of her name, ‘Marie Jeanette’. Her first residence on her return to London was with a Mrs ‘Buki’9 in St George Street, near the London Docks.10 She then moved to Breezer’s Hill, off Pennington Street, staying with a ‘Mrs Carthy’,11 who later said that some time in 1886 Mary had left to live with a Joseph Fleming, and although Mrs Carthy believed that Fleming would have married Mary, the relationship soon ended.12
By 1887 Mary Kelly was living at a lodging house at 16–17 Thrawl Street. On 8 April that year – Good Friday – she met Joseph Barnett, a porter at Billingsgate Market and sometime fruit hawker, in Commercial Street. They went for a drink, arranged to meet the following day and at that meeting decided to live together. The couple took up lodgings in George Street, Spitalfields, then moved on to Little Paternoster Row, off Dorset Street. After some time in Brick Lane they acquired room 13, Miller’s Court, in January or February of 1888, paying John McCarthy a weekly rent of four shillings and sixpence.
In July or August 1888 Joseph Barnett lost his job, and the resulting financial hardship began to put a strain on the relationship. Mary may have returned to prostitution, and Barnett certainly complained that she let prostitutes use their room. As a result they had many arguments, the window of their room being broken during one of them. In the early evening of 30 October, Barnett walked out. There appears to have been no hard feelings, as he called in on her often and gave her money when he had some to spare. On Thursday 8 November he visited her at about 7.30 p.m. Mary was with Lizzie Allbrook, who left soon after he arrived, and Barnett stayed on for about half an hour. Conflicting statements by Maria Harvey and Elizabeth Foster make Mary’s movements after that difficult to ascertain,13 but the next reliable sighting of Mary was made by a neighbour, Mary Ann Cox, a widow who lived at 5 Miller’s Court. At about 11:45 p.m. she turned into Dorset Street from Commercial Street and ahead of her she could see Mary walking with a man. They turned into the passage leading into Miller’s Court, and, as Mrs Cox turned down the passage herself, she saw them going into room 13. Mrs Cox bid Mary goodnight, Mary replying in a slurred manner that she was ‘going to have a song’. She was obviously quite drunk, and her companion was described as about thirty-six years of age, stout, with a blotchy face, small side whiskers and a thick ‘carroty’ moustache. He was dressed in shabby dark clothes, a long dark overcoat and a round, hard billycock hat. In his hand he held a quart can of beer.14
Mary could soon be heard singing ‘A Violet I Plucked From Mother’s Grave’ and half an hour later she was still singing the same song. Catherine Pickett, a flower-seller who lived in Miller’s Court, was not best pleased and was all ready to complain, but her husband stopped her.15 Elizabeth Prater, a prostitute living in a room above Mary, returned home after a night drinking at about 1.00 a.m. She loitered at the entrance to Miller’s Court for about half an hour and had a chat with John McCarthy in his shop before going up to her room. Not bothering to undress, she lay on her bed and immediately fell asleep. By now there was no sound from Kelly’s room.
At 2:00 a.m. George Hutchinson, a friend, was walking along Commercial Street from Romford when he met Mary near the junction with Thrawl Street. She asked if he could lend her some money, but Hutchinson had spent what he had in Romford. Kelly, who seemed ‘spreeish’, said goodbye and walked on towards Thrawl Street. Hutchinson’s statement to the police takes up the story:
A man coming in the opposite direction to Kelly tapped her on the shoulder and said something to her. They both burst out laughing. I heard her say alright to him. And the man said you will be alright for what I have told you. He then placed his right hand around her shoulders. He also had a kind of a small parcel in his left hand with a kind of strap round it. I stood against the lamp of the Queen’s Head Public House and watched him. They both then came past me and the man hid down his head with his hat over his eyes. I stooped down and looked him in the face. He looked at me stern. They both went into Dorset Street I followed them. They both stood at the corner of the Court for about 3 minutes. He said something to her. She said alright my dear come along you will be comfortable He then placed his arm on her shoulder and
gave her a kiss. She said she had lost her handkercheif he then pulled his handkercheif a red one out and gave it to her. They both then went up the court together. I then went to the Court to see if I could see them, but could not. I stood there for about three quarters of an hour to see if they came out they did not so I went away.16
Hutchinson’s rather detailed description of the man said that he was:
about 34 or 35. height 5ft6 complexion pale, dark eyes and eye lashes slight moustache, curled up each end, and hair dark, very surley looking dress long dark coat, collar and cuffs trimmed astracan. And a dark jacket under. Light waistcoat dark trousers dark felt hat turned down in the middle. Button boots and gaiters with white buttons. Wore a very thick gold chain white linen collar. Black tie with horse shoe pin. Respectable appearance walked very sharp. Jewish appearance. Can be identified.
Shortly before 4.00 a.m. Sarah Lewis, who was staying with friends at 2 Miller’s Court, heard ‘a scream like that of a young woman, which seemed to be not far away. The voice screamed out “murder”. ’ In her room above Mary’s, Elizabeth Prater was awakened by her little black kitten Diddles walking across her neck. She too heard the cry in a faint voice but, being used to such cries in the neighbourhood, she went back to sleep.17 She woke at 5.00 a.m. and went to the Ten Bells for a glass of rum. The only people she saw in the street were two or three men harnessing some horses. Mary Ann Cox heard a man’s footsteps leaving Miller’s Court at about 5.45 a.m., and at 7.30 a.m. Catherine Pickett knocked on Mary’s door with the intention of borrowing a shawl, but there was no reply. A little over four hours later, Thomas Bowyer made his shocking discovery.
Mary Kelly’s post-mortem was conducted the following day by Dr George Bagster Phillips and his assistant, Dr William Dukes, assisted and observed by Dr Frederick Gordon Brown and Dr Thomas Bond. Dr Bond believed that rigor mortis had begun between six and twelve hours after death, from which he roughly calculated that death could have taken place between 2.00 a.m. and 8.00 a.m. The remains of a meal – fish and potatoes – were found in the stomach and intestines, so reasonably assuming that Kelly had eaten no later than between 10.00 and 11.00 the previous night, time of death was narrowed down to 1.00 a.m. or 2.00 a.m., which makes the claims of two witnesses, Maurice Lewis and Caroline Maxwell, stand out as strange, almost unbelievable.
Lewis, who had known Mary for five years, claimed to have seen Mary Kelly leave her room at 8.00 a.m. and return a few moments later. Then, at 10.00 a.m., he was playing ‘pitch and toss’ in Miller’s Court, after which he and his companions went to the Britannia. There, Lewis was certain he saw Mary drinking with some other people.18 Caroline Maxwell, of 14 Dorset Street, had an even stranger tale to tell. She saw Mary at the corner of Miller’s Court between 8.00 and 8.30 a.m. She spoke to Mary, asking her why she was up so early, to which Mary replied that she had the ‘horrors of drink’ upon her, as she had been drinking for some days previously. Mrs Maxwell suggested she go and have a drink in ‘Mrs Ringers’ (the Britannia), but Mary replied that she had already done so and had brought it up, pointing to some vomit in the road. Maxwell left, saying that she pitied her feelings. On returning from an errand in Bishopsgate, Maxwell saw Mary again at about 8.45–9.00 a.m. outside the Britannia, talking to a man. He was about thirty years of age, stout of build, about 5 feet 5 inches tall and dressed like a market porter. The statements made by Lewis and Maxwell flew in the face of medical evidence, and Mrs Maxwell was warned about her evidence by the inquest coroner, Roderick MacDonald, as it was ‘different to other people’s’.19 MacDonald’s inquest lasted a single day, in complete contrast to Wynne Baxter’s often interminably long proceedings, that being all that was needed to ascertain the circumstances of Mary Kelly’s death. The verdict was the all too familiar ‘wilful murder against person or persons unknown’.
The murder of Mary Kelly prompted a number of unique events. Owing perhaps to the secure nature of the crime scene, photographs of the body were taken in situ, the only time this was done in the whole case. Queen Victoria, via a telegram sent to Prime Minister Lord Salisbury on 10 November, spoke of her grave concern:
This new most ghastly murder shows the absolute necessity for some very decided action. All these courts must be lit, & our detectives improved. They are not what they should be. You promised, when the 1st murders took place to consult with your colleagues about it.20
Henry Matthews also received a letter three days later, demonstrating that her Majesty was as exasperated as everybody else with the lack of progress:
The Queen fears that the detective department is not so efficient as it might be. No doubt the recent murders in Whitechapel were committed in circumstances which made detection very difficult; still, the Queen thinks that, in the small area where these horrible crimes have been perpetrated, a great number of detectives might be employed, and that every possible suggestion might be carefully examined and, if practicable, followed.
Have the cattle boats and passenger boats been examined?
Has any investigation been made as to the number of single men occupying rooms by themselves?
The murderer’s clothes must be saturated with blood and must be kept somewhere.
Is there sufficient surveillance at night?
These are some of the questions that occur to the Queen on reading the account of this horrible crime.21
The Metropolitan Police finally capitulated – in part – to the reward lobbyists by making a most unusual offer of:
Her Majesty’s Gracious pardon to any accomplice not being a person who contrived or actually committed the murder who shall give such information and evidence as shall lead to the discovery and conviction of the person or persons who committed the murder.
And Dr Thomas Bond, who, after completing the lengthy post-mortem on Mary Kelly, was made familiar with the particulars surrounding the previous deaths, produced an overview of the sort of person he thought the murderer might have been. Bond believed that the five murders from Nichols to Kelly were ‘no doubt’ committed by the same person but, contrary to the views of other doctors, he thought the murderer lacked anatomical knowledge, even that of a butcher or horse-slaughterer. He also thought that the murderer’s hands and arms would have been bloodied, as would his clothes, and as such would probably wear an overcoat or similar apparel to hide the stains.
Dr Bond described the murderer as physically strong, but quiet and inoffensive in appearance, probably middle-aged and neatly and respectably dressed, although probably not in regular employment. He would therefore have had a small regular income or pension or lived with people of respectable character who likely entertained suspicions they evidently were not communicating to the police. The murderer was probably solitary and eccentric in his behaviour.22
What Thomas Bond did, in effect, was create the first example of what has become a modern police tool used to assist investigations into the behaviour of serial murderers like ‘Jack the Ripper’ – offender profiling.
9.
‘Where have I been Dear Boss …’
The funeral of Mary Kelly took place on 19 November, paid for in full by Mr H. Wilton, clerk of St Leonard’s church, Shoreditch, from where the cortège began its journey to St Patrick’s Roman Catholic cemetery in Leytonstone. The coffin bore the inscription ‘Marie Jeanette Kelly, died November 9, 1888, aged 25 years’, and on it were placed two crowns and a cross, made of heartsease and white flowers. The funeral itself was sparsely attended by associates of Mary from Miller’s Court and Joseph Barnett. However, the show of grief and sympathy from the public was considerable:
At half-past twelve, as the coffin was borne from the mortuary, the bell of the church was tolled, and the people outside, who now numbered several thousands, manifested the utmost sympathy, the crowd, for an East-end one, being extremely orderly. Vehicles of various descriptions took oppositions outside the church railings, and traffic was completely blocked until the hearse moved off. The funeral procession, which left Sho
reditch Church at a quarter to one, made but slow progress through the crowds of people and vehicles. All along the route through Whitechapel and Cambridge Heath signs of sympathy were to be seen on every hand.1
The awful affair in Miller’s Court was seen as yet one more atrocity in an escalating series with seemingly no predictable end, and, needless to say, tensions were still running high in the East End. A good example of the sensational release of such tensions came two days after Mary’s funeral, in the heart of the very district of doss houses frequented by the unfortunate victims of the Whitechapel murderer, when a prostitute claimed to have been attacked by a man who she said was ‘Jack the Ripper’.
At 7.30 on the morning of 21 November, Annie Farmer had picked up a potential client whom she described as ‘shabby genteel’ and took him back to her lodging house at 19 George Street, the same doss house that had once been home to Martha Tabram only months before. The man paid for both of them, but the arrangement descended into violence, as two hours later a piercing scream was heard, after which the man was seen running from the house. Passing two men standing in the street, he was heard to exclaim, ‘What a ----- cow!’ before disappearing from view.2 Annie seemed obviously distraught, for her throat had been cut, and she said she had been attacked by Jack the Ripper himself. It was not long before word got out of another outrage, and crowds began to assemble excitedly in front of no 19. Before long a panic ensued.