The Complete and Essential Jack the Ripper

by Paul Begg

  As true crime stories go, no other offers such a blank canvas of creativity for the entertainment world as Jack the Ripper, even though, in the words of Denis Miekle, ‘the screen image of Jack the Ripper has undergone no great revision in the 75 years between Hitchcock’s “The Lodger” and the Hughes Brothers’ “From Hell” ’.27 As well as the rich stream of film and television, every year amateur theatre companies perform their own interpretations of the story, some using drama, others using song. Musical interpretations are popular, with some performed on stage, or professionally recorded for distribution like any other release. Artists create vivid renderings of the victims, street scenes and, of course, Jack himself, using traditional methods, computer-generated imagery, installations or conceptual art. The moving picture may have the most influence and exposure, generating new impressions and reinforcing established ones, but one thing is certain: it is a subject that will continue to inspire indefinitely. In the same way that the mystery attracts theorists attempting to put a name to the killer, so it attracts those who wish to interpret the story in their own creative way, unencumbered by facts and figures, limits of conjecture or the burden of proof.

  But it is a theme that is not for everybody.

  18.

  A Question of Taste

  Because Jack the Ripper has been seized upon so enthusiastically by the public as an entertainment form of some magnitude, it is often forgotten that the story of the Whitechapel murders is a very real one. The women who were dramatically put to death by his knife had family, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, and their descendants vary from knowing of their historic lineage to having no idea whatsoever. Some of those that do know have chosen to embrace that lineage, whereas others have kept it to themselves. The man himself may be buried in some unmarked grave, once mourned by family or friends, who perhaps had no idea of his true nature. His descendants may go about their daily lives in the twenty-first century, sharing his surname or DNA, yet blissfully unaware of the terrible family secret that in all probability will remain as such for ever.

  The lack of a culpable perpetrator and the passage of time have seen to it that the reality of those fearful nights has become dulled, and we have become anaesthetized to the suffering and brutality which form the backbone of the Jack the Ripper mystery. But as the world seemingly relishes the escapism and visceral entertainment frequently offered by the Ripper story, there are those who refuse to accept that the brutal murder of East End prostitutes can be anything other than a shocking episode reflecting the all-too-real concept of ‘man’s inhumanity to man’. It is a wholly understandable belief.

  It is interesting to note that for many decades after the murders the general approach to the subject of Jack the Ripper was not particularly bound up in controversy. Newspaper articles tended to focus on the overriding mystery, devoid of the sensationalism which preceded and, in a different way, would follow later. As we have seen, the early movie depictions of the Ripper tended to sidestep the reality, often portraying Ripper-like characters such as Mrs Belloc-Lowndes’s lodger ‘Mr Sleuth’ without actually saying that they were the very real Whitechapel murderer. The 1959 film Jack the Ripper could be seen as being responsible for pushing Jack into the role of super-villain, complete with costume, murdering the real victims and inspiring a fear that really did exist in 1888. It appeared that the Whitechapel murders were at last being used for entertainment in a new and blatant way, inviting the audience to actually enjoy a grisly spectacle that actually happened and within the memory of some who still lived. In the original theatre trailer for the film, the voice over exclaimed:

  Now you’ll see the sensational story from the files of Scotland Yard revealed in all its shocking scope! Girls the Ripper marked for death caught in the grip of uncontrolled hysteria! The wild gay nights of the turbulent City, shadowed by the blood lust of the most terrifying killer of all time!

  As the twentieth century rolled on, ‘the Ripper’ became a generic label for any serial murderers who exhibited the viciousness of the original. The earliest was Peter Kurten, the ‘Dusseldorf Ripper’, who killed women, men and children out of a yearning for revenge on a society that had given him nothing but hardship and indignity. He wanted to outrage and was motivated by the urge to shock and appal through his gruesome acts of bloodletting. He gained sadistic sexual pleasure from his crimes and even wrote letters to the authorities, so intoxicated was he by the Ripper legend. Kurten was sentenced to death and was said to have been gratified when he was told that he may be able to hear, for a tiny moment, the sound of his blood gushing from the stump of his neck after his beheading by guillotine; ‘That would be the pleasure to end all pleasures,’ he said.1 Interestingly, a rarely seen film about Peter Kurten, 1964’s The Vampire of Dusseldorf, was criticized for turning him into some sort of anti-hero whilst all but ignoring the real impact of his murders, a situation that had been de rigueur in the Ripper movie genre for years.

  Twenty-eight-year-old RAF cadet Gordon Cummins strangled and mutilated women during the blackouts in London during the Blitz, using a variety of implements, from a razor blade to a can opener. Cummins preyed on vulnerable, lonely women during the difficult days of the Second World War, and the papers blessed him with the familiar-sounding sobriquet of the ‘Blackout Ripper’. Again, in London in the early 1960s, the Thames Towpath murders saw the strangulation and sexual abuse of women by an uncaught killer dubbed ‘Jack the Stripper’ on account of his habit of removing the clothes of his victims before seemingly performing sexual acts on the bodies.

  In 1978 the murder and disembowelment of a nine-year-old girl outside the Russian mining village of Shakhty was the first in a series of shocking murders of children (and some adults) which took place around the provincial city of Rostov. The perpetrator was Andrei Chikatilo, whose subsequent slayings often featured disembowelment, organ extraction and, in some cases, cannibalism. Brought to trial in 1992, the ‘Rostov Ripper’ confessed to fifty-five killings, making him one of the worst serial murderers of all time.

  Back in the United Kingdom, concern had been growing about the proliferation of sexual violence aimed at women during the 1970s. This was a seemingly long-overdue reassessment of the subject: sexual assaults by the ‘Rapist of Tottenham’ and the activities of the ‘Cambridge Rapist’2 were still a recent memory; lurid films with titles such as Violation of the Bitch and Barbed Wire Dolls3 kept the idea of women as ripe for sexual and violent exploitation in the movie theatres. The final straw came with the murders committed by the infamous ‘Yorkshire Ripper’.

  October 1975 had seen the first in a series of brutal attacks and killings by Peter Sutcliffe, a lorry driver from Yorkshire, which for the next half-decade held the north of England in a state of terror. Many of the victims were prostitutes – Sutcliffe was particularly drawn to kill prostitutes apparently on the instruction of inner voices – and, as in 1888, they would have been vulnerable targets, but as the murder spree progressed it was apparent that no woman was safe on the streets of West Yorkshire. He was soon being referred to as ‘the Ripper’, a name that obviously had echoes of the distant past and suggested that fears associated with the original murderer had not abated. There were also several parallels between this case and the 1888 Ripper apart from the choice of prostitutes as victims. The West Yorkshire police were criticized for their apparent inability to catch the killer. Also, in 1978, letters signed ‘Jack the Ripper’ were sent to the police and the Manchester offices of the Daily Mirror, the phrasing of which were chillingly familiar, and, in an embrace of the modern age, the police also received a cassette recording. However, all these were eventually revealed to be hoaxes.4

  Perhaps it took the very real case of Peter Sutcliffe to spark a reassessment of the original Ripper crimes, shrouded as they now were by fiction and mythology and invariably passed off as entertainment. Inspired by the events in Yorkshire and the publicity surrounding the discovery of Sutcliffe’s thirteenth victim in November 1980, various
action groups began to galvanize themselves into a nationwide campaign to declare that enough was enough and, as one spokesperson put it, ‘to put across the message that violence against women is common-place, and condoned by current attitudes, bolstered by the law’.5

  The growth of such groups would take on considerable impetus as the centenary of the Whitechapel murders approached. In the meantime, Tower Hamlets, the London borough which contained Whitechapel and Spitalfields, made a proposition that, considering the approaching storm, was none too wise. In 1986, looking for an emblem to represent the Stepney Neighbourhood Committee, the council proposed to use a local landmark or personality in the design; ideas included the Whitechapel Bell Foundry (where ‘Big Ben’ was cast), the London Hospital or a fashion theme reflecting the East End rag trade. Strangely, Ronald Kray, half of the notorious gangster twins, and Jack the Ripper were also proposed. The idea of using Kray or – especially – the Ripper as a ‘mascot’ for a borough council sounds ludicrous to say the least, and a local spokesperson was reported as saying ‘the themes listed are what’s famous and infamous about Stepney. It’s likely the neighbourhood committee will opt for a less controversial choice.’6 It seems the spokesperson’s guarded comments were the order of the day and neither Jack nor Ron made the final design. What the growing protestors made of this is unclear, but was Jack the Ripper really so iconic as to be accepted as an emblem for local government?

  The protesters may have missed that peculiar Ripper reference, but they certainly did not miss the centenary of the Whitechapel murders, which effectively started in 1987 with the publication of many books on the subject. Notably it was the press, once responsible for building up Jack the Ripper in the first place, that seemed dead set on demolishing the monster they had created in 1888. Choosing to review these books en masse, critics such as Christopher Hudson in the Evening Standard were obviously suffering from ‘Ripper indigestion’ already and could scarcely contain their contempt for the revived interest in the murders.

  The authors themselves also came in for considerable derision, often being denounced as ghoulish fanatics or obsessives. Writing in the Sunday Times, Stephen Pile was certainly not backward in coming forward:

  More utter nonsense has been written about Jack the Ripper than any other figure, real or imagined. Next year marks the centenary of this total pervert and we shall never hear the end of it.

  The only real evidence they have got after 99 years of non-stop sleuthing is some bit of blood-stained pinny found three streets away and now lost. If you suggest that this might belong to someone else who simply cut a finger slicing jellied eels or whatever they eat in the East End, you are howled down as a dolt …

  From the start authors have manipulated the complete absence of any known facts to engineer sensational conclusions. And so a highly profitable industry was born.

  With one eye on the promised Michael Caine mini-series, due to be broadcast in late 1988, Pile concluded: ‘I do hope that Thames settles the question for ever because it means that all books on the subject can be shredded instantly and Ripperologists will have to find a proper job.’7

  The release of the Jack the Ripper computer game in 1987 was fuel to the fire of journalists like Stephen Pile and also attracted some significant ire from the increasingly vocal protesters. The game (intended for the popular ZX Spectrum home computer) created outrage the moment it was released. It also established a precedent, being the first computer game to be given a British Board of Film Classification certificate. Jack the Ripper showed images of mutilated women – some with their legs apart and breasts exposed – and though the graphics were not as visually life-like as on today’s computer games, they were deemed shocking enough to make the BBFC give an ‘18’ rating. The idea behind the game was simple enough – you are accused of being the Ripper and must prove your innocence whilst solving the mystery of the killer’s identity. Interestingly, the game was actually devised by women. One of the female creators was Marianne Scarlett, self-styled ‘headmistress’ of the ‘Women of St Bride’s’ in Ireland, a bizarre ‘school’ where women over eighteen could live out a fantasy nineteenth-century life. She was unrepentant about the nature of her creation:

  As far as we’re concerned this is a classic tale of a battle between good and evil set in Victorian London. In an age which doubts the existence of good and evil, we wished to present evil in a form so terrible and so real that no one could mistake it.8

  The legend of Jack the Ripper was attracting the eccentric, perhaps, but with journalists attacking even those authors who were attempting for the most part to work responsibly around the case, the Ripper and all that surrounded him were now being tarred with the same ‘tasteless’ brush. But it was the Jack the Ripper pub that would feel the earliest effects of growing outrage at the centenary ‘celebrations’. It is significant to note how attitudes had changed since 1975, when Bobby Wayman and Mickey Taheney opened their joint pub venture. The Ten Bells had been going through a downturn in fortunes – meths drinkers and petty thieves would use its chaotic upstairs rooms9 – and it was in need of a serious revamp. Financing the refit themselves, Wayman and Taheney opened the Jack the Ripper to a small fanfare of jocular publicity. The East London Advertiser obliged with the necessary complimentary write-up, laced with the obligatory puns:

  New East End nightspot looks all set to be a rip-roaring success!

  It’s got: Top-pop music plus DJ all night, every night; pretty barmaids; plush decor – with the accent on the pub’s connections with the real Jack the Ripper.10

  The redesigned interior was sumptuous, having been given an ‘olde worlde atmosphere’. The walls were decorated with numerous photographs, documents and contemporary newspaper illustrations. Outside, a sign-written board listed the names of the victims from Tabram to Kelly, and the whole ensemble was finished off with the swing signs, depicting the essential top-hatted Ripper silhouetted in the London fog. As part of the opening promotions in May 1975, a local amateur dramatic group, touring a production called Hunt the Ripper – or the Whitechapel Horror Show, performed at the pub. According to press reviews, the highlight was when ‘actress Lynne Suffolk, playing the part of a tart balances a pint of beer on her head wearing only bra and panties’.11 Such frivolous treatment of the fates of the Whitechapel murder victims seems bizarre today, but it could be seen as a sign of the times. Some would say that the 1970s suffered a form of moral vacuum which by the centenary of 1988 had more or less been filled by the burgeoning popularity of ‘political correctness’.

  In 1987 it was the decision of Jack the Ripper managers Ernie and Yvonne Ostrowski to mark the centenary by selling T-shirts, postcards and even a blood-red drink called the ‘Ripper Tipple’ that sparked the backlash. These plans were immediately seized on by the group Women Against Violence Against Women (WAVAW), along with splinter group Action Against the Ripper Centenary (AARC), with members spending a great deal of time around Christmas 1987 collecting signatures for a petition to have the pub’s name changed. Despite the managers’ assurances that their ‘celebration’ was not intended to be tasteless, the campaigners found hefty support and, with pressure mounting, Truman’s (who owned the pub and who were only a year away from closing down) had the name changed back to its original Ten Bells, just before the anniversary of the first Ripper murders. Although the pub still continued to display and sell its memorabilia, the anti-Ripper lobbyists appeared to have won their first battle.

  Naturally, most of the publicity would be reserved for the autumn of 1988, when landmark dates would be crossed and media attention would be at its height. It would become a struggle between those who saw the murders as historical events which needed to be put into context responsibly and those who saw them as a vile piece of history that had no place in the enlightened late twentieth century. In the middle were those who still believed in mythical Jack.

  Deborah Cameron’s Guardian article, cited earlier, talked of the threat of sexualized murder in socie
ty:

  The hopeless obsessive quest to unmask Jack the Ripper deflects our attention from what should be obvious: the extreme desires and fantasies which animate sexual killers are shared to some extent by a great many men, growing up as they do in a culture which promotes them, not least by its portrayal of murderers as heroes. If we want to do something about sexual murder, it’s the culture and its attitudes that need to change.

  This was what the WAVAW and AARC wanted to make understood, and the Ripper centenary came along at the right time to push home the message. The AARC particularly received a high profile throughout 1988 and was featured repeatedly in the national and local press. They were extremely forthright in their condemnation of the whole media circus, admittedly to the point where they seemed to be ‘man-bashing’ at times. The proposed release of Screaming Lord Sutch’s ‘Jack the Ripper’ single in 1987, apparently to coincide with the centenary, sent Anne McMurdie, chief spokesperson for the ARRC, into a fit of rage, especially when it was discovered that a promotional video was to be shot in Whitechapel: