Jack the Ripper

by The Whitechapel Society

  After the almost inevitable murder of his wife in 1889, some information about Bury’s life has been preserved in court and police records, and was recorded in contemporary newspaper accounts. People who had known him in Wolverhampton and London came forward to give evidence or speak to journalists. The picture we get is not an attractive one. As a young adult he could read and write well enough to find work as a ‘Factor’s clerk’, according to the 1881 census records for Wolverhampton. He lost his chance for a steady career, with a Mr Bissell, by borrowing money on false pretences, but managed to talk his way into employment with a nearby locksmith. In the short term, Bury could give a good impression, particularly when dealing with other men, but sooner or later, he would always prove to be totally unreliable. In his early twenties, he was already a habitual drunkard. It was said of him at that time, ‘In drink he was wholly incapable of controlling himself and when sober he had not the least compunction in deceiving his best friends.’ He also had a reputation for irritating his fellow workers with his lies. From those days comes a telling anecdote, which has him being teased by his workmates and breaking a window. This is typical behaviour on the part of someone who was very angry, but also scared. He lacked courage and in later life took to sleeping with a knife under his pillow.

  He lost his job with the locksmith, and may have become a vagrant. He was seen scraping a living as a street vendor in Birmingham, but eventually he was drawn in, like so many other desperate people, by the illusory promise of a better life in London. So were some of the Ripper victims. Of the ‘Canonical 5’, Elizabeth Stride came from Sweden, Catharine Eddowes was born in Wolverhampton and Mary Kelly may have been born in Limerick. Bury arrived in London in the autumn of 1887, and tried to earn a living selling ‘cats’ meat’. This trade would have required some aptitude with a knife. Being brought up outside the metropolis, he may also have been familiar with the slaughter and dissection of pigs, which so many working people kept in the back yard.

  Towards the end of the year, Bury gave up the cats’ meat trade and entered into an agreement with one James Martin of No.80 Quickett Street, Bow. Bury was to pay Martin for the use of a horse and cart, and Martin would also sell him supplies of sawdust and silver sand. Bury could keep any profit he made, after paying Martin his dues; this he failed to do. London did not deliver on its promise. Bury was in debt to Martin, yet spent all he had on drink. February 1888 saw him struggling to exist in Bow, but also marks the start of a disquieting series of attacks on women in the capital. Casual, drink-fuelled violence was common enough, but murder was surprisingly rare. Although the common belief is that the Ripper claimed five victims in the ‘Autumn of Terror’, it is entirely possible that there were more attacks, not all of them fatal.

  The murder of Emma Smith, on 3 April, is frequently mentioned in the context of the Ripper killings. Her death bears no similarity to any Ripper attacks, and was most probably the work of a gang which terrorised prostitutes for the sake of their meagre earnings. Of more significance, however, are two knife attacks on women in February and March of 1888. On 25 February, Annie Millward was admitted to hospital with numerous stab wounds to her legs and lower body. No more is known about how and why this happened; she recovered but died a month later of an apparently unrelated condition. This was obviously a sexually motivated attack, though would not have been recognised as such at the time. On 28 March, Ada Wilson was attacked just after midnight by a man with a ‘sunburnt’ flushed face, who demanded money and almost immediately stabbed her twice in the throat. She was able to scream and he fled.

  Meanwhile, Bury had found a way out of his financial difficulties. In addition to trading in sawdust, Martin and a female partner were running a small brothel, and one of the prostitutes attracted Bury’s attention. Ellen Elliot, born 24 October 1856, was known to have a modest legacy in the form of shares. She also rented a room in nearby Swaton Street. Bury saw the prospect of wealth and security, but even to achieve this he could hardly bring himself to be pleasant to Ellen, and before their wedding on 2 April, he had already given her at least one beating.

  Portrait of Ellen and William Bury. (Midland Weekly News, 16 February, 1889)

  Ellen Bury had drifted through life. She appears to have had a stable upbringing but, as a child, her health had been poor and her education had suffered. She could just about read and write, but with difficulty. She gave birth to an illegitimate child, which later died, and spent some time in the workhouse. It does not seem to have occurred to her to use her nest egg to make her life more comfortable. She became a prostitute and had little contact with her family, other than her married, elder sister Margaret Corney, who was to give evidence at Bury’s trial. Ellen had retained enough pride in herself to lodge outside the brothel, and she was fond of her little collection of good jewellery. Having passed her thirtieth birthday, she must have been desperate for the respectability of marriage, even to a man like Bury. Nothing else could explain why she gave in to him. Bury was a little man, morally and physically. He stood 5ft 3½ ins tall, and weighed under ten stone. He had dark hair and a face, that with drink, or emotion, became flushed. Oddly enough, newspaper reports from his trial describe him variously as ‘decent looking’ but also ‘insignificant’ and even ‘feeble-minded’, and with having a Jewish look about him. In his personal conduct, he seems to have clung to just one shred of self-control in that he kept the Sabbath by not drinking on a Sunday.

  For mos, of the short period of their marriage, Bury treated Ellen abominably. He beat her, took all her money from her and, by May, he had given her a sexually transmitted disease. More to the point, within days of the wedding, Mrs Haynes, the couple’s landlady at Swaton Road, caught him holding a knife to Ellen’s throat. Bury managed to force Ellen to sell some of her shares; with which he bought a horse and cart of his own, in order to trade in sawdust, but apparently he did more drinking than actual work. He was also under the necessity of finding other lodgings, because his behaviour had become so intolerable that Mrs Haynes told the couple to leave. They lodged first in Blackthorn Road and then in nearby Spanby Road, close to the stable where the horse was kept.

  Bury was still finding life difficult. Other people were able to notice and criticise his conduct, and he found he was forced into a parody of domestic life, when his every instinct revolted against being in the company of a women, except to relieve a sexual need. He was to find a way to get satisfaction without even a semblance of emotional involvement.

  Martha Tabram, or Turner, is gaining acceptance as a Ripper victim. She was a prostitute and after a busy evening with some soldiers, she met with one last client. She was found dead of multiple stab wounds in the small hours of 7 August. The intent was plainly to kill, and her murderer had begun to explore a little further by inflicting an ‘incised’ wound in the region of her private parts. This wound bled out and probably left the killer stained with blood.

  Martha was known to suffer ‘rum fits’, from alcohol withdrawal. The most likely scenario is that she led her killer to a quiet spot to have intercourse, but then lost consciousness. Bury was confronted, yet again, by total rejection as Martha became oblivious to his presence. He stabbed her in anger – he always had a knife about his person – and then was thrilled to discover that he was in total control and in no danger of further affronts to his self-esteem.

  Later, that August, Bury felt the need for a holiday, and took Ellen to Wolverhampton. He was looking forward to showing his former workmates that he had made good. He flashed ‘his’ money around, boasted of Ellen’s prospects, and graciously permitted her to buy some more jewellery. It was all a sham. Back in London, he continued drinking heavily, and by the end of the month the work of Jack the Ripper had begun in earnest.

  He found ways to refine the process. First he strangled his victim, either by hand or with a ligature. Whether or not this was instantly fatal, the resulting loss in blood pressure would reduce arterial spray when the throat was cut across. When this was do
ne, the killer was free to open the body to mutilate, remove, and even assimilate what he believed to be the significant sexual organs. In his mean-spirited way, he also rummaged through his victims’ pockets and may have taken a few souvenirs. He did not think of himself as Jack the Ripper; that name was bestowed upon him by a journalist. The killer wrote no letters, scribbled no graffiti, and did his best to avoid being noticed.

  He usually hunted towards the end of the week, but he never struck during his Sabbath time of abstemiousness; he was cautious. He left his den to hunt in Whitechapel, and his victims were women who were peculiarly vulnerable. He took Polly Nichols on 31 August, Annie Chapman on the 8 September, and both Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes on 30 September. On 9 November, Mary Kelly let him into her small room in Miller’s Court. Without fear of being interrupted, he was able to take her body apart. He took out the heart, a powerfully symbolic act. This organ was never found and he probably ate it. As well as destroying Mary’s body, he burnt some of her clothes in the fireplace. Then he managed to slip away unnoticed. One of the biggest problems in identifying the Ripper lies in the variety of eye-witness testimony about probable suspects. Bury was small and rather nondescript; if seen, he left no strong impression. He could be any or none of the sightings.

  After his climactic experience with Mary Kelly, he was emotionally drained and also increasingly fearful. The entire nation was obsessed with the Ripper and the police were at their most vigilant. The press had also reported further alleged sightings, and Bury thought he could be identified. He may have made a half-hearted attempt to take a victim in Poplar, when Catherine Mylett was choked to death in late December, but by January he decided he had to leave London. He had nothing left to lose; his business had gone and there was very little left of Ellen’s money.

  With a crudely forged letter, apparently offering the pair of them employment, he tricked Ellen into accompanying him to Dundee. The work never materialised, but she was now unable to leave him even if she tried. He was, however, at least presenting the appearance of a dutiful husband and the couple were seen well dressed and apparently happy. They arrived on 20 January and took lodgings with a Mrs Robinson, at 8s a week, but with a flash of his old hostility to women, he alarmed her by trying to beat her down to 6s. He then gained access to a derelict basement at No.113 Princes Street, by taking the keys in order to view it – and there Ellen’s life was soon to end.

  For a week or so, Bury was to spend the last of their savings trying, as ever, to make a big impression in the local pubs. He bought rounds of drinks, and a naïve young man called Walker found him fascinating company. Ellen felt out of place so far from London and did not mix much with her new neighbours, though she and her husband did meet with a couple called Smith. When she was alone with them, she confided in them that her husband had fallen into bad company in London and was in the habit of stopping out at night. When he came back, the talk turned to Whitechapel and Ellen said, ‘Oh, Jack the Ripper is quiet now.’ Women who suspect the worst will try to hide the thought, even from themselves, but Bury began to fear that his secret would be revealed.

  Ellen was never seen alive again after Monday 5 February; she may have died in the early hours of Tuesday. Bury went out and about, but his door was left locked and the blinds drawn. He went on drinking, but also went as a spectator to the Dundee Magistrates’ Court and watched the proceedings with fascination. At noon, on Sunday 10 February, he visited his new friend Walker at home, and they looked over the People’s Journal together. Bury read, with interest, an account of a woman committing suicide with a rope around her neck, but Walker alarmed him by asking if there was anything about Jack the Ripper, ‘you that knows the place.’ Bury went out, pretending Ellen was cooking a good dinner, but he was soon back and the two men went to look at the ships in the harbour. But Bury did not plan to sail away. All he could think of now was a way to avoid being blamed for his wife’s death.

  That evening, Bury went to the Central Police Station and claimed that his wife had strangled herself, and being both angry and afraid that he would be accused of being a ‘Jack the Ripper’, he had attempted to cut her up and hide her in a box. Detectives Lamb and Campbell went to the basement and found a scene of chaos. The remains of Ellen Bury were discovered – packed tightly into a wooden crate. She had been strangled, but there were also cuts to her lower abdomen and part of her intestines protruded. In order to force her into the crate, one of her legs had been broken. A cord lay on the floor, and on a windowsill, the officers found a knife with blood and hair upon it. Clothes and other items had been burnt in the fireplace. In another wooden box the police found male clothing and cheap jewellery, including two finger rings (Annie Chapman had been robbed of two brass rings). Ellen’s good jewellery was now in Bury’s pockets.

  What did Ellen know? In the back stairway leading to the ash pit, where only she would go, the barely literate woman had chalked two messages which were to cause a local sensation:

  Jack Ripper is at the back of this door

  Jack Ripper is in this seller

  The two chalked messages which caused a local sensation. (Dundee Advertiser, 1889)

  Bury could, surely, not have known what she had done but, if he thought Ellen suspected that he was the Ripper, he may have begun to fear that she would do more than merely make sly remarks to people like the Smiths. This would have given him a strong motive for silencing her, but it is just as likely that they fell out about money, when he threatened to take her last asset – her cherished jewellery. What is less likely is that he succumbed to his compulsions. After ten months of marriage, she simply would not stimulate his perverse appetite, besides which, the selection and hunting down of a victim were probably important to him. Nevertheless, once he had strangled Ellen and stripped off her clothes, the sight of her dead, naked body revived his desires and he was compelled to mutilate her remains.

  Rather to Bury’s surprise, the police did not believe his tale of suicide, and he was quickly put on trial for murder. The case opened at Dundee on 28 March; George, Lord Young was on the bench. Even without the suspicion that Bury was the Ripper, the proceedings have some points of interest. Bury was ably defended by a young advocate, William Hay, who probed every weak spot in the medical evidence, in order to keep alive the possibility that Ellen had killed herself. Meanwhile the prosecution irritated the jurors by making a mockery of a Dr Lennox, whose evidence supported the defence case. The jury then astounded the judge by giving a rather muddle-headed verdict. This was ‘guilty’ but with a recommendation of mercy, in view of conflicting medical evidence. They were sent back to come to a more sensible decision, and this time they simply said ‘guilty’. Bury eventually admitted to killing Ellen, but claimed in a letter, to the Revd E.J. Gough, that he was driven to it by Ellen’s conduct. To the last, Bury was trying to make a good impression.

  Hay did his best to appeal, on the grounds of his client’s insanity, but this was not allowed, and the date of Bury’s execution was set for 24 April 1889.The Scottish press, and some American papers, took him seriously as a Ripper suspect, and police officers from London did come up to Dundee to take a look at Bury, but higher ranks in the capital did not take the matter very seriously; Bury simply did not fit in with their preconceived ideas of the Whitechapel killer.

  One man was convinced of Bury’s guilt, and that man was the one person closest to him at the end: James Berry, public executioner. He reported that Bury said to him, with some emphasis, ‘I suppose you think you are clever because you are to hang me, but because you are to hang me you will not get anything out of me.’ James Berry also claimed, in his memoirs, that quiet men in suits told him, privately, that London would no longer be troubled by Jack the Ripper; but of course, Berry did have a book to sell.

  So, why did William Henry Bury drop out of sight as a suspect? Bury was simply too dull. He was a wretched little man, but this is precisely why he is a very good suspect today. He conforms to the typical prof
ile of the sexual serial killer as an embittered loner, unable to gain the respect he craves. More to the point, Bury was loose at night, at the time when the Ripper struck in London. While the death of Ellen Bury has eerie similarities to known Ripper Murders, although in 1889 these were not recognised. She was strangled, then mutilated post-mortem, and her killer used fire to dispose of some of her belongings. Ellen believed she was married to Jack the Ripper, and this shy, insecure little woman was uniquely, and tragically, in a position to recognise him for what he was.