St Peter and St Paul Church located on Parrock Street. The impressive 14th Century parish church on the outskirts of Gravesend is located on a busy main road into the town. The large solidly built tower of the church was added sometime after the main church buildings and is designed to house eight bells. Visitors may also like to take a closer look at the church sundial which is inscribed with the church motto ‘trifle not, your time’s but short’.
Windmill Hill named for its erstwhile windmills, offers extensive views across the Thames, and was a popular spot for Victorian visitors to the town, because of the Camera obscura installed in the old mill and for its tea gardens and other amusements. During World War I a German airship passed over Windmill Hill and dropped bombs on it. Today there are three markers indicating where these bombs struck.
The Thames and Medway Canal was opened for barge traffic in 1824. It ran from Gravesend on the Thames, to Frindsbury near Strood on the Medway. Although seven miles long it had only two locks, each 94 ft. by 22 ft. in size, one at each end. Its most notable feature was the tunnel near Strood which was 3,946 yds. in length, making it the second longest canal tunnel ever built in the UK.
Chapter 3
Most of the letters I receive from Winifred contain the typical news about local events happening in and around the town, the many social charities and fetes being held at the various churches , her life in general and the progress with her latest mystery novel titled “The Unicorn and the Wasp.”
I was seated and enjoying the second page of Winifred’s latest correspondence (I always complimented her on her excellent penmanship) when I read with some shock that she had suffered the effects of a tremendous explosion. Winifred wrote...”It was early Monday afternoon I had just entered Culverstones on White Post Lane”
To the reader who has never been to Gravesend, Culverstones is the local green grocer, newspaper agent and houses the local Post Office. Winfred continues, “I had only started to decide what to purchase when both the shop keeper and I recognized the booming and thundering resonance (from the war) of a great detonation occurring but before we could either comment on or question the direction it was coming from we both experienced the very loud shattering crash of violently inwardly breaking plate window glass.”
“It was like hearing the jarring ear ringing noise that is the result of smashing a thousand china dishes, as if they had all been collectively and viciously dropped and shattered at the same time. Then we were both unexpectedly knocked down face first onto the wooden shop floor from the after shock.” “it felt” she continued “as if we had both been unexpectedly and forcefully pushed from behind by a violent burst of wind.”
When the sound of shattering plate glass had stopped it felt like a heavy and hard type of snow had fallen onto my back, I looked to the shop keeper beside me to see if he had been injured, he picked his head up and asked out of concern if I had been hurt, as he was asking and waiting for an answer I noticed that he was also covered in debris from the explosion.
As the shop keeper got to his feet, the crystalline shards, looking very much like rough cut diamonds, dropped from his clothing and onto the floor. He reached out his hand to assist me to my feet and as I arose I witnessed glass shards falling from me as well. First checking to see if we had suffered any cuts from the tiny projectiles we both turned and looked out the windowless frames of the green grocers shop and established that all of the other shops along White Post Lane were now windowless also.
At the moment we had no idea what or who else might have suffered from the explosion but where the detonation had taken place was apparent. As we looked out we both saw a column of black smoke just beyond the town rising into the late afternoon sky. Seeing that the direction of the source of the detonation was Parrock Street, a terrible almost unimaginable thought went through my mind” please don’t let it be St Peter and St Paul Church.”
On page three of her letter Winifred resumes, “Here we go again, bloody German air ships dropping bombs on Windmill Hill” the shop keeper muttered to himself as he set off to get his broom and dust pan to collect the fragmented remains of his shop’s front windows. Thinking of how badly events had become in Dublin, Ireland recently I had a belief that if the church had been damaged this was more likely the outcome of the I.R.A.’s actions.
It was a relatively short walk from White Post Lane to St. Peter and St. Paul, an excursion that most of the inhabitants of town had decided to undertake out of a mixture of curiosity and civic concern. Not even the most resilient among the gathering mixed crowd of adults and children at the damage site could prepare any of them for the scene of devastation the explosion had created.
While there wasn’t any visible appearance of structural damage to the churches thick sandstone walls what was noticeable, were the colourful fragments of the many stained glass windows. The multi coloured shards were mixed in with wooden chips that had been doors and window frames.
Damaged and shattered grey slate tiles that had formed the roof, were now strewn and jumbled together all around the grass and head stoned church perimeter. This act of violence some of the gathering crowd surmised appeared to have been the result of explosives contained within the interior, rather than an attack from above. Emanating into the sky from the newly and violently created jagged openings was the same black smoke that had been noticed earlier from the center of town.
After the shock of what had transpired wore off Winifred relates that she heard the familiar voices of Stan Mayes (the local inn keeper) and Charles Slade (a local carpenter) as well as the voices from the gathered assembly collectively agree “Let’s get a bucket brigade started to get the fire out and save what we can of St Peter and St Paul.”
A line from a nearby pond was formed to the church, a number of buckets were collected and the extinguishing water made its way from hand to hand, bucket by bucket, to be poured into openings to put out the smouldering interior.
When the last of the black smoke made its way into the early evening sky a couple of men from the fire brigade took it upon themselves to enter the burnt out church to see how extensive the fire damage was and if any part or parts of the interior could be salvaged.
Wanting to satisfy her curiosity as to any possible terrorist involvement in this incident, Winfred followed Charles and Stan. The impromptu inspection crew entered the damaged narthex, they quietly and reverently proceeded east up the nave towards the sanctuary and apse.
As the three carefully picked their way through the ruined church they saw that what remained of the interior wooden furnishings and religious printed material had become randomly strewn piles of steaming water, soaked charcoal and paper cinders.
Page four of Winifred’s letter
None of the original 14th century and later fitted stained glass windows had survived the interior blast. They also noted that the force of the blast had clearly been directed straight up and there were now large gaping holes in what had once been a sturdy slate tile roof.
As the three passed the north and south transepts from the size and depth of the crater that faced them it was obvious that whatever type of explosives had been employed in this misguided mission they (or it) had been set symbolically and directly placed under the now totally destroyed altar.
The three stood together for a moment close to where the wooden dais had stood a short time ago. As the last rays of sunshine were dropping from the glassless window openings they took a moment to ask themselves why this had happened. After a short vigil one of the men suggested that they should leave the damaged church “We don’t want anyone to be hurt because the integrity of the structure might have been compromised by the fire.”
As the group was crossing the narthex to leave the church, Winifred looked to her left and was somewhat surprised to see that the sacristy was not too badly damaged. For those not familiar with this part of a church a sacristy is a room in t
he church, where the vestments, church furnishings and sacred vessels, and other treasures are kept, and where the clergy meet and vest for the various ecclesiastical functions.
Thinking it might hold some undamaged clue concerning the origin of the destruction they had just witnessed or possibly with the seeds of another mystery forming in her mind, Winifred told her companions that she would like to have a quick search within. Known in the town for her reputation as a mystery writer there was no objection to her request but rather a cautionary “Don’t take too long miss; I have a feeling that some more of the roof may yet give way.”
It was at this point in her letter that Winifred informed me she had to stop writing due to a variety of commitments and I was left to eagerly await her next letter to see what, if anything, she had discovered.
Chapter 4
London in the 1920s changed its mood. The capital began to feel less traditional and more modern. As London lightened up at its centre, so it began to spread at its edges. Electric railways opened up new suburbs for commuting. Local councils and private house builders both redoubled their efforts to build new estates on green-field sites in outer London. Those Londoners who could afford it moved out of the unhealthy inner city.
But with The Irish Civil War; a conflict that accompanied the establishment of the Irish Free State as an entity independent from the United Kingdom within the British Empire and also the General Strike in the United Kingdom there would be turbulent times ahead. The General Strike was called by the Trades Union Congress in support of striking coal miners in the North of England, Scotland and Wales in an unsuccessful attempt to force the British government to act to prevent wage reduction and worsening conditions for coal miners. Because of these two events there was an undesirable element of society moving in to the inner city to take the place of those who were moving out.
Out of all the families who felt that they should move or more likely felt that they had been forced to move south from “the troubles” (as these times would come to be called) there were initially two that would become known to Winfred, me and Sherlock.
First were the Prescott’s from Dromara, Ireland they had settled into tenement rooms located on Margate Road in Brixton, which is a rough district in the London Borough of Lambeth in south London. Of particular interest was their son Thomas.
Thomas Malone Prescott 33 was born February 6, 1887 who was known to his closest friends as “Mac”...was tall lean and wiry... malevolent looking green eyes, shocking red hair and beard. Raised in England but had an Irish I.R.A. Upbringing. He was known throughout the borough and to the police by reputation as the “badger.” He is a skilled expert in weapons and use of explosives. Tall and lean, his slight stature and build belay his overall physical strength; these features were well suited for his chosen profession as a bare knuckle prize fighter. It was said that anyone who had fought the badger and lived should consider themselves as most fortunate for some of his less fortunate competitors never experienced that good providence.
The second family were the Perry’s, from Newcastle Upon Tyne (a coal mining district), who had also settled into shared housing on Exton Street in Brixton. Of particular interest was their son Andrew. Andrew Foster Perry was of average height, husky build and not in good physical health. He had a full round face, intelligent hazel eyes, close cropped hair and a handle bar moustache. Andrew was 32; born March 23, 1888 his father had worked in a coalmine.
Due to family fortunes, or lack of them, Andrew experienced a minimum education because he was forced to go to work at a young age to support the family which consisted of his mother, two brothers and a sister, all younger than him.
During his brief time in school teachers noted that Andrew had a good intellectual capability for numbers and could solve complex problems in his mind. Skills like these would be of little use in his present employment but would be better used when Andrew turned to a life of crime because it was less strenuous and better paying
As later events unfolded there would be a third local family involved. The Taggart’s living above a butcher shop on Welbury Street in Hackney, a working class district in North London. Of particular interest was their daughter Ashley Laurinda Taggart. Born September 30, 1893 she was a petite build, full figured young lady with long raven black hair and dark soul less and bottomless eyes.
Ashley was known to the authorities as “the black widow spider.” Her school was the back streets of London and she came from a large and broken family. A mother that was weak and submissive, a father that was abusive who had deserted the family for another woman...siblings who had also had run ins with the law As a result of his insolvent actions, the remaining family members served two sentences at New Debtors’ Prison, located on White Cross Street, paying off arrears left by an absent father.
Ashley is beautiful but very dangerous; she has a devious mind, a terrifying presence when angered. She dispatches victims with little or no conscience, much the way anyone would dispatch an insignificant insect. She likes to get what she wants and allows nothing or one to stand in her way. Using her charm, grace and sex to her advantage, she is never to be under estimated, never to be trusted and can easily play the innocent or wronged victim.
When she speaks (or perhaps commands) she expects unquestioned obedience. She is cold and calculating and started off her criminal career at a young age by removing small goods without paying for them. ”After all” a family friend had once commented about Ashley “who would suspect such a small and innocent child of helping herself to things she had not first paid for, “she later graduated to being a competent pick pocket and a semi professional forger.
Of the three, interestingly, Sherlock would later relate a particular knowledge of Ashley Laurinda Taggart to Mary and Winfred... “Miss Taggart is like a domestic lap cat, it rests quietly while being held and stroked, purring and gently kneading its paws in quiet contentment but without any provocation or warning it can extend its sharp front claws deep into your leg causing an awful wound that is accompanied by great and intense pain.”
Chapter 5
Survivor noun: a person or thing that survives. Survive verb: 1.To remain alive or in existence. 2. To carry on despite hardships or trauma; persevere. 3. To live longer than; outlive. 4. To cope with (a trauma or setback); persevere after.
Winfred relates in her next letter:
“It was the last non religious thing I (Winifred) had expected to find in my quick search of the sacristy.”
There, pressed between the gilt edged pages of a large leather bound bible lying on the floor was a large bulky manila envelope. The prize had caught her attention as she was respectfully picking up the holy book to place it back on a small credence table.
Reflecting like a detective from one of her mystery stories she wondered how (and for that matter why) it had come to be there in the first place. Winifred thought that if this particular bible had been chosen as some sacred covert hiding place then it had been at best a poor choice and more importantly with her curiosity now piqued, what information the envelope within might contain.
Curiosity getting the better of her she decided that it might be worth the risk of removing it for a short time and taking it home to examine.
Simple deduction assured her that the church might not be returning as a place of worship any time soon (if ever), and therefore the envelope would not be missed. Feeling a little like a thief in the night she removed it from its hiding place, folded it and put it into her right coat pocket.
Later at home while the kettle was boiling to make a calming cup of Earl Grey, she held the large envelope over the spout flap side down, to catch the rising steam. This would ensure that once it had carefully been opened it could later be resealed and returned to its hiding place without the person who had hidden it knowing that the package had ever been examined.
Opening up the still steam coated envelope Wi
nifred extracted its contents and placed them on the table in front of her. At first glance it appeared the envelope held about 6 to 8 pieces of printed paper. At the top of four pieces of paper were printed the words “Cunard Daily Bulletin” below that was placed various advertisements for the Hotel Metropole, London, the Irish Linen Store, Schweppes Soda Water and Pears Soap. Directly below the advertisements was the heading “On Board Passenger List.”
There was a list of names on the page that had been arranged in alphabetical order across three columns. She quickly scanned down the list for any familiar names and found none that came to her immediate attention. The subsequent second, third and fourth list contained more names (in the same format) again without any that caught her immediate attention.
The next two were also headed by the title Cunard Daily Bulletin but were only Marconi grams sent from the Marconi Station, Cape Cod Massachusetts. These were Wireless communications that had been sent to the ship they were in the nature of personal messages to the passengers on board, world news, current weather conditions at sea and the present location of the vessel.
It would be the remaining pages that would take Winfred back to an afternoon at the Oradea tea room. Instead of being printed, the letters that made up the title and list had been written in black ink that had been penned by a strong male hand.
Winifred looked from the top of each hand written page to the bottom several times in disbelief. At the top in large letters was the title “Survivors” then directly below was two columns of hand written peoples, city and town names. Not comprehending the significance of any of the names immediately the thing that caught Winifred’s attention was that about a third of the names and places on the list had been crossed out with red ink.
Sherlock Holmes and the Mystery Writer Page 2
