by Neil Storey
I was not codding dear old Boss when I gave you the tip. You’ll hear about saucy Jacky’s work tomorrow. Double event this time. Number one squealed a bit. Couldn’t finish straight off. Had not time to get ears for police. Thanks for keeping back the last letter till I got to work again – Jack the Ripper.
On 2 October 1888 private investigators Grand and Batchelor (employed by the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee) found a bloodstained grape stalk in a drain near where the body of Elizabeth Stride was found. This information was not widely broadcast but when combined with the account of Matthew Packer (who ran a small greengrocers through a street window at 44 Berner Street) that he had served a man accompanied by Stride with half a pound of black grapes, the sale of the fruit entered into East End folklore. The grapes have taken on yet greater significance in recent years as imaginative theorists suggest the Ripper laced the grapes with laudanum to stupefy his victims prior to his attack. On this same day Robert James Lees, a medium, offered his powers as a psychic to assist the police. Lees indignantly recorded in his diary that he was sent away and ‘called a fool and a lunatic.’
With little or no concept of forensic clues to assist with the detection of the murderer, and mounting pressure coming from all quarters for progress in tracking Jack the Ripper, new ideas and any new method which may have some merit were considered. Sir Charles Warren personally oversaw the trials of bloodhounds on Regents Park on 9 and 10 October. Two hounds, Barnaby and Burgho, were brought down to London from Scarborough by well-known breeder, Mr Brough. Sir Charles even acted as quarry in one of the trials and expressed himself satisfied with the result. The incident did however acquire a certain mythology when both hounds and Sir Charles got lost in the London smog.
As time passed, more and more suggestions of how the police could catch the Ripper or protect the women of London from the fiend were related in the letters columns of the press. Typical of the tenor and logic employed in the correspondence is the following from the Pall Mall Gazette:
There are numbers of well trained pugilists in Shoreditch and Whitechapel who are, many of them, young, and in the custom in their profession, clean shaved… Twenty game men of this class in women’s clothing loitering about Whitechapel would have more chance than any number of heavy-footed policemen.
That said, the police did start experiments with ‘decoys’ being used in attempts to draw out and capture Jack the Ripper. They were small in number but two clearly recorded decoys were Detective Sergeant Robinson (who took to the streets in ‘veil, skirt and petticoats’) and Detective Sergeant Mather, who remained in his plain clothes. Observing a man behaving in a strange manner with a woman in a doorway near Phoenix Place, St Pancras, the detectives were accused of being voyeurs by a passing cab washer named William Jarvis. Challenged with, ‘Wot yer muckin’ about ere for’, the policemen identified themselves. ‘Oh, a rozzer, eh?’ Jarvis replied sceptically, and belted Robinson in the eye. Another decoy was a volunteer named Amelia Brown of Peckham who, although kept under close observation by policemen, was only issued with a police whistle for her personal protection.
From the moment the first Jack the Ripper letter arrived at the Central News Agency, a torrent of letters claiming to know, have knowledge of, or even purporting to be from Jack the Ripper were sent. Some were illustrated with lurid drawings and lots of red ink. Then, on 16 October 1888, George Lusk, Chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, received a small parcel in the form of a cardboard box wrapped in brown paper. To Lusk’s horror, upon opening the parcel he found the box contained a bloodstained letter and half a human kidney.
From Hell
Mr Lusk
Sor
I send you half the
Kidne I took from one woman
Preserved it for you, tother piece I
fried and ate it was very nise. I
may send you the bloody knife that
took it out if you only wate a whil
longer.
Signed: Catch me when you can
Mishter Lusk
The kidney was examined by Dr Openshaw at the London Hospital, who confirmed it was a longitudinally divided human kidney. Major Smith of the City Police added in his memoirs that 2in of the renal artery (averaging about 3in long) remained in Eddowes body where her kidney had been removed – one inch of artery was all that was attached to the organ sent to Lusk.
During the month of October the Victorian philanthropist Dr Thomas John Barnardo was to become involved in the story of Jack the Ripper. Writing an impassioned letter about the suffering of the children in common lodging houses to The Times, published on 9 October, he revealed:
Only four days before the recent murders I visited No. 32 Flower and Dean Street, the house in which the unhappy woman Stride occasionally lodged… In the kitchen of No. 32 there were many persons, some of them being girls and women of the same unhappy class that to which poor Elizabeth Stride belonged. The company soon recognised me, and the conversation turned upon the previous murders. The female inmates of the kitchen seemed thoroughly frightened at the dangers to which they were presumably exposed… One poor creature, who had evidently been drinking, exclaimed somewhat bitterly to the following effect: ‘We’re all up to no good, and no one cares what becomes of us. Perhaps some of us will be killed next!’ I have since visited the mortuary in which were lying the remains of the poor woman Stride, and I at once recognised her as one of those who stood around me in the kitchen of the common lodging-house on the occasion of my visit last Wednesday week.
Also in October 1888, reports circulate of the curious circumstances surrounding the death of Mrs Mary Burridge, a floor-cloth dealer on the Blackfriars Road. It was stated by some she had been so overcome by reading a particularly lurid account of the Whitechapel Murders in the Star that she fell dead, ‘…a copy of the late final in her hand.’ Tom Cullen, in Jack the Ripper, suggested this passage may have caught her eye: ‘A nameless reprobate – half beast, half man – is at large… Hideous malice, deadly cunning, insatiable thirst for blood – all these are the marks of the mad homicide. The ghoul-like creature, stalking down his victim like a Pawnee Indian, is simply drunk with blood, and he will have more.’
American actor Richard Mansfield trod the boards of Henry Irving’s Lyceum Theatre in his acclaimed stage adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Since the book was first published in 1886, Victorian sensibilities were outraged by the premise that every human being (even the respectable ones) has a demon imprisoned within them that the right concoctions of chemicals could release on society to gorge themselves on an orgy of debauchery and malevolence. Mansfield’s transformation from the upright Dr Jekyll to hideous Mr Hyde ‘in all his blood curdling repulsiveness’ was remarked upon for the convincing and complete transformation of man to half human beast, a transformation made more shocking and horrible because it was done in full view of the audience without ‘screens, gauzes or traps.’
Due to accusations that the play was responsible in some way for the Jack the Ripper murders (on the grounds of his performance, some even suspected Mansfield himself of being the Ripper), the run of the play was cut short and terminated in its tenth week.
So the investigation went on, but by November 1888 there was still no convincing suspect in sight, the streets of East London were gripped by terror and the nation was on tenterhooks, wondering not if, but when Jack the Ripper would strike again.
Further ingenious suggestions for the apprehension of Jack the Ripper (and appliances to be worn about the neck to prevent his deadly attack) were proffered. Mr W.H. Spencer summed up this theme in a letter printed in The Star:
… a few young men of somewhat feminine appearance should be got up in disguises as females. They should wear around their necks steel collars made after the style of a ladies’ collaret, coming well down the breast and likewise well down the back. My reason for this is… that the assassin first severs his victim’s windpipe, thereby preventing he
r raising an alarm.
The following letter was published in The Daily Telegraph:
Sir, Can nothing be done to prevent a set of hoarse ruffians coming nightly about our suburban squares and streets yelling at the tops of their voices, and nearly frightening the life out of sensitive women and children of this neighbourhood? Last evening, for instance, their cry was ‘Special’ – ‘Murder’ – ‘Paper’ – ‘Jack’ – ‘The’ – ‘Ripper’ – ‘Caught’ – ‘Paper’ – ‘Whitechapel’ – ‘Paper’ – ‘Got him at last’ – ‘Paper’… These awful words were bawled out about nine o’ clock in a quiet part of Kensington; a lady who was supping with us was so greatly distressed by these hideous bellowings that she was absolutely too unnerved to return home save in a cab because she would have to walk 100 yards or so down a street at the end of her journey by omnibus. Now, I venture to ask sir, is it not monstrous that the police do not protect us from such flagrant and ghastly nuisances?
Richard Mansfield in the guise of Dr Jeckyll’s evil alter-ego Mr Hyde – a performance so convincing it was suggested his portrayal might be influencing the crimes of Jack the Ripper.
Then, just as the height of fear began to wane a little, came another murder. Mary Jane (or Marie Jeanette) Kelly was remembered as a striking figure in the East End. Known on the streets as ‘Black Mary’, she was younger than most of the prostitutes; she was twenty-five, blue-eyed, tall with a fine head of blonde hair almost reaching to her waist. She had come to London in 1884 and after a short period working as a domestic servant she became a high-class prostitute in a West End brothel. This life saw her turn to drink, and she soon found herself out of the brothel and down in the East End working as a common prostitute and living and working out of a dingy room, about 12ft square, at 13 Miller’s Court. This property was colloquially known as one of ‘McCarthy’s Rents’ – named after John McCarthy, who owned a chandler’s shop at 27 Dorset Street and rented out a number of properties around the locale. Miller’s Court itself was accessed through a narrow opening about 3ft wide; it was the first archway on the right off Dorset Street when approaching from Commercial Street.
In Autumn of Terror (1965), Tom Cullen recorded some of the memories of those who could recall Mary Kelly. Apparently her pitch was well known (in front of the Ten Bells on Commercial Street) – and woe betide any other unfortunate who trod on it, for she had brawled, ‘pulling hair out by fistfuls’, on a number of occasions.
Mary had been living from rent to rent in a few lodging houses with her man friend, Joe Barnett, since 1887. While at Miller’s Court, Joe lost his job as a fish porter and Mary returned to the streets. She brought girls back to the room out of the cold but, as Joe told a newspaper, he could not tolerate any more after ‘Marie allowed a prostitute named Julia to sleep in the same room. I objected, and as Mrs Harvey afterwards came and stayed there, I left and took lodgings elsewhere.’ At the inquest Barnett stated he and Kelly separated on 30 October 1888. However, they remained in friendly contact, and Barnett last saw Mary at Miller’s Court when he visited her there on the night of Thursday 8 November 1888. He stayed there for a quarter of an hour, leaving at about 8 p.m.
At about 11.45 p.m. on the same night, Mary was seen with another man, probably a client, in Miller’s Court by fellow resident and prostitute, Mary Ann Cox. Kelly and the man were standing outside Kelly’s room by Mrs Cox, who bade them ‘Goodnight’ as she passed. Somewhat incoherently, Kelly replied, ‘Goodnight, I am going to sing.’ A few minutes later Mrs Cox heard Kelly singing ‘A Violet from Mother’s Grave’. Cox went out again at midnight and heard Kelly singing the same song:
Well I remember my dear old mother’s smile,
As she used to greet me when I returned from toil,
Always knitting in the old arm chair,
Father used to sit and read for all us children there,
But now all is silent around the good old home;
They all have left me in sorrow here to roam,
But while life does remain, in memoriam I’ll retain
This small violet I pluck’d from mother’s grave.
Chorus of the popular American song ‘A Violet from Mother’s Grave’.
Words and music by Will Fox, published by J.W. Pepper, Philadelphia, 1881.
The last witness to see Mary Kelly alive was an old acquaintance of hers named George Hutchinson. In a statement he gave to the police after the inquest, Hutchinson recounted his last sighting of Mary. At about 2 a.m. Hutchinson was walking on Commercial Street and passed a man at the corner of Thrawl Street but paid no attention to him. At Flower and Dean Street he met Kelly, who asked him to lend her sixpence. Hutchinson replied he could not, having spent all his money ‘going down to Romford.’ Mary replied, ‘Good morning, I must go and find some money.’ And she left in the direction of Thrawl Street. Hutchinson continued:
Mary Kelly’s dingy rent at 13 Miller’s Court – scene of the most horrific murder committed by Jack the Ripper.
Cover of an original song sheet for ‘A Violet from Mother’s Grave’ – the last song to be heard sung by Mary Kelly.
A man coming in the opposite direction tapped her on the shoulder and said something to her, they both burst out laughing. I heard her say, ‘All right?’ to which the man replied, ‘You will be alright for what I have told you.’ The man then placed his right hand around her shoulders. He also had a kind of small parcel in his left hand with a kind of strap around it. I stood against the lamp of the Queens Head public house and watched him. They both then came past me 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 Miller’s Court for about three 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, then she said, ‘I’ve lost me handkerchief.’ He then pulled his handkerchief, 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 but they did not and so I went away.
Did George Hutchinson get a good look at Jack the Ripper? And even if he did, was the description he gave accurate? It must be commented that for the short period of time he saw the man, the description he gave is remarkably detailed. The accuracy of Hutchinson’s statement will no doubt be debated for years to come; if it is to be believed, then it is probably the best description we have of Jack the Ripper. The description he gave was as follows:
Aged about 34 or 35, height 5ft 6in, complexion pale, dark eyes and eye lashes, slight moustache curled up each end and hair dark, very surly looking, dressed in a long dark coat, collar and cuffs trimmed with 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 and had a white linen collar, black tie with horse shoe pin, respectable appearance, walked very sharp, Jewish appearance. I think I would be able to identify him again.
But what happened to Mary? At about 4 a.m. on Friday 9 November, Elizabeth Prater was awakened by her pet kitten walking on her neck. She heard a faint cry of ‘Oh, murder!’ but could not be sure where it came from – and as the cry of murder was common in the district, she paid no attention to it. Sarah Lewis, who was staying with friends in Miller’s Court, also heard the cry.
Later that morning ex-soldier Thomas Bowyer (known on the street as Indian Harry) was sent round to 13 Miller’s Court by McCarthy to chase up Mary Kelly; she was behind with her rent money to the tune of 29s and was facing eviction.
At the inquest into the death of Mary Kelly held at Shoreditch Town Hall, before Dr Macdonald, MP, the coroner for the North-Eastern District of Middlesex, Bowyer deposed:
One of the most evocative images from The Illustrated Police News – Mary Kelly opens
the door to admit death.
At a quarter to eleven a.m., on Friday morning (9 November), I was ordered by McCarthy to go to Mary Jane’s room, No. 13. I did not know the deceased by the name of Kelly. I went for rent, which was in arrears. Knocking at the door, I got no answer, and I knocked again and again. Receiving no reply, I passed round the corner by the gutter spout where there is a broken window – it is the smallest window.
Charles Ledger, an inspector of police, G Division, produced a plan of the premises. Bowyer pointed out the window, which was the one nearest the entrance. Bowyer continued:
There was a curtain. I put my hand through the broken pane and lifted the curtain. I saw two pieces of flesh lying on the table… in front of the bed, close to it. The second time I looked I saw a body on this bed, and blood on the floor. I at once went very quietly to Mr McCarthy. We then stood in the shop, and I told him what I had seen. We both went to the police station, but first of all we went to the window, and McCarthy looked in to satisfy himself. We told the inspector at the police station of what we had seen. Nobody else knew of the matter. The inspector returned with us.
Inspector Frederick Abberline picked up the story with his testimony:
Thomas ‘Indian Harry’ Bowyer reeled back in horror at what he saw through the broken window pane of No. 13 Miller’s Court.
I arrived at Miller’s Court about 11.30 on Friday morning … I had an intimation from Inspector Beck that the bloodhounds had been sent for, and the reply had been received that they were on the way. Dr Phillips was unwilling to force the door, as it would be very much better to test the dogs, if they were coming. We remained until about 1.30 p.m., when Superintendent Arnold arrived, and he informed me that the order in regard to the dogs had been countermanded, and he gave orders for the door to be forced…
