by James Moore
Wilde then asked Ross for the money he had got him, before sitting down and saying ,‘I shall stay and do my sentence whatever it is.’ For the next hour, Wilde sat in silence only occasionally asking where Bosie was. Douglas had left earlier to see the MP George Wyndham, his cousin, to find out if a prosecution was inevitable.
Finally, at 6.20 p.m. a waiter knocked at the door and showed in two detectives, Inspector Richards and Sergeant Allen. One of them said, ‘Mr Wilde, I believe?’
‘Yes, Yes,’ said Wilde, smoking a cigarette by the fireplace.
Richards then said, ‘We are police officers and hold a warrant for your arrest on a charge of committing indecent acts.’
Before he left, Oscar was allowed to write a note to Douglas informing him that he was unlikely to get bail. Ross helped a now very tipsy Oscar on with his coat and Wilde was allowed to take a novel called Aphrodite with him. The officers then took the writer in a hansom cab to Bow Street police station where he was charged.
On 26 April, Wilde again found himself in court – but this time as the accused. He pleaded not guilty. The trial featured the famous question from the prosecution to Wilde, ‘What is the love that dare not speak its name?’ Wilde’s eloquent response could not save him from an unsatisfactory outcome – the jury failed to reach a verdict. Finally, following another trial, Wilde was convicted. He was sentenced to two years’ hard labour, eventually ending up in Reading prison. Once released, both Wide’s reputation and health were in tatters and he died in Paris on 30 November 1900. However, in the decades after his death, Wilde’s literary reputation continued to grow. His arrest would later inspire a 1937 poem written by John Betjeman.
He sipped at a weak hock and seltzer
As he gazed at the London skies
Through the Nottingham lace of the curtains
Or was it his bees-winged eyes?
Today Wilde is seen as one of the greatest writers in history. And the Cadogan trades on its links with the playwright. Room 118 is now the Oscar Wilde Suite with décor that ‘pays homage to the flamboyant playwright’.
LOCATIONS: The Cadogan, No. 75 Sloane Street, Knightsbridge, London, SW1X 9SG, 020 7235 7141, www.cadogan.com
BLUDGEONED TO DEATH WITH A BREWER’S TOOL, 1895
The Gardeners Arms, also known as The Murderers, Norwich, Norfolk
On the morning of 1 June 1895 the sound of screams rent the air at The Gardeners Arms, a pub on Norwich’s historic Timber Hill. Then a young woman cried out, ‘Murder! Mother!’ Hurrying downstairs to the bar, Maria Wilby found her daughter Mildred lying in a pool of blood, bleeding profusely from her head. Though badly injured, Millie, aged just 21, was still alive. She was taken to the nearby Norfolk and Norwich hospital where a doctor dressed her injuries. However, it appears that because of her matted hair – and his own ineptitude – he failed to realise how severe the two wounds to her skull were. Millie was sent home. But, on the Monday, she was back. This time doctors found that the wounds extended into her brain. They attempted to operate but without luck and Mildred died on the Tuesday. Surgeons agreed that even if the full extent of her injuries had been realised sooner it would not have made any difference to her fate. It was a sorry end for a woman who, just three years earlier, must have been on top of the world when she married a dashing cavalryman.
On Whit Monday in June 1892, Mildred had wed Frank Miles. Born in Southampton he had been a cavalryman in the 8th Hussars and had served in India before returning to England where he was stationed at a barracks in Norwich. Miles left the army on marrying Millie and got a job in a brewery. But from early on the marriage was not a happy one. In June 1895 the couple separated and Millie moved in with her mother. Millie’s father died in the January and she began helping out at the busy Gardeners Arms.
The Gardeners Arms, Norwich, as it looked in around 1915. (Courtesy of the Gardeners Arms)
But Miles, now living above a different pub, continued to harbour feelings towards Millie. He also believed she had been unfaithful. Despite their estrangement the idea of her with another man was obviously still too much to bear. At 10 p.m. on the evening of Friday 31 May, he had gone to the Gardeners to see Millie, levelling accusations at her. He then threw an earthenware match holder at her, crying, ‘I will do for you my lady,’ before storming off.
At 9 a.m. the next morning he set out for the pub again, this time armed with an iron ‘bung picker’ used to draw bungs out of casks in the brewery. Once at the Gardeners he confronted Millie again. This time he flipped, attacking her with the sharp end of the tool. When Millie’s mother arrived downstairs at the sound of the commotion, Miles told her, ‘I have killed the b****, there she lay!’ before leaving the premises. He apparently headed straight for the police station where he confessed to the crime. Miles handed officers the bloodied weapon, saying, ‘That is what I did it with, three minutes ago.’
On 7 June, wearing a ‘neat blue serge suit’, Miles appeared in the dock at Norwich Guildhall charged with the murder of Mildred. At his trial it was said, in his defence, that he had suffered sunstroke while serving in India and that he had suffered extreme provocation thanks to Millie’s ‘behaviour’. In a climate fuelled by the recent Jack the Ripper murders, the issue of prostitution was very much at the forefront of people’s minds and Millie appears to have been portrayed as something of a wanton woman. The actual evidence for this is scant, amounting to the fact that she had been seen laughing and joking with other men.
Miles was found guilty of the brutal murder but the jury had been convinced that he had been distraught over Millie’s behaviour. They requested leniency from the judge who passed the death sentence anyway. Miles’ execution was set for 3 July. On 14 June, from his cell in Norwich prison, he wrote a penitent letter to his mother saying that he had killed his wife ‘when greatly excited and provoked by her conduct towards me’ and asked for forgiveness.
From the outset there appears to have been widespread sympathy for the condemned man. And now lawyers, journalists and family rallied round. A petition pleading for clemency, with 15,000 signatures, was sent from his home city of Southampton to the Home Office. It worked. Miles was given a reprieve, with his sentence commuted to life. In 1897, Miles was transferred to Parkhurst prison on the Isle of Wight. He died there eight years later, as an inmate, aged 37. But the case was not to be forgotten. While it is still officially called The Gardeners Arms, the scene of the crime has become best known to locals as simply ‘The Murderers’.
LOCATIONS: The Gardeners Arms, Nos 2–8 Timber Hill, Norwich, Norfolk, NR1 3LB, 01603 621 447, www.themurderers.co.uk
A BOXING MENTOR GUNNED DOWN IN HIS OWN BAR, 1895
The Trocadero, Birmingham
Before 1902, today’s busy Trocadero pub, with its ornate glazed exterior, was known as the Bodega wine bar. Despite the name change, however, it is said that the watering hole retains the ghost of a landlord who was cruelly murdered here in 1895. To this day, a mysterious presence is said to knock over beer glasses, fling beer mats around and even interfere with the fruit machines. And many regulars and staff believe that the restless soul responsible belongs to Henry James Skinner.
Skinner had been a sergeant in a Guards regiment before taking on the Bodega, a smart hostelry and well-known haunt of actors from the nearby theatre. Now in middle age, he was a popular figure who had previously run a boxing and fencing academy and even, it was said, taught boys swordsmanship at Eton.
At the pub, Skinner employed two brothers, Arthur and Herbert Allen, as barmen. On 3 December 1895, Skinner reprimanded Arthur, who had worked at the bar for nine years, for leaving some bottles open. He slammed his hand down on the bar for emphasis and hit Arthur’s hand, perhaps by mistake, as he did so. A scuffle ensued in which Arthur slapped Skinner in the face. Herbert, fearing for his brother, had tried to stop the brawny Skinner returning the gesture by holding him by his coat tails. In the end both of the Allens were sacked on the spot and thrown off the premises. The next day Arth
ur came back to the pub for his outstanding wages. He apologised and was soon paid, though when he asked for his job back Skinner turned him down. Half an hour later, Herbert turned up asking for his wages too, but was turned away – apparently on account of being drunk – and told to come back the next day.
Herbert became increasingly upset. At just 23 years old and married only a month earlier, he was now out of a job – one that he had been doing for five years. That day he suddenly brandished a gun in front of his brother Charles saying, ‘This is meant for Skinner.’
There was no doubt that Herbert was a troubled man. The Allens also worked as handymen and six months earlier Herbert had fallen from a tree, breaking a jaw and suffering from concussion. It’s thought he may have suffered a brain injury which had altered his character. Before the accident he had been described as light-hearted but afterwards was always found to be gloomy. Herbert had already tried to commit suicide at least once, having flung himself in front of a train that summer. Interestingly, his family also had a history of mental health problems. One of his brothers had already shot himself and both his father and another brother had attempted to do away with themselves too.
At 9 a.m. on Thursday 5 December Herbert called again at the Bodega and was given the wages he was owed. At noon, Herbert and Arthur returned to the bar together where they found Skinner on the doorstep. Realising there was now no chance of getting his job back, Arthur told Skinner that he had taken out a summons for assault against him, before walking off. Herbert, already worse for wear, went inside to collect some building tools he’d left there and asked bar manager Dave Andrews for a brandy while he was at it. Andrews asked Skinner, who had now come back inside the bar, if it was okay and although Skinner agreed, Andrews decided to refuse Herbert after all. Skinner then said to Herbert that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for him to have a drink after all – telling him about the summons that Arthur had taken out and turning his back.
Herbert suddenly pulled his revolver from his overcoat and shouted, ‘Mr Skinner!’ As Skinner turned he then fired off two shots across the busy bar towards the landlord who was standing just feet away from him. One of them hit Skinner in the heart, another burying itself in the wainscoting. The bullets were later found to be of a bulldog pattern type – capable of felling an ox at close quarters.
At the sound of the gunfire, a quick-thinking Andrews had leapt over the bar and wrestled Herbert to the floor. Herbert shouted, ‘Loose me Dave, or I’ll shoot you,’ but soon Andrews had managed to grab the gun off him. Meanwhile, a PC Owens who happened to be across the road and had heard the shots, rushed into the bar too. Herbert was soon in custody but Skinner was already dead, having uttered only a simple ‘oh’ before slumping to the floor.
Herbert Allen was brought up in front of the Birmingham Assizes in March 1896. The jury found him guilty of murder but recommended mercy. Yet Allen himself made an extraordinary statement in which he begged to be put to death. He said that it was with ‘the greatest anguish that now I have taken the life of a fellow creature’ and claimed that if he was not given the death sentence he would strangle himself ‘at the first opportunity’. Initially he got his wish. The judge sentenced him to be hanged on 7 April at Winson Green Gaol. However, just days before the sentence was due to be carried out, Herbert was given a reprieve by the Home Secretary. He spent the rest of his days behind bars. Given his state of mind, it was perhaps the worst punishment he could have received.
LOCATIONS: The Trocadero, Temple Street, Birmingham, B2 5BG, 0121 643 6107, www.thetrocaderobirmingham.co.uk
MURDER MOST MODERN 1900S
A LANDLORD WHO KILLED HIS WIFE, 1900
The Marlborough Pub and Theatre, Brighton
The marriage of Thomas and Lucy Packham, landlord and landlady of the Marlborough Hotel in Princes Street, Brighton, was not a happy one from the outset. Packham, who was often drunk in his own pub, was a cruel husband who subjected both his wife and children to verbal and physical abuse, as a number of witnesses would later attest. The couple were married in 1888 and took over at the Marlborough in 1895. The pub’s live-in housekeeper, Bertha Virgo, said that Lucy herself was also intemperate and that this led to her making mistakes in the hotel when taking orders. The pair often rowed and Mrs Virgo was forced to step in and stop Packham hitting his wife on more than one occasion. For some reason, when Lucy looked smart and tidy, Packham was said to have objected and torn off her clothes. He also regularly threatened his wife in public. Lucy’s father, a butcher called Edward, said he had often complained about his son-in-law’s treatment of his daughter, which had begun just a week into their union. Thomas, who kept a revolver in his bedroom, had once tried to cut Lucy’s throat. Edward often told Lucy to leave her husband but she wouldn’t for the sake of the couple’s three children.
At around midnight on Thursday 1 March 1900, PC Mullins was passing the Marlborough when he heard a row going on inside between a man and a woman. He heard the woman begging, ‘Don’t, Tom’, then the man shouting, ‘You’re a lazy woman!’ She replied, ‘I know I am.’ An hour later, he returned with a colleague, PC Puttick, who heard the man inside the Marlborough saying, ‘I’ll kill you.’ He recognised the voices – he had heard the Packhams quarrelling many times before. Puttick then heard a thud. This was almost certainly Lucy’s body hitting the floor as she was killed. Puttick knocked at the door, but when no one came he left, assuming the altercation was now over.
The Marlborough, Brighton, where Lucy Packham was found dead in the bar. (Courtesy of The Marlborough)
The Marlborough’s potman, Joseph Miles, who also lived in, found the Packhams arguing before he went to bed. As he came out of the kitchen and went up, he saw Lucy on the floor by the foot of the stairs and Packham saying, ‘Will you get up – do you want to get up?’ Miles did nothing to intervene – he had seen it all before. The last thing he heard was Packham saying to Lucy, ‘I forgive you.’
At about 4 p.m., Packham knocked on the door of Mrs Virgo’s room and said, ‘It’s me, Mr Packham. Will you come down, the wife is either dead or dying.’ Lucy was lying at the back of the bar, her head on some broken bottles with her feet pointing towards the beer pumps. Mrs Virgo said that a still drunk Packham knelt over her badly bruised body and kept repeating, ‘Lucy, oh, do come back Lucy.’ Yet it was clear to Mrs Virgo that Lucy was already dead. She went to wake Miles and he was sent to get the family physician, Dr Ross, who confirmed that Lucy was indeed beyond help. The doctor challenged Packham as to whether he was responsible and found him barely coherent. Packham did, however, deny striking Lucy and then said, ‘I shan’t be long after her.’
No one had actually seen anyone assault the 32-year-old, but to the coroner’s jury the case seemed pretty straightforward. Lucy’s inquest, which was held at the Marlborough itself, heard that she had died of a cerebral haemorrhage caused by either a fall or a heavy blow. Her body had been covered in bruises and there was a cut on her lip. Her injuries certainly suggested that she had been beaten up. After three hours a verdict of wilful murder was returned against 34-year-old Packham.
Yet when Thomas Packham’s full trial began on 30 June at the Sussex Assizes in Lewes, he had the fortune to be represented by the barrister Edward Marshall Hall who would become famed for his skills in defending those accused of the highest crimes. Hall managed to persuade an all-male jury that both of the Packhams had been drunk and that his client hadn’t actually meant to kill Lucy, despite his apparent history of abuse. The jury took just 22 minutes to decide that Packham was guilty only of manslaughter. They even recommended mercy for the prisoner. Packham was sentenced to just four years’ penal servitude. The crime is still remembered at the Marlborough where, in recent years, it was possible to buy a Lucy Packham cocktail made in her honour.
LOCATIONS: Marlborough Pub & Theatre, No. 4 Prince’s Street, Brighton, East Sussex, BN2 1RD, 01273 570028, www.drinkinbrighton.co.uk/marlborough
THE MERSTHAM TUNNEL MYSTERY, 1905
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The Feathers Hotel, Merstham, Surrey
Just before 11 p.m. on the evening of 24 September 1905, William Peacock, a railway inspector, headed into Surrey’s Merstham Tunnel on the London to Brighton line. He was with a gang of workers dispatched to undertake some repairs. When Peacock was about 400yds inside the tunnel, the beam of his lamp picked out the form of a human figure lying beside the track. It turned out to be the body of a badly mutilated young woman. He ran to inform police. The body was removed from the tunnel and taken to the Feathers Hotel on Merstham High Street where it was placed in a locked stable at the rear of the building.
At first it appeared to be a simple, if tragic, case of suicide. A local doctor, Henry Crickett, was called to examine the dead woman. The corpse was still warm, indicating that she had died about an hour before. Dr Crickett found that the features of the woman were virtually unrecognisable. She had a fractured skull and one of her legs had been almost severed from her body at the thigh. There were also bruises and scratches on her body, arms and face indicating that she may have been involved in a struggle. A white silk scarf had also been rammed down the victim’s throat. Meanwhile, an examination of soot marks on the tunnel’s wall made it clear that the woman had either fallen or been pushed out of a railway carriage rather than having wandered in on foot and been run down by a train. No railway ticket, money or papers could be found on the deceased woman to suggest who she was. However, her underwear bore a laundry number which read ‘245’. This was the vital clue that police needed. When it was published in newspaper reports the next day, a man called Robert Money, a farmer from Kingston Hill, came forward. He was brought down to Merstham and identified the dead woman as his sister, Mary Sophia Money. She was a 22-year-old bookkeeper at a dairy located at No. 245 Lavender Hill, Clapham, where she also lived.
