by Rule, Fiona
The cold November light fell into the ancient, squalid room and illuminated a small table upon which there seemed to be lumps of meat. Bowyer’s natural impulse was to draw back. He let go of the makeshift curtain, and prepared to take a closer look. As he pulled back the curtain for a second time, the full horror of the contents of the room was revealed. The floor and walls were stained a deep, dark, blood red. Lumps of flesh and internal organs were strewn around the room, as if cast aside by some maniacal butcher.
On the ancient, vermin-infested bed lay what remained of Mary Jane Kelly. Unrecognisable now for her face had been mutilated with such ferocity that it was hard to believe that it had once represented youth and beauty. Her throat had been slit and her torso ripped open. Her breasts had been sliced off. A portion of her leg had been skinned. In a final sick, demented act, her butchered frame had been arranged in an appalling death-pose, the mutilated face turned towards the window with a blank, lifeless stare.
Bowyer drew back from the horrifying scene and ran to get Jack McCarthy who, after taking a cautious look through the window himself, sent Bowyer to the police station on Commercial Street. After composing himself (and possibly arranging for someone to stand guard lest Joe Barnett or one of Kelly’s friends should return to the room), he followed Bowyer to the police station. Once at the station, McCarthy and Bowyer were seen by Inspector Beck, who immediately returned with them to Miller’s Court.
Once the three men had arrived outside number 13, Inspector Beck sent for Dr George Bagster Phillips. The doctor duly arrived and attempted to enter the room, but found the door was locked. One would assume that as landlord, Jack McCarthy would have possessed a key, but if he did have one, he certainly did not reveal its whereabouts to the police. This led to the rather farcical situation of Dr Phillips having to look through the broken window to assess whether Mary Kelly required any medical assistance. However despite only being able to view the body from several feet away, the visible mutilations inflicted on Kelly were enough to convince Dr Phillips that she was dead.
Showing great presence of mind, Dr Phillips sent for a photographer so that the crime scene could be accurately recorded before being trampled over by the police. The four men then waited in the court for further instructions from more senior police officers. As more police arrived at the scene, word got around that two bloodhounds had been sent for. Dr Phillips rightly suggested that it was best to wait until the dogs arrived before attempting to gain access to the room. However, the dogs never materialised. Two hours passed before word came from Superintendent Arnold that since the key was still unforthcoming, McCarthy would have to break the door down.
Jack McCarthy went off to find the necessary tools for the job and soon returned with an axe. He set about chopping through the lock and the door fell open, revealing the full carnage inside the room. As the door swung ajar, it knocked against a small table that stood beside the bed. Dr Phillips entered the room and approached the corpse. He saw that Mary Kelly was dressed in her undergarments. Her throat had been slit. Thankfully, Dr Phillips believed the dreadful mutilation to her body had taken place after Mary was dead. He also noticed that the body had been moved after death so that it was lying on the left-hand side of the bed, facing out into the room.
Once Dr Phillips had completed his examination of the body, Inspector Abberline of the CID took an inventory of what was in the room. He noticed that a fire had been raging in the grate and had created such intense heat that the spout of a kettle had melted off. He also saw that articles of women’s clothing had been burnt and assumed that this had been done to light the room as there was only one candle to be found.
By now, news of the latest murder had spread through Spitalfields like wildfire. Miller’s Court had been sealed off and no residents were allowed in or out unless cleared by the police. Residents of nearby houses craned their necks out of windows to try and get a look at the court. Journalists rushed to the scene and began their own enquiries. Once again, the police were baffled. No clues had been left at the scene. None of the residents of Miller’s Court had seen anything suspicious. Only two had heard a cry of ‘murder’ the night before and had thought nothing of it. A large crowd gathered outside McCarthy’s shop. By the time Mary Kelly’s body was removed to the mortuary, the crowd had become so large and boisterous that a police cordon had to be formed before the flimsy, temporary coffin could be loaded on to the ambulance.
As he watched the melee, Jack McCarthy knew that he was now embroiled in the most notorious murder enquiry the East End had seen for decades, perhaps ever. What he didn’t realise was that over 100 years in the future, the mystery surrounding the deaths of Emma Smith, Martha Tabram, Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes and Mary Jane Kelly would still be discussed and ruminated over by thousands, perhaps millions of people, the world over.
The police never brought Mary Kelly’s killer to justice. Her name was added to the list of the other women that had been killed and mutilated on the streets surrounding Spitalfields Market during the year 1888. After Kelly’s dreadful death, the killings seemed to come to an abrupt halt, as though the perpetrator’s mission was accomplished. This did not mean there were no more murders in the area. On the contrary, Spitalfields continued to be one of the roughest areas of London for nearly a century. But no more women were slain in such a brutal, shocking method.
The almost complete lack of clues to the murderer’s identity naturally led to speculation. The first theories on the identity of ‘Jack the Ripper’ were banded about on the streets of Spitalfields even before the series of murders reached their conclusion. Since then, hundreds of theories have been put forward. ‘Jack the Ripper’ has become a man with a multitude of personalities and identities. He has been a poor immigrant, a middle-class school teacher, a wealthy businessman, a member of the Royal Family. He has worked as porter, a doctor, a sailor, a butcher. He has even been a she. His motive for perpetrating the murders has ranged from pure insanity to being part of a convoluted Masonic cover-up on behalf of royalty. The only certainty concerning the mysterious case of Jack the Ripper is that the perpetrator of these most heinous murders has long been dead.
However, his legacy was one of enlightenment within society. The massive amount of press coverage concerning the murders alerted people throughout Britain and abroad to the appalling living conditions residents of places such as Dorset Street had to endure. One might naturally assume that the Ripper’s killing spree would prove to be the catalyst for change. Sadly it was not. If anything, during the years immediately following the murders, conditions in Dorset Street and its surrounds deteriorated even further.
After Mary Kelly’s awful murder, it naturally took some while for Dorset Street and Miller’s Court to return to normal. The police remained in Miller’s Court for ten days after the murder. Initially, their presence was welcomed by the residents, who were understandably traumatised by the horrors that had been perpetrated in their midst. However, after a while, the police presence began to hinder the women’s working practices and pressure was put on Jack McCarthy to get the police out of the court. Nothing would have pleased McCarthy more than seeing the back of them.
The publicity surrounding Mary Kelly’s murder had attracted some very unwelcome attention. Morbid sightseers roamed Dorset Street, hoping to get a glimpse of the now notorious (and aptly numbered) Room 13. Seeing a money-making opportunity, a showman offered McCarthy £25 for the use of the room for one month and another wanted to purchase or even hire the bloodsoaked bed on which Kelly had been mutilated. To his credit, Jack McCarthy rejected both offers.
Wishing to put the whole tragic episode behind him, McCarthy complained to the police about their constant presence in the court and after ten days they left, leaving him to hastily tidy up number 13 in preparation for new tenants. Amazingly, he saw no reason to redecorate the room, despite the wall near the bed being covered with blood stains. Four years after Kelly’s murder, a Canadia
n journalist named Kit Watkins visited Dorset Street while compiling a feature on the Whitechapel Murders. At Miller’s Court, she met long-term resident Elizabeth Prater who took her to meet Lottie Owen, the room’s current occupant. Lottie, (who was nursing a broken nose, inflicted by her husband’s boot,) apparently showed no repugnance at living in a room with black bloodstains on the walls. Kit Watkins however, was less than impressed and left with the feeling that ‘murder seemed to brood over the place’.
If the atmosphere seemed ‘murderous’ when Kit Watkins visited Dorset Street four years after the killings, tensions during the remaining weeks of 1888 must have been almost unbearable. The population were obviously ignorant of the fact that there were to be no further killings and so were understandably terrified. In the absence of any hard evidence, the press had created their own image of the Ripper as a tall, slim, menacing character wearing a top hat and carrying a black bag containing his weapons of choice. Consequently, any man walking alone in the East End carrying a black bag was regarded with great suspicion by the populace. Just after the Kelly inquest finished, a man carrying such a bag was accosted by a hostile crowd on Tower Street. The police were called and opened the bag, which was found to contain nothing that even vaguely resembled a murder weapon.
Kelly’s funeral, which took place on 19 November turned into an event rarely witnessed in the East End. Since being removed from Miller’s Court, her body had been kept in the mortuary attached to St Leonard’s Church in Shoreditch. As Kelly was Catholic, it was arranged for her body to be buried at St Patrick’s Cemetery some miles away in Leytonstone. The sexton of St Leonard’s Church paid for the funeral with his own money as a mark of respect for those parishioners who lived destitute lives similar to that of Kelly.
As the bell of St Leonards began tolling at noon, a massive crowd assembled at the gates of the church. The coffin was brought out on the shoulders of four men, who loaded it onto an open hearse. Atop the coffin were two wreaths from Mary’s friends and fellow prostitutes and a cross made from heartsease. The appearance of the coffin had a huge effect on the crowd, who surged forward in an attempt to touch it as it went past. Women cried and men bowed their heads as the hearse pulled away on its journey to Leytonstone. Following it were two carriages of mourners. One contained a few of Mary’s friends, the other carried Joe Barnett and an anonymous representative sent by Jack McCarthy (possibly his wife, Elizabeth). The crowd followed the cortege for some distance and then, as the roads became more open, they gradually fell away and returned to the slums and rookeries from whence they came.
Once Kelly’s funeral was over, the press swiftly lost interest in the Whitechapel Murders and moved onto the next big news story. The residents of Dorset Street must have breathed a sigh of relief as they were finally able to return to their regular routines.
Part Four
A FINAL DESCENT
Chapter 18
The Situation Worsens
If Spitalfields had been a vile place to live before the Ripper murders in 1888, afterwards it descended even further into disrepair and destitution. Despite a huge amount of press interest in the deplorable living conditions endured by the residents, nothing was done to make things better for the very poor. An increasing number of people found themselves out of work and so were forced to share accommodation with others in order to pay the rent.
The East London Advertiser reported the tragic circumstances surrounding the death of a four-month-old baby. At the inquest, it transpired that the parents and seven children lived in one room approximately 12-feet square. One night, when the pitiful family were asleep, one of them accidentally rolled over onto the baby and suffocated the child. The jury returned a verdict of accidental death and recommended that the authorities address the overcrowding issued without further ado. As usual, nothing was achieved.
Of course, the chronic overcrowding in Spitalfields was good news for the landlords. Despite the stigma attached to properties in and around the now notorious Miller’s Court, there were enough desperate people on the streets to ensure that any rooms vacated after the murder were quickly filled.
As residents attempted to recover from the terrible events that had overtaken Dorset Street during 1888, further trouble was brewing in the East End that would have a profound effect on the already traumatised and poverty-stricken community of Spitalfields.
Due to its proximity to the River Thames, many residents of Dorset Street and the surrounding roads regularly sought work in the Docks. Employment for these people was of a casual nature and involved walking to the Docks and then queuing with hundreds of other men hoping to be chosen to help unload one of the ships. There was absolutely no guarantee that work would be available and the majority of men were sent home each day with no money. Those that were lucky enough to secure work were usually only employed for a couple of hours.
The men that suffered the daily indignity of the ‘call-on’ really resented the way they were treated by the dock owners, who often abused their power and strode up and down the queues ‘with the air of a dealer in a cattlemarket’ picking out only the healthiest and strongest for work.
By the summer of 1889, a trade depression had led to fierce competition between the rival dock companies, each of which tried to offer the cheapest rates in a bid to attract more ships. Of course, the losers in this plan were the casual labourers, who quickly saw their bonuses for unloading ships considerably reduced. Things came to a head when the Lady Armstrong docked in the West India Docks in August 1889. The East and West India Dock Company decided to cut the casuals’ bonus down to the bone, but still insisted that the ship was unloaded with great speed. This proved to be the final straw for the labourers and led by a man named Ben Tillet, the men walked out of the dockyard on 14 August, refusing to unload any more ships until management agreed to pay them a fair wage.
The mass walkout at the West India Docks caused a sensation as until that point, the dock owners had wielded complete control over their workforce, safe in the knowledge that if the men didn’t work, they would starve to death. However, they began to feel a little uneasy as the Amalgamated Stevedore’s Union (which included the highly skilled men that loaded the ships) joined the strike in support of the casual labourers.
By 27 August, the Docks were at a standstill as the stevedores and labourers were joined by many other trades such as firemen, lightermen, carmen, ropemakers and fish porters. In total around 130,000 men refused to work. The dockers formed a strike committee and demanded that they be paid the now famous ‘dockers’ tanner’, which was 6d per hour instead of the previous 5d. In addition, they also demanded that the bonus system be abolished, that the inhuman ‘call-ons’ be restricted to only two per day and that the men chosen be employed for at least four hours.
The dockers’ plight courted a great deal of sympathy from the press and public alike. However, the dock owners held their ground, banking on the fact that starvation would drive the men back to work before too long. In the meantime, the striking men became seriously concerned about how to feed themselves and their families. As the days without work turned into weeks, the men came under increasing pressure to find money for food and rent. Their landlords still demanded money each week, despite any sympathy they may have felt for the men’s situation and, of course, the common lodging houses refused entry to anyone unable to pay in advance. Banners were hung along the Commercial Road, one of which summed up the moment perfectly. It read:
‘Our husbands are on strike; for the wives it is not honey, And we think it is right not to pay the landlord’s money, Everyone is on strike, so landlords do not be offended; The rent that’s due we’ll pay to you when the strike is ended.’
By the beginning of September things were, in the words of the Strike Committee’s press officer, ‘very black indeed.’ Despite huge public support, insufficient funds had been raised to maintain the strike for much longer and it looked increasingly likely that the dock owners would win the fight. However,
news of the dockers’ plight had now spread worldwide and their fellow workers in Australia began to raise money for the striking men. Before long money began pouring in, leaving the dockers free to concentrate on picket lines rather than scratching around for food.
The help from Australia caused great concern for the dock owners who realised that the strike could now go on indefinitely. Also, they were coming under increasing pressure from the ship-owners and wharfingers to resolve the dispute. The ship companies began discussing alternative ways for their ships to be unloaded and some wharfingers held separate talks with the strike committee in an attempt to get their wharves working. In a bid to resolve matters, the Lord Mayor of London formed a Mansion House Committee, which included representatives from both sides of the dispute. The Committee proved to be a success and eventually the dock owners conceded to virtually all the strike committee’s demands. The dockers got their ‘tanner’ and returned to work on 16 September, five weeks after the first labourers had walked out of the West India Docks.
The Great Dock Strike of 1889 proved to be a turning point in the history of trade unions. Prior to the dockers’ walkout, unskilled labourers had not possessed the confidence to join together in defiance of their employers. As more men and women saw the differences a united front could make to their lives, membership of trade unions soared. In 1888, 750,000 workers were members of a union. By 1899, that figure had reached two million.
The Great Dock Strike had an uneasy effect on anyone who exploited the poor and, of course, this included the Spitalfields landlords. Mindful of what could be achieved when men and women joined together with a common goal, the landlords adopted a policy of divide and rule. Tenants of lodging houses were encouraged to inform on their fellow lodgers and any disturbances were swiftly reported to the police. The following incident reported by The Times in June 1890, shows that their divide and rule policy was working well:
