by Colin Dexter
It appears from various strands of inter-weaving evidence, albeit some of it from the guilty parties themselves, that Oldfield and Musson (and, by one account, Towns also) left the Barbara Bray at roughly the point where Joanna met her death, and that they were seen standing together on the tow-path side of the canal just below Duke’s Cut. A certain man passed by the area at the crucial time, 4 a.m. or just after, and both Oldfield and Musson, with great presence of mind, asked him if he had seen a woman walking beside the canal. The man had replied, as they clearly recalled, with a very definite “No!”, and had made to get further on his way with all speed. Yet the two (or perhaps three) men had asked him the same question again and again, in rather an agitated manner.
(It is clear that this man’s testimony could have been vital in substantiating the boatmen’s claims. But he was never traced, in spite of wide-scale enquiries in the area. A man roughly answering his description, one Donald Favant, had signed the register at the Nag’s Head in Oxford for either the 20th or the 21st June – there was some doubt – but this man never came forward. The strong implication must therefore remain, as it did at the time, that the whole story was the clever concoction of desperate men.)
Jonas Bamsey, wharfinger in the employ of the Oxford Canal Authority at Oxford’s Hayfield Wharf, gave evidence at the trial that the Barbara Bray had duly effected its partial unloading, but that Oldfield had not reported the loss of any passenger – which quite certainly should have been the duty of the boat’s captain under the Authority’s Regulations. Instead, according to the scant and inconsistent evidence at this point, the boatmen do appear to have confided in some of their acquaintances in Upper Fisher Row, claiming that their passenger had been out of her mind; that she had committed suicide; and that on at least one occasion they had been called upon to save her from an attempted drowning on the journey down from Preston Brook.
Later that dreadful day, when the crew of the Barbara Bray came to negotiate the lock on the Thames at Iffley, two miles downstream from Folly Bridge, Oldfield spoke to the keeper, Albert Lee, and reported to him and his wife (coincidentally also named Joanna) that a passenger on his boat had been drowned; but that she was most sadly deranged, and had been a sore trial to him and his fellow crew-members ever since she had first embarked at Preston Brook. Oldfield was still obviously very drunk. Pressed to explain what he was seeking to say, Oldfield – asserted only that “It was a very bad job that had happened”. The passenger was “off her head” and had been last seen by the crew off Gibraltar Lock. Yet Oldfield was vehemently unwilling to listen to Lee’s suggestion of returning to Oxford to sort out the whole tragedy; and this made Lee more than somewhat suspicious. On the departure of the Barbara Bray, therefore, he himself immediately set off for Oxford, where he contacted the Pickford Office; and where the Pickford Office, in turn, contacted the Police Authority.
When the infamous boat finally arrived at Reading (for some reason, over two hours behind schedule) Constable Harrison was on hand, with appropriate support, to take the entire crew into custody, and to testify that all of them, including the youth, were still observably drunk and excessively abusive as he put them in darbies and escorted them to temporary cell-accommodation in the gaol at Reading. One of them, as Harrison vividly recalled, was vile enough to repeat some of his earlier invective against Joanna Franks, and was heard to mutter “Damn and blast that wicked woman!”
Hannah MacNeill, a serving woman at the Plough Inn, Wolvercote, testified that when the sodden body had been brought from the canal, she had been employed, under direction, to take off Joanna’s clothes. The left sleeve was torn out of its gathers and the cuff on the same hand was also torn. Tomes and Ward, for their part, were quite firm in their evidence that they themselves had made no rips or tears in Joanna’s clothing as they lifted her carefully from the water at Duke’s Cut.
Katharine Maddison testified that she was a co-helper with Hannah MacNeill in taking off Joanna’s drenched garments. Particularly had she noticed the state of Joanna’s calico knickers which had been ripped right across the front. This garment was produced in Court; and many were later to agree that the production of such an intimate item served further to heighten the universal feeling of revulsion against those callous men who were now arraigned with her murder.
Mr Samuels, the Oxford surgeon who examined the body at the inquest, reported signs of bruising below the elbow of the left arm, and further indications of subcutaneous bruising below left and right cheekbones; the same man described the dead woman’s face as presenting a state of “discoloration and disfigurement”. Mr Samuels agreed that it was perhaps possible for the facial injuries, such as they were, to have been caused by unspecified and accidental incidents in the water, or in the process of taking-up from the water. Yet such a possibility was now seeming, both to Judge and Jury, more and more remote.
The youth Wootton then gave his version of the tragic events, and on one point he expressed himself forcefully: that Towns had got himself “good and half-seas-over” the night before Joanna was found, and that he was sound asleep at the time the murder must have occurred, for he (Wootton) had heard him “snoring loudly”. We shall never be in a position to know whether Towns had forced Wootton to give this evidence to the Court – under some threat or other, perhaps. From subsequent developments, however, it seems clear that we may give a substantial degree of credence to Wootton’s testimony.
Joseph Jarnell, the co-prisoner pending whose evidence the re-trial had been agreed, related to the Court the damning confessions Oldfield had betrayed whilst the two men shared a prison-cell. In essence such ‘confessions’ amounted to a rather crude attempt on Oldfield’s part to settle the majority of blame for almost everything which had happened on Musson and Towns. But in spite of the man’s earnest manner and the consistency of his account, Jarnell’s story made little or no impression. Yet his testimony carried interest, if not conviction. Amongst the strongest of the fabrications which Oldfield had sought to put about was that Joanna Franks had in excess of fifty golden sovereigns in one of her two boxes; that Towns had discovered this fact, and that Joanna had found him rummaging through her trunks. She had threatened (so the allegation ran) to report him to the next Pickford Office if he did not mend his ways and make immediate apology and restoration. (Such nonsense was wholly discredited at the time, and may be safely discounted now.)
Together with many other items, the knife which Joanna had been observed sharpening was later found in one of her trunks, the cord of which had been cut, and which still remained untied. The assumption was that at some point the men had opened Joanna’s belongings after the murder, and had replaced the knife in one of the trunks. It must certainly be considered a strong possibility that the men intended to steal some of her possessions, for as we have seen a charge of theft was included, in the most strongly worded terms, in the original indictment of the crew at the first trial in August 1859. It seems, however, that Prosecuting Counsel at the second trial were sufficiently confident to forgo such a charge and to concentrate their accusations on murder, since the lesser charge (difficult, in any case, as it would have been to substantiate) was subsequently excluded. We have seen a similar procedure operating, in the first trial, concerning the charges of rape; and perhaps it is of some strange and macabre interest to note that in the original trial the charges of both rape and theft (as well as murder) were made against each individual member of the crew – including the youth Wootton.
Out of all the evidence given at that memorable second trial at Oxford in April 1860, fairly certainly that of Charles Franks himself evoked the greatest feeling and the widest sympathy. The poor man was weeping aloud as he entered the witness-box, and it seemed as if it were almost beyond his physical powers to raise his eyes in order to bear the sight of the prisoners and to look upon their faces. He had obviously been deeply in love with Joanna, and turning his back on the vile men arraigned before the Court he explained how in consequence of some
information he had come into Oxfordshire and seen his wife’s dead body at the time of the inquest. For although it was dreadfully disfigured (here the poor fellow could not at all restrain his feelings) yet he knew it by a small mark behind his wife’s left ear, a mark of which only a parent or an intimate lover could have known. Corroboration of identification (if, in fact, corroboration was needed) was afforded by the shoes, later found in the fore-cabin of the Barbara Bray, which matched in the minutest degrees the contours of the dead woman’s feet.
At the conclusion of the hearing, and after a lengthy summing-up by Mr Augustus Benham, the Jury, under their duly appointed chairman, begged permission of his Lordship to retire to consider their verdict.
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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At a hotel facing the sea at Brighton, he ate a good breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade; then took a stroll round the town before returning to the station and boarding a train for Worthing
(Court Record of evidence given in the trial of Neville George Clevely Heath, on the morning after the murder of Margery Gardner)
PERHAPS IT WAS the dream.
Whatever it was, Morse knew that something had at last prodded him into a slightly more intelligent appraisal of the Colonel’s story, because he was now beginning to take account of two or three major considerations which had been staring at him all the while.
The first of these was the character of Joanna Franks herself. How had it come about – whatever the fortuitous, involuntary, or deliberate circumstances in which Joanna had met her death – that the crew of the Barbara Bray had insisted time and time again that the wretched woman had been nothing but one long, sorry trial to them all ever since she’d first jumped on board at Preston Brook? How was it that they were still damning and blasting the poor woman’s soul to eternity way, way after they had pushed her into the Canal and, for all Morse or anyone else knew, held her head under the black waters until she writhed in agony against their murderous hands no longer? Had a satisfactory explanation been forthcoming for such events? All right, there was still Part Four of the story to come. But so far, the answer was ‘no’.
There was, though (as it now occurred to Morse), one possible dimension to the case that the good Colonel had never even hinted at – either through an excessive sense of propriety, or from a lack of imagination – namely that Joanna Franks had been a seductive tease: a woman who over those long hours of that long journey had begun to drive the crew towards varied degrees of insanity with her provocative overtures, and to foster the inevitable jealousies arising therefrom.
Come off it, Morse!
Yes, come off it! There was no evidence to support such a view. None! Yet the thought stayed with him, reluctant to leave. An attractive woman … boredom … drink … a tunnel … continued boredom … more drink … another tunnel … darkness … desire … opportunity … still more drink … and more Priapic promptings in the loins … Yes, all that, perhaps, the Colonel himself may have understood. But what if she, Joanna herself, had been the active catalyst in the matter? What if she had craved for the men just as much as they had craved for her? What (put it simply, Morse!) what if she’d wanted sex just as badly as they did? What if she were the precursor of Sue Bridehead in Jude the Obscure, driving poor old Phillotson potty, as well as poor old Jude?
‘Men’s questions!’ he heard a voice say. ‘Just the sort of thoughts that would occur to an ageing MCP like you!’
There was a second general consideration which, from the point of view of criminal justice, struck Morse as considerably more cogent and a good deal less contentious. In the court-room itself, the odds did seem, surely, to have been stacked pretty heavily against the crew of the Barbara Bray – with ‘presumption of innocence’ playing decidedly second fiddle to ‘assumption of guilt’. Even the fair-minded Colonel had let his prejudgements run away with him a little: already he’d decided that any ostensible concern on the part of the boatmen for the missing passenger (believed drowned?) was only shown ‘with great presence of mind’ in order to establish a semi-convincing alibi for themselves; already he’d decided that these same boatmen, ‘still obviously very drunk’ (and by implication still knocking it back at top-tipplers’ rates) had manoeuvred their ‘infamous’ craft down the Thames to Reading without having the common decency to mention to anyone the little matter of the murder they’d committed on the way. Did (Morse asked himself) wicked men tend to get more drunk – or more sober – after committing such callous crimes? Interesting thought …
Yes, and there was a third general point – one that seemed to Morse most curious: the charges both of Theft and of Rape had, for some reason, been dropped against the boatmen. Was this because the Prosecution had been wholly confident, and decided to go for the graver charge of Murder – with the expectation (fully justified) that they had sufficient evidence to convict ‘Rory’ Oldfield and Co. on the capital indictment? Or was it, perhaps, because they had too little confidence in their ability to secure conviction on the lesser charges? Obviously, as Morse seemed vaguely to remember from his schooldays, neither rape nor theft would have been considered too venial an offence in the middle of the last century, but … Or was it just possible that these charges were dropped because there was no convincing evidence to support them? And if so, was the indictment for murder entered upon by the Prosecution for one simple reason – that it presented the only hope of bringing those miserable men to justice? Certainly, as far as multiple rape was concerned, the evidence must have been decidedly dodgy – as the Judge in the first trial had pronounced. But what about theft? The prerequisite of theft was that the aggrieved party possessed something worth the stealing. So what was it that poor Joanna had about her person, or had in either of her two travelling-boxes, that was worth the crime? The evidence, after all, pointed to the fact that she hadn’t got a couple of pennies to rub together. Her fare for the canal-trip had been sent up from her husband in London; and even facing the terrible risks of travelling with a drunken, lecherous crew – certainly after Ban-bury had been reached – she had not taken, or not been able to take, any alternative means of transport to get to the husband who was awaiting her in the Edgware Road. So? So what had she got, if anything, that was worth stealing?
There were those shoes again, too! Did Joanna deliberately leave off her shoes? Did she enjoy the feel of the mud between her toes along the tow-path – like some bare-foot hippie on a watery walk round Stonehenge in the dawn?
What a strange case it had been! The more he thought about it, the greater the number of questions that kept occurring to Morse’s mind. He had a good deal of experience in cases where the forensic and pathological evidence had been vital to the outcome of a court case. But he wasn’t particularly impressed with the conclusions that (presumably) must have been drawn from Mr Samuels’ comparatively scientific findings. For Morse (wholly, it must be admitted, without medical or scientific qualifications) the state of the dress, and the bruising described, would have been much more consistent with Joanna being held firmly from behind, with the assailant’s (?) left hand gripping her left wrist; and his (her?) right hand being held forcibly across her mouth, where thumb and forefinger would almost invariably produce the sort of bruising mentioned in the recorded description.
What of this Jarnell fellow? The Prosecution must have been considerably impressed, at the first hearing, with his potential testimony. Why, otherwise, would anyone be willing to postpone a trial for six months – on the word of a gaolbird? Even the Colonel had given the fellow a good write-up! So why was it that when he duly turned up to tell his tale, at the second trial, no one wished to listen to him? Had there been something, some knowledge, somewhere, that had caused the court to discount, or at least discredit, the disclosures his cellmate, Oldfield, had allegedly made to him? Because whatever accusations could be levelled against Oldfield, the charge of inconsistency was not amongst them. On three occasions, after Joanna’s death, he had in
sisted that she was “out of her mind”, “sadly deranged”, “off her head” … And there had, it appeared, been no conflict of evidence between the crewmen that on one occasion at least (did that mean two?) they had been called upon to save Joanna from drowning herself. The one vital point Jarnell disclosed was that Oldfield had not only protested his own innocence of the murder, but had also sought to shift all responsibility on to his fellow crewmen. Not, to be sure, a very praiseworthy piece of behaviour! Yet, if Oldfield himself were innocent, where else could he have laid the blame? At the time, in any case, no one had been willing to listen seriously either to what Jarnell or to what Oldfield might have to say. But if they were right? Or if one of them were right?
A curious little thought struck Morse at this point, and lodged itself in a corner of his brain – for future reference. And a rather bigger thought struck him simultaneously: that he needed to remember he was only playing a game with himself; only trying to get through a few days’ illness with a happy little problem to amuse himself with – like a tricky cryptic crossword from The Listener. It was just a little worrying, that was all … the way the dice had been loaded all the time against those drunkards who had murdered Joanna Franks.
