Chapter 4 will also examine the underlying philosophies of two of the period's most prominent female philanthropists: Beatrice Webb and Helen Bosanquet. These women, both of whom worked with Octavia Hill in the COS, held strong opinions about the best methods of helping the poor. At times they were in agreement but it is in their disagreements that we can usefully explore the emergence of distinct policies aimed at poverty and dependence that came to affect social reform in the twentieth century and still echo in our current society.
In Chapter 5 we turn our attention to the Victorian press and in particular examine the relationship between the newspapers and other forms of popular culture. From the mid-nineteenth century onwards the newspapers enjoyed a steady growth, encouraged in part by greater literacy and improvements in production techniques. During this period newspapers became cheaper to produce and many more people had access to them. This led to greater numbers of papers and periodicals and increased competition for audiences. In this chapter the development of investigative reporting and the so-called `new journalism' (as expounded by editors such as the Pall Mall Gazette's William T. Stead) will be analysed. It will also consider the extent to which the press used the Whitechapel murders to create a `moral panic' for their own purposes. The relationship between the public, popular culture and the newspapers of the late nineteenth century is one of the most fascinating aspects of the Ripper case and, leaving aside Perry Curtis' seminal work, has too often been neglected.
All of the Ripper's victims were street prostitutes and prostitution and its control is the subject of Chapter 6. Using contemporary accounts and more recent historiography this section will attempt to understand Victorian conceptions of, and attitudes towards, prostitution. Using a well-documented newspaper expose of child prostitution it will also consider the problem of people trafficking in the late 1800s. Much of this sadly makes for comparisons with the present day and the reality of the vice trade in Britain. This chapter will also attempt to look at the women who were forced into prostituting themselves and at how this affected their lives and their families. We cannot consider the problem of prostitution in the Victorian age without looking at the attempts of the authorities to deal with the related issue of venereal disease and its affect on the armed forces. Therefore, this chapter will analyse the Contagious Diseases Acts, the reasons for their implementation, the campaign against them (orchestrated by Josephine Butler) and their eventual repeal in 1884.
This is, of course, a book about crime and criminality, even if the awful events of 1888 are far removed from most murders let alone most criminal activity. In Chapter 7 it is crime and those who committed crime that is the focus of attention. The nineteenth century saw the new social science of criminology develop from its early roots in the eighteenth century and the work of Cesare Lombroso and others drew the attention of the press and public. The notion that a 'criminal class' existed in mid- to late Victorian Britain gained ground and served as a useful tool for those wishing to justify the introduction of more draconian punishments or increased expenditure on professional policing. Thus, Chapter 7 will look at these ideas and how they affected policy-making. It will then explore the nature of crime as it was prosecuted at police courts and the Old Bailey in London using court records and the reporting of events in the newspapers. In this there will be a necessary concentration on property crimes such as burglary and robbery because these were the offences that contemporaries believed were most often committed by the criminal class. However, the work of the police courts was largely involved with policing petty theft, disorderly drunken behaviour and interpersonal violence - this will be covered in some detail here. Finally, Chapter 7 will look at the ways in which those convicted of offences were dealt with. The justice system of the late nineteenth century was dominated by the prison, and commentators and administrators alike debated the most effective and appropriate ways in which to treat those who arrived within the gates of Pentonville and similar institutions. The treatment of prisoners and the state of the prison system is still a matter of intense debate in the twenty-first century and we might remind ourselves that these arguments have been going on for over 200 years.
In Chapter 8 we turn to the police who failed to catch the `Whitechapel fiend' The Metropolitan police had suffered a few years of criticism in the wake of a series of events that culminated in the Whitechapel murders. This chapter will look at the way in which the police handled the demonstrations of the unemployed in the 1880s as well as their response to the threat of Irish terrorism during the same period. The story of Fenian outrages has been little told in recent histories and forms an interesting backdrop to the Ripper investigation. Chapter 8 will then consider how effective the police were in trying to catch `Jack; concluding that they have suffered rather unfairly from some of the brickbats thrown at them both at the time and thereafter.
THE USUAL SUSPECTS: THE SEARCH FOR THE IDENTITY OF JACK THE RIPPER
For every book written about the Whitechapel murders there is a suspect in the frame. It would seem that most of those who choose to write about the case do so in the hope of persuading the reader that their own pet theory is the correct one. As I stated at the outset, this is not my intention. This desire to solve the mystery of the murderer's identity is understandable, as is the process of refuting each new suggested killer. After all if we actually found out who had killed five or more women in the late summer and autumn of 1888 then who would continue to be interested in the case? Without the mystery the Whitechapel murders become just another tale of sadistic serial killing: interesting but not nearly as compelling.
The Casebook website (perhaps the most useful of all ripperology portals on the internet) has been running a poll of visitors to gauge who is the most popular of all the suspects listed. At the moment the top 20 stands thus:
1. James Maybrick
2. Francis Tumblety
3. Walter Sickert
4. The Royal Conspiracy
5. Joseph Barnett
6. George Chapman
7. Aaron Kosminski
8. The Lodger
9. Montague John Druitt
10. Jill the Ripper
11. W. H. Bury
12. Francis Thompson
13. R. D'Onston Stephenson
14. Michael Ostrog
15. George Hutchinson
16. Prince Albert Victor
17. Dr Thomas Neill Cream
18. James Kelly
19. James Kenneth Stephen
20. Dr Pedachenko'
There are more recent additions that have not made the top ten, including a local East End mortuary assistant, Robert Mann, named recently by Dr Mei Trow.b Despite the extensive (but not exhaustive) list above new suspects will continue to emerge. This is the nature of ripper studies: the search for a culprit dominates the genre.
As Christopher Frayling observed those selected as possible killers have generally fallen into three types: an `English milord; mad doctor or foreigner (in particular an immigrant Jew). These suggested suspects are not modern inventions but were in common currency in 1888 and immediately afterwards, and each is a representation of the `other' in Victorian society.
The contemporary newspapers, the Pall Mall Gazette for example, chose the person of Rosslyn D'Onston Stephenson, a self-styled occultist who fitted the image of a decadent English gentleman who killed for pleasure. The image of the depraved aristocrat was a convenient one for the middle-class editor of the Gazette to present to a readership recently horrified by the revelations that members of the upper classes were routinely purchasing teenage working-class virgins for as little as £5 a time (as we shall see in Chapter 6). Likewise the Ripper was thought by some to be a middle-class do-gooder, one of the many philanthropists and religious men that had set up camp in the East End to save the area from itself.
The notion that `Jack' was a doctor arose from the suggestion (by some, but significantly not all, of those who examined the bodies of the victims) that the killer possess
ed some medical knowledge. This was despite the fact that, as the City of London's own medical expert declared, the killer `does not even possess the technical knowledge of a butcher or horse slaughterman or any person accustomed to cut up dead animals'.' The most recent suspect, the Whitechapel mortuary attendant Robert Mann, is the latest to be linked to the crimes through some tenuous link with medicine. Mann worked alongside professional medical practictioners and thus would have been able to gain a working knowledge of human anatomy. However, this would have applied equally to medical students, countless local slaughtermen and butchers, and presumably anyone who took the time and trouble to consult an anatomy textbook or attend a series of public lectures.
That the Ripper was a foreigner was another theory that engaged contemporary opinion. Perhaps `Jack' was one of the many foreign sailors who arrived on the London docks from all over the Empire, Europe and beyond. The Portuguese and Spanish were renowned for their use of knives; the more exotic Lascars and Caribs had cultures far removed from civilized Englishmen; the Jews had provided a focus for anti-alienism for centuries and now there were more of them than ever before packed into the workshops and slums of East London. Jews from Eastern Europe also brought with them the contagion of revolutionary socialism and anarchism, so the idea that the Ripper was a mad-eyed Polish revolutionary was not beyond contemporary imagining.
Of course much of this contemporary mud-slinging was initiated by the editors of the London newspapers, keen to provide their readers with a social commentary on the murders and to ensure the story remained uppermost in the public imagination so that increased circulation rates were maintained. However, while we might excuse the late Victorians (who had little understanding of the way in which serial killers operated) their prejudices born of ignorance, can we extend the same allowances to more modern scholars? After all, as Frayling points out, nearly all those who have been put forward as Ripper suspects in the last 120 years still continue to be drawn from the broad typology that he has identified, even when `there is so much evidence, social and psychological, to contradict them' 8 Thus, we have a plethora of mad doctors: Dr Cream (who supposedly confessed as his hangman launched him `into eternity'), Dr Tumblety (who escaped the clutches of Scotland Yard by fleeing to the USA) and Dr Williams who helped found the National Library of Wales and apparently bequeathed the bloody knife he used to murder his victims to the archives there.
Neil Cream is an unlikely suspect despite making the top 20 on the Casebook website: his only connection to the murders is his alleged last-minute confession and there is evidence that from 1881 to 1891 he was locked up in an American gaol, although this has not prevented some from suggesting he had a doppelganger who committed the murders while he was incarcerated. Francis Tumblety was put forward as a suspect by Stewart Evans and Paul Gainey.9 Tumblety was arrested by the police and supposedly charged in connection with the Whitechapel murders. However, it seems unlikely that they truly believed they had their man, given that he was granted bail a few days after Mary Kelly became the Ripper's fifth victim, and he fled the continent under a false name. Stewart Evans' reason for identifying this most unpleasant individual was the emergence of a new piece of evidence in the ongoing Ripper inquiry. This was a letter penned by Chief Inspector Littlechild in 1913 in which Tumblety is named as a `very likely suspect' The letter seems authentic and there are several other reasons why Tumblety has remained close to the top of many people's lists of `Rippers' However, Tumblety was a known homosexual, indeed it was this that brought him to police attention long before the Whitechapel murders began. From what we now understand of serial killers it would seem unlikely that a homosexual `lust murderer' would gain any sexual pleasure from mutilating female victims." Littlechild's letter is suitably vague and this allows it to be interpreted in a number of ways. This is a feature of much of the Ripper evidence. Littlechild says, for example, that although Tumblety was `a "Sycopathia Sexualis"[sic] subject he was not known as a "Sadist" (which the murderer unquestionably was) but his feelings toward women were remarkable and bitter in the extreme, a fact on record." Littlechild was also writing some 25 years after the murders to a journalist interested in the case. As a result this evidence is not quite as clear or as strong as some might want us to believe: the jury is still out on Francis Tumblety.
Dr (Sir) John Williams is a more recent name to be associated with the murders. When Tony Williams was researching his family history in the National Library of Wales, Aberystwyth, he came across a box which held the doctor's effects including a surgical knife and three slides supposedly containing `animal matter'." According to this account Dr John Williams worked at the London hospital for a time and murdered the five women in the Ripper case files in his search of a cure for his wife's infertility. This is a most unlikely scenario for a serious medical practitioner and stretches the credibility of Williams as a suspect. According to Tony Williams and Humphrey Price, Dr Williams also performed an abortion on Mary Ann Nichols in 1885 and managed to have an affair with Marie Kelly who he had known from Wales. Overall Tony Williams' case is severely flawed and based almost entirely on conjecture. Williams is not alone in this; many of the scores of Ripper books are poorly researched and would probably not have seen the light of day had they not been about the most elusive serial killer history has so far produced. As Robin Odell notes in an essay published on the Casebook website, `Making accusations that erode the good name and reputation of long-dead eminent Victorians has become something of a cult in the vast literature that has grown up around Ripperology' 13 He points out that Dr John Williams is just the latest in a long line that includes Queen Victoria's surgeon Dr William Gull, a man at the centre of one of the most enduring conspiracy theories that surround the case.
Towards the end of the 1970s the idea that the Ripper murders were actually the work of more than one individual emerged in Stephen Knight's book Jack the Ripper: The Final Solution. The seed for this had been a BBC Television drama documentary in which Joseph Sickert (the son of the Victorian artist Walter Sickert) alleged that his father had told him the dark truth about the murders. In brief, the conspiracy unfolds thus: Prince Albert Victor Christian Edward (or `Eddy' to his friends), the grandson of Queen Victoria and therefore possible heir to the throne, became involved with an ordinary working-class girl called Annie Crook who had been introduced to the prince by his friend Walter Sickert. As a result of their dalliance Eddy and Annie had a child (Alice Margaret) and subsequently married in secret. This was of particular concern to the Queen because Annie was not only poor and a commoner - she was a Catholic. This last fact threatened the very fabric of the nation and when the Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury, found out about the affair he ordered that Annie be removed and the pair separated. Salisbury enlisted Sir William Gull's (the royal physician) help in having Annie committed to an asylum where she was forced to undergo an operation that caused her to lose her memory if not her mind. Walter Sickert rescued baby Alice and arranged for her nanny, one Mary Kelly, to look after her and keep her away from the agents of the government and royal family. So Mary took the child to be raised by nuns. Alas Mary was overcome by the enormity of Annie's affair with the Duke of Clarence and broke down. Eventually she fell into prostitution on the streets of Whitechapel where she told anyone that would listen about Eddy's indiscretion and the existence of his love child.
At this point three of her companions, Polly Nichols, Elizabeth Stride and Annie Chapman, recognizing an opportunity to drag themselves out of the gutter, persuaded Mary to use the story to extort money from the government in exchange for not going to the newspapers. Lord Salisbury now persuaded Sir William Gull to silence the women once and for all and he and his cab driver, John Netley, trawled the streets of Whitechapel gradually picking off the women one by one. Unfortunately for her, Catherine (or Kate) Eddowes was a case of mistaken identity as she had used the name Kelly when arrested by the police. When Gull and Netley finally caught up with Mary Kelly - the source of all the tro
uble - they made sure she would never speak to anyone ever again. In a rather neat twist Knight alleges that as Gull, Salisbury and the head of the Metropolitan Police, Sir Charles Warren, were all Freemasons it was easy to cover up the crimes and put the blame on Montague Druitt (whose body was dragged from the Thames some weeks after the Kelly murder).14
The Freemasonry angle allows Knight to get around his lack of any tangible evidence. The network of Freemasons means that it would all have been destroyed. It is a classic conspiracy theory - the lack of evidence is in fact evidence of its veracity. The story also endures because it goes to the heart of Victorian society and touches the Royal Family itself. We want to believe it because it is so incredible, especially in a modern age when the Royals have lost some of their previous glister. It is no surprise that the Royal conspiracy has featured in several films about the murders, including the most recent outing with Johnny Depp and Heather Graham, From Hell, inspired by the graphic novel of the same name.15
Although the Royal conspiracy is entertaining it has little basis in truth. Indeed truth seems to be almost incidental in some of the books that have claimed to unveil the identity of Jack the Ripper. Having looked at `killer doctors' we can turn to consider some of the claims made against depraved English gentlemen or those that might fall into a similar category. Montague Druitt, who was one of three suspects named in the infamous McNaughten memorandum, apparently committed suicide soon after the Kelly murder in November 1888. Druitt was a quiet barrister or school teacher who feared he was losing his mind (like his mother before him) and it is alleged, but not proven, that he had lost his position at a private school because he had been caught `interfering' with one of the boys. If we believe Knight's account, he was fitted up and possibly murdered by the Freemasons. Among the possessions found at his home was a suicide note in which he wrote: `Since Friday I felt I was going to be like mother, and the best thing for me was to die.' If Inspector McNaughten had not named him, along with Kosminski, `a poor Polish Jew, and Michael Ostrog, a petty criminal who is quite easily dismissed as a suspect, there would be little reason to suspect him. He is a gentleman and his suicide fits neatly with the end of the murders. But why are we looking for a gentleman at all?
London's Shadows: The Dark Side of the Victorian City Page 2
