The Worst Street In London Part 4

Reasoning that it was probably best to be entirely cooperative with the police on this occasion, William Crossingham sent his deputy, Tim Donovan and his doorman (a man named John Evans), along to Annie Chapman's inquest with the instruction to be as helpful as possible.

Both men were questioned by the coroner and they agreed that it was inconceivable that anyone would want to harm Annie in such a vicious and horrific way. Donovan stated that he had never experienced any trouble with Annie and believed her to be on friendly terms with all the other lodgers at 35 Dorset Street. Evans was slightly less complimentary, saying that Annie had fought with another woman in the kitchen of the lodging house on the previous Thursday. That said, he had never heard anyone threaten Annie and was not aware that she was afraid of anyone. Various other witnesses were called, including policemen, residents of Hanbury Street and people who admitted to being in the street on the night of the murder. None of their testimonies revealed any incriminating evidence and once again, the inquest jury were forced to agree on the verdict 'wilful murder against some person or persons unknown'.

While the police were tearing their hair out trying to capture the murderer or murderers, the press were having a field day. Spitalfields, with its gross overcrowding and its volatile mix of cultures and ethnicities had long since been in a state of crisis. The appearance of the 'Whitechapel Murderer' had brought things to boiling point. The impoverished Huguenots blamed the Irish. The Irish blamed the Jews. The Jews (most of whom were relatively new to the area) kept their heads down and hoped to goodness it wasn't one of them.

The press fed off this mutual distrust and began publishing salacious stories concerning the murders, many of which were pure fantasy. A common theory was that an Englishman could never have committed such heinous crimes. Therefore, it was a foreigner that was to blame. The Star even went so far as to name John Piser (who was Jewish) as the killer. This frankly stupid move almost resulted in a costly legal battle for The Star when Piser quite understandably threatened to sue.

Rightly or wrongly, the police withheld a lot of information from the press and consequently, journalists began to speculate rather than report hard facts. a.s.suming the police were looking for just one man, the newspapers began to paint a disturbing picture of a spectral monster with an insatiable bloodl.u.s.t who roamed the streets of Spitalfields searching for his prey. The fact that his victims were prost.i.tutes gave journalists another angle and numerous valedictory articles appeared on the dismal plight of the fallen woman.

The spectral image of the murderer also gave rise to a number of press reports with a supernatural theme, the most famous being the myth that the image of the murderer was preserved, like a photograph, on the pupils of the victims' eyes.

This sensational style of reporting resulted in the residents of Spitalfields developing a morbid fascination for the dreadful crimes that were being perpetrated in their midst. As a subscriber to the East London Observer, Jack McCarthy kept himself up-to-date with the press's take on events. Meanwhile, his tenants in 13 Miller's Court also read the newspaper reports. Mary Kelly was no doubt greatly relieved that as long as she stayed with Joe Barnett, she wouldn't have to take her chances on the streets.

Annie Chapman's murder had brought things much closer to home. Chapman had been a long term resident of Dorset Street. Prior to her moving into Crossingham's lodging house at number 35, she had regularly stayed at McCarthy's lodgings at number 30. Therefore it is inconceivable that she was unknown to the McCarthy family and highly likely that she was acquainted with Mary Kelly and Joe Barnett. Annie Chapman was not some unknown, washed up unfortunate. She was a real person, possibly even a friend. As they read through the newspaper reports and dodged the increasing number of journalists that prowled Dorset Street for good copy, McCarthy, Crossingham and their tenants must have longed for the day that the miserable street they called home ceased to be front-page news on virtually every newspaper in Britain. That day would be a long time coming.

Three weeks after the murder of Annie Chapman, at 1am on the morning of 30 September, Louis Diemshutz drove his pony and coster barrow down Berner Street, just off the Commercial Road in Whitechapel. He was making for the yard of International Working Men's Educational Club, where he stored his goods. As Diemshutz turned to go through the gates by the side of the club, his pony shied to the left. Although it was very dark in the yard, Diemshutz looked down to his right to see what was obstructing the pony's way and saw a shape on the ground. Unable to make out what it was, he tentatively poked it with his whip, and then when it didn't move, he got down and lit a match.

The wind blew the match out almost immediately, but Diemshutz had enough time to see that the object on the ground was a woman, presumably in a state of inebriation. He went into the club and emerged again with a candle. This time, he could see that the woman was not simply drunk. There was blood. Wasting no time, Diemshutz went off to find a policeman. At first his search proved fruitless despite him shouting as loud as he could and he returned to the yard with another man he had met on the street. This man knelt down to look at the woman and gently lifted her head. It was then that to their horror, the two men realised her throat had been cut.

Eventually, Constable Henry Lamb was found on the Commercial Road and soon the police found themselves conducting yet another murder enquiry. The visitors to the Working Men's Club were interviewed, as were neighbours and pa.s.sers-by. Once again, absolutely no clue was to be found, but this time, there was apparently a witness.

Israel Schwartz happened to be walking down Berners Street towards the Working Men's Club about a quarter of an hour before Louis Diemshutz arrived with his pony and barrow. As he approached the yard, Schwartz saw a man stop and speak to a woman who was standing in the gateway. He then watched as the man grabbed the woman and tried to pull her into the street. When she wouldn't move, he turned and threw her onto the ground. The woman screamed, though not very loudly.

Not wishing to become embroiled in what seemed to be a domestic dispute, Schwartz crossed over the road and while doing so, noticed a second man standing a short distance ahead of him lighting his pipe. The man who had thrown the woman to the ground then called out, apparently to alert the man with the pipe of Schwartz's presence. Alarmed at this rather strange series of events, Schwartz quickened his pace in order to get away from the scene but to his dismay, found that the man with the pipe was following him. Now quite afraid, Schwartz broke into a run but thankfully, the man did not follow him far.

Israel Schwartz's story was the biggest lead the police had received to date and they wasted no time in taking him to the mortuary where he identified the dead woman as the one he had seen outside the yard. He also gave detailed descriptions of the two men he saw: the first man was aged about 30, approximately 5'5" in height, with dark hair and a fair complexion. He had a small brown moustache, was broad-shouldered and had been wearing a black cap with a peak. The second man was about five years older than the first and about six inches taller. He had light brown hair and was wearing an old, black felt hat with a wide brim. The police immediately circulated the description of the first man to their officers. Strangely, they discounted the second man and no attempt seems to have been made to find him.

In addition to finding themselves a possible witness, the police also managed to identify the murdered woman. Her name was Elizabeth Stride, although she was commonly referred to as 'Long Liz', seemingly a reference to her face-shape, as she was not a particularly tall woman. She was about 38 years old and was originally from Sweden. Interestingly, Liz had more than one thing in common with the previous victims. In addition to being a prost.i.tute, she favoured two lodging houses more than any others. One was in Flower and Dean Street (number 32) and the other was at number 38 Dorset Street one of Jack McCarthy's properties and just three doors down from the lodgings used by Annie Chapman. As the police searched in vain for clues, a pattern seemed to be slowly forming, the epicentre of which appeared to be Dorset Street.

Although they feared that Elizabeth Stride had fallen victim to the 'Whitechapel Murderer', the police were puzzled that her body had not been mutilated. Some surmised that her killer had been disturbed by Diemshutz's pony and barrow. Indeed it was quite likely that the killer had still been at large while Diemshutz was in the pitch-black yard and had only made his escape when he went inside the club to get a candle. A disturbing thought, especially for Louis Diemshutz. However, within a matter of hours, it became glaringly obvious that Elizabeth Stride's killer had indeed been disturbed and he had left Berner Street to stalk prey elsewhere.

As Elizabeth Stride was being savagely attacked in Berner Street, a 43-year-old woman named Catherine Eddowes left Bishopsgate Police Station and walked down the street towards Houndsditch. Catherine had been locked up in the police cells at the station for a few hours after being found extremely drunk and rather amusingly impersonating a fire engine on Aldgate High Street. Seeing that she was temporarily incapable of looking after herself, the police decided to put her in a cell until she was sober enough to get herself home. By 1am the next morning, she had sobered up sufficiently to give the desk sergeant a false name and address (Mary Ann Kelly of 6 Fashion Street) and was allowed to go. As the gaoler let her out of the station, Catherine asked him what the time was. When he told her it was 1am, Catherine responded by telling him that she would get 'a d.a.m.ned fine hiding when I get home'.

But Catherine never did go home. Although she began walking in the direction of the lodgings that she shared with her lover, John Kelly in Flower and Dean Street, she then changed direction and headed east, back towards the spot where she had been arrested.

At about 1.30am, Joseph Lawende and his friends Joseph Levy and Harry Harris, left the Imperial Club in Duke Street, a short distance away from Aldgate High Street. As they pa.s.sed a small pa.s.sage that lead to a quiet backwater called Mitre Square, Lawende noticed a man and a woman standing in the shadows. The woman had placed her hand on the man's chest. Thinking nothing of it, Lawende and his two companions continued their journey.

Less than a quarter of an hour later, PC Edward Watkins walked into Mitre Square on his usual beat and discovered the body of a woman who had been savagely attacked. Her throat had been cut, her face disfigured and her skirts were drawn up round her waist, revealing the fact that she had been disembowelled. Watkins raced over to a nearby warehouse to call for help. Catherine Eddowes had become the Ripper's penultimate victim.

Due to the location in which the body was discovered, Catherine Eddowes's murder fell under the jurisdiction of the City Police, rather than the Metropolitan Police (who had been responsible for the other murder enquiries). The City Police Officers were determined not to be outwitted like their Metropolitan colleagues and immediately launched an exhaustive search of the area. The Metropolitan Police were kept informed of developments and just before 3am, PC Alfred Long stumbled across the first real clue.

PC Long had been walking his beat along Goulston Street, a road that ran north from Aldgate, up towards the Dorset Street area. On pa.s.sing a block of Model Dwellings, he noticed a blood-stained piece of material in the pa.s.sageway. On picking it up, PC Long noticed that the blood was still wet. Above the spot where the material had lain was a chalked message that read 'the Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.' The material was promptly taken to the mortuary and it was found to have been cut from Catherine Eddowes's ap.r.o.n. After six murders and months of frustration, the police had their first clue.

The City and Met Police's confidence in their chances of apprehending the elusive murderer was temporarily boosted by the discovery of the piece of ap.r.o.n. They now knew that the a.s.sailant(s) had fled towards Spitalfields once they had committed the dreadful atrocities on poor Catherine Eddowes. The chalked graffiti on the wall of the Model Dwellings was another matter entirely. Both police forces were undecided as to whether it was pertinent to the murder inquiry or simply a racist message scrawled on the wall by a disgruntled local, intolerant of the area's newest immigrants. However, given the fact that race relations in the district were currently at boiling point, the Met police thought it best to wash the graffiti away before it was seen by the locals. Thus what could have been an indispensable clue was erased before it could even be photographed.

Concentrating their efforts on the discovery of the piece of ap.r.o.n, the police made their usual rounds of all the homes and businesses in the area to ascertain whether anyone had seen or heard anything suspicious on the night of the murder. Given the response from their previous enquiries, they might have guessed that n.o.body had noticed anything untoward.

As the police's frustration at the lack of progress in any of the murder inquiries grew, so did the frustrations of Londoners, particularly those living in the East End. Men in the area formed vigilante groups, the most well known of which was the East End Vigilance Committee, headed by a builder from Mile End named George Lusk. Soon after the murder of Catherine Eddowes, Mr Lusk was the recipient of a b.l.o.o.d.y parcel containing a portion of kidney that the sender claimed belonged to the murdered woman. Accompanying the kidney was a letter from the supposed murderer within which he admitted to eating the other half. The sheer sensationalism of this admission caused many people involved with the case to suspect that the letter was the work of either an enterprising journalist or a medical student with a fondness for sick jokes. However, it was never disproved that the kidney came from Catherine Eddowes.

The parcel containing the kidney was by no means the only piece of correspondence that was sent. The day before the murder of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, Tom Bulling of the Central News Agency pa.s.sed a letter on to the police that had been received two days previously, on 27 September. The letter was addressed to 'The Boss' and had been posted in the EC (East Central) district of London. It read as follows: 'I keep hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Ap.r.o.n [Piser] gave me real fits. I am down on wh.o.r.es and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work my last job was, I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now, I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I can't use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send them to the police officers just for jolly wouldnt you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance, good luck.'

The police took especial notice of this particular letter due to the line about clipping the lady's ears off; a portion of one of Catherine Eddowes's ears had been severed and was subsequently found in the folds of her clothing. However, the extent of Catherine's facial injuries had been so great that it was quite possible that the cutting of her ear had not been intentional. Further, the severed portion of ear had been left at the scene and not sent to the police as promised in the letter.

While this letter turned out to be nothing more than yet another piece of correspondence to be considered by the police, to the press it was a gift from the heavens. Since John Piser had managed to prove his alibi for the nights of the Nichols and Chapman murders, the press had been forced to stop referring to the murderer as 'Leather Ap.r.o.n'. The letter gave them a name that, in journalistic terms, was simple, chilling and utterly appropriate. So much so that to this day it sends a shiver down the spine of children and adults alike. The letter was signed 'Jack the Ripper'.

Back in Dorset Street, the reportage of what was rapidly becoming known as 'the double event' had left the residents in shock. Elizabeth Stride had been a regular inmate at Jack McCarthy's lodgings at number 38 and her boyfriend Michael Kidney still lived there. No more than a month previously, long-term Dorset Street resident Annie Chapman had also fallen victim to the ghoul now referred to as the Ripper. The prost.i.tutes that inhabited the lodging houses and courts along this G.o.dforsaken street were literally in fear of their lives. However, many had no choice but to carry on working. They reasoned that it was better to take one's chances with a couple of punters each night than to sleep rough. That said, the night-times were terrifying for all the prost.i.tutes that worked the streets of Spitalfields and Whitechapel.

The women sought regulars as much as they could, but not enough money could be earned from these men to pay for a bed for the night and obtain the alcoholic fix most of them required in order to function. Every new punter was treated with fear and suspicion. The murdered women had met their ends in close proximity to homes and places of entertainment but no one had heard them cry for help. There was no such thing as a safe place to take a punter. The vigilante groups were of little help as they couldn't be in more than one place at a time and the same went for the police.

In this atmosphere, it might be reasonable to a.s.sume that, in the absence of any other form of security, the prost.i.tutes would have turned to each other for help. However there are no known reports of the women keeping an eye on one another. Being a prost.i.tute in 19th century East London was indeed a lonely, dangerous profession.

At number 13 Miller's Court, things were not going so well for Joe Barnett and Mary Kelly. The catalyst for the breakdown in their relationship seems to be the fact that some time in the mid-summer of 1888, Joe lost his steady job as a porter at Billingsgate fish market. No contemporary doc.u.ments give any clues as to why Barnett found himself out of work. However, he had been employed by the market as a licensed porter since the late 1870s so if he was sacked, it seems fair to a.s.sume that he must have committed a major offence.

The two main offences resulting in instant dismissal from Billingsgate Market at the time were theft or drunkenness. Given that no contemporary reports suggest Barnett had a drink problem, it is more likely that he was caught walking out of the gate with some of the stock in his pocket. That said, Barnett may not have been sacked at all. During the mid-to-late 1880s, the economy was in recession and therefore it is not inconceivable that Barnett was simply made redundant.

Whatever the reasons for Joe Barnett losing his job, the fact remained that he was jobless and he could not afford to provide for Mary Kelly. As autumn drew closer, Barnett and Kelly fell increasingly further behind with the rent. It might be reasonable to a.s.sume that their landlord Jack McCarthy would have been less than sympathetic to their plight. After all, he was in the business of letting rooms in return for money and could be forgiven for throwing out any tenants that could not pay their dues. In actual fact, Jack McCarthy was very sympathetic to Mary and Joe's impecunious situation and let them continue living in the room, despite the fact that their rent payments were at best erratic, at worst non-existent.

Jack McCarthy's behaviour towards Mary and Joe suggests one of three things: firstly of course, McCarthy may have felt sorry for them and charitably let them continue living in the room rent free. However, this is most unlikely. Secondly, he may have given Kelly more rope than other tenants because of a long a.s.sociation with his extended family. Perhaps, but in his line of work, McCarthy could hardly afford to be sentimental. Thirdly, and most likely, McCarthy saw the opportunity to make more money from the situation. In full knowledge of Kelly's erstwhile profession, he put her back on the streets, turning tricks in lieu of rent. This third option is backed up by the fact that by the end of the summer, Mary Kelly was indeed working as a prost.i.tute once again.

Joseph Barnett was horrified that his longstanding ladyfriend was having to prost.i.tute herself in order to keep a roof over their heads and the situation dealt a heavy blow to his already dented self-esteem. As the fear and hatred for the Ripper seeped through the once-safe streets and courts of Spitalfields, Mary and Joe's relationship began to fall apart. As Joe frantically looked for work in vain. Mary drank herself into the stupor necessary to pick up any man who would pay her for s.e.x.

The drink made her loud and aggressive and the couple began to fight. In mid-October, they broke two panes of gla.s.s in one of their windows during an altercation, thus making them more indebted to McCarthy, who saw no reason to repair them until his tenants paid up. Consequently, the windows remained broken. As the weather got colder, Mary and Joe stuffed rags into the jagged holes in an attempt to keep out the bitter draught.

As Mary brought men home at all times of day and night, Joe Barnett became more and more uncomfortable living in 13 Miller's Court. In an attempt to bring in more money (and possibly to drive Barnett away) Mary brought other prost.i.tutes into the room and also made no secret of the fact that she was seeing her previous beau, Joseph Flemming. As the situation came to a head, Joe Barnett saw all too clearly that he had to leave. On 30 October, he packed up what few possessions he had and paid for a bed at a lodging house in New Street, Bishopsgate. Without knowing it, Mary Kelly had lost the man who might have been able to save her life.

Although forced to leave, Joe Barnett was a stubborn man and refused to completely finish his relationship with Mary Kelly. While he continued his search for full-time work, he took whatever casual jobs came his way. Any money he had left after paying for his lodgings was given to Mary. It seems that Joe Barnett was reluctant to burn all his bridges regarding this relationship and no doubt hoped that one day he would be able to win Mary back On the evening of Thursday 8 November, Joe decided to pay one of his regular visits to 13 Miller's Court. He arrived at the room a few minutes before 7pm and found Mary with her fellow prost.i.tute and occasional room-mate, Maria Harvey. The three chatted for about half an hour and then Maria left, giving Joe the opportunity to speak to Mary alone. Exactly what was discussed following Maria Harvey's departure will never be known, but whatever the topic of conversation, the erstwhile couple did not spend long alone together and Joe Barnett left the room at about 7.45pm. It was the last time he would see Mary Kelly alive.

After Joe's departure, Mary readied herself to go out. The November evening was cold and wet thus making it a bad night to pick up casual business on the street. This was the type of evening when the streetwalkers found trade most hard to come by. Few men were about in the streets and even less wanted to disappear down a dank back-alley for a knee-trembler. Girls like Mary, who had their own rooms in which they could entertain their 'guests' were a more popular choice on cold rainy nights, despite the fact that they cost more. The only down-side to this from Mary's point-of-view was that McCarthy would be able to see exactly how many tricks she turned that night because she had to walk right past the front door of his shop in order to get to her room.

At 11.45pm, Mary Ann c.o.x, a prost.i.tute living at 5 Miller's Court, was making her way back to her room when she saw Mary Kelly and a man disappearing down the alley in the direction of number 13. As she followed, c.o.x noticed that the man was carrying a quart can of beer. She also realised that Mary Kelly was very drunk, having probably spent the best part of the evening in the pub. The couple closed the door to number 13 and almost immediately, Mary began to entertain her guest with a rendition of 'A Violet Plucked from Mother's Grave', a popular Irish folk song. Over the next hour, Mary Ann c.o.x pa.s.sed through the court twice and noticed that Kelly was still singing. It seemed that her companion had eschewed the traditional services of a prost.i.tute in favour of a vocal performance.

Shortly after Mary Ann c.o.x's departure from the court, Kelly's neighbour Elizabeth Prater returned home. However, before she made her way to bed, she went into McCarthy's shop and remained there for some minutes. There is little doubt that Elizabeth Prater was also a prost.i.tute, so it is highly likely that, in a similar arrangement to Mary Kelly, McCarthy had put her to work on the streets until she could afford to pay her rent by more salubrious means. Her visit to the shop at this late hour was quite possibly to pay her landlord, thus avoiding being woken up by one of his rent collectors the next morning. During her time in and around the shop, (which amounted to about half an hour), Elizabeth Prater claimed she saw no one go in or out of Miller's Court. Neither did she notice any light coming from Kelly's room as she went upstairs to bed. As she heard no noise from Kelly either, Elizabeth Prater a.s.sumed that she had gone to bed.

But Mary Kelly had not gone to bed. Desperate for rent and/or drink money, she had left her room in search of more business. At 2pm, a man named George Hutchinson was walking down Commercial Street when he was accosted by Kelly, who wanted to borrow 6d. Hutchinson, who lived close by and knew Kelly reasonably well, had no money to spare and told her so. Unperturbed, Kelly went on her way and soon met another man who had been walking a short distance away from Hutchinson. The man tapped her on the shoulder, said something to her and the pair burst out laughing. He then put his arm around her and the pair made off in the direction of Dorset Street.

As he watched them, Hutchinson noticed that the man was carrying a small parcel secured by a strap. No doubt alerted by the newspaper ill.u.s.trations of 'Jack the Ripper' carrying his knives in bags or packages, Hutchinson decided to follow the couple in order to make sure that Mary came to no harm. The couple turned into Dorset Street, stood at the corner of the court for a few minutes, then disappeared into room 13. Still worried, Hutchinson decided to hang around and watch for when the man came out. However, after waiting for three quarters of an hour, the inclement weather got the better of him and he went off in search of shelter.

Some time between 3.30 and 4am, Elizabeth Prater was awoken by her pet kitten. As she turned over to go back to sleep, she heard a woman cry out 'oh, murder!' However, cries such as these were as frequent along Commercial Street then as car alarms are today. Consequently, Elizabeth Prater ignored it and went back to sleep. Over at 2 Miller's Court, Sarah Lewis sat in a chair wide awake. She had come to the room about an hour before in order to seek sanctuary from her husband, with whom she had been arguing. 2 Miller's Court was rented by her friend Mrs Keyler and was only a short distance from her lodgings in Great Pearl Street. As Lewis tried to doze off in the cold, damp room, she too heard a cry of 'murder'. Like Elizabeth Prater, she ignored it.

What remained of the night pa.s.sed by with little incident. Jack McCarthy shut his shop at around 2am and made his way to bed. By 5am, men began leaving Miller's Court on their daily trip to seek work at the Docks. A few hours later, their wives and partners began to stir. The shutters on McCarthy's shop windows came off and another day began. But this day was unlike any other. On this day, the names of Mary Jane Kelly, Jack McCarthy and Joe Barnett and the miserable thoroughfare of Dorset Street would be written into history and become forever linked with the squalor, depravation and hopelessness that was Spitalfields in 1888. As Jack McCarthy took the shutters from the windows of his miserable little shop on that rainy morning in November, little did he know that he and his hopeless, poverty-stricken tenants would become part of a mystery that would engross inhabitants of countries around the globe into the millennium and beyond.

At 10.45am, McCarthy gave up on Mary Kelly delivering her night's earnings personally and sent one of his rent collectors, a man named Thomas Bowyer, into Miller's Court to find her. Bowyer made his way through the narrow archway that ran between numbers 26 and 27 Dorset Street, into the mean little court. He turned and knocked on the door of number 13. There was no answer and no sign of movement inside the room. Bowyer knocked again, then walked around the side of the building to peer through the window. The view through the first window was obscured by a thick, heavy piece of material so Bowyer put his hand through the pane of gla.s.s that had been broken some weeks previously and pulled it aside.

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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 a.s.sume 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 a.s.sess whether Mary Kelly required any medical a.s.sistance. 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sumed 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 ident.i.ty naturally led to speculation. The first theories on the ident.i.ty 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 mult.i.tude of personalities and ident.i.ties. He has been a poor immigrant, a middle-cla.s.s 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 ma.s.sive 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 a.s.sume 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 Canadian 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 Sh.o.r.editch. As Kelly was Catholic, it was arranged for her body to be buried at St Patrick's Cemetery some miles away in Leytonstone. The s.e.xton of St Leonard's Church paid for the funeral with his own money as a mark of respect for those parishioners who lived dest.i.tute lives similar to that of Kelly.

As the bell of St Leonards began tolling at noon, a ma.s.sive crowd a.s.sembled at the gates of the church. The coffin was brought out on the shoulders of four men, who loaded it onto an open hea.r.s.e. Atop the coffin were two wreaths from Mary's friends and fellow prost.i.tutes 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 hea.r.s.e 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 dest.i.tution. 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 circ.u.mstances 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 compet.i.tion 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 ma.s.s 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: On the evening of 5 June, one of the Dorset Street lodging houses was the scene of a heated argument that broke out between Annie Chapman (obviously not the Ripper victim) and fellow lodger, Elinor French. The lodging house deputy made no attempt to nip the argument in the bud and soon the women were screaming at one another. Finally, unable to contain herself any longer, Chapman grabbed a broken pair of scissors and rushed at French, stabbing her in the face, just below her right eye. The police were summoned and French was encouraged to prosecute her attacker. Consequently, the two women appeared in court on 11 June. French appeared in the witness box with her head swathed in bandages, thus making Chapman look very much the villain of the piece. Annie Chapman was committed for trial and most likely enjoyed a spell in penal servitude as a result.

Chapter 19.

A Lighter Side of Life.

Although life in Dorset Street was tough, there were distractions and diversions available to even the poorest of inhabitants: drinking dens had been a feature of the area ever since it had been built. By the mid-1600s, local demand was such that William Bucknall opened a brewery in Brick Lane. In 1697, one Joseph Truman became manager and his family subsequently founded what was to become The Black Eagle Brewery the largest brewery in London.

Back in the 17th century, pubs as we know them today did not exist. Instead, Spitalfields locals frequented alehouses and taverns. Alehouses were originally private properties belonging to individual brewers in which locals could purchase and consume the brewers' ale. Mention is made of their existence in England as early as the 7th century and it is highly likely that they were extant long before this. Over the following centuries, the population increased, the natural water supply became contaminated by industry and ale gained a reputation as a drink that was both safe to consume and had a pleasant effect on the imbiber's state of mind. The subsequent increase in demand led to ale houses evolving from informal, sometimes part-time affairs into profitable and efficiently-run businesses.

By the mid-16th century, improved transport and communication networks meant that foreign wines became increasingly accessible to the general public, particularly those with a reasonable amount of disposable income. As a result, taverns (a contemporary version of Roman 'tabernae') began to spring up in London and other major cities. Unlike the ale houses, which were very basic affairs designed purely for the consumption of alcohol, the taverns provided comfortable seating and tasty food alongside their selection of wines.

By the late 1600s, these forerunners of the modern public house catered for two, distinct types of customer. The ale houses tended to attract the labouring cla.s.ses as although the surroundings were basic, prices were cheap. The taverns appealed to business-owners and the professional cla.s.ses as they were an ideal venue in which to entertain clients, meet friends or simply relax after a hard day's work. The taverns were also a popular destination for the area's first prost.i.tutes who found the drunk inhabitants a great source of income. As Spitalfields' population grew, the taverns and ale houses enjoyed a healthy trade and their owners sought ever-larger and more impressive edifices. However, their profits were soon to be severely affected by the arrival of the most pretentious of all watering-holes the Gin Palace.

During the reign of William III (1689-1702), tensions between Britain and France led to a ban on French brandy and wine. The Huguenot silk weavers had traditionally drunk wine and brandies from their homeland and so sought illegal means of obtaining the drinks via smugglers. Illegal imports of French liquor were not just sought after in Spitalfields; throughout London and beyond, smugglers began to reap huge dividends by supplying the forbidden wines. Obviously, taverns could not serve French wines for fear of having their licence revoked and their trade inevitably went into decline. Realising that the ban was severely affecting the British alcohol industry, the authorities lifted all restrictions on distilling gin and soon the streets of every town and city in England were awash with gin shops. These shops replaced the older ale houses as places in which the poor sought shelter and temporary oblivion. They were designed purely for the consumption of drink and unlike the taverns, did not serve food or have any comfortable seating areas.