From blotting paper to genetic fingerprinting

Archdeacon Lane, Leicester. Courtesy of Leicester Past & Present

Nancy Jennings was an ‘unfortunate’, a left over euphemistic Victorian word for a prostitute. A native of Birmingham, Annie, as Jennings preferred to be known, had found herself living in the Irish quarter of Leicester by the beginning of January of 1912, in a small two room cottage at No1 Court C, just off Archdeacon Road. She was described as stout and cheerful woman who kept a strict routine, and her next birthday was to be her 50th. Sadly, she wouldn’t see it.

On the morning of the 2nd January 1912, the barmaid of The Crown & Cushion Public House located on Belgrave Gate, Elizabeth Halford, and customer Edward Gamble, had been joined in the pub by 28-year-old rubber hand named Archie Johnson. Johnson, according to Halford, had arrived at around 11.30 am.  She recognised him instantly as he also drank at her husbands pub, the nearby Woodboy Inn, in Woodboy Street, just yards from the Police Station located there. No sooner had she pulled him a pint than a Soldier  in the York & Lancashire Regiment, William Stanyard, also walked in an ordered a beer. Upon receiving his drink, the Private sat a little away from Johnson, however the pair soon struck up a conversation based, as Halford recollected, around Johnson’s exclamation that he had also been in the army. Their chat lasted around 15 minutes, with the Private explaining he had stopped off in Leicester en route to Coalville, whilst Johnson proudly boasted that he was still on the reserve list and had, by matter of fact, been summonsed to appear at Yarmouth the next day by the Army.

At sometime near to 11.50 am, Annie Jennings entered the pub and, upon receipt of her drink, stood at the bar before moving to a  window seat. Initially the two parties did not engage with one and other. However Halford noted, some thirty minutes later, that Stanyard, Johnson and Jennings were in conversation At 12.30pm Jennings left the pub, swiftly followed by the Private. And so Johnson turned his attention to Edward Gamble. Gamble, an elderly lodging house nightwatchman, had been in the pub since 10:55 am, observing and loosely taking part in the talk from then on in.  Johnson conversed with Gamble for some ten minutes after Jennings and Stanyard’s departure, giving Gamble his white muffler (scarf) to protect the older man against the winters chill, and ordering him a pint of beer before he left himself. Whilst in the process of leaving the pub, Johnson arranged to meet with Gamble at 2.30 pm for a continuation of their drinking session. Johnson never turned up.

Private Stanyard and Jennings were spotted together in Belgrave Road at approximately 12.40 pm. And the couple were seen entering Court C some minutes later. At 1.30 pm, Private Stanyard was seen leaving Jennings’s small cottage, and Jennings herself, some minutes after that, was spotted with another young man. At 2.45 pm Jennings was then seen by 80-year-old Lily Bannister, in the Court Yard, carrying a bottle. Bannister was observant. She had also noted that just a short time prior to that Jennings sighting, she had seen her take a delivery of coal at her No1 address. The busy Bannister also claimed that at some stage during that afternoon Jennings had given her some rent money, and her rent book, and asked if Bannister would pay the rent on her behalf. This exchange took place inside  No1, and whilst Jennings was locating her rent book, Bannister noticed a young man in the house. The young man called to Jennings to give Bannister a drink for her trouble, which Jennings obliged by pouring Lily a tot of rum. The last sighting of 49-year-old Jennings that day was at around 8 pm, when she turned up alone at the Earl of Cardigan Public House, in nearby Foundry Square. There she purchased a jug of beer and a glass of whisky (for the landlady) before departing with the jug. The next sighting was the following morning, and it was in the most disturbing of circumstances.

Blue indicates the location of Court C, orange indicates the location of The Crown & Cushion Public House and green indicates the location of The Earl of Cardigan Public House.

James McGregor was the caretaker for Court C. He knew every tenant there, and their habits. So when Annie Jennings, an early riser, had not been seen by 9.30 am, he sent his wife to a neighbour to see if she had seen her. The neighbour,  Mrs Daniels, exclaimed she had not, and so the pair then made enquiries at Lily Bannister’s home. Bannister confirmed she had not seen Jennings either, and nor had another neighbour, Mrs Pallett. The posse of women, sans Daniels, then approached No1 Court C and entered the premises. The door was unlocked, and as they cautiously climbed the stairs they made out the shape of a body at the top. The women immediately returned to Caretaker McGregor in great distress, who  then went to look for himself. McGregor returned to confirm their fears. At the top of the stairs laid Annie Jennings, naked save for her stockings and boots, with her throat cut, dead.

Detective Sergeant Kendall received message of a possible murder whilst stationed at Leicester Central Police Station, Town Hall in Municipal Square. Upon arrival he noted the scene. The empty rum bottle on the kitchen table, sitting along side a mineral water bottle, a glass and a teacup. Upstairs, in the bedroom, he spotted bloodstains on the bed and the mattress, whilst underneath the bed, he found a blood soaked blouse amongst other clothing, and an enamel basin, which also contained a large quantity of blood. Upon the carpet he found a bent and blood stained knife, apparently thrown. And the body of Jennings, on her back, head toward the bed, also covered in blood. A blanket had been placed under her head and shoulders, whilst a sheet passed across her back and under her arms. Despite being covered in blood, DS Kendall felt the knife found there had not been the murder weapon. He felt the murder had taken place on the bed, with Jennings either stumbling on to the floor, or the killer dragging her there. He noted the lack of lighting in the court, and the position of No1 meant no one could be seen entering or leaving Jennings’s home. Kendall was soon joined by Superintendent Herbert Allen and other constables. Dr Kirkland Chapel arrived at 10 am,  and he merely confirmed what all present knew, pronouncing life extinct and requesting that the body be taken to the Town Hall Mortuary for Post Mortem by himself, and his partner Dr Arthur Barlow.

Leicester Town Hall which, upon the extreme right of this photograph, incorporated Leicester Central Police Station. Courtesy of Leicester Past & Present

The Post Mortem revealed that Jennings had died due to the 4 inch cut to the left hand side of her throat. Time of death was estimated some 8 to 15 hours before the body had been discovered (not long and any time after she was last seen alive in The Earl of Cardigan Pub). Drs Chapel and Barlow disagreed on the murder weapon. Barlow sided with DS Kendall and dismissed the knife found at the scene, whilst Chapel felt it was the weapon which inflicted the wounds. Both Doctors agreed that Jennings had been subjected to an horrific beating. Curiously, Sergeant King, who was prepping the body, found two half crown pieces inside the stocking upon her left leg. However, even curiouser was the bite mark found upon the neck of the deceased.

Meanwhile, Leicester Borough Police were making enquiries in and around Archdeacon Lane, and these threw up two chief suspects, Private William Stanyard and Archie Johnson.  Stanyard admitted to being with Jennings briefly during the afternoon at No1 Court C, however he claimed he left Leicester for Coalville during the late afternoon of the January 2nd, hours before Jennings was last seen alive, and witnesses confirmed this. He was swiftly dismissed as a suspect. Attentions now turned to Johnson. At 10.10 pm on January 3rd, Inspector North accompanied Detective Inspector Smith and Detective Constable Clowes to 38 Gray Street, in the Oxford Street area of Leicester.

DC Clowes

Here Johnson lived with his parents, and it was Johnson’s father who greeted this delegation of policemen. Johnson himself was upstairs and after a brief question and answer session, during which Johnson admitted being in the company of the deceased during the hours leading up to her death, claiming he had left her at around 4.15 pm. He was escorted to Leicester Central Station for an identification parade. Johnson’s clothing was stripped from him, and sent to Scotland Yard for analysis, and his boots where sent to a Doctor Willcox at St Marys Hospital in Paddington, London.  Two witnessed picked Johnson out of the line up, including Mrs Bannister who noted Johnson as the man she had seen in Jennings home when she agreed to pay rent on behalf of the deceased. Other witnesses claimed to have spotted Johnson in the area of Archdeacon Lane after 4.15 pm and on that basis, the police decided to charge Archie Johnson for murder.

Despite the discrepancies laid open by witnesses in Johnson’s story, witness testimony can be notoriously unreliable at times, especially under the cross examination of an expert barrister. However, the prosecution in this case felt they held a strong piece of evidence in the form of a piece of blotting paper. As stated, the post mortem threw up a potential clue, a bite mark upon the deceased’s neck. A piece of skin upon which his bite mark had been made, had been removed by Dr Chapel from the dead woman and was, during the hearing, now sitting in a sealed glass jar next to the Doctor as he gave testimony. The skin was then pinned to a board. Next to this, also pinned to the board, was a piece of blotting paper, upon which the Leicester Borough Police had obtained the impression of Archie Johnsons own bite mark. A long and laborious exchange then followed, where the medicos debated on if the marks corresponded. However, it was really down to the jury to decide on if the two matched.

The accused: Archie Johnson

The verdict was returned quite swiftly. The jury found Archie Johnson ‘not guilty’.

The death is heart breaking, and murder can be particularly tragic and traumatic. And murder also runs the gamut of emotions not just for the victims family and community, but also those who investigate such crimes. The determination to capture the culprit is consuming, whilst focus on the job in hand, professionalism if you will, can be both physically and mentally draining. Yet both can be driving.

To achieve those duel goals of capture and conviction the police, over the centuries, have turned to science more and more. We can see the influence of the great police pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury in this Jennings case above. Spilsbury, less than two years prior to the Jennings murder, removed a patch of Cora Crippen’s skin to prove her identity, and likewise, Dr Chapel removed a piece of Annie Jennings skin in an attempt to identify her killer. The attempt failed, however the attempt in itself just proves just how influential forensics was becoming during that Edwardian and the early part of the new Georgian era.

As we can see, Leicestershire Police has always been willing to embrace science and all she has to offer, with their innovative work during the Narborough Murders, which massively influenced detective work globally, probably being the most well known.

However, we must not forget the pioneers. Those who sought killers with blotting paper.

 

For a more in depth review of this case, I recommend Leicester Murders by Ben Beazley.

February 10, 2017February 10, 2017 by policegazetteblog

We will remember them

Percy Smith was a Rutlander, born on 2nd November 1890 in the village of Langham. His father, John, worked as a tailor whilst his mother, Emma, looked after Percy and his elder siblings of John William, Thomas and Sarah, and the youngest Verena Jennie.

Sadly John Snr died by the time Percy was barely four, however Percy’s mother remarried four years later, to a domestic groom by the name of Arthur Wright. Children soon blessed the union, with John William, Thomas, Sarah, Percy and Verena being joined by half siblings Elsie in 1900, and Florence in 1903.

By 1911 Percy was working as a Farm Labourer in Rutland but at some stage prior to  1914 he had joined Leicester Borough Police, transferring from The Town Hall Headquarters to Oadby in the August of that month.

Sleepy village of Langham, Rutland.

Henry Prew was a Police Constable, and hailed from a tiny village of Church Lawford, in Warwickshire, near to the town of Rugby. Henry had married Maria Carter in 1884, in the Leicestershire village of Blaby.

Their first born, Herbert, came along in 1887. He was later to become a Wool Trade Hosiery Worker. Herbert was followed by Emma in 1889, Ada in 1890 and Maud arrived a couple of years later in 1892. By 1895 the family had settled in the market town of Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire, and it was here where little Arthur was born, followed by the youngest of the Prew family, Harold in 1898.

1901 saw Henry living with his wife and children at 39 Thorpe Road, Melton Mowbray due to, one assumes, the wool/hosiery trade of the eldest sibling Herbert. However by 1911 Herbert had shifted jobs, and had become a Coal Miner alongside his younger brothers Arthur and Harold. This change in employment saw the Prew family move yet again. This time to Leicestershire coal mining area of Coalville, and the village of Hugglescote.

39 Thorpe Road, Melton Mowbray (blue door to the right of the bin)

77 Forest Road, Hugglescote

At some stage after 1911, the second youngest of the Prew household, Arthur, decided to follow into his fathers footsteps and become a Police Constable with Leicester Borough Police. His father, Henry, was by now a Police Pensioner and no doubt Arthur had hoped he would settle into a long career in the constabulary. However, events over a thousand miles away on summers day in Sarajevo in 1914 ended those hopes, as assassination and alliances sparked an international crisis which developed in to the First World War.

As with many young men upon the declaration of war, Percy and Arthur were eager to answer their country’s call to arms. And so they resigned their positions in Leicester Borough Police and enlisted together into the 176th Leicester Howitzer Brigade as a Royal Field Artillery Gunners.  The pair remained with the 176th until the summer of 1916 when, due to reorganisation, they were one of the many 176th Brigade men to be seconded to D Battery, 160th Brigade (Wearsiders), where they operated eight-inch howitzer Mk V’s at the Battle of the Somme.

Recruiting office at Leicester Town Hall during World War One. Leicester Borough Police HQ is to the right of this photo.

On 11th August 1916 Gunner (L29117) Percy Smith was killed in action due to shell fire. Gunner (L29092) Arthur Prew succumbed to injuries sustained in the same attack a day later. The two Leicestershire Constables had joined up together, and fought together. They now rest side by side at the Becourt Military Cemetery, Becordel-Becourt, (nr Albert) Somme, France. Percy was aged 25, Arthur 21.

Grave of Constable Arthur Prew

Grave of Constable Percy Smith

They are just two of many Leicestershire Police constables and civilian workers who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Today, at 11 a.m. on this Armistice Day, Leicestershire Police Chief Constable Simon Cole, along with many Chief Constables across the United Kingdom, shall, with a simple blast of a Police Whistle, lead his force in remembering those who have died across all conflicts, both serving and non-serving Police, military and civilian, on all sides.

We owe them our gratitude, we will remember them.

The War Memorial plaque at Leicestershire Police HQ.

 

With thanks to:-

The late and much respected Insp Ben Beazley – Author of Peelers to Pandas

Leicestershire County Council – War Memorials Project

Leicestershire Police

Langham Village History Group

Michael Doyle – Author of  Their Name Liveth For Evermore: The Great War Roll of Honour for Leicestershire and Rutland. 

Peter Doyle

Philip William Adams – Author of Idle and Dissolute: The History of the 160th Wearside Brigade.

 

 

November 11, 2016November 11, 2016 by policegazetteblog

“He’s too kind for a policeman, he’s never known to frown. And everybody says he is the happiest man in town”

Leicester Borough P.C 83 John William “Tubby” Stephens

P.C. 83 John William Stephens was well known to the people of Edwardian Leicester. Firstly, he was hard to miss. Whilst his height stood at an average 5 feet 8 inches, just above regulation, his massive girth saw him weigh in at 24 stones (336 lbs), making him the heaviest serving policeman in Great Britain at that time. It is unsurprising that he was given the nickname of ‘Tubby’.

Secondly, he was hard to dislike. Described by many as good humoured and jovial, P.C. Stephens would move loiterers on with his classic ‘chess move’. “Do you play chess?” he would ask anyone he deemed was loitering, “Well it’s your move” he continued, as he bumped the said loiterer along with his rather rotund stomach until they got the message.

Stephens (or Stevens in some records), was born around 1857 in Attleborough, Warwickshire to Joseph and Sarah. In 1877 a 20-year-old Stephens enlisted into the Army, No 10 Battery, 7^th Brigade Royal Artillery, and by 1879 he found himself stationed in Zululand in the midst of the Anglo-Zulu wars in South Africa, for which he received a campaign medal. From then, until January 1886, Stephens split his service between Mauritius, Natal and Cape Colony (Cape of Good Hope), and had gotten married to Sarah Cooke in Cape Town for good measure, before returning to England. He briefly remained in the Army, being stationed at Fort Rowan, Gosport but decided to leave in December of 1886 to try a new adventure in the East Midlands, by joining Leicester Borough Police.

Stephens’s police career spanned for 22 years, and he was seen regularly upon point duty near Town’s iconic Clock Tower. Many people would flock to see this larger than life Bobby, and celebrities who were performing in Leicester, or travelling football supporters, would seek him out just to say they had met P.C. Tubby Stephens, the Pride of Leicester. Even postcards were made of him, such was his appeal

In the morning of Saturday 4^th April 1908 P.C. Stephens succumbed to heart disease at his home of 84 Cobden Street. His funeral cortege, flanked by an escort of 20 uniformed Leicester Borough police constables led by Stephens Inspector, Richard Smith Cole, left the family home on the 8^th April, and made its way through Leicester, past his point duty location of the Clock Tower and the main Police Station in Horsefair Street, to Welford Road cemetery. Amongst the mourners was Leicester Borough’s Chief Superintendent Theodore Geary, who followed Tubby’s widow Sarah, and their children Edith, Joseph and Florence. So popular was Tubby that this route was lined by 20,000 Leicester folk, all wishing to pay their respects.

Leicester Borough P.C John ‘Tubby’ Stephens funeral cortege, led by Inspector Richard Smith Cole.

Even in death P.C. Stephens was not forgotten. Musical hall entertained Charles Penrose introduced the world to  the song ‘The Laughing Policeman’ in 1922, and although it has never been verified that this popular tune was based on Tubby, the fact than many associated the song with jolly policeman from Leicester is an indication of the deep affection he was held in.

THE LAUGHING POLICEMAN
Charles Penrose

I know a fat old policeman
He’s always on our street.
A fat and jolly red-faced man
He really is a treat.

He’s too kind for a policeman
He’s never known to frown.
And everybody says
He is the happiest man in town.

He laughs upon point duty
He laughs upon his beat.
He laughs at everybody
When he’s walking in the street.

He never can stop laughing
He says he’s never tried.
But once he did arrest a man
And laughed until he cried!

Oh ho ho ho ho ho ho. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho.  Ha  ha ha ha ha ha.

His jolly face is wrinkled
And then he shut his eyes.
He opened his great big mouth
It was a wonderous size!

He said “I must arrest you!”
He didn’t know what for.
And then he started laughing
Until he cracked his fat old jaw.

Oh ho ho ho ho ho ho ho. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

So if you chance to meet him
While walking ’round the town.
Shake him by his fat old hand
And give him half a crown.

His eyes will beam and sparkle
He’ll gurgle with delight.
And then you’ll start him laughing
With all his blessed might!

Leicester Borough Police Constable 83 John William “Tubby” Stephens was laid to rest in an unmarked grave at Welford Road Cemetery.

I personally feel it is a shame his grave is unmarked. He served his country both as a soldier and a policeman for his entire adult life, and was fondly remembered with great affection by all in his adopted home town of Leicester.

He deserves a memorial at least, and hopefully that shall be rectified one day.

“Poor old Stephens, how we’ll miss him

from his customary beat;

Never more his stalwart figure

or stern, but kindly face we’ll greet!”

October 16, 2016October 15, 2016 by policegazetteblog

“The Bloodhound and its use in tracking criminals”

The autumn of 1888 was not an easy one for the Metropolitan Police to work through. It was in the midst of repairing its tarnished image, stained by accusations of heavy handedness during the Bloody Sunday rioting in Trafalgar Square the previous year, when they came across probably their most associated nemesis, the murderer known as Jack the Ripper.

According to the official Metropolitan Police files, these murders began in the spring of 1888, in London’s East End, though it wasn’t until the late summer that the public, fuelled by a suddenly aware press, took note. Women were being found in public spaces with fatal throat wounds and stabbings; however the latest, Mary Ann Nichols, was on 31^st August discovered to have severe abdominal mutilations. It seemed the killer was escalating his post mortem violence. And London waited with baited breath.

On the 12^th September, less than a week after the murder of Annie Chapman in Hanbury Street, and a little over a fortnight before what was to be known as the ‘double event’, when two women were murdered within hours of each other, a Mr L.F.S. Maberly of Dublin had sent a letter to the Morning Advertiser. “Sir,” he wrote, “Knowing by experience the sagacity and keen sense of smell of the bloodhound, I would strongly urge upon the Government the propriety of testing their powers in discovering crime.”[1] In addition, ‘E.P’., from Bayswater, also wrote to the Morning Advertiser, claiming that, “I feel sure that, had the police been provided with a hound and a good horse, the Whitechapel murderer would have been found within six hours.”[2] However, it was a letter to The Times on 1^st October 1888, from Mr Percy Lindley of Essex, which triggered the police’s interest in the use of bloodhounds as an investigatory tool. Mr Lindley wrote:

“Sir, – With regard to the suggestion that bloodhounds might assist in tracking the East-end murderer, as a breeder of bloodhounds, and knowing their power, I have little doubt that, had a hound been put upon the scent of the murderer while fresh, it might have done what the police have failed in. But now, when all trace of the scent has been trodden out, it would be quite useless.

Meanwhile, as no means of detection should be left untried, it would be well if a couple or so of trained bloodhounds – unless trained they would be worthless – were kept for a time at one of the police head-quarters ready for immediate use in case their services should be called for. There are, doubtless, owners of bloodhounds willing to lend them, if any of the police, which, I fear, is improbable, know how to use them.”[3]

This letter was clipped and kept on Home Office files, along with an exchange of correspondence between the Home Office and the Metropolitan force debating the cost and use of such hounds; however, eventually authorisation was given by the Home Office for the Metropolitan Police to spend in total £50 for the remainder of the financial year, in the hiring and keeping of a bloodhound for police use. Commissioner Warren’s idea, no doubt spurred on by the recent success of Smoker in locating human remains inside unfinished construction works at New Scotland Yard, was for a dog to be housed by a private veterinary assigned to the police, Mr A. J. Sewell, and to be turned out for duty as and when required. However, Warren wanted to see a bloodhound in action first, and so he turned to one of the best bloodhound breeders in the world.

Prize winners – Burgho & Barnaby

Edwin Brough was a silk manufacturer who hailed from a small village called Scalby Mills, just outside the famous Victorian seaside town of Scarborough, and he was world-renowned for breeding champion bloodhounds. Warren contacted Brough at his Wyndyate Home in early October 1888, proposing to trial Brough’s hounds for the Metropolitan Police’s use, and so Brough agreed to travel to London with two of his best, Burgho and Barnaby, for these trials. Brough doubted whether his dogs could work in a city like London. “Personally,” he said, “I didn’t have much faith in the experiment, for the hounds had to run on a cold pavement, and there was no certainty of being able to lay them on the line of the right man. I took the dogs up as much to please the public as for any other reason”[4]. The trials were set for two days, commencing on the 9^th October, in Regent’s Park and Hyde Park, with Warren himself acting as the ‘hunted man’. Brough was dismayed at the ignorance shown by the public as to how his hounds worked, stating, “They seemed to think that the police had only to take a bloodhound to the place where a murder had been committed, weeks or months before, and the animal would at once scent out the trail of the murderer in preference to thousands of other passers-by, and run the man down.”[5]

 

A 2010 photo of the kennels which were once home to Burgho & Barnaby, at Edwin Brough’s Wyndyate home in Scalby Mills, North Yorks.

Warren had a little more faith, to the point that he had an agreement drawn up between himself and the Metropolitan Police’s vet, Sewell, setting out arrangements to keep Barnaby. It seems that he wasn’t completely committed, however, as the contract remained unsigned. Warren ultimately planned to hire Barnaby, at a cost of £25, for the remainder of the financial year, whilst purchasing a new pup at the same time for £15. The idea was that it would be trained alongside Barnaby, eventually replacing the older hound in the March of 1889.

The draft agreement between Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Charles Warren, and their Veterinary Surgeon A. J. Sewell.

Matters stalled in the weeks following that October trial, because Sewell, who was acting in liaison with Commissioner Warren, had problems finding a company which would insure Barnaby against accident or death; by the 2^nd November he had managed to find one, though certain stumbling blocks remained. The Home Office had only permitted the insurance of a dog up to the sum of £100, and the cheapest Sewell could get was £150: Warren and the Home Office had to decide whether it was worth exceeding the agreed amount.

An extract of a letter from Metropolitan Veterinary Surgeon to Commissioner Sir Charles Warren regarding insurance for a potential police dog.

Another matter compounding the situation was that, before completely committing to the idea of bloodhounds, Warren wanted to test the dogs out properly in Whitechapel; the plan was to wait for another murder. However, as October passed, no murders occurred, so Brough, frustrated at what he deemed dallying by Scotland Yard, returned to Scarborough with his dogs, Burgho and Barnaby, on 1^st November. Sewell was optimistic that Brough would “send it [Barnaby] back again when everything was arranged”. Within days of Brough returning home with his dogs, however, the murder occurred in Millers Court, which later led Brough to boastfully claim that his dogs had kept Jack the Ripper away: “This I consider some evidence of the deterrent effect which the employment of bloodhounds would have on crime, for another of the ghastly Jack the Ripper tragedies was committed shortly after it was known that the hounds had been sent back to Wyndyate.”

A still of Miller’s Court from the 1988 TV mini series ‘Jack the Ripper’ , starring Michael Caine and erroneously showing the Bloodhounds Burgho & Barnaby. In reality, they never arrived.

That ghastly Jack the Ripper tragedy Brough was referring to was the horrific murder of Mary Jane Kelly in her locked room in a small court just off Dorset Street, on 9^th November 1888. The Police had been called for, along with the Divisional Surgeon who, upon viewing the severely mutilated remains of the victim, made the unusual call of stating he could do no more for her.  Knowing that Commissioner Warren had instructed that any future murder scene remain untouched pending the arrival of the Bloodhounds, Beck updated his superiors at Scotland Yard of the situation, and awaited the arrival of lead ground investigator on the case, Chief Inspector Frederick Abberline at Millers Court, who duly arrived at 11.30 a.m. It would seem that Abberline and those waiting for the bloodhounds in Dorset Street were unaware that the dogs were now over 200 miles away, and had not been informed of the change of plan.

As we know, even the Bloodhounds owner Edwin Brough felt his dogs would not have been able to perform to the expected standard in this case. And it really wasn’t until the 1940s that the Metropolitan Police began experimenting with ‘sniffer dogs’, when Branch CO54 Specialist Dogs Unit was introduced at Nine Elms.

Today there are around 2,500 police dogs across all forces in the United Kingdom. Trained as puppies, the majority are homed with their handlers, and take retirement at around 8 years of age. Each dog holds special operational license, and, as with its human colleagues, is known as a constable with its own collar identification number.

Their work is invaluable.

 

1. The Morning Advertiser 14^th September 1888

 

2. Ibid 15^th September 1888

 

3. The Times 2^nd October 1888

 

4. Some Scarborough faces, past and present; being a series of interviews reprinted from Scarborough Magazine 1894-1898. (Scarborough Gazette Print) 1901

 

5. Ibid

 

 

October 9, 2016October 9, 2016 by policegazetteblog

“I will first organise a force”

Happy Birthday to Peel’s Bloody Gang

As you may have guessed, today is the 187th birthday of London’s Metropolitan Police Force, one of the eldest forces in the world. No doubt, amongst the party games, the streamers, the jelly and ice cream, thoughts at New Scotland Yard will turn to events all those years ago when the then Prime Minister, The Duke of Wellington, passed The Metropolitan Police Act of 1829.

It was a 1828 select committee set up by the then Home Secretary Robert Peel under the encouragement of Wellington which saw the final stages in the creation of the new model force, an organisation which was to replace the outdated watch and ward system. Peel had been in the role for six years, and had sponsored the consolidation of over three hundred Acts of Parliament dealing with criminal offences into more manageable four:-

1. The Criminal Statutes Repeal Act 1827 (7 & 8 Geo.4 c.27)
2. The Larceny Act 1827 (7 & 8 Geo.4 c.29)
3. he Malicious Injuries to Property Act 1827 (7 & 8 Geo.4 c.30)
4. The Offences against the Person Act 1828 (9 Geo.4 c.31)

By introducing what where to be known as the Peel Acts, Peel had simplified criminal law. The 1828 Select Committee hearing followed that legal reform by recommending a radical overhaul of the Police system within London to Government. In a letter to his friend John Hobhouse, Peel outlined his vision of a new Police force by stating –

“I have under my consideration at present very extensive changes in the Police of the metropolis.

You perhaps have read the Police Report of last Session. I am now employing Gregson in drawing up a Bill to give effect to the recommendations of the Report, so far as they concern the constitution of the nightly watch.

My plan is shortly this – to appoint some authority which shall take charge of the night police of the metropolis, connecting the force employed by night with the existing police establishments now under the Home Office and Bow Street; the authority which has charge of the police establishments, horse patrol, day patrol, night patrol, to act under the immediate superintendence of the Home Office, and in daily communication with it.

I propose that charge of the night police should be taken gradually. I mean that my system of police should be substituted for the parochial system, not per saltum, but by degrees.

I will first organise a force, which I will not call by the name of ‘watchmen’, which shall be sufficient to take charge of a district surrounding Charing Cross, composed, we will say, of four or five parishes. It shall extend on the City side as far as Temple Bar and the boundary of the City on that side, having the river as far as Westminster Bridge as the limit on another side. When it is notified to the parishes that comprise this district that this force is ready to act, and prepared to take charge of the district, the functions of the parochial watch in each of the districts shall terminate, and no rates be thereafter leviable on that account.

In the same way, as a little experience shall enable us to manage a more numerous force of nightly police, I propose to signify to other parishes from time to time that the police will take charge of them. Their present watch will continue to act until such signification be made, and will cease when it is made.”

Sir Robert Peel

Peel continued

“Now the out-parishes such places as Brentford, Twickenham Isleworth, Hounslow, and so forth – in all which the police at present is scandalous, will feel, and very justly, that if the new police system succeeds for London, it will injure them, by driving a fresh stock of thieves from the heart of the metropolis into the environs, and it will be a great object to me, as well as to them, to devise some mode of improving their police. If I undertook the immediate change my force would be too large, the machine would be too cumbrous and complicated to be well managed by one authority. How, therefore, shall I proceed to provide for these out-parishes?

My notion is to take power for the Secretary of State to consolidate parishes bordering on the metropolis into a district for police purposes, to appoint Commissioners of Police, two for instance, resident in each parish within the district, who shall have the general superintendence of the district police.”

‘Peel wanted two commissioners’

As he had stated in his letter to Hobhouse, Peel wanted two commissioners; so, on the 29^th August 1829, 46 year old Waterloo and Peninsular War veteran Colonel Sir Charles Rowan and 32 year old barrister Richard Mayne were sworn in as Justices of the Peace by Lord Chief William Alexander.  With his military experience, it was logical for Rowan to turn his attention to the organisation of the personnel side of the force, whereas Mayne focused his attention on the legal and regulatory aspects of this fledging organisation. By all accounts these two men worked extremely well together, becoming firm friends in the process.

Peels act was passed on 19th June 1829, and just a few months later, on 26th September 1829, upon the grounds of Coram’s Foundling Hospital in Bloomsbury, 1000 constables of the fledgling force were paraded and sworn in. Three days later, they were patrolling the streets of London in earnest. The very first Police Constable assigned was William Atkinson, who did not last a day in his new job as he was found in a drunken stupor some four hours later and dismissed.

Covering 88 parishes, liberties and hamlets, exempting the City of London, the Met, as it was to become known, was split into four Districts (North, South, East and West) and then sub-divided still further into six divisions. As Peel had outlined in his vision, he staggered the Metropolitan Police’s divisional rollout and, over the next two years, more divisions were created, with some being altered. Accommodation for these new divisions mainly consisted of old watch houses or unused shops and empty buildings.

‘We should not be surprised if, before a year or two – we should have all civil offices whatever filled by the sons of Mars’.

The public viewed this new force with great suspicion, swiftly providing it with unforgiving labels such as ‘Raw Lobsters’ and ‘Blue Devils’ to name but a few. The Duke of Portland presented a petition to Parliament signed by the inhabitants of Hackney against the new police, this was one of many petitions created which opposed the new Police force. There were many concerns. Some people had negative expectations after their experience of the unsuitable watch system parishes resented having to pay for a over which they had no authority; and there was even anxiety which stemmed from the robust and sometimes secretive methods used in the French police system. La Surete Nationale, as the French called their 1812 version of the Police Force, had been developed from Napoleon’s Secret Political Police. It was synonymous with shadowy manipulations and investigations, operating an agents provocateur style to entice criminal activity and therefore lure criminals to their fate. This was deeply frowned upon in England. Any sign of deceit, even for the greater good, was unpalatable and dishonourable to the extreme, and any militarisation of the new police was fiercely resisted. The Westmoreland Gazette, taking its lead from the London publication called The Age summed up the Public’s concern when in its ‘Spirit of Journal’ column it wrote ‘We should not be surprised if, before a year or two – we should have all civil offices whatever filled by the sons of Mars’.

So it would not have gone down too well with the people of London had they known that Peel had been in contact with the great French criminologist and creator of La Sûreté, Eugène François Vidocq, in order to seek advice on the new police force. A former criminal himself, Vidcoq was poacher turned gamekeeper, having initially offered his services to the French authorities as an informer before soon becoming part of the French policing structure, taking the role of the initial Chief of La Sûreté, and it was Vidcoq who aided Peel in the selection of the building within which the new force was to be based. 4 Whitehall Place was a non-descript building buried in amongst the government buildings of Whitehall. The building backed onto Great Scotland Yard, and it was this name which soon became associated with the Metropolitan Police force and renowned throughout the world.

Scotland Yard

‘The public and the public are the police’

These new ‘Bobbies’ (thus named after Peel himself) received a weekly pay of 21 shillings, giving them the nickname of ‘the Guinea a week men’, their pay was funded by a special parish rate levied by the overseers of the poor. Their remit, like that of the police today, was the detection and prevention of crime. To aid with that, Peel established the Nine points of Policing. These points, which are still adhered to this day, are as follows:-

• The basic mission for which the police exist is to prevent crime and disorder.
• The ability of the police to perform their duties is dependent upon public approval of police actions.
• Police must secure the willing co-operation of the public in voluntary observance of the law to be able to secure and maintain the respect of the public.
• The degree of co-operation of the public that can be secured diminishes proportionately to the necessity of the use of physical force.
• Police seek and preserve public favour not by catering to public opinion but by constantly demonstrating absolute impartial service to the law.
• Police use physical force to the extent necessary to secure observance of the law or to restore order only when the exercise of persuasion, advice and warning is found to be insufficient.
• Police, at all times, should maintain a relationship with the public that gives reality to the historic tradition that the police are the public and the public are the police; the police being only members of the public who are paid to give full-time attention to duties which are incumbent on every citizen in the interests of community welfare and existence.
• Police should always direct their action strictly towards their functions and never appear to usurp the powers of the judiciary.
• The test of police efficiency is the absence of crime and disorder, not the visible evidence of police action in dealing with it.

Point seven is worth repeating: ‘Police, at all times, should maintain a relationship with the public that gives reality to the historic tradition that the police are the public and the public are the police; the police being only members of the public who are paid to give full-time attention to duties which are incumbent on every citizen in he interests of community welfare and existence.’

Today the Met has around 48,000 employees, with around 10,000 Special, Voluntary and Cadet personnel. It covers 32 London Boroughs (609 sq mi), costs around £3.5 billion to fund and has the responsibility to maintain order and prevent crime for around 8.7 million people.

So Happy Birthday Met, and heres to your 188th birthday.

 

 

 

 

September 29, 2016September 29, 2016 by policegazetteblog

“Ordinary men doing an extra-ordinary job”

Well, here it is, a blog site dedicated to the police and their history. It’ll never take off they said, and they may be correct. I don’t care; this is a passion, a need to share and an even stronger need to learn.

This blog is born out of my own Facebook page dedicated to my first book, Capturing Jack the Ripper: In the boots of a Bobby in Victorian London, which focused primarily on what life was like for the regular constable pounding the streets of 1888 Whitechapel, whilst Jack the Ripper was making a dubious for name for himself as a murderer of the vulnerable.

However, this blog isn’t about Jack. It is about those Policemen who not only tried to capture the most infamous murderer in history, but also those who tried to maintain law and order across all of Her Majesty’s green and pleasant land during the most interesting of eras to me.

I intend to present blogs about police life during this time, and these shall slide from the thrilling to the mundane. From the honourable to the, yes, I admit it, the corrupt. I hope that you take something from these snippets of Victorian life as a policeman. And please join in if you feel have something to contribute.

All are welcome

Photo Authors Collection

Today is National Police Memorial Day here in the United Kingdom, a day where all forces and policing organisations join together and remember those who have died whilst dedicating themselves to their duty. Though I am unsure of the national figure, a total number of 172 London Policemen lost their lives whilst on duty during the reign of Queen Victoria, including Metropolitan Police’s Constable Ernest Thompson, the young Bobby who found alleged Jack the Ripper victim Francis Coles, stabbed to death in a brawl in Whitechapel, and City of London Police’s DS Charles Thain, gunned down whilst transporting the criminal Christian Slatter back to Great Britain. Whilst many succumbed to fatal accidents and misfortunes, a fair number were killed in the line of duty. The following is an extract from a recent book, which I have co-authored, titled The A-Z of Victorian Crime.

“One of the first constables to die in the Victorian era was Constable William Aldridge who, on the evening of 29^th September 1839, attended a riotous scene outside the Navy Arms Public House, Deptford, London. Two drinkers, brothers William and John Pine, were behaving rowdily, and upon the request of the landlady, were told to leave the pub upon by Constable George Stevens. As Stevens escorted the pair off the premises and into the street, John Pine struck the Constable who, in retaliation, drew his truncheon and struck Pine over the head before promptly arresting him. A gathering crowd had seen Constable Stevens’s actions, deemed them unjustifiable, and proceeded to encircle the constable with the intention of freeing Pine. However support was on its way for Stevens in the form of Constable William Aldridge.

As the two constables struggled with Pine, the crowd rapidly grew. Numbers were claimed to be near the 500 mark when stones and rocks began to hail down on the two constables as they attempted to drag their man back to the station. A further two constables arrived to aid, only to find themselves caught up in the assault. Fearing for their lives, the four policemen decided to flee, however as they ran, a large rock struck Constable Aldridge on his skull, fracturing it as it impacted. He died at 4.30am the following morning. The Pine Brothers were eventually re-arrested, and their trial for murder was heard at the Old Bailey where, along with their co-accused William Calvert and John Burke, they were convicted of the lesser charge of manslaughter. John Pine was transported to Australia for life and Calvert for fifteen years. Burke and William Pine spent two years in prison for their part in the assault.

A mob assault also claimed the life of H Divisions Constable James Carroll who, whilst attempting an arrest in Shoreditch, East London on 3^rd October 1841, was relieved of his truncheon by yet another crowd trying to assist a prisoner in gaining his freedom. The truncheon was then turned on the 45-year-old constable as he suffered a brutal beating from which he never recovered.     

Thomas Cooper was one of a dying breed of criminals, a Highwayman. On the 5^th May 1842, Cooper had come across N Divisions Constable Timothy Daly at Highbury. Daly immediately recognised the man wanted for armed robbery and gave chase. As he fled Cooper, drew his pistol and shot the constable in cold blood, an act which resulted in his execution at Newgate Prison later that year.

 Probably the most notorious murder of a Police Constable during the Victorian period occurred on the evening of 29^th June 1846. Formerly based in H Division Whitechapel, 20-year-old Constable George Clark had found himself transferred to Dagenham, on the outreaches of K Divisions patch. At 9 p.m. Clark undertook his beat duty along a remote country lane in the Eastbrook End area, however by the time his shift had ended at 6 a.m. there was no sign of the young Constable. His mutilated body was found four days later in a corn field.

Photo courtesy of The Barking & Dagenham Post

No one was convicted of Clarks murder, however suspects have been many in number, from fellow constables who lied about their sergeants whereabouts on the night Clark went missing (it was stated that Clark and the sergeants wife were having an affair) , resulting in a scandalous perjury which drew an unwanted spotlight upon the Metropolitan Police, to the confession of a thief’s wife, who stated Clark was murdered by her husband and his friends after the constable had stumbled upon them stealing corn from a barn located on his beat.  

Another notorious murder of a policeman occurred in 1882 when, during the evening of the 1^st December, N Divisions PC83 George Cole came across a man trying to break into a chapel in Dalston.  Constable Cole arrested the man but as he began to march him to the station, the man drew a pistol from his coat pocket and fired four shots into the unsuspecting constable, who immediately dropped to the ground and died on the spot. The investigating team into Cole’s murder found a chisel at the Chapel crime scene, with the word ‘rock’ carved upon it. A closer inspection of the tool, in what was one of the first instances of forensic microscope work, found the word to actually read ‘Orrock’. A man who bore a striking resemblance to a certain Thomas Orrock was seen loitering near the Chapel just hours before Cole was shot dead. An informer also updated the police on Orrock, telling them that he had been practising with a gun on Tottenham Marshes just days prior to the murder. The police went to the marshes and, by a stroke of good fortune, found bullets embedded in a tree there. They took the bullets to a gunsmith in Whitechapel who, thanks to the unique rifling each guns has, proved that the bullets fired on Tottenham Marshes matched exactly the bullets retrieved from Constable Cole’s corpse. All the police needed was their man, Orrock, who was by this time already in prison doing a sentence for burglary.

Thomas Orrock was tried at the Old Bailey on 17^th September 1884 for the murder of Constable George Cole, and found guilty.  He was hung almost three weeks later at Newgate.

The above is a small sample of Victorian policemen who have paid the ultimate price whilst in uniform, an indication of the dangerous situations which could, if misfortune allowed, result in death in the line of duty”.

I’d like to finish this brief inaugural post, on a day when we remember all those constables who have sadly died on duty (both in the past and more recent), with the words of David Thompson, a Blue Badge guide in London. I was fortunate enough to hear David speak at the recent Ripperologist Magazines 21^st anniversary conference, about his great grandfather PC 240H Ernest Thompson, the young constable who found last of the victims in the Whitechapel Murders file, Francis Coles, in the early hours on a chilly in February morning in 1891. This was on his very first beat, on his very first night alone.

Ernest had joined the Metropolitan Police just a few months previously, in November 1890. Tragically, just over ten years later in December 1900, he was stabbed to death in a brawl on the Commercial Road in London’s East End. During that briefest of career spans, Ernest rank remained at Constable level. He walked the same streets he had walked when he started, and there is no doubt that he would be known to nearly all in the area, both decent and villainous, he was the a-typical community Bobby. His funeral was attended by thousands, both constables and members of the public alike. Yes, the story is tragic, as Ernest left behind a loving wife and young family, however in grief the people of Whitechapel mustered in unity, and stood in memoriam as one with his loved ones.

The words uttered by David Thompson about his great Grandfather at that conference summed up the role of a constable no matter what the generation, or the location. He simply stated that Ernest was an “ordinary man doing an extra-ordinary job”. These words are never truer for a bobby, be it in Whitechapel in 1888, or in any city, town or village in 2016.

For those ordinary men and women doing an extra-ordinary job, I thank you.

Photo Authors Collection

September 25, 2016September 25, 2016 by policegazetteblog