Greater London Murders E-Book

Linda Stratmann

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 455

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

This compendium brings together thirty-three murderous tales — one from each of the capital's boroughs — that not only shocked the City but made headline news across the country. Throughout its history the great urban sprawl of Greater London has been home to some of the most shocking murders in England, many of which have made legal history. Contained within the pages of this book are the stories behind these heinous crimes. They include George Chapman, who was hanged in 1903 for poisoning three women, and whom is widely suspected of having been the notorious serial killer Jack the Ripper; lovers Edith Thompson and Frederick Bywaters, executed for stabbing to death Thompson's husband Percy in 1922; and Donald Hume, who was found not guilty of the murder of wealthy businessman Stanley Setty in 1949, but later confessed to killing him, chopping up his body and disposing of it by aeroplane. Linda Stratmann also reveals previously unpublished information that sheds a whole new light on the infamous Craig and Bentley case. This carefully researched, well-illustrated and enthralling text will appeal to those interested in the history of Greater London's history and true-crime fans alike.

Leseprobe

GreaterLondon

MURDERS

GreaterLondon

MURDERS

33 TRUE STORIES OF REVENGE,JEALOUSY, GREED & LUST

LINDA STRATMANN

First published 2010

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2012

All rights reserved

© Linda Stratmann, 2010, 2012

The right of Linda Stratmann, to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7524 8383 2

MOBI ISBN 978 0 7524 8382 5

Original typesetting by The History Press

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

About the Author

1. Barking and Dagenham

A Fight to the Death

2. Barnet

Double Jeopardy

3. Bexley

The Erith Mystery

4. Brent

The Fatal Telegram

5. Bromley

A Scream in the Night

6. Camden

Diminished Responsibility

7. City

Faithful unto Death

8. Croydon

Justice

9. Ealing

Free to Kill Again

10. Enfield

Abandoned Characters

11. Greenwich

The Straws of Evidence

12. Hackney

The Lady in Black

13. Hammersmith and Fulham

Femme Fatale

14. Haringey

Hue and Cry

15. Harrow

The Prerogative of Mercy

16. Havering

The Third Man

17. Hillingdon

The Fifth Bullet

18. Hounslow

The Poppy Day Murders

19. Islington

The Secret in the Cellar

20. Kensington and Chelsea

House of Horror

21. Kingston

‘In an Evil Moment’

22. Lambeth

In a Lonely Place

23. Lewisham

The Print of a Thumb

24. Merton

Monkshood

25. Newham

Here Comes a Chopper

26. Redbridge

‘Do Something Desperate’

27. Richmond

‘A Perfect Virago’

28. Southwark

‘No More Mrs Chapman’

29. Sutton

In the Heat of Passion

30. Tower Hamlets

The Terror

31. Waltham Forest

The Walthamstow Mystery

32. Wandsworth

Mystery at the Priory

33. Westminster

The ‘Lamentable Catastrophe’

Bibliography

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I would like to thank everyone who has helped me with the preparation of this book, especially the staff of the British Library, Colindale Newspaper Library, the National Archives, and the Newham Local Studies Library. My grateful thanks also to the Metropolitan Police Historical Collection for permission to reproduce some of the pictures in this book.

My thanks are always due to my husband Gary, for his assistance, support and enthusiasm in all my endeavours.

This book is dedicated to my friends in the Forest Writers’ group, who have listened to my readings with such patience, and made so many helpful and illuminating comments.

For the second edition of this book I am indebted to Jonathan Oates for additional information from his extensive researches into the life of John Reginald Halliday Christie, and to Kenneth Chamberlain for the pictures of Erith Street and Park Spring Terrace.

THE ILLUSTRATIONS

Except where specifically stated, the illustrations in this book are from the author’s collection.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Linda Stratmann is a freelance writer and editor. She has a long-term interest in true crime and is the author of Chloroform: The Quest for Oblivion, Whiteley’s Folly: The Life and Death of a Salesman, The Crooks Who Conned Millions: True Stories of Fraudsters and Charlatans, Notorious Blasted Rascal: Colonel Charteris and the Servant Girl’s Revenge, Gloucestershire Murders, Essex Murders and Kent Murders. She lives in Walthamstow, London.

1

BARKING AND DAGENHAM

A Fight to the Death

In the 1840s, Dagenham was a rural village, largely populated by agricultural labourers. With the Thames estuary only two miles away, many men were tempted to supplement their low wages by smuggling. There was no Essex police force, and the area earned a not undeserved reputation for lawlessness. To combat the problem the Metropolitan police force established a small station in Dagenham which was manned by six constables and a sergeant, and provided with a horse. The police soon came into conflict with the criminal elements, and some constables received threats which were taken so seriously that it was decided to transfer the officers in question to other districts.

On 4 March 1846, PC Abia Butfoy was on patrol when he encountered a man he knew to be of bad character, carrying a bag. Suspecting that the bag contained stolen property, he insisted on seeing its contents. The man refused and this resulted in a scuffle. Later the man showed him what was in the bag, but departed with a threat to get even. In mid-May Butfoy was replaced on his beat with another constable, PC George Clark.

Clark had been in the police force only six months, and in Dagenham just six weeks. He was 20 years old, robust and well able to take care of himself, and had already impressed his superiors with his conscientious attention to duty. He was a quiet, good humoured and religious lad, who sang hymns as he walked along and carried tracts in his pocket. He had recently become engaged to be married.

The police patrol began every night at 9 p.m., with Sergeant William Parsons on horseback at the head of his men. At a crossroads known as the Four Wantz, where the roads led to Ilford, Barking, Dagenham and Chigwell, the men parted, setting off on their individual beats. They met up at set points and times during the night, returning to the station at 6 a.m. The lone policeman walking country roads in the hopes of deterring a band of armed cutthroats was poorly equipped. He carried a truncheon and a cutlass, and wore a thick greatcoat done up tightly at the neck with a stout leather stock to protect against being strangled. If attacked, he could alert his colleagues with a wooden rattle.

Old Dagenham.

On Monday 29 June the men patrolled as usual, and Clark was at his appointed place at 1 a.m., but two hours later, he was missing. When the men returned to the station, Clark was absent. His colleagues retraced his route but found nothing, and started dragging ponds for a corpse.

On 3 August they reached the farm of Ralph Page and asked his wife, Elizabeth, for permission to drag the pond. Mrs Page remembered that at 3 a.m. on 29 June she had been awoken by the furious barking of dogs. She had thought she heard a distant cry for help, but the barking was so loud that she had not been sure. Once the pond had been dragged Mrs Page said that there was another further on, and sent her two boys to show constables Butfoy and Thomas Kimpton where it was. In a field a quarter of a mile from the main road, they became aware of a strong smell. Kimpton found a policeman’s staff, bloodstained and very much cut about, and immediately recognised it as Clark’s. A little further on he found Clark’s cutlass, stuck in a hedge, and when it was withdrawn it was seen to be covered in blood, with human hair sticking to it. Half a dozen yards further on was the body of George Clark, and even after the previous two discoveries the two policemen could not have been prepared for the ghastly appearance of the corpse. ‘Here he lies!’ called Butfoy, while the children screamed so loudly their mother could hear them back at the farmhouse. Kimpton was too appalled to speak and Butfoy, who had a stronger stomach, added, ‘you are a pretty cow-hearted sort of a policeman.’ They called for Sergeant Parsons and PC Stevens, who were in the adjoining field. Stevens took one look at the body and fell back in a dead faint.

Clark was lying on his back, one hand tightly grasping a handful of wheat in the last spasm of death. There had been a fierce struggle, for the crops were trodden down for ten or twelve yards in every direction. The face and hands of the corpse were covered with blood and dirt. The wounds were appalling. There was a large opening in the back of the skull some six to eight inches in circumference. Part of the scalp had been cut off, probably with the cutlass, and was lying beside the body.

Local surgeon Mr Collins was sent for to examine the body, then it was removed to the ruins of a nearby cottage using a cart borrowed from Mrs Page. Whatever the motive for the murder it could not have been robbery, for Clark’s money and watch were found in his pockets. His rattle was still in his greatcoat pocket, in such a position that he could not have got to it in time to give the alarm. Collins removed the leather stock, which was completely saturated with blood, and found a deep wound to the throat, cutting through the windpipe and the root of the tongue almost through to the vertebrae. Another wound under the right ear went completely through the neck and must have been inflicted with a sharp double-edged knife. The face and chest were heavily bruised. There were other superficial wounds, and one finger had been cut off, probably as Clark defended himself.

Late that night the policemen returned the cart to Mrs Page, and she invited them in for refreshment. As they chatted, Kimpton mentioned that Sergeant Parsons had not been on duty for the whole of the night of Clark’s murder. At about midnight, the sergeant had said he was not feeling well and had asked Kimpton to take the horse and do his duty for him. This casual statement sowed the seeds of a major scandal which was to damage the reputation of the Metropolitan police force for several years.

At daylight, further searches were made at the scene of the crime, but there were no footprints, and though the wheat had been parted at the side of the field showing that people had passed that way, it was not clear from what direction they had come, or where they had gone. Broken pieces of Clark’s skull were so deeply embedded in the earth that they had to be dug out with a knife. The newspapers were to report that the body had been flung down with such force that it had left an impression in the earth, but a more likely explanation was that Clark’s corpse had been trampled by many feet.

The inquest was opened on Saturday 4 July. The jurymen were obliged to view the remains, but many could barely glance at the body, and the smell made them feel nauseous and faint. Back in court, Abia Butfoy gave the name of a suspect, but this was not made public. Mrs Page was in court, and must have been astonished when Sergeant William Parsons gave evidence in which he stated that he had been on duty all night. The inquest was adjourned for a fortnight, and Clark’s mother begged to be allowed to see the body. The coroner advised her not to do so, but reluctantly granted her request with the anticipated effect – she was overcome and had to be carried away, insensible.

Two detective officers from Scotland Yard arrived in Dagenham to conduct the investigation, questioning the inhabitants, visiting public houses and beer shops, and placing any known bad characters under surveillance. It was believed locally that Clark had been murdered after being mistaken for Abia Butfoy. The body was so far from his normal beat that he must have been deliberately lured there.

At the next inquest hearing, Mrs Page revealed that she had been told that Parsons had been absent from duty after midnight, however PC Stevens testified that he had seen Parsons at a quarter to one and denied that anything had been said about Parsons not doing his duty on the night of the murder. Kimpton then denied having made the statement about Parsons and swore that he had seen the sergeant on duty. Another constable, Isaac Hickton, also said he had seen Parsons on duty after midnight.

Mrs Page was not prepared to let the matter rest. At the next hearing, her daughter Priscilla, who had been present at the disputed conversation, testified that Kimpton had said not only that he had done Parsons’ duty that night but it had not been the first time he had done so. Mrs Page and Kimpton were then brought into court, where there was a testy confrontation, each sticking to their testimony.

A neighbour, Mr Kettle, had been present at the time of the conversation, but asked to testify whether the disputed statement had been made, he said he couldn’t remember. Mrs Page was heard to observe dryly that he had remembered it well enough last Saturday, and the jury expressed the strong opinion that the witness knew a great deal more than he was saying. James March, a labourer, who had assisted with transport of the body, testified that he had never heard Kimpton say he had done Parsons’ duty. Unfortunately for March, his master was a member of the jury and immediately pointed out that he had heard March saying he had heard the statement not once but several times. A Dagenham grocer, Thomas Smith, supported Mrs Page by saying that Kimpton had also told him he had done Parsons’ duty.

By now it was painfully apparent that several people in court had lied, the only problem being determining exactly which ones.

Julia Parsons, the sergeant’s sister, had been staying with her brother on the night of the murder. She testified that she and Parsons’ wife had met up with Clark and Parsons at about 9 p.m. Clark had been in a jocular mood, for when Mrs Parsons complained of feeling tired he had jokingly suggested he lift her onto the policeman’s horse. The women returned home, and Clark and Parsons went on. Julia said her brother had returned to the station at midnight, had made out a report then gone out again. She had gone to bed and did not see him till 9 o’clock the next morning.

The coroner’s opinion was that Parsons had been on duty the whole night, and the only question was whether or not Kimpton had made the damaging statement to Mrs Page. He believed that Kimpton had made it but why he had done so God only knew. In vain did Kimpton protest that he had not done so, for the jury said that they were satisfied that he did. The enquiry was adjourned for a month.

In August there was a hearing in Ilford concerning the potential involvement of three Irish itinerant agricultural labourers, who had been taken into custody after a drunken altercation in which words had been bandied about concerning the murder. Abia Butfoy gave evidence but when it was time for him to return to duty in Dagenham, he was nowhere to be found. Perhaps as a result of having to air the whole story again, Butfoy had suffered a crisis of conscience. He had gone to Scotland Yard and made a statement admitting that the policemen had lied at the inquest and that Kimpton had indeed done Parsons’ duty for him. Officers were at once despatched to Dagenham, and Sergeant Parsons and the five constables, Hickton, Kimpton, Stevens, Butfoy and Farns, were relieved of their duties and placed under surveillance.

The news caused considerable excitement in Dagenham, and ripples of astonishment carried all the way to London. It was widely rumoured that the men had been arrested for the murder. Since Clark had been efficient, religious and popular, motives were hard to come by. Perhaps, it was hinted, his colleagues were jealous because he was just too efficient, religious and popular – perhaps he had discovered that they had been involved in smuggling or lectured them about their drinking habits, or maybe the incident with Mrs Parsons and the horse had aroused the sergeant to a frenzy of jealousy. Ultimately, no evidence was ever produced that the police were involved in the murder of Clark.

In August 1847 a memorial was placed on the grave of George Clark, the inscription reflecting the feelings of the community: ‘His uniform good conduct gained him the respect of all who knew him, and his melancholy end was universally deplored.’

At the resumed inquest the constables, now in plain clothes, admitted that they had lied because Parsons had ordered them to, while Parsons was adamant that his original story was correct. When the inquest closed in September the jury returned a verdict of ‘wilful murder against some person or persons unknown.’

Butfoy, Farns and Stevens had not been under oath when examined before the coroner so a charge of perjury could not be sustained and they were dismissed from the force. The others were suspended without pay which was especially hard for Kimpton, who was married with six children.

In the following March proceedings commenced against Kimpton, Hickton and Parsons on charges of wilful and corrupt perjury, but at the bail hearing, only Kimpton appeared, Parsons and Hickton having made their own arrangements by absconding. In London and Essex there was the unusual sight of placards being posted offering a reward of £50 for the apprehension of the two former policemen. Kimpton, lacking the £400 bail money, was taken to Ilford Gaol.

Hickton had gone to Liverpool, but seeing the wanted posters, his nerve failed him. In July he wrote to his father asking to send Sergeant Hardy of the Derbyshire police force to arrest him. Hardy was an old school friend and Hickton wanted him to get the reward.

Hickton and Kimpton were found guilty of perjury and the judge passed the maximum punishment, ‘for if we cannot have truth from police officers what guarantee have we for the security of either our persons or property?’ They were fined one shilling, and sentenced to prison for a week and then transportation for seven years. Hickton served his sentence in Portsmouth dockyard and Kimpton on board a convict ship at Woolwich. Both men were pardoned in 1849.

Parsons was apprehended in Lincolnshire, and stood trial in March 1848 for conspiracy to impede the course of justice. The judge commended the generally excellent behaviour of the Essex police, and pointed out that since the perjury was to avoid charges of neglect of duty and had nothing to do with the murder investigation, Parsons had not been indicted on the correct charge. Parsons was acquitted and walked from the court a free man.

In June 1858 a Mrs Mary Ann Smith claimed that Clark had been murdered by a gang consisting of her husband, William, and four others: Ned Wood (in some accounts Wilcox), George Chalk, George Blewitt and a farmer called Page. She described how the men had been surprised by Clark while stealing corn from a barn. She had been standing lookout and had given the alarm when she saw Clark approach. William had died in an accident about a year later, Wood was said to have hanged himself, Page had poisoned himself six years ago, and Chalk was in Australia. That left 32-year-old hay carter George Blewitt, who was arrested. When he appeared at the Ilford petty sessions in July, it became apparent that there was a problem with Mrs Smith’s story, and indeed, a problem with Mrs Smith. She had stated that Clark had been killed near the barn and the body carried to where it was found, however the evidence at the scene showed that the murder could only have taken place where the body lay. Mrs Smith, who believed – rightly or wrongly – that Blewitt or some member of his family had stolen money from her, revealed that she had supernatural visitations and dreams. She claimed that she had seen her dead husband, and heard the Devil tapping under her chair. Her neighbours, she said, whispered that she was ‘not quite right’, and by the end of her testimony, the court had come to much the same conclusion. ‘The magistrates,’ said Mr Atkinson for the defence, ‘would not pull a feather out of a sparrow’s wing upon such evidence as this.’ At the summer assizes the jury found ‘no bill’ against Blewitt, who was freed.

Hope faded and memory faded. No one was ever convicted of the murder of PC George Clark. The solution to the murder must lie in the dreadful mutilation of the corpse, which can only have been carried out by those with a deep hatred either of the young man or, more probably, what he stood for.

But PC George Clark was not entirely forgotten. On Sunday 30 June 1996, the 150th anniversary of his death was commemorated in Dagenham by a service held at the church of St Peter and St Paul, and a tree-planting at Eastbrook End Country Park. Policemen visited local schools to talk about policing in Victorian times, restoration work was carried out on the monument, and a letter from Police Commissioner Sir Paul Condon was presented to Clark’s great-great-niece.

2

BARNET

Double Jeopardy

O n 21 October 1949 Sidney Tiffin, a farm labourer of Tillingham, Essex was out looking for wild fowl on the marshes when he saw a floating bundle. He opened it to see if there was anything worth salvaging and found instead the decomposing torso of a man. The head and legs had been cut off, but the arms remained. Tiffin secured his find by pushing a stake into the mud, and notified the police at nearby Bradwell-on-Sea. The torso was taken to Chelmsford mortuary and Police Superintendent Totterdell arrived to see it, having first notified pathologist Dr Francis Camps.

The cause of death, which had taken place in the previous three weeks, was a number of stab wounds in the chest inflicted by a long, sharp, two-edged knife. There were also extensive post-mortem fractures, suggesting that the torso had fallen from a height. The skin colour indicated a non-European origin, and this gave Totterdell a clue as to the identity of the victim. He hoped fingerprints might settle the matter, but the soaked skin was peeling away from the fingers. At his request, Camps made an incision around the wrists of the corpse and removed the skin of both hands like a pair of gloves. ‘I think we’ve got Setty’s torso here,’ said Totterdell, as he prepared to leave with his trophies. At Scotland Yard, Superintendent Cherrill of the fingerprint division donned a pair of rubber gloves and put the skin of the hands over his own, thus enabling him to get accurate prints and identify the dead man as London car dealer Stanley Setty, who had been missing since 4 October.

Stanley Setty had been born Sulman Seti in Baghdad in 1903. His family had come to England when he was a child, his father setting up a textile business in Manchester. After a number of failed business attempts Setty achieved success through shady cash-in-hand car deals, and the sale of forged petrol coupons which centred around the cafés of London’s Warren Street and his garage in Cambridge Terrace Mews. In 1947 he sold a cheap car to Brian Donald Hume, who ran a small electrical shop at 620 Finchley Road, Golders Green. Hume was 27 years old with a mop of dark hair and penetrating grey eyes, his stocky figure greatly outweighed by Setty’s fleshy bulk. Hume later described his first impressions of Setty as having ‘a voice like broken bottles and pockets stuffed with cash.’

Setty may never have realised it but the younger man was a ferment of resentment just waiting to boil over into violence. Hume was born in December 1919. He was initially cared for by a woman he was told to call Aunt Doodie, but at the age of 2 he was sent away to the grim and loveless environment of an orphanage. When he was 8 he was adopted by his grandmother, of whom he was very fond, but six months later he was sent to live with Aunt Doodie again. Shortly afterwards his grandmother died. He then learned that the woman who he had been told was his aunt was actually his mother, and that he was illegitimate. He felt angry and bitter towards his mother, and abandoned his education to run away from home. At the age of 15, working as an apprentice electrician in London, he wrote to his mother saying he never wanted to see her again.

In 1939 he enlisted in the RAF, but in the following year he was involved in a flying accident, and suffered head injuries which led to an attack of cerebro-spinal meningitis. Although he recovered his physical health he started to show signs of mental instability, declaring himself to be pro-Nazi and claiming to have had adventures which existed only in his imagination. He was examined by a medical board in 1941, which assessed him to be of a psychopathic personality, and he was discharged from the service.

In April 1942 he was arrested for posing as a flying officer of the RAF. He was again found to be suffering from a psychopathic disorder and was ordered to get medical treatment. Hume never obtained that treatment, but he was able to bring some stability to his life by qualifying as a radio engineer. In 1943 he opened his own business, and initially this did well. In 1948 he married attractive divorcee Cynthia Kahn.

The years of post-war austerity were bad for business and Hume decided to sell the lease of the shop, while continuing to live in the maisonette on the top two floors of the four-storey premises. A teacher and his wife occupied the lower maisonette. It was far from glamorous living. The rooms were small, and any noise made in Hume’s apartment would have been clearly audible on the floor below and possibly also in the houses on either side. Hume bought a small factory in Hay-on-Wye where he manufactured electrical products, but his fortunes did not improve, and there was a baby on the way, a daughter who was born in July 1949. It was while Hume was on the lookout for easy money that he bumped into Stanley Setty again. They soon realised that they could be useful to each other. The younger, more active Hume stole the cars and Setty used his contacts to sell them on. Hume was able to qualify for a pilot’s license, and this enabled him to get involved in Setty’s other major business occupation – smuggling. He eventually earned himself the soubriquet of ‘The Flying Smuggler’. Setty and Hume began to see each other socially, and Setty sometimes came to the maisonette to discuss business.

The incident which cemented Hume’s dislike of Setty occurred in August 1949. Hume visited Setty at his garage, taking with him his dog, a German shepherd called Tony. The dog scratched the paintwork on one of Setty’s cars, and Setty kicked him.

Setty was last seen alive by a friend in Great Portland Street, at ten to six on Tuesday 4 October. He had an appointment that evening but telephoned to cancel it. Setty shared a flat in Lancaster Gate with his married sister Mrs Eva Ouri and her husband, but that night he failed to return home. Under cover of darkness, someone parked Setty’s Citroên car near his garage. Setty was usually scrupulous about putting his car away, and a concerned Mr Ouri contacted the police. When enquiries were made about the business deals in which Setty had recently been engaged, it was realised that he must have been carrying over £1,000 in £5 notes in his pockets, most of which were new notes issued that day by a bank. The door and steering wheel of the Citroên yielded fingerprints for comparison, and it was these which identified the torso found in the Essex marshes as that of Stanley Setty. Despite extensive searches, the head and legs of the body were never found. On 7 October, the numbers of the £5 notes known to have been in Setty’s possession were published in the newspapers.

The evidence that the torso had fallen from a height was an important lead, and Chief Detective John Jamieson thought of making enquiries at local airports. It was soon revealed that on 5 October Hume, a member of the United Services Flying Club, had hired a light aircraft at Elstree aerodrome, loaded two parcels on board and flown to Southend. When he arrived at Southend there were no parcels in the plane. He had also paid a debt of £20 in £5 notes. That night he returned to Golders Green by taxi, which he paid for with more £5 notes. On the following day he returned to Southend with another parcel, with the intention of flying back to Elstree, but due to adverse weather conditions he was forced to land at Gravesend and hire a car to get home. Once again, the parcel he had taken on board the plane was not with him on his return.

Hume had been going about his normal daily business hoping to avoid suspicion but on 27 October he was taken to Albany Street police station for questioning. Admitting that he was the Flying Smuggler, he was unable to deny hiring the plane and dropping off the parcels but said he had done so for three men called Mac (or Max), Greenie and The Boy, who paid him in £5 notes. He said he thought he had been getting rid of plates used for forging petrol coupons.

Despite the fact that over £1,000 in cash was missing, very little was found in Hume’s possession. When the police examined Hume’s bank account it was found to have been £70 overdrawn until £90 was paid in on 5 October.

On 29 October Dr Henry Smith Holden of the Metropolitan Police laboratory examined Hume’s flat and took away a lounge carpet. There was a stain on the underside which appeared to be blood, but the carpet had been recently cleaned and it was impossible to test the stain for a blood group. Over the next few days Holden removed floorboards and discovered bloodstains which had seeped through, staining the plaster of the ceiling underneath. He also found traces of blood in the hall, on the stairs leading to the top floor bathroom and on the staircase wall. The evidence against Hume mounted up. Some £5 notes found in Hume’s possession were proved to be part of the bundle known to have been in Setty’s possession on 4 October, but the bulk of the money carried by Setty on 4 October was never found. A witness came forward to say he had sharpened a carving knife for Hume on 5 October.

Hume told the police he had been out drinking with a friend on the night of Setty’s disappearance, but the friend would not support the alibi. Hume was charged with the murder of Stanley Setty.

The trial opened at the Old Bailey’s number one court on 18 January 1950. Hume, who knew he could never convince the court that he was a law-abiding citizen, arrived casually dressed, exuding the charm of the wide-boy who might deal in dodgy cars but would never kill. Francis Camps said that in his opinion the amount of blood found in the flat could not have leaked from already wrapped parcels. He believed that both the murder and the dismemberment of the body must have happened in the flat. The Humes’ charlady, Mrs Ethel Stride, said that on 5 October Hume had told her he was going to clean the kitchen cupboard and was not to be disturbed. Later she saw him with some bulky parcels. The prosecution, led by Mr Christmas Humphreys, was however unable to bring a single witness who had seen either Setty or his car near Hume’s flat on 4 October.

The case for the defence, led by Mr R.F. Levy, was that Setty had been murdered and dismembered elsewhere by a gang. In the witness box Hume described himself as ‘a semi-honest man . . . but . . . not a murderer’. The schoolmaster in the flat below said he had been at home on the nights of 4 and 5 October and had heard nothing suspicious and Cynthia Hume, who claimed never to have met Setty, said she had been in the flat on 4 October and had listened to a radio play. She had seen and heard nothing unusual.

Pathologist Dr Robert Teare was called for the defence and disagreed with Camps about the blood seepage. He also thought that if there had been a violent frontal attack by one man, it would have resulted in a noisy struggle, and Setty would have had defence wounds on his hands. The defence also suggested that it was impossible for a man of Hume’s size to have carried out the murder and dismemberment of the tall, bulky Setty alone. Although none of the three men Hume had mentioned could be traced, witnesses were brought to suggest that they might exist. Mrs Stride admitted that apart from the carpet having been sent for cleaning, she had noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

The jury deliberated for two hours, but on their return said that they were unable to agree on a verdict. It was decided not to retry Hume on the murder charge and he was formally acquitted. He pleaded guilty to disposing of the body and was sentenced to twelve years in prison.

Hume served his time in Wakefield and Dartmoor, and was released on 1 February 1958. While he was in prison, Cynthia obtained a divorce. Hume had one saleable asset – his story, but when he approached the newspapers it became obvious that the only way he could make real money was to confess to the murder of Stanley Setty. Under the rules of double jeopardy he could not be tried again for the crime. In June 1958 the sensational tale appeared in the Sunday Pictorial. Claiming that he was ‘getting the needle with Setty’, partly because of the incident where Setty had kicked his dog but also because he suspected Setty of having secret assignations with Cynthia, he said that his rage had finally boiled over when he came home and found Setty in his own living room. A quarrel erupted and he had gone into the hall and taken a German SS dagger which hung on the wall with the intention of frightening the other man. Setty had taken a swing at him and they had grappled, rolling on the floor, with Hume stabbing at Setty. The fight lasted only two minutes and the larger man suddenly slumped and coughed. Hume had then dragged the body into the kitchen, pushed it into the coal cupboard and covered it with a piece of felt. After tidying up, he drove Setty’s car to Cambridge Terrace Mews and left it there. During the night he formulated a plan. The next day, after his wife had gone out with the baby, he set to work with a hacksaw and knife. He had just an hour and a half to complete the task before Mrs Stride arrived. The head was placed in a box, the legs and most of the clothes were in another parcel, and the torso was wrapped in felt and blankets. The parcels were weighted with rubble and lead. It was only then, he claimed, that he saw how much cash Setty was carrying, but it was stained with blood and he had to burn most of it. Leaving the torso in the coal cupboard he took the other two packages to Elstree, where he hired the aircraft and ditched them. They sank rapidly. With the first part of the plan successfully carried out he intended to dispose of the torso in the same way, but here he encountered a problem. The large torso was hard to push out of the plane, and as he struggled, the outer wrapping, which included the lead weights, came away. The torso floated. In his confession Hume confirmed that Mac, Greenie and The Boy had never existed. He had based their descriptions on the three Scotland Yard officers who had questioned him.

Hume, calling himself John Bird, went to Switzerland, where, posing as a test pilot, he started a whirlwind romance with divorcee Trudi Sommer. He soon ran through his money and planned a series of bank robberies. His first was back in England in August, where he robbed the Midland Bank at Brentford, after shooting the cashier. After another small robbery in November he returned to Switzerland, where in January 1959 he tried to rob the Gewerbe Bank, Zurich, wounding one of the clerks and fatally shooting a taxi driver who tried to tackle him as he escaped. He was found guilty of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment with hard labour in the harsh environment of Regensdorf Jail. On 20 August 1976, calling himself Brian Donald Brown, he was deported to Britain, where he was immediately confined to Broadmoor.

3

BEXLEY

The Erith Mystery

Erith, on the banks of the Thames, was once a small village where ships paused to load and unload cargo and ballast on their way to and from the Port of London. A pier was opened in 1842, and in 1849 the arrival of the railway linked the fast growing little town with central London. By 1856 Erith was enjoying increasing popularity as a pleasant resort for day-trippers, and becoming an important centre of the engineering industry. Even so, in November 1856 the Daily News described Erith as ‘this usually quiet village’. Previously notorious only as haunt of smugglers, Erith had become the scene of a remarkably brutal murder.

At a quarter past 11 on the morning of Saturday, 8 November 1856, a working man called Thomas Sewell was walking up the broad avenue skirted with ancient trees leading to Lesnes House, Lesnes Park, property of the Lord of the Manor, Captain (later Colonel) Wheatley. In an area known as Park Spring Copse, Sewell found the body of a short, powerfully built young man in some brushwood amongst a clump of trees about fifty yards from the road. The body, which was lying in a pool of drying blood, was quite cold, and the man was obviously dead. A carpenter’s gouge, covered in blood, was in the hand of the deceased. A blue coat and grey cap lay a few yards away. Sewell went for help and the body was placed in a ‘shell’ (a kind of temporary coffin) and carried to the Erith dead-house where corpses dragged from the river were taken to await identification. News of the discovery spread through the village, and a great number of people came to the dead-house to view the body, but no one could identify the deceased. In his pockets were a week old railway ticket from Waterloo to Wandsworth, three halfpence in money and a catalogue of a sale in York Road, Battersea, dated September 27 1855. Clearly he was not a local man.

The avenue, Erith, 2009.

When it was known that a weapon had been found in the hand of the deceased, many people assumed that it was a case of suicide. Perhaps this was the reaction the desperate killer had hoped for, but as soon as the body was stripped it became apparent that murder had been committed.

Dr Parkinson Oates, a physician of Erith, examined the body and found sixteen stab wounds in the chest. Some were superficial, but eight had penetrated the heart. One wound, three inches deep, was so large that a portion of the left lung protruded. There was also an extensive fracture at the back of the head, the result of two violent blows. Part of the skull the size of an egg had been beaten into the brain.

The investigation was placed in the hands of Sergeant Ebbs and detective officer James William Crouch of the R division stationed at Erith.

When the inquest opened on Thursday 13 November the body had still not been identified, but later that day the family of the deceased man arrived to view the body and confirm his identity. He was 23-year-old George Carter, described by his friends as ‘quiet and inoffensive’, who had left his home in good health and spirits on 7 November, with at least £50 in gold on his person. His family were market gardeners of Wandsworth and on the death of his father in 1855 Carter had inherited some property. The fortune had proved his undoing. Carter had become a spendthrift, ‘fond of resorting to taverns and the society of unfortunate women.’ Since he had come into wealth he had not followed any occupation, and had been subsisting on money advanced to him by the executors of his father’s will. Even the profligate Carter must have known that this life of ease would not last forever, and he had been planning to go to Australia to join Samuel Gardner, the husband of his cousin Eliza, who was seeking his fortune in the gold mines. In the days prior to his death he had been looking for a suitable ship.

Carter had been lodging with Eliza in Plough Lane Battersea. On the morning of Friday 7 November he had left the house in the company of a friend, 26-year-old Thomas Cartwright Worrell. Carter, perhaps with his forthcoming voyage in mind, was wearing a dark blue naval-style coat known as a pea-jacket, and a grey cap with black silk braid. Eliza thought that her cousin was only going out for a short time, but he did not return. It was not unusual for him to stay out overnight so she was neither worried nor surprised when he was not home that evening. She told the police that Worrell had called at her house at about five o’clock on the Saturday evening asking if George had come home. She said that he hadn’t and asked where he had left George. Worrell said he had last seen him in York Road, Battersea, near the Builders’ Arms, George having said he was going to Chelsea to see ‘a pullet of his’, meaning a woman of the town.

Worrell and Carter had been very much in each other’s company for some time until Worrell’s marriage in June. Worrell had then chosen to spend more of his time with his young bride, but a few weeks before Carter’s death the two men had been seen together again. Eliza was not aware of any business Carter had in Erith.

Worrell had been brought up in Wandsworth. His father was a carpenter and it had been intended that the son should follow this trade, but Worrell had hoped for a faster route to wealth. He had visited the gold fields of both California and Australia, and after making a second trip to Australia he returned to England in 1855 with a small amount of money which he had since spent. He married Lydia Yexley, the daughter of a calico printer, in June 1856, and the couple lived in the upstairs apartments of 24 Clayton Place, Kennington. With his fortunes at a low ebb, Worrell had recently been thinking of returning to Australia.

On 15 November, Police Sergeant Underhill of the V division, Battersea, received orders from the Erith police to find Worrell, and visited him at his home the following morning. Worrell told him that on Thursday 6 November he had taken a cab to Battersea. Carter had afterwards engaged the same cab and they had both gone to the docks. Later that day, Carter had dined with him at his house and afterwards had accompanied him and his wife to the theatre. At 11 p.m. that night Carter said goodbye to them both at the White Horse, Kennington.

Worrell confirmed that at 10 a.m. on the morning of 7 November he had called for Carter at his Plough Lane lodgings. He added that Carter had told him that the previous night he had left his money for safekeeping at a public house. He said he had last seen Carter in York Road, but knew of someone who had seen Carter about two hours after they had parted company.

When the police checked Worrell’s story, however, suspicions deepened. Carter had been in the Colville Tavern on Queens Road on the Thursday night and had left only part of his money – £8 10s – with one of the barmaids, but he had called for it the following morning and it had been returned to him. The person who Worrell said had seen Carter on the Friday denied that there had been any such sighting.

The police interviewed cab driver Abraham Jacobs, who said he was on the cab rank near the Horns Tavern at 10 a.m. on Friday 7 November when Worrell, whom he knew, engaged the cab to drive him to Battersea Fields. Jacobs had no doubt about the date, which contradicted Worrell’s account, as he was about to apply for a summons that day against a man who had refused to pay a fare. After a number of stops for refreshment, Worrell asked Jacobs to stop at the Prince’s Head, where they picked up another fare, a man Jacobs did not know but who he remembered was dressed in a cap and a pea-jacket. Shown Carter’s coat and cap, Jacobs identified them as those worn by Worrell’s companion. Worrell then told Jacobs to drive them to London Bridge station, where both men got out. It was then about midday. Henry Archer, a bricklayer’s labourer of Battersea, knew both Worrell and Carter well, and had seen them both in the cab between 11 a.m. and midday on the Friday.

The London train arrived in Erith at about 1 p.m. Mrs Elizabeth Perkins, who lived at 3 Park Spring Terrace, had once lived in Battersea and knew both Worrell and Carter. From the back window of her house she could see the avenue leading to Lesnes Hall and the copse where the body was later found. Shortly after the arrival of the London train she looked out of the window and saw two men walking up to the avenue. Although she only saw their backs she thought one of them was George Carter, as he had a ‘rather peculiar’ walk. He was wearing a dark blue jacket.

Worrell was back home by 3 p.m. on 7 November and an hour later he engaged Jacobs again, this time to drive himself and his wife from his house to the City of London theatre that night.

The police now believed that Worrell and Carter had travelled together by train to Erith, a journey of forty minutes, and walked to the avenue no more than a mile away, where Worrell committed the murder, giving him ample time to be back in London to change or dispose of any bloodstained clothing and see his wife at 3 p.m. They had also identified the murder weapon. John Mayo, a Wandsworth carpenter, confirmed that the gouge found in Carter’s hand was his property. Three months before he had lent it to a carpenter who was employed by Charles Worrell, Thomas’ father, and it had not been returned. Charles Worrell confirmed that his son had visited him on 7 November and also that he had previously been to Erith.

On 20 November, Worrell was arrested by Sergeant Ebbs and delivered to Greenwich police station, where he was thoroughly searched. In his possession were three and a half sovereigns, a gold watch and chain, two gold rings, and two penknives. A sealed letter was found in Worrell’s pocket book and this was opened and read. It was addressed to his parents, and included the words:

. . . the talk about Carter’s affair has so preyed upon my mind that I scarcely know what I am about sometimes, but I write to inform you of my innocence in that affair. But there seems to have been a sort of web worked round me that I scarcely can get clear from, but God knows I am innocent of the crime they would make me guilty of, and so I can’t think of walking about. When people have such an opinion of me as that, it is too much for me, so I mean to end my days by taking poison.

Report in the Borough of Greenwich Free Press of Worrell’s burial, 29 November 1856.

His apartments were searched and ten gold sovereigns were found in a locked drawer, along with two small bottles, one containing laudanum, the other powdered opium.

The charge of murder was read over to Worrell and he replied in a low voice, almost a whisper, that he was innocent. He was placed in a cell together with a 13-year-old boy. Worrell was an obvious suicide risk and the police watched him and spoke to him at regular intervals. He was very despondent, saying that he could not bear to live with the charge hanging over him and intended to kill himself. Inspector Wilson tried to reassure him that he was only charged on suspicion and if he was innocent he would be able to prove it. Worrell was not confident of being able to clear his name. He said that it was ‘the mistake of a day’ that had brought him there as two witnesses had said he had been in the cab with Carter on 7 November and not the day before as he had said, when he had gone to the docks with Carter to help him look for a ship. Wilson had the prisoner searched again and gave orders that he was to be checked every few minutes.

Shortly after 1 a.m. Worrell was found stretched out on his bench, dead. Two small empty phials lay in the pan of the water closet. His cellmate was in the opposite corner, fast asleep. Dr Edward Downing examined the body and gave the cause of death as poisoning with prussic acid.

There were several theories as to how the phials had escaped discovery. One suggestion was that Worrell had concealed them in his boots, which had been felt externally but not removed; but the boots were close-fitting and it was thought that any bottle would have been crushed. Dr Downing thought that the phials were small enough for Worrall to have held them in his mouth, and it was recalled that the speech of the accused had been muffled when arrested. The police theory was that Worrell had hid the phials in his hair, ‘of which he had an abundant crop, hanging thick and bushy about his ears.’ Inspector Wilson tested this idea by asking a policeman with similar hair to place a phial behind each ear and walk about the cell, first slowly then rapidly. The policeman was then told to run, jump and finally to caper. None of this activity betrayed the presence of the phials.

Greenwich Cemetery (formerly Shooter’s Hill), burial place of Thomas Cartwright Worrell.

At the inquest on Worrell, his grieving father tried to claim that Thomas had been with him at the time he was supposed to be in the cab with Carter, but close questioning revealed that he was uncertain whether the visit had been on the Thursday or the Friday. Lydia Worrell, ‘a pretty ladylike young woman’ was almost prostrate with grief, her appearance naturally exciting the sympathy of the court. She confirmed that they had been to the Standard Theatre with Carter on the evening of 6 November and her husband had left home at 9 a.m. the following day and had returned at 3 p.m. She described his manner afterwards as ‘very strange’. The jury found that Worrell had committed suicide and that he had been sane at the time.

The inquest on George Carter was held at the Crown Hotel, Erith, and the verdict was that Carter had been murdered by Worrell. The members of the coroner’s jury and seventy-six respectable householders of Erith sent a memorial to the commissioners of the Metropolitan Police commending the ‘tact and extreme exertions’ of PS Ebbs and PC Crouch ‘in bringing to light the mysterious circumstances which originally enveloped the case and apprehending Worrell.’

On Tuesday 27 November, under the provisions of the act of parliament relating to the burial of suicides, the remains of Thomas Cartwright Worrell were interred at 10 p.m. by torchlight at Shooter’s Hill Cemetery in unconsecrated ground.

4

BRENT

The Fatal Telegram

On Saturday, 28 January 1905, 65-year-old Mrs Ellen Gregory went shopping for food with her married daughter Beatrice Devereux. Thirty-one-year-old Beatrice lived at 60 Milton Avenue, Harlesden with her husband Arthur, 34, a chemist’s assistant, their 5-year-old son Stanley, and twins Evelyn Lancelot and Lawrence Rowland, born in April 1903.

Beatrice was a talented pianist, a licentiate of the London College of Music. She had met Arthur in 1896 and they were married on 2 November 1898. Stanley was a sturdy little boy, but the twins, in Ellen’s own words, were ‘strong and healthy, only they had rickets, so they could not walk by themselves or feed themselves’. The wedding had been a love match, but by 1905 Ellen was anxious about her daughter’s marriage. Although Arthur was fond of Stanley he was indifferent to the twins, something his wife found very distressing. Beatrice devoted herself to caring for the children, but money was tight and Arthur resented the extra expenditure on food necessitated by the twins’ arrival.

Arthur had had a number of situations as a chemist’s assistant, some of which he had obtained using forged testimonials. He did not keep these posts for long, usually being discharged for laziness. He had once served a nine-month prison sentence for fraud, and in 1903 he was again wanted by the police. He had been answering advertisements for domestic staff in the name of Annie Smith, asking to be sent the rail fare. When he received the money he would send another letter saying he couldn’t come because of an accident.