More Essex Murders E-Book

Linda Stratmann

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

From the pretty villages, rural byways and bustling market towns of Essex come ten of the most dramatic and tragic murder cases in British history. Brutality, passion, jealousy, greed and moments of inexplicable rage have led to violent and horrifying deaths and, sometimes, the killer's expiation of the crime on the scaffold.This chilling follow-up to Essex Murders brings together more true cases, dating between 1823 and 1960, that shocked not only the county but also made headline news across the nation. They include the extraordinary events resulting from the obsession of a young farmer's daughter with a married man twice her age, the bloody killing of a police sergeant, a murder carried out in the depths of Epping Forest, the Dutch au pair found dead in a ditch, and a case that made criminal history in which the accused said he had strangled the victim while he was asleep. Linda Stratmann's well-illustrated and enthralling text will appeal to everyone interested in true crime and the shadier side of Essex's past.

Leseprobe

To Marcus, one of the genuine good guys

First published 2011

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

© Linda Stratmann, 2011

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.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 8370 5296 7

Typesetting and origination by The History Press

Printed in Great Britain

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

1. In a Dark and Lonely PlaceWiddington, 1823

2. The Mildness of MurderersDoddinghurst, 1850

3. The Love MatchGreat Bromley, 1871

4. Twice VexedPurleigh, 1893

5. ‘Where is Florrie?’Prittlewell, 1894

6. Murder in Honeypot LaneBasildon, 1906

7. My Darling GirlHighams Park, 1922

8. Two Were HangedStapleford Abbots, 1927

9. The Dutch GirlAldham, 1958

10. Sleeping DeathGreat Dunmow, 1960

Bibliography

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to offer my grateful thanks to all the people who have been so generous with their time in assisting me in my research for this book.

I should especially mention Becky Wash of the Essex Police Museum for a very enjoyable visit and a tremendous amount of help with the illustrations, Duncan Ward for help with Leo Brown’s family tree, Linda Dudman for help with Emma Read’s family tree, Alec Hare of Walthamstow Cemetery for identifying the grave of George Stanley Grimshaw, Penny Stynes of Colchester Cemetery for her help in locating the grave of Mary Kriek, Christine Rhodes and June Lindsell for a wonderful tour of St Mary’s Church, Widdington and identifying the grave of James Mumford.

I would like to thank everyone at the British Library, Colindale Newspaper Library and the National Archives for their patient help.

And this would not be a list of those to whom I am indebted without a mention of my husband Gary, who accepts unquestioningly my fascination with murder and is always there to support my writing.

1

IN A DARK AND LONELY PLACE

Widdington, 1823

At 8.30 p.m. on Monday, 8 December 1823, Robert Smith, a publican of Poynders Hill, Birchanger, was riding his pony down a narrow, winding country lane with fields of wheat and turnips on either side. He had just left the Fleur de Lys public house, Widdington, a village 4 miles south of Saffron Walden, and was heading towards the turnpike at Quendon. There was a moon, but the sky was overcast – he later described the night as ‘glum’ – and he would only have been able to see a short distance ahead. About half a mile from Widdington, in the darkest part of the lane, flanked by thickly growing hedgerows, his pony shied at something in the road. He alighted, and discovered a man lying on the ground, semi-conscious and groaning, his clothing torn and disordered.

Smith helped the man to sit up and spoke to him, but there was no coherent answer, so he took him to the side of the road, and, convinced that a murderous attack had taken place, rode back to the Fleur de Lys to get help. The blood that soaked one side of his coat told its own story, and four men hurried to the scene with candles and lanterns. Smith ordered a horse and cart to follow, then rode on to report the incident. Accounts differ as to the person he intended to alert, but it was most likely John Haydon, a Widdington farmer who was the parish overseer. Haydon was not at home, and Smith quickly rode back to the lane.

Meanwhile, the search party, labourers Matthew Dellow and George Reed and carpenters John Reed and George Reed the younger, were approaching the scene of the attack, but they were by their own account, about thirty rods away (a rod is approximately 5 metres) when they heard someone cry ‘Hoy!’ They went on and were within three or four rods of the person when they recognised the tall muscular figure of twenty-one-year-old labourer John Pallett, who was walking towards them carrying the body of the injured man draped over his shoulder. ‘Here is James Mumford!’ said Pallett. Like many other men in the area, including John Reed, Pallett worked for yeoman farmer Thomas Mumford, who occupied Priors Hall, Widdington, a 300-acre holding which belonged to Brazenose College Oxford. Mumford had three sons, one of whom was twenty-three-year-old James, familiarly known as ‘Jem’.

John Reed held a lantern up to the face of the unknown man, and the light revealed some appalling injuries. The victim had been attacked with such savagery that the back of his head was beaten in, and his jaw and facial bones crushed. His features were so swollen and disfigured that neither Reed nor any of his companions could recognise him. He was no longer groaning and appeared to be dead, but the ruined face was still oozing blood, which had saturated Pallett’s smock-frock. Reed, who had known James Mumford for many years, was sure it was not he, and the others agreed, but Pallett, who carried no light with him, said he knew it was. When Reed asked how he knew, Pallett looked confused and simply repeated that he was certain. At this point, Robert Smith returned and the body was put into the cart and taken to Widdington. The limp figure was carried into the parlour of the Fleur de Lys, and placed in a chair. The landlady, Mrs Whisken, noticed some initials ‘J.M.’ marked on the man’s shirt, and when John Reed recognised a mole on the battered cheek, he confirmed that Pallett had been right. James Mumford’s mother, Mary, was sent for, and identified the body of her son.

Pallett, who was bloodied about the face, left the tap-room to wash, and in his absence there must have been some discussion about his unexpected appearance on the scene. He seemed to have appeared from nowhere within minutes, which suggested that he might have been lurking nearby, and the men wondered how he had known, despite the darkness and disfigurement, that the body was that of James Mumford. Pallett’s family were known to be of good character. His father, fifty-three-year-old Thomas, worked for James Mumford’s father, tending to his horses. However, young John, who had worked for the Mumfords since he was a child, had a bad reputation. He frequented fairs where he had sometimes caused riots, had on many occasions been found guilty of drunkenness and profane swearing, and was known to have a ‘very malicious temper’. Pallett’s misdemeanours had resulted in his being punished by James, who had impounded his pigs when he had trespassed on the Mumfords’ lands, and lopped boughs from the trees, and James had also had him fined 5s for drunkenness. Although the punishments were deserved, they had given rise to intense hatred and resentment and Pallett had been heard to threaten that he would ‘do’ for ‘Jem Mumford’.

At 10 p.m. that evening, Parish Constable George Knight arrived, and when John Reed told him how they had found Pallett carrying the body, he decided to take Pallett into custody. At first the prisoner submitted quietly, but then took violent exception to being handcuffed, and there was a struggle during which Pallett knocked over a table, breaking plates and glasses. Knight called out for assistance and seven or eight men came to help the constable subdue the prisoner. Eventually, Pallett was secured, threatening that he would smash them all. They were obliged to tie up his legs to stop him kicking out.

Hollow Lane, formerley Quendon Want Lane, site of the murder of James Mumford.

According to local legend, the body of James Mumford was placed in this corner of the Fleur de Lys public house. (Picture by kind permission of the landord)

James Mumford from a contemporary print. (By kind permission of Gary Dunnett)

Pallett was searched, and in his right-hand breeches pocket was found a knife which had two notches on its blade. There was also a comb, and 2s and four pence in a canvas purse. In the left-hand pocket was a knife with a buckhorn handle, and Knight recognised it as one he had often seen in the possession of James Mumford.

That Monday, James Mumford had been visiting his brother George in Smithfield, London, who was apprenticed to a Mr Burbidge at 127 St John Street. James was near sighted, and had bought some new spectacles in a red morocco case. He had left London by the Saffron Walden coach at 2 p.m., carrying with him his new spectacles and his buckhorn-handled knife. The coach reached Quendon at 7.30 p.m., arriving at the Coach and Horses public house with James Mumford sitting on the box above. Thomas Kidman, a huckster of Newport, had been selling oysters at the Coach and Horses, and drinking there since about 4 p.m. with John Pallett and another man, and between them they had consumed about twelve pints of beer.

As the coach drew up, Pallett was standing at the door and saw it arrive. The coach did not pass through Widdington, and the driver, addressing Mumford by name, asked him if his luggage was to be left at the Coach and Horses or taken to his house. Mumford said that his luggage was to remain at the Coach and Horses, and he would send for it later. He intended to ride in the coach as far as the Quendon turnpike, about three quarters of a mile away, where the road forked and the coach went on to Saffron Walden. There he would alight and take the lane, known at that point as Quendon Want Lane, walking to Widdington alone.

As the coach set off again, Pallett and Kidman left the Coach and Horses together, taking with them Kidman’s donkey and following the coach, walking at a good pace. William Dellow, the ostler at the Coach and Horses, rode with the coach as far as the turnpike, and passed Pallett and Kidman, but as the coach rattled past them they picked up their speed, Pallett riding the donkey and Kidman running, following on almost as fast as the coach for about twenty rods. He lost sight of them about a quarter of a mile from the turnpike.

It was a few minutes to eight when George Say, son of the turnpike keeper at Quendon, saw the coach halt and James Mumford get down. Mumford borrowed an elm switch from Say to help him feel his way along the dark road, and set off for the mile-and-a-half walk home. Pallett and Kidman were not far behind. As they approached the turnpike, Pallett jumped off the donkey and the two men decided to go their separate ways, but not before Pallett had borrowed Kidman’s knife. Five or six minutes after the coach had passed through, George Say saw Kidman riding his donkey through the gate on the road to Saffron Walden. Pallett was not with him.

John Pallett, the main suspect for the murder of James Mumford, had to remain at the Fleur de Lys overnight until he could be removed to a secure lock-up. The constable sat up with him, but at the request of Thomas Mumford Jnr, one of the dead man’s brothers, he removed the prisoner’s shoes. They were countryman’s ‘high shoes’ or ‘half-boots’, with thick nails in the soles, and it was hoped they would be found to match shoeprints found at the scene of the crime.

At midnight, John Haydon, who had by then heard the alarm, went out with two others to make a candlelight search of the road where the body was found. He discovered a great deal of blood running down the cart tracks in the road, a pair of gloves and a little elm switch.

The next morning he searched again, and in a field of turnips he found a thick hazel stick, about 26in long, which appeared to have been cut with a notched knife. It was heavily stained with blood and one end was split as if it had been used for repeated blows. About fifteen rods further on he found a hat and coat, some keys, another knife, a pencil case and a pair of spectacles in a red morocco case. The hat was much bloodied and cut across the crown. All these items were delivered to the constable.

The Fleur de Lys, 2010. (By kind permission of the landlord)

That morning, James’ brother John was given the prisoner’s shoes to compare with footprints near the scene of the crime. When John Pallett, still chained up in the Fleur de Lys, saw Mumford going past the window he asked where he was going and, on learning what was proposed, exclaimed,‘Then I shall be sure to be done: it is a hard thing to be born to be hung…’. Pallett was later taken to the house of correction in Newport, crying out all the way that he was sure to hang.

John Mumford made a careful examination of the wheat field. A great many of the murderer’s footprints had been obliterated by the trampling feet of searchers, but he was able to follow a track starting three or four rods from the blood in the road of what appeared to be running feet. After twelve rods he found a place on a ridge of wheat where there was a mark as if someone had sat down there, and beside it were two holes which looked as if a split stick had been stuck in the ground. The same footsteps then went towards the adjoining field of turnips to where Haydon had found the murdered man’s property. John Mumford began comparing the prisoner’s high shoes with the footmarks, starting from those nearest the blood, following them from there to the seat in the ground, then on to where the coat and other things were found, and thence back towards the lane. He compared them in over a hundred places, and found that they corresponded. He also saw that in two instances the person who had crossed the turnip field had trodden on some turnips and made marks which exactly corresponded with nails in the toes of the shoes. The split hazel stick exactly fitted the two holes beside the seat in the wheat field.

John, aware that the hazel stick had been cut with a notched knife and that a knife of that description had been found on the prisoner, was determined to find the place where the murder weapon had been cut and instructed labourer James Franklin to examine all the hedges in the neighbourhood. Near the turning from Quendon to Widdington were hazel trees cut down to stumps, known as stools, from which new growth would arise, and it was found that a piece had been freshly cut from a stool using a notched knife. Franklin removed the piece of stool from which the stick had been cut. The stool and the murder weapon were then compared and they were a match.

That Tuesday morning, Mr George Eachus, a surgeon of Saffron Walden, saw the body. He found a lacerated wound on the lower side of the left jaw, which looked as though it had been caused by a blow with a stick. Every bone in the skull apart from the frontal bone was fractured. On one side, a piece of bone the size of his hand was loose and he was able to remove it, while on the other side the skull was ‘shivered to pieces’. He later stated that the injuries were ‘sufficient to have killed a thousand men.’

On the same day, John Pallett was brought to Saffron Walden to be questioned. Thomas Hall, clerk to the magistrates of Saffron Walden, took the depositions of the witnesses which were read over to the prisoner. He was asked if he had anything to say and replied ‘Nothing’. The buckhorn-handled knife was shown to him, and he claimed to have found it in Baggot Field, Widdington, about a fortnight before. He was remanded until the result of the inquest was known.

The inquest was held at the Fleur de Lys on Thursday 11 December, and Pallett arrived by cart, handcuffed and with heavy irons on both legs. He was confined to an ante-room and during the proceedings, which took five and a half hours, he was several times so overcome with emotion that he fainted. The jury went to view the body, which had been taken to James’ father’s house, and, after hearing the evidence, returned a verdict of wilful murder against John Pallett. The Coroner committed him for trial and ordered that he be taken to Chelmsford Gaol. That same evening a Mr Brodrick was retained to conduct the prosecution on behalf of the Crown.

As he travelled to the gaol by cart, Pallett asked to be allowed to speak to Thomas Hall. The cart stopped at the Saracen’s Head Inn, where Hall was staying, and a message was sent to Hall. The clerk had not seen Pallett since recording the depositions on Tuesday, and knew that the magistrate, Mr Lodden, had cautioned the prisoner as to the effect of anything he might say. He emerged from the inn and approached the cart, where Pallett, speaking in a voice so low that Hall could scarcely understand him, asked Hall to get into the cart so they could talk. Pallett said that Kidman had given him the knife which he had used to cut the hazel stick. Hall asked him if Kidman had anything to do with the murder and Pallett answered, ‘No, I alone did it.’

Pallett confirmed that on the night of the murder he had heard Mumford’s name mentioned when the Saffron Walden coach arrived, and had gone to cut the stake specifically for the purpose of taking his revenge. He had easily overtaken Mumford, who had been slowly feeling his way down the dark lane with the elm switch, and was about to strike the fatal blow when his courage failed him. Mumford thought he heard someone nearby, but unable to see who it was, called out ‘Who’s there?’ in a tone of alarm. Pallett said nothing and stood still, holding his breath. Mumford again went on, and Pallett took a shortcut through a field to get in front of him, and stood by a gate ready to strike. Again, his courage failed him and he did nothing. Mumford walked on and Pallett followed, and finally struck him on the head, knocking off his hat. Mumford staggered and Pallett struck again, felling his victim to the ground. He then rained repeated blows onto the head of the fallen man. His vengeance over, he retreated a short distance away, intending to make his escape, but suddenly conscious of what he had done, he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move in any direction, staring at the body. He remained there until Smith arrived, and saw him approach the body and ride away but still he could not move. Once again he tried to escape, but was unable to resist the impulse to return to the body, and unsure of exactly what to do he picked it up, and threw it over his shoulder and was carrying it when the men arrived from Widdington.

The Old Gaol, Moulsham Street, c.1820.

Portrait of John Pallett from a contemporary pamphlet.

Despite the terrible nature of the crime, Pallett was not without sympathetic friends. Some charitably minded people alerted to the fact that the defendant, the son of a poor cottager, had only 2s 4d to his name and believing that every man should be entitled to the best possible representation, started a subscription to enable him to obtain legal advice.

On Friday 12 December, a Mr Jessop was retained to conduct the defence, and on the following morning, less than five days after the crime was committed, the trial of John Pallett opened at Chelmsford Assizes. Long before nine o’clock, the hour appointed for the start of the trial, every vacant seat was occupied, and observers noticed that the gallery especially was filled by ‘the fair sex’ who took a particular interest in the proceedings.

The judge was sixty-year-old Sir James Alan Park; a man unafraid to express his firmly held opinions. He took his place on the bench punctually at nine, and before the prisoner was brought in, addressed the court. He had read in that morning’s London newspapers the full details of the evidence given at the inquest. He took the strongest possible objection to their publication, and made his displeasure very plain in the following statement:

I cannot but express my surprise that persons possessing the common feelings of humanity should thus take pains to increase the hazard of individuals who are going to take their trials…no human being but the Coroner has a right to take down the evidence…

Pallett was charged with the wilful murder of James Mumford, ‘with a certain stick, of the value of three pence, with which he inflicted on his head divers mortal fractures.’ During his stay in gaol, he had been attended by the chaplain, the Revd Mr Hutchinson, who had ‘succeeded in awakening in his mind a proper sense of his situation’ and found him willing to receive religious consolation. Hutchinson soon discovered that he had a blank slate to work with. Not only was Pallett completely illiterate, it was discovered with some astonishment that though the prisoner had frequented his parish church he was unable even to recite one sentence of the Lord’s Prayer.

Pallett, brought to the bar wearing his smock-frock, waistcoat and a spotted handkerchief, was loaded with heavy irons and moved with difficulty. He looked deeply depressed and had lost much of his defiant spirit. He pleaded not guilty in a low voice, and spent much of the trial with his head held down.

Before the proceedings commenced, Mr Jessop rose to request that the trial should be postponed until the next assizes. He pointed out that the prisoner had only been committed to the gaol on Thursday night between 11 and 12 o’clock, having been brought from 25 miles away and unable to have access to anyone whose testimony might be essential to his defence. Jessop also referred to the publication of the evidence against the prisoner in the London newspapers, which had been circulated in Chelmsford, and could have been seen by the jury by whom he was to be tried, ‘which could not but prejudice the minds of the jury upon the merits of the case.’

Mr Justice Park was not to be moved. ‘I am clearly of the opinion that there is no ground for putting off this trial,’ he said, adding that there was ‘scarcely an assize paper in which forty or fifty persons are not put upon their trial for felonies, within a few hours of their commitment.’ Referring to a case of ‘one of the foulest murders which was ever committed in this kingdom’, in which the murderer had been apprehended on a Monday and was executed on the following Monday, he commented, ‘There is nothing at all extraordinary in such a proceeding.’ Regarding the publication of the evidence, even though this was improper, the facts had not been accompanied by any comments. Even if this were an objection, the longer the trial was postponed the more the evil complained of might be extended. ‘Speedy justice, in my opinion, is one of the best preventives of crime.’ He thus refused the application and the trial commenced.

Title page of a contemporary pamphlet about the trial of John Pallett.

Mr Brodrick opened the case for the Crown, urging the jury to dismiss from their minds any preconceived opinions they might have formed from reports or statements in ‘the public papers.’ He felt certain that ‘their judgement would be the result of calm, dispassionate, and temperate consideration.’ He then called his witnesses.

As George Knight gave his testimony, Pallett suddenly appeared to be faint, perhaps from the heat and the weight of his irons, or feelings of despair, and leaned forward on the bar. Mr Justice Park showed the humane nature that lay beneath the firm exterior by instructing that the prisoner should be given a glass of water and provided with a seat. Pallett was not the only one to be affected. As James Franklin gave his evidence, and the bloodstained hazel stick was brought before the court, one of James’ bothers – probably the more emotional George – sobbed with grief.

The other articles found at the spot were produced by the constable, and the court saw that the dark brown coat was covered in dirt and smothered in blood. The hat was bloody inside and there was a hole in the top. John Mumford could not swear positively that the coat and hat were his brother’s, although he knew Jem had a coat of that colour. The knife found in the field he recognised as one he had made a present of to his brother about six weeks before his death.

George Mumford was called and ‘in an agony of grief’ took the oath. Some time elapsed before he was able to give evidence, and when he did so he cried almost continuously. Looking at the buckhorn-handled knife found on the prisoner, he swore that it was his brother’s. He also identified the spectacles in their morocco case.

There was evidence of the prisoner’s antagonism towards Mumford. John Cock, a weaver of Saffron Walden, had been at the Queen’s Head public house on the last Petty Sessions day, 22 November. He had gone in with a neighbour and seen Pallett and three other men there together drinking. ‘Damn you, Cock,’ said Pallett (Cock did not reveal if this was a usual greeting), ‘will you drink?’ Cock replied that ‘he must mind and not get drunk.’ Pallett warmed to his theme. ‘We have got to pay for getting drunk,’ he said. Cock asked him who wanted them to pay for getting drunk.’ ‘Little Jem Mumford,’ said Pallett, ‘a b****** (the trial transcript omitted to print the full expletive although The Times politely printed ‘rascal’)’ adding that if he had him here, ‘he’d smash him; but he’d be d****d if he would not be his match.’ The other men then went away and Pallett revealed that they had been at the Sessions that day having been accused of drunkenness by James Mumford, and had been fined.

Susan Reed, the wife of John Reed of Widdington, told the court that about a fortnight ago she had heard Pallett say, ‘I shouldn’t mind hacking Jem Mumford’s whistle,’ by which she understood to mean that he would cut Mumford’s throat. Neither she nor John Cock were asked if they had taken these threats seriously, and it seems probable that it was common for Pallett to talk in this way, especially when he had been drinking.

Thomas Hall told the court of Pallett’s admission of sole guilt to him, and Kidman was shown the notched knife and said that it was his and he had lent it to Pallett shortly before the murder.

There were no witnesses for the defence. Mr Justice Park summed up the evidence and the jury took only a few minutes to return a verdict of guilty. Pallett stood up, supporting his irons in his hand, his head bowed low as if in shame. He was asked if he had anything to say, but remained silent. Park, whose voice was occasionally choked with emotion, pronounced sentence of death, decreeing that after the prisoner was dead his body ‘be afterwards taken down and delivered to the surgeons to be dissected and anatomized’. Many people in court sobbed openly. Pallett seemed less moved and was heard to say only that he didn’t mind dying if only Kidman were to die with him. The execution was set for Monday 15 December.

James Mumford was buried on Sunday, 14 December 1823 in Widdington churchyard.

On 15 December the editor of The Times taking objection to the suggestion that newspaper reports would exert undue influence on a jury, commented angrily on, ‘…the repetition of a doctrine so essentially erroneous and unreasonable…’, pointing out that the jurors must inevitably know that the inquest had brought in a verdict of murder and the publication of the reasons was ‘more favourable to truth and justice than the circulation of loose and colloquial tales…’

John Pallett’s last night on earth was a restful one. He went to bed at 1.30 a.m. and slept soundly until 6 a.m. He was then awoken, but fell fast asleep again. The place of execution lay between the gaol and the river, and was shut off by a high wall in front, with a gate through which spectators were admitted. As soon as the light of day dawned, it was seen that the wall immediately above the place where the platform was to be raised had been covered with a black cloth. By then many people were already assembled on the bridge to view the preparations. At half past seven a number of young men arrived, all relatives – most probably brothers – of the murdered man, weeping bitterly with convulsive sobs. One brother gradually became more composed, and fixed his eyes steadily on the spot, while the others wept aloud and turned their backs on the scene. After five minutes of contemplation they departed.

The grave of James Mumford.

The Church of St Mary the Virgin, Widdington.