Complete History of Jack the Ripper (8 page)

The inquest, then, established the fact and cause of death. But of whom? Even the identity of the victim still remained a mystery. A woman wearing a blue dress and black hat, and holding a baby in her arms, sat before the deputy coroner throughout the proceedings. She had been taken to view the body at the mortuary and had identified it as that of an acquaintance named Martha Turner. But she was only one of three women who had purported to identify the deceased and each had named her differently.

In view of the uncertainties still surrounding the case Collier adjourned the inquest for two weeks. ‘It was one of the most dreadful murders anyone could imagine,’ he heatedly told the court in terminating the afternoon’s proceedings. ‘The man must have been a perfect savage to inflict such a number of wounds on a defenceless woman in such a way.’
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The puzzle of the dead woman’s identity was resolved by Henry Samuel Tabram of 6 River Terrace, East Greenwich, a foreman
packer at a furniture warehouse. On Monday, 13 August, he saw the victim’s name printed as ‘Tabram’ in a newspaper, and the next day identified the body as that of his wife Martha, from whom he had been separated for thirteen years. At the time of her death she was 39 years old and a prostitute.

Apparently Martha told Mary Bousfield, her landlady in 1888, that her real name was Staples or Stapleton. In fact, it was Martha White and she was born at 17 Marshall Street, London Road, Southwark, on 10 May 1849, the daughter of Charles Samuel and Elisabeth (née Dowsett) White. The family are recorded at the same address in the 1851 census. By then Charles Samuel, a warehouseman, had sired five children: Henry (aged 13), Esther (11), Stephen (9), Mary Ann (4) and Martha (1). Henry was an errand boy and Esther and Stephen were still at school.

Martha’s life was dogged by tragedy from an early age. On 15 November 1865, when she was sixteen, her father died suddenly and unexpectedly. William Payne, Coroner for the City of London and Borough of Southwark, held an inquest three days later at the Gibraltar public house in St George’s Road and his papers, now preserved at the Corporation of London Records Office, afford us a glimpse into the circumstances of Martha’s family at this time.

Her parents had separated and since about May 1865 Charles White had been lodging alone at the house of Mrs Rebecca Grover of 31 Pitt Street, St George’s Road. His health there was uncertain. In October he suffered a severe attack of diarrhoea. When Mr Henry O’Donnell, a surgeon, came to treat him, he found him troubled by his family problems and complaining of poor circulation and cold. Mary Ann, Martha’s sister, told the inquest, too, that their father had recently complained of a weak back and had been unable to work.

Tragically, Charles White died at a time of reconciliation with his wife. Four days before his death Elisabeth White visited him for the first time since he had moved into Mrs Grover’s house. During the next few days she came several times and, on the evening of 15 November, both Elisabeth and Mary Ann had supper with Charles at his lodging. The meal was frugal – bread, butter and beer – but Charles was pleased to see his daughter and the three were happy together. Indeed, according to Mrs Grover, who saw him that evening, he ‘seemed more cheerful and better than I had ever seen him.’ Then, at about ten, Charles got up to go to bed, began to take off his waistcoat and fell over backwards to the floor.
Unable to speak, he died there without another word, one arm out of his waistcoat. O’Donnell, summoned by Mary Ann, arrived about fifteen minutes later. He found the dead man’s face pale and his body so cold that it ‘was as if he had been dead two hours’. There were, nevertheless, no suspicious appearances and he concluded that death had been occasioned by syncope. The inquest recorded a verdict of death by natural causes.
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We know nothing of Martha’s relationship with her father. But the break up of the family home and the death of its breadwinner at the early age of fifty-nine were presumably important destabilizing factors in the life of the growing girl. Her own marriage four years later should have provided her with the basis for a fresh start. Charles White had been a relatively sober person. His youngest daughter, sadly, was not. And it was drink more than anything else that turned the rest of her life into a chapter of accidents.

Martha married Henry Samuel Tabram at Trinity Church in the parish of St Mary, Newington, on Christmas Day 1869. At the time of the marriage the couple were already living together in Pleasant Place but by February 1871 they had moved to 20 Marshall Street, only a few doors from the house in which Martha had been born. Although blessed by two sons – Frederick John in February 1871 and Charles Henry in December 1872 – the union was short-lived. It foundered upon the rock of Martha’s heavy drinking and Henry left her in 1875. For about three years after that he allowed her twelve shillings a week. Then, because she was given to pestering him for money in the street and had taken up with another man, he reduced her weekly allowance to only 2s. 6d.

The other man was a carpenter named Henry Turner. Martha lived with him, on and off, for about twelve years, her drinking habits the cause of occasional separations. ‘Since she has been living with me,’ Turner told the resumed inquest on 23 August, ‘her character for sobriety was not good. If I gave her any money she generally spent it in drink. In fact, it was always drink.’ While they were together Martha usually came home about eleven in the evening but there were occasions when she stayed out all night. Her excuse invariably was ‘that she was subject to hysterical fits, had been overtaken with one and taken to a police-station or hospital.’ Turner himself had witnessed her in such fits. They generally occurred, he said, when she was drunk.

By 1888 Turner was out of regular employment and he and
Martha were earning a living as hawkers, selling trinkets, needles and pins, menthol cones and other small articles. For about four months they lodged in the house of Mrs Mary Bousfield of 4 Star Place, Commercial Road. There Mrs Bousfield found Martha a rather reserved woman but one who, though not habitually drunk, would ‘rather have a glass of ale than a cup of tea.’ About a month or six weeks before the murder the Turners left without giving any notice and owing rent. Exhibiting a curious twinge of conscience, Martha returned one night, unbeknown to Mrs Bousfield, and left the key of her room. The George Yard tragedy, of course, etched Martha’s name indelibly into the memory of the Bousfield household. In 1964, when Tom Cullen was researching his book on Jack the Ripper, he appealed through the East End press for people who could remember and perhaps shed light upon the crimes to come forward. One of those who responded was James W. Bousfield. Eighty-three years old, he was Mary’s son, and he still owned one of the key chains Martha Tabram had hawked about the streets and which he had preserved as a souvenir after the murder.

Turner last broke with Martha about three weeks before her death. She seems to have tried to support herself by hawking and prostitution but many of her pitiful earnings were probably spent on drink. Her last known address, 19 George Street, Spitalfields, was a common lodging house. On Saturday, 4 August, Turner met Martha in Leadenhall Street. She was then in a destitute condition and he gave her 1s. 6d. to buy stock ‘with which to earn a few ha’pence.’ He never saw her alive again.

So the victim was identified. But what of the killer? Inspector Reid had turned up two important witnesses. The first was Thomas Barrett, the constable on duty near George Yard on the night of the murder. Early on the morning of 7 August, at about two o’clock, he saw a soldier loitering in George Yard. When Barrett challenged his presence there at so late an hour he replied that he was waiting for his chum who had gone with a girl. Notwithstanding the fleeting nature of this encounter in the dark the constable was able to furnish his superiors with a detailed description of the man. He was a private of the Grenadier Guards with one good conduct badge but no medals. His age was 22 to 26, his height five feet nine or ten inches. He had a fair complexion, dark hair and a small dark-brown moustache turned up at the ends.
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Reid lost no time in following up this lead. That very day, 7
August, he took Barrett to the Tower, where the sergeant-major of the garrison showed him several prisoners confined in the guardroom, presumably for indiscretions committed on the Bank Holiday. When the constable failed to identify any of them a parade of all the Grenadiers who had been absent or on leave at the time of the murder was arranged. It took place at the Tower on the morning of 8 August.

The ensuing fiasco was fully described by Reid in a report of 25 September to the Assistant Commissioner (CID) of the Metropolitan Police.
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Before the parade he cautioned Barrett ‘to be careful as to his actions because many eyes were watching him and a great deal depended on his picking out the right man and no other.’ While the men were being mustered the constable was kept out of the way by the sergeant’s mess. When all was ready Reid directed him to walk along the rank and touch the man he had seen in George Yard. Slowly Barrett worked his way along the line from left to right. About the centre of the line he stopped, stepped forward and touched a private wearing medals. As PC Barrett walked back to report to his chief Reid came out to meet him. Barrett said that he had picked out the man, but Reid wanted him to be certain and told him to return to the rank and have another look. Passing once more along the line Barrett picked out a second man. ‘I asked him how he came to pick out two,’ reported the inspector, ‘when he replied “the man I saw in George Yard had no medals and the first man I picked out had.” ’

Both suspects were escorted to the orderly-room. There the constable insisted that he had made a mistake in picking out the soldier with medals. His name was not taken and he was dismissed. The second suspect, John Leary, denied that he was Barrett’s man and gave a detailed account of his own movements on Bank Holiday night. He had, he said, gone on leave with Private Law that night. They visited Brixton and stayed there drinking until the pubs closed. Leary went to the rear of one of them to relieve himself. When he returned Law had disappeared so he set off alone to Battersea and Chelsea, and from thence past Charing Cross into the Strand. There he met Law at about 4.30 a.m. They walked together to Billingsgate, where they had a drink, and arrived back at barracks at 6.00 a.m.

When Law was brought into the orderly-room he was not permitted to speak to Leary. His statement, nevertheless, corroborated that of his companion ‘in every particular’ and the case against the accused man collapsed. ‘I felt certain in my own mind,’ wrote Reid,
‘that [the] PC had made a great mistake and I allowed the men to leave the orderly room.’

The next day Corporal Benjamin, who had been absent from the Tower garrison without leave since 6 August, turned up for duty. His bayonet and clothing were inspected but no trace of bloodstains could be found on them. Benjamin protested that he had spent Bank Holiday night with his father, the landlord of the Canbury Arms, Kingston-upon-Thames, and when the police checked his alibi it was confirmed.
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On the face of it Reid’s dismissal of John Leary, the man Barrett picked out, may seem complacent, for only Private Law could corroborate any part of his statement and it is probable that if the two men had been involved in the murder they would have concocted an alibi between themselves before returning to barracks. However, Barrett’s selection of two men certainly suggests that he was not very confident in his identification and Reid was obviously highly sceptical of its worth. It is not possible for us to identify Barrett’s final choice satisfactorily because there were two privates named John Leary then serving in the third battalion of Grenadier Guards stationed at the Tower. Their attestation and discharge papers, preserved at the Public Record Office, suggest that both were men of good character. One, a Glamorganshire man, served in the ranks between 1877 and 1898. At the time of the murder he was thirty-one. Like the man Barrett saw in George Yard, he was five feet ten inches tall and had dark-brown hair and a fair complexion. But he had been decorated for service in Egypt in 1885 (Barrett’s man wore no medals) and his conduct is described as ‘exemplary.’ The only offences noted against him are nine cases of drunkenness between 1877 and 1885. The other private, from Macroom in Cork, served with the colours or in the reserve from 1886 to 1902. Although, at nearly six feet one inch, he was taller than Barrett’s man, he was a good fit in other respects. Of dark brown hair and fresh complexion, he was twenty-five years old at the time of the identity parade.
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Reid’s second important witness, a tall, masculine-looking prostitute, her face reddened and soddened by drink, walked into Commercial Street Police Station on 9 August and said that she had been in the company of the deceased on Bank Holiday night. Her name was Mary Ann Connelly but she was known on the streets as Pearly Poll. Poll had known Martha Tabram by the name of ‘Emma’ for several months. On 6 August, together with two soldiers, they
had walked and drunk about Whitechapel from 10.00 to 11.45 in the evening. The soldiers were guardsmen, one a corporal, the other a private. When the foursome broke up at 11.45 Poll took her client, the corporal, up Angel Alley. Emma and the private went up George Yard together. About thirty or forty minutes later, at the corner of George Yard, Poll and her corporal separated. He set off ‘Aldgate way’ and Poll walked towards Whitechapel. Apparently there had been no animosity between the four. ‘There was a quarrel about money, but not with the deceased,’ Poll would tell the inquest on 23 August. ‘We parted all right, however, and with no bad words; indeed, we were all good friends.’
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