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First published in Great Britain in 2009 by
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Copyright © Jonathan Oates 2009
ISBN 978 1 84563 075 1
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Contents
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Chapter 1 The Police of London in the 1920s and 1930s
Chapter 2 Crime in London between the World Wars
Chapter 3 Death in Chelsea, 1920
Chapter 4 The Murder of a Policeman, 1921
Chapter 5 The IRA Murders, 1921
Chapter 6 Murder in Shoreditch, 1923?
Chapter 7 Death of a French Acrobat, 1924
Chapter 8 The Death of a Landlady, 1924
Chapter 9 The Poisoned Egg Merchant, 1924
Chapter 10 The Murder of a Shopkeeper, 1926
Chapter 11 The Railway Murder, 1929
Chapter 12 Did Frederick Field Kill Annie Upchurch? 1931
Chapter 13 Violation and Murder, 1931
Chapter 14 The Most Dangerous Game, 1932
Chapter 15 The Croydon Mystery, 1932
Chapter 16 Whose Body? 1935
Chapter 17 Was there a Serial Strangler in Soho, 1935–1936?
Chapter 18 Murder in Southall, 1938
Chapter 19 Death in Hyde Park, 1938
Conclusion
Bibliography
Acknowledgements
Several people have helped me with this book. John Coulter, Jane Kimber and James Marshall provided me with copies taken from local newspapers from Lewisham, Hammersmith and Hounslow Libraries. Paul Lang, John Coulter and Reg Eden allowed me to use a number of pictures from their collections of postcards and John Coulter took photographs for my use. William Bignell assisted me with his reminiscences of pre-war life in London.
More anonymously, I need to thank the staffs at the Westminster Archives Service, Kensington Library, the British Library, the British Library Newspaper Library and the National Archives, for providing microfilm, books, archives and electoral registers.
This book is dedicated to Jenny.
Introduction
Name a crime or criminal in the London of the 1920s and 1930s. I certainly couldn’t, until I began writing about real crime in London a few years ago. Whereas, before then, even I could have named a Victorian killer (Jack the Ripper), an Edwardian one (Dr Crippen) or a post-war murderer (John Christie). For most people, crime in England in this period is dominated by the fictional whodunit. Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories still appeared in The Strand in the 1920s, though the stories were all set before 1914, and new sleuths, such as Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, Margery Allingham’s Albert Campion and Dorothy L Sayers’s Lord Peter Wimsey, all emerged in this era to do battle with fictional criminals, almost always taken from the middle and upper classes. Television and radio dramas and films have made these characters well known.
The real villains, their victims and their foul deeds have been largely overlooked, at least in the public mindset. Compendia of crime refer to some of these, such as the infamous case of Vera Page in 1931 and the Croydon poisonings of 1928–9, but most of these are now forgotten, and in any case, most have only been dealt with in a very cursory manner. The majority featured here have never been discussed in print since they were reported in the press. It is the aim of this book to bring them back to public view. This book deals with all the unsolved murders in London from the 1920s and 1930s. Among the crimes found here are a railway murder, the mystery of parts of a body found at Brentford and at Waterloo station, prostitute murders in Soho, the fatal shooting of a policeman, a brutal child murder and two IRA killings. It does no
t include the Croydon poisonings (1928–9), the murder of Louisa Steele (1931) or Robert Venner (1934), for though these are usually stated as being unsolved, the author’s examination of police files has revealed that the police were well aware of who was responsible, but they lacked the evidence to bring the cases to trial. These two latter killings are detailed in the author’s Foul Deeds and Suspicious Deaths in Lewisham and Deptford, and the police file on the Croydon case provides a convincing case against the killer who also escaped justice.
Ellie Norwood as Sherlock Holmes, 1920s. Author’s collection
There is a mystery and a horror with unsolved murders. First, there is the horror of a brutal killing. Secondly, there is the mystery of who was responsible and the added horror of the knowledge that the killer walked free. They might have killed again. From the view of both police and friends and relations of the deceased, it is unfinished business, a chapter which can never be satisfactorily closed.
Birdhurst Rise, Croydon, 2007. © John Coulter.
The evidence for this book comes from a number of primary sources, documents written at the time of events or at least shortly afterwards. Most important are the murder files created by the investigating police officials themselves. These contain statements by witnesses, medical reports, anonymous letters, case summaries by the detectives and other related evidence. These are located at the National Archives at Kew. They give much more detail than that which appears in the press. Secondly, there are the newspaper reports of the time, which reveal the public facts as they emerged from police bulletins and reports of the inquests on the victims. The Times online was a principal source, but so too are local newspapers and the tabloid Illustrated Police News. Finally there are memoirs of serving officers, who discussed their cases, failures as well as successes. These give an insight into the thinking of the police, but should not always be taken as being entirely factual, as officers’ memories are often at fault. I have also looked at books about crime, in order to learn what other writers have thought about these cases, though most have only given them a cursory survey.
Finally, a word about money in those pre-decimal times. Twelve pence (d.) made up one shilling (s.). Twenty shillings made up one pound (note). One pound and one shilling made up a guinea.
CHAPTER 1
The Police of London in the 1920s and 1930s
Seldom does one hear a good word for them.
Before we begin examining the crimes detailed in this book, we need first to take a glance at those whose job it was to investigate them, and discover their strengths and weaknesses. The bulk of the work fell onto the Metropolitan Police, founded in 1829 and reorganized in 1839. Their strength in 1933 was 20,154 and they were divided into 24 divisions, each covering part of London and Middlesex. They were of varying sizes and had differing numbers of police attached to each. For instance, Whitehall, division A, had an area of 1.88 square miles and a force of 694; whereas S division, Hampstead, was the largest with an area of 86.81 square miles and an establishment strength of 954. Each division was headed by a superintendent, who reported to the Chief Constable.
The numbers just quoted are ‘establishment’ figures and real numbers were usually below these; in 1923, by about 1,000. This meant that men had to undertake more than one beat per day and it made them more difficult to supervise. Despite the growth of the population of the metropolitan district between 1920 and 1940, there was no increase in police numbers.
The Metropolitan Police were under the command of the Police Commissioner, who answered to the Home Secretary, not to any directly elected body. Most commissioners were former military men who had no experience of police work and had little conception of the day-to-day lives of Londoners. Some were reluctant to take on the task, having had to be persuaded by the prime minister of the day to accept the role. Most were past their prime and some downright eccentric. Lord Byng, commissioner from 1928 to 1931, for example, refused to use a telephone or even have one in his office. Everyone else in the force had to work their way up from constable. George Cornish (1873–1959) began his 39 years service as a constable in the 1890s, and became a superintendent in the 1920s.
Almost all of the members of the police force were men. There had been the novelty of women police during the First World War (1914–18), but in 1922, in London, they numbered a mere 20; about 0.1 per cent of the whole. They had the power to make arrests, but were chiefly used in ‘rescue work’ among young women and girls. If they were out on patrol, they would always be followed by two male colleagues. Although it was felt that they were effective, in their limited remit, with Sir Leonard Dunning writing ‘there is a definite place for women in the police force’, the rank and file of the force were suspicious of them and hostile to any extension of their powers. One said that it was enough that married men were bossed about by their wife in the home; they had no desire for the like at work.
There had been major changes to the force towards the end of the First World War. For decades, the police had been very poorly paid; the job being seen as equivalent to that of an unskilled worker or an agricultural labourer, though it was far more dangerous and arduous. A National Union of Police had been formed and when a constable was dismissed in August 1918, the union called out the men on strike and about a third of the Metropolitan Police responded. The government responded in a conciliatory manner by reinstating the sacked man, and making improvements in pay and pensions. However, the union was not recognized and in the following year there was another strike in order to have the union officially recognized. This time, only a little over 1,000 men in London responded. Most did not want to jeopardize their recent gains. The strikers were all dismissed. In the same year, the Desborough Committee put forward a number of recommendations which were accepted by the government. These resulted in the formation of the Police Federation, a representative body for the men in the ranks up to the rank of inspector. It also made further increases in pay and pensions. For some men, the pay rises resulted in a doubling or more of their wages. A constable’s weekly wage rose from £1 10s to £3 10s. A police sergeant had an annual salary of £400 in 1928.
Policeman directs traffic in the City of London, 1920s. Paul Lang’s collection
There were a number of ways in which technological changes were put into play as regards police work. The introduction of automatic traffic signals in 1931 relieved the police of the burden of having to control the ever increasing volume of motorized traffic. Each Metropolitan division had its own cars and vans for transport and supervisory work. Wireless communication between Scotland Yard and patrol cars was introduced in 1922. Police boxes became a familiar site in the main streets of London and proved to be a rapid method of communication, and each police station was now equipped with a telephone.
Other changes occurred. Lord Trenchard, Police Commissioner in the 1930s, founded the Hendon Police College, in order to promote and train men from the ranks to higher positions. This was treated with suspicion by radicals who claimed this would lead to the militarization of the force. A police laboratory was also set up at Hendon in 1934. A police driving school was also founded in that year. However, there was a tradition of conservatism and, as one assistant commissioner grudgingly noted, ‘Modern preventative measures such as police boxes and the like are useful as far as they go.’
A leading figure in many murder investigations in the Metropolitan districts, and who features in most of the cases in this book, was Sir Bernard Spilsbury (1877–1947), a Home Office pathologist. He was usually on hand to identify the causes of death of murder victims and to carry out post mortems. He had first come to prominence in the public eye in 1912 when he was involved in the Dr Crippen murder case. He also gave evidence, usually for the prosecution, during murder trials and such was his repute that his words carried great weight among juries. However, more recently his ability has come into question, and it seems certain that his testimony in the case of Donald Merritt in 1926, where the verdict of not proven was brought agains
t a young man who almost certainly shot his mother dead, was erroneous. The accused man later went on to commit a double murder.
Most policemen patrolled on foot. The daily beat began at 5.45 am. There would be a parade and instructions at the police station. Then the men would file off, under their sergeants, until each man had begun his beat. This beat lasted from 6 am to 2 pm. The rest of the day was divided into two other beats of equal length.
Scotland Yard. John Coulter’s collection
The detailed detection of crime rested with the Criminal Investigation Department (CID). These plain-clothed detectives, not the divisional police, investigated the murders discussed in this book, though they were expected to report their findings to the divisional superintendent. The CID was recruited from the uniformed service. Any new recruit to the detective service had to pass exams and show proof of his superior powers of observation.
Apart from the Met, there were a number of other police forces in the capital. One was the City of London Police. This was controlled by the City of London, not the government. Its headquarters were in Old Jewry and had a strength of just over 1,000 men. There was also the River Police, which was part of the Met, and its officers patrolled in motor boats. Finally, there was the railway police, maintained by the railway companies. The Southern Railway Company ran the railways in the south of England and their police were involved in the detection of crime on the railways around London, as noted in Chapter 9.
The police were far from perfect. Even a writer in 1934 who was sympathetic to the force had to admit, ‘there have been black sheep – and there may be still – in the ranks of the police as there are in every other section of the community’. There was public shock when it was revealed in 1928 that one PS Goddard at Vine Street police station, had been amassing a fortune in bribes from nightclub and brothel owners, which enabled him to buy a large house and a fast car, as well as to accumulate over £17,000 in cash. He was sacked and spent three years in jail.