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Hi All,
Here's an encounter Henry Smith didn't mention in "From Constable to Commissioner" [1910].
Blackwoods Magazine, May 1906
"More About the Streets of London"
Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Henry Smith, KCB
Ex-Commissioner City of London Police
The Ashford hop-fields furnished the Whitechapel murder with one of his victims. The night of september 29, 1988, was a glorious one. It was light as day when shortly after midnight Catherine Eddowes left the police station in Bishopsgate, and not three-quarters of an hour afterwards was cut to pieces.This woman was the wife of a soldier, whom she left to drink heavily, and, that, as I afterwards discovered, was not her only failing. She and her "husband" had made some money "hopping," and had got through it all in a week's time.On the afternoon of the 29th she pawned a pair of boots to get something for supper; but,instead of doing so, got drunk on the proceeds and was locked up,—a typical case altogether of everyday life in the "Far East."When sober enough to take care of herself she was released, the "reserve man" in charge of the cells advising her to go straight home and face the "hiding" which she said she was sure to get from her "old man."His advice she didd not follow, for instead of walking away northwards in the direction of "Flower and Dean Street," one of the very worst streets in that notorious locality, he noticed that she turned to the left, and to the left again up Houndsditch, which would lead her to Mitre Square, where she met her fate,presumably in the endeavour to replace by other means the money she had squandered. A ghastly sight she was by the light of the harvest moon as she lay in the corner of the Square, and one not easily forgotten. Her "husband"—bad as he was, he was good for her—I found fairly intelligent, and with a certain amount of confidence in and chivalrous feeling for the miserable being with whom he lived. God knows how his confidence was abused".
"She drank a bit, sir," he admitted, "but I am sure she would never do anything wrong."
"I don't want, I assure you," I said, "at such a time to hurt your feelings, but what was she doing about Aldgate and Mitre Square at that hour?"
"Well, sir, you see," he replied, "this is how it was: she had a daughter, very comfortable, living in Bermondsey; and whenever we were hard up she would go across to her, and she never came back without something."
This story I was disinclined to believe, seeing that he could not, or would not, tell me where the daughter lived; but after a great deal of trouble, having discovered the woman in question, I found she had not seen her mother for years. How the money was got when times were hard does not call for an explanation from me. That explanation "the streets of London" will afford.
Regards,
Simon
Here's an encounter Henry Smith didn't mention in "From Constable to Commissioner" [1910].
Blackwoods Magazine, May 1906
"More About the Streets of London"
Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Henry Smith, KCB
Ex-Commissioner City of London Police
The Ashford hop-fields furnished the Whitechapel murder with one of his victims. The night of september 29, 1988, was a glorious one. It was light as day when shortly after midnight Catherine Eddowes left the police station in Bishopsgate, and not three-quarters of an hour afterwards was cut to pieces.This woman was the wife of a soldier, whom she left to drink heavily, and, that, as I afterwards discovered, was not her only failing. She and her "husband" had made some money "hopping," and had got through it all in a week's time.On the afternoon of the 29th she pawned a pair of boots to get something for supper; but,instead of doing so, got drunk on the proceeds and was locked up,—a typical case altogether of everyday life in the "Far East."When sober enough to take care of herself she was released, the "reserve man" in charge of the cells advising her to go straight home and face the "hiding" which she said she was sure to get from her "old man."His advice she didd not follow, for instead of walking away northwards in the direction of "Flower and Dean Street," one of the very worst streets in that notorious locality, he noticed that she turned to the left, and to the left again up Houndsditch, which would lead her to Mitre Square, where she met her fate,presumably in the endeavour to replace by other means the money she had squandered. A ghastly sight she was by the light of the harvest moon as she lay in the corner of the Square, and one not easily forgotten. Her "husband"—bad as he was, he was good for her—I found fairly intelligent, and with a certain amount of confidence in and chivalrous feeling for the miserable being with whom he lived. God knows how his confidence was abused".
"She drank a bit, sir," he admitted, "but I am sure she would never do anything wrong."
"I don't want, I assure you," I said, "at such a time to hurt your feelings, but what was she doing about Aldgate and Mitre Square at that hour?"
"Well, sir, you see," he replied, "this is how it was: she had a daughter, very comfortable, living in Bermondsey; and whenever we were hard up she would go across to her, and she never came back without something."
This story I was disinclined to believe, seeing that he could not, or would not, tell me where the daughter lived; but after a great deal of trouble, having discovered the woman in question, I found she had not seen her mother for years. How the money was got when times were hard does not call for an explanation from me. That explanation "the streets of London" will afford.
Regards,
Simon
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