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This article gives an account of an early (1897) organised Ripper tour. Does anyone know of the organisers - the International Information Agency?
The high point of this tour is a visit to Mary Kelly's room and details are given of the then tenant.
A couple of notes:
"yclept" - an Old English word meaning named or called.
"rara avis" - literally a rare bird.
Hope this is of interest
Chris
Nelson Evening Mail
3 September 1897
"Tours in Slumland"
(From the London Daily Mail)
Americans are over here in their thousands just now. They came primarily to see the jubilee. Now that that never to be forgotten function is over and done with they still stay on to see London. They visit the attractions of the West End has to offer, of course, and when they tire of these, or before, they go slumming in the east End, a new kind of sightseeing, placed upon a business basis by the International Information Agency. You can now embark upon a "personally conducted" tour of darkest London for the sum of a guinea. But you must not wear a tall hat, and if you are a lady desirous of seeing life in a great city at its lowest ebb, you can only be conducted round in the day.
So instructs a circular issued by the agency. Gentlemen in bowlers or straws or yachting caps - or presumably any kind of gear but tall hats - are privileged to make the tour at night. Parties are restricted to five in number. It was just such a party that representative (sic) joined a night or two ago. The other members were all Americans, and consisted of a young Bostonian, a rugged looking miner from Colorado, and, in spite of the restriction aforesaid, two ladies from a New Jersey village yclept Englewood.
The guide was a burly, good natured fellow, who had, so he said, served for twenty years in the Metropolitan police, and was on duty in Whitechapel at the time of the notorious murders, which may account for his being so full of information concerning the ghastly tragedies. He could talk literally of nothing else during the first part of the tour. From alley to alley and from court to court he led the way, pointing out the spots where the mangled body of this or that victim was found, until one began to feel ill.
Then, as a final bonne bouche perhaps, he dived down a foetid court and into a dank, none too pleasant smelling room. One knew what it was at once - the scene of the only "Ripper" murder perpetrated within doors. An old woman, who earns a precarious livelihood by "charing" in the common lodging houses with which the district abounds, is the present tenant of the room, for which she pays 10d a night for the accommodation, but gets Sunday thrown in, so that her rent is really 5s a week. And this for a den with such associations.
The old beldame had been to the Princess of Wales's jubilee dinner and her old eyes brightened the recollection of all the good things she had had to eat. It all seemed pitiful enough, but it did not strike the Americans that way; they pryed into every corner, and plied inquiry upon inquiry, determined, apparently, to get the full worth of the guinea the trip had cost them. The ladies were especially energetic, and the swish, swish of their dresses and the frou-frou of their dainty draperies never ceased as they moved here, there and everywhere about the dingy room.
One began to have fears that the guide would never be done with that room. It was evidently his piece de resistance, not to be passed by with the same attention that might be devoted to a mere hovel or thieves' kitchen. But he managed to tear himself away at last, and commenced a course of common lodging houses, each one appearing more crowded and malodorous than the last. They were of the usual type - large kitchens, where big coke fires were kept burning day and night; huge dormitories, packed with tiny beds as close together as the law will allow, with wash house, reading and work rooms in the more pretentious. In one, a women's lodging house, the lady tourist discovered a rara avis in the shape of a well brought up girl, who was dying of consumption. She looked 17 or thereabouts, but was 28, so she said. She had been a governess in a nobleman's family, spoke German and French fluently, and at one time had nearly £200 in the Post Office Savings Bank. How she came to this state she did not say, but one suspected that the downfall could be explained by one word - a word that accounts for much in these parts - drink. She showed us some little watercolour sketches, by the sale of which she managed to eke out a living, and not one of the party refused purchase. The man from Colorado bought three. Many other sights there were to be seen during the remainder of the tour in slumland; but what need is there to dwell upon the squalid side of our metropolis, which is, after all, no worse than any other big city?
It was a matter of wonder, at first, how the guide managed to secure admission for his party to the various places. One soon discovered that the open sesame was beer. No sooner was the wish to see the interior of this den or that expressed than the ex-police officer knocked at the door, and, entering without further ceremony, proceeded to make a little speech to the inmates, the keynote of which was "beer." At the sound of the blessed word all opposition vanished. Nay, the wretched became suddenly consumed with anxiety to show their wretchedness, the depraved to exhibit their depravity. It was, to a certain extent, a new experience; but the sort that leaves a nasty taste in the mouth, the sort one would not care to repeat.
But this also did not strike the Americans that way. The ladies were especially vigorous of delight. "Dear Whitechapel! It is just too delightful for anything!" they murmured, as the guide helped them into their cab.
The high point of this tour is a visit to Mary Kelly's room and details are given of the then tenant.
A couple of notes:
"yclept" - an Old English word meaning named or called.
"rara avis" - literally a rare bird.
Hope this is of interest
Chris
Nelson Evening Mail
3 September 1897
"Tours in Slumland"
(From the London Daily Mail)
Americans are over here in their thousands just now. They came primarily to see the jubilee. Now that that never to be forgotten function is over and done with they still stay on to see London. They visit the attractions of the West End has to offer, of course, and when they tire of these, or before, they go slumming in the east End, a new kind of sightseeing, placed upon a business basis by the International Information Agency. You can now embark upon a "personally conducted" tour of darkest London for the sum of a guinea. But you must not wear a tall hat, and if you are a lady desirous of seeing life in a great city at its lowest ebb, you can only be conducted round in the day.
So instructs a circular issued by the agency. Gentlemen in bowlers or straws or yachting caps - or presumably any kind of gear but tall hats - are privileged to make the tour at night. Parties are restricted to five in number. It was just such a party that representative (sic) joined a night or two ago. The other members were all Americans, and consisted of a young Bostonian, a rugged looking miner from Colorado, and, in spite of the restriction aforesaid, two ladies from a New Jersey village yclept Englewood.
The guide was a burly, good natured fellow, who had, so he said, served for twenty years in the Metropolitan police, and was on duty in Whitechapel at the time of the notorious murders, which may account for his being so full of information concerning the ghastly tragedies. He could talk literally of nothing else during the first part of the tour. From alley to alley and from court to court he led the way, pointing out the spots where the mangled body of this or that victim was found, until one began to feel ill.
Then, as a final bonne bouche perhaps, he dived down a foetid court and into a dank, none too pleasant smelling room. One knew what it was at once - the scene of the only "Ripper" murder perpetrated within doors. An old woman, who earns a precarious livelihood by "charing" in the common lodging houses with which the district abounds, is the present tenant of the room, for which she pays 10d a night for the accommodation, but gets Sunday thrown in, so that her rent is really 5s a week. And this for a den with such associations.
The old beldame had been to the Princess of Wales's jubilee dinner and her old eyes brightened the recollection of all the good things she had had to eat. It all seemed pitiful enough, but it did not strike the Americans that way; they pryed into every corner, and plied inquiry upon inquiry, determined, apparently, to get the full worth of the guinea the trip had cost them. The ladies were especially energetic, and the swish, swish of their dresses and the frou-frou of their dainty draperies never ceased as they moved here, there and everywhere about the dingy room.
One began to have fears that the guide would never be done with that room. It was evidently his piece de resistance, not to be passed by with the same attention that might be devoted to a mere hovel or thieves' kitchen. But he managed to tear himself away at last, and commenced a course of common lodging houses, each one appearing more crowded and malodorous than the last. They were of the usual type - large kitchens, where big coke fires were kept burning day and night; huge dormitories, packed with tiny beds as close together as the law will allow, with wash house, reading and work rooms in the more pretentious. In one, a women's lodging house, the lady tourist discovered a rara avis in the shape of a well brought up girl, who was dying of consumption. She looked 17 or thereabouts, but was 28, so she said. She had been a governess in a nobleman's family, spoke German and French fluently, and at one time had nearly £200 in the Post Office Savings Bank. How she came to this state she did not say, but one suspected that the downfall could be explained by one word - a word that accounts for much in these parts - drink. She showed us some little watercolour sketches, by the sale of which she managed to eke out a living, and not one of the party refused purchase. The man from Colorado bought three. Many other sights there were to be seen during the remainder of the tour in slumland; but what need is there to dwell upon the squalid side of our metropolis, which is, after all, no worse than any other big city?
It was a matter of wonder, at first, how the guide managed to secure admission for his party to the various places. One soon discovered that the open sesame was beer. No sooner was the wish to see the interior of this den or that expressed than the ex-police officer knocked at the door, and, entering without further ceremony, proceeded to make a little speech to the inmates, the keynote of which was "beer." At the sound of the blessed word all opposition vanished. Nay, the wretched became suddenly consumed with anxiety to show their wretchedness, the depraved to exhibit their depravity. It was, to a certain extent, a new experience; but the sort that leaves a nasty taste in the mouth, the sort one would not care to repeat.
But this also did not strike the Americans that way. The ladies were especially vigorous of delight. "Dear Whitechapel! It is just too delightful for anything!" they murmured, as the guide helped them into their cab.
"What our ancestors would really be thinking, if they were alive today, is: "Why is it so dark in here?"" From Pyramids by Sir Terry Pratchett, a British National Treasure. 
Down through the years, someone may have done the same thing with Miller's Ct. I keep hoping, anyway.
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