One can but marvel at the dilemma faced by windy carman Lechmere.
What route to take to work?
It’s one thing girding his loins to traverse the inky gloom of Bucks’ Row – that haunt of gangs.
But whither next?
Hanbury Street – the scene of many a crime, of which he may be the next victim?
The broad boulevard of Whitechapel Road, where even more crime took place despite the relative profusion of gas lamps?
Or the fearsome Old Montague Street route that would take him past the house of death, the undistinguished shed that doubled as Whitechapel’s public mortuary? And once this dread scene was negotiated more horrors awaited as Old Montague became Wentworth and the black hand of Booth fell upon the lodging houses of the flowery dean as they spilled upon the northern shore of that benighted street. Those one hundred yards of danger could only safely be passed at a sprint lest the honest worker be relieved of his sacking apron.
In the end we must judge that the windy carman eschewed the shorter Old Montague route for the known haunt of Hanbury. That must be the case and anything else is just piffle.
No such route worries would trouble the unsung hero of Whitechapel. Bold Mulshaw was his name. He sat by his Winthrop Street brazier unperturbed by the High Rips and their pale imitators. Like a later day Hector he strode into the inquest and with a rare display of sang froid gave his real name and address. If need be he would face the gangs down should they turn up at his night watch. He would not be troubled nor deflected. He would give his evidence, look the coroner in the eye and be true to the bold and illustrious name of Mulshaw.
Quite unlike the knave Lechmere. The windy carman hid behind his mother’s petticoats and adopted his long dead step father’s name in a desperate attempt to throw the High Rip’s off his scent. Never mind that his testimony gave no suggestion of High Rip involvement and did not so much as hint at identifying the perpetrator (although he sometimes used the term perp in deference to his long dead ex-policeman step father).
But in his trepidation the windy carman slipped up and gave his real address and workplace! Oh dear, those High Rips might splice and dice him after all. He might become fodder for the worst street roughs of the East.
How he managed to escape this fate history does not tell us. But it is very obvious that this is what happened.
What route to take to work?
It’s one thing girding his loins to traverse the inky gloom of Bucks’ Row – that haunt of gangs.
But whither next?
Hanbury Street – the scene of many a crime, of which he may be the next victim?
The broad boulevard of Whitechapel Road, where even more crime took place despite the relative profusion of gas lamps?
Or the fearsome Old Montague Street route that would take him past the house of death, the undistinguished shed that doubled as Whitechapel’s public mortuary? And once this dread scene was negotiated more horrors awaited as Old Montague became Wentworth and the black hand of Booth fell upon the lodging houses of the flowery dean as they spilled upon the northern shore of that benighted street. Those one hundred yards of danger could only safely be passed at a sprint lest the honest worker be relieved of his sacking apron.
In the end we must judge that the windy carman eschewed the shorter Old Montague route for the known haunt of Hanbury. That must be the case and anything else is just piffle.
No such route worries would trouble the unsung hero of Whitechapel. Bold Mulshaw was his name. He sat by his Winthrop Street brazier unperturbed by the High Rips and their pale imitators. Like a later day Hector he strode into the inquest and with a rare display of sang froid gave his real name and address. If need be he would face the gangs down should they turn up at his night watch. He would not be troubled nor deflected. He would give his evidence, look the coroner in the eye and be true to the bold and illustrious name of Mulshaw.
Quite unlike the knave Lechmere. The windy carman hid behind his mother’s petticoats and adopted his long dead step father’s name in a desperate attempt to throw the High Rip’s off his scent. Never mind that his testimony gave no suggestion of High Rip involvement and did not so much as hint at identifying the perpetrator (although he sometimes used the term perp in deference to his long dead ex-policeman step father).
But in his trepidation the windy carman slipped up and gave his real address and workplace! Oh dear, those High Rips might splice and dice him after all. He might become fodder for the worst street roughs of the East.
How he managed to escape this fate history does not tell us. But it is very obvious that this is what happened.
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