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  • Rip

    Dear Mary,
    It's 125 years later and I hope you have found peace where you are. We still don't know who murdered you and honestly, I am not sure we ever will.

    Hope you are well,

  • #2
    I hope she found peace long ago. But it is good to remember these anniversaries for what they are and keep a bit of focus on the victims. Unfortunately, in a contest between an anniversary thread of a specific murder and a "Ludicrous Suspect is JTR" thread, we know which attracts more eyeballs.


    • #3
      RIP Polly

      Another anniversary gone by - may you be in a better place Polly


      • #4
        That's why I thought I should write

        Just wanted to let her know that we still remember HER as a person, not just another victim!


        • #5
          Nice thought CRB...Rest in Peace Polly

          All the best



          • #6
            The sky’s above the Shadwell docks glow red from fires bright,
            smoke & ashes fill the air. ......a foreboding August night.
            An' through the darkened narrow streets, the destitute call home,
            a helpless woman staggers by, ....but Polly’s not alone.

            A figure from the shadows, stepping forward, never heard,
            a calm approach, a simple smile, he barely spoke a word.
            Too drunk to sense the danger now, or realize her plight,
            she’s feeling something ‘round her throat, something choking, ...tight.

            A struggle in the darkness, not a witness to be found,
            she stumbles losing consiousness, he pulls her to the ground.
            He left her laid upon the street, with eyes still open wide,
            her throat was cut from ear to ear, her stomach ripped inside.

            But someone’s coming, there’s no time, he puts the knife away,
            and slips in to the shadows, he’ll be back another day.
            Polly lay there motionless, and bleeding near to death,
            her fingers twitching, senses fading, gasping one last breath.

            From pain and shock and terror of a body gripped in fear,
            her heartbeat fades, and in her eye ....a solitary tear.
            The cobbled streets are quiet now, a stillness fills the air,
            her lifeblood slowly drains away, does anybody care?

            In memory of Mary Ann Nichols - rest in peace.
            Regards, Jon S.


            • #7
              You've been very poetic lately, Jon.


              • #8
                And today makes it 126 years since poor Polly was murdered and the Autumn Terror began.

                RIP, ladies.


                • #9
                  ( Foggy night in Spitalfields )

                  Here's to Polly , Annie , Liz & Cathy , Mary Kelly too ,
                  and all the poor unfortunates who lived alongside you ,
                  the torment and the suffering this whole town put you through ,
                  on a foggy night in Spitalfields , I'll raise a glass to you .

                  It was in that bloody Autumn back in 1888 ,
                  on the cobbled streets of Whitechapel , a killer lay in wait .
                  In the gaslight passageways a shadow , no one knows for sure ,
                  the old East End of London town , was shaken to its core .

                  Poor ol Polly Nichols , Jolly bonnet upon your head ,
                  all ya needed was just four pence , and a place to rest your head ,
                  so how you ended up that night , down in ol Bucks Row ,
                  beneath the shadow of the Ripper , it's for only you to know

                  Then alonglong came Annie Chapman , Dark Annie she was known ,
                  from the Ten Bells pub to Hanbury street she wandered all alone ,
                  it was early in the morning , the clock in Brick lane chimed ,
                  who left you in the yard that morn , at the back of twenty nine .

                  Lizzy Stride , just 45 , her friends all called her long ,
                  to walk these streets of London town , from Sweden she had come ,
                  as the rain came down in Berners street , did ya struggle Liz, did ya fight ,
                  could you feel the Ripper watching you , that dark September night .

                  Not even fifty minuites had passed, when up in Mitre Square ,
                  Cathy who dya trust to lead you to , the darkest corner there ,
                  did they know your name was Eddows , was it you they came to find ,
                  God bless ya Catherine Eddows and the streets you left behind .

                  Mary , Mary , Mary Jane , what in Gods name did you do ,
                  did you know the killer at your door , did you let him walk on through ,
                  just a Violet from mothers grave , you could hear black Mary sing ,
                  but when the Ripper walked out of Millers court , you couldn't hear a thing

                  So Here's to Polly , Annie , Liz & Cathy , Mary Kelly too ,
                  and all the poor unfortunates who lived alongside you ,
                  the torment and the suffering this whole town put you through ,
                  on a foggy night in Spitalfields , I'll raise a glass to you .

                  A small tribute 126 years on .. RIP .



                  • #10
                    I noticed no one had mentioned it yet, so here it is- we are into the anniversaries again. Continue to rest in peace Polly, and in fact I hope you have reincarnated to something much greater. I have stood at the crime scene twice, and both times couldn't help but thinking what a damn sad place to die.


                    • #11
                      My local Uni radio station has an "on this day" segment every day and sh got a mention.
                      G U T

                      There are two ways to be fooled, one is to believe what isn't true, the other is to refuse to believe that which is true.


                      • #12
                        RIP Mary Ann


                        • #13
                          Poor Polly,
                          This life's a wretched one--
                          Not the one you started with,
                          When you had a husband and a son,
                          Nor even a servant's work and keep.

                          You couldn't stop the drinking then--
                          Now it's all you have,
                          To soothe the pain,
                          Dull the humiliation,
                          Of working for your doss-money
                          Amid the crowds of men.

                          Still, you keep on hoping--
                          You've a jolly bonnet,
                          It's bound to turn out right.

                          Rest in peace, Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols.
                          Pat D.
                          Von Konigswald: Jack the Ripper plays shuffleboard. -- Happy Birthday, Wanda June by Kurt Vonnegut, c.1970.