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The description of the visit to the mortuary and murder room, that I couldn't remember earlier, is from the Pall Mall Gazette, 12th Nov;
By this time quite a crowd had gathered round the hall, and followed us quietly to the gloomy gate of Shoreditch Church. The little rusty iron wicket guarded by a policeman, who held it open as we passed into the melancholy churchyard, with an acre of grey, soot-covered gravestones, and sorrowful grass and weeds. The path ran alongside the church, and as we turned sharp round to the left there was a little brick mortuary, a red oasis in the desert of tombstones and soft, dank soil. The door was open, and disclosed a cool and lofty apartment, lighted by a couple of windows placed high up, which shed a good light on the fearful spectacle upon which we all gazing. There, in a coarse wooden shell lay the body the Ripper's latest victim. Only her face was visible: the hideous and disembowelled trunk was concealed by the dirty grey cloth, which had probably served to cover many a corpse. The face resembled one of those horrible was anatomical specimens which may be seen in surgical shops. The eyes were the only vestiges of humanity, the rest was so scored and slashed that it was impossible to say where the flesh began and the cuts ended. And yet it was no means a horrible sight. I have seen bodies in the Paris Morgue which looked far more repulsive.
The jury being quite satisfied we marched through the churchyard again, and pushed our way through the crowd which followed us up the Commercial-road, and into Dorset-street. Here another crowd held possession of the field, trowy women, with babies in their arms, drunken men recovering from their orgies, and a whole regiment of children, all open-mouthed and commenting on the jury. The entrance to the court was held by a couple of policemen, and it was so narrow that we could pass up in single file. It was only about three yards long, and then we were at the door which is numbered 13. The two windows which look into the little court were boarded up, and had apparently been newly whitewashed. From the windows above a girl looked down upon us quite composedly, and several pots of beer were brought in during our stay to comfort the denizens of the court. At last the key was procured, and the room was surveyed in batches. The inspector, holding a candle stuck in a bottle, stood at the head of the filthy, bloodstained bed, and repeated the horrible details with appalling minuteness. He indicated with one hand the bloodstains on the wall, and point with the other to the pools which had ebbed out on to the mattress. The little table was still on the left of the bedstead, which occupied the larger portion of the room. A farthing dip in a bottle did not serve to illuminate the fearful gloom, but I was able to see what a wretched hole the poor murdered woman called "home". The only attempts at decoration were a couple of engravings, one, "The Fisherman's Widow", stuck over the mantelpiece: while in the corner was an open cupboard, containing a few bits of pottery, some ginger-beer bottles, and a bit of bread on a plate. The rent was 4s. a week. In twenty minutes the jury filed out again and marched back, still accompanied by a curious crowd, to the Town Hall, and began their very simple labours under the direction of Dr Macdonald, the member for the Scotch Crofters.
By this time quite a crowd had gathered round the hall, and followed us quietly to the gloomy gate of Shoreditch Church. The little rusty iron wicket guarded by a policeman, who held it open as we passed into the melancholy churchyard, with an acre of grey, soot-covered gravestones, and sorrowful grass and weeds. The path ran alongside the church, and as we turned sharp round to the left there was a little brick mortuary, a red oasis in the desert of tombstones and soft, dank soil. The door was open, and disclosed a cool and lofty apartment, lighted by a couple of windows placed high up, which shed a good light on the fearful spectacle upon which we all gazing. There, in a coarse wooden shell lay the body the Ripper's latest victim. Only her face was visible: the hideous and disembowelled trunk was concealed by the dirty grey cloth, which had probably served to cover many a corpse. The face resembled one of those horrible was anatomical specimens which may be seen in surgical shops. The eyes were the only vestiges of humanity, the rest was so scored and slashed that it was impossible to say where the flesh began and the cuts ended. And yet it was no means a horrible sight. I have seen bodies in the Paris Morgue which looked far more repulsive.
The jury being quite satisfied we marched through the churchyard again, and pushed our way through the crowd which followed us up the Commercial-road, and into Dorset-street. Here another crowd held possession of the field, trowy women, with babies in their arms, drunken men recovering from their orgies, and a whole regiment of children, all open-mouthed and commenting on the jury. The entrance to the court was held by a couple of policemen, and it was so narrow that we could pass up in single file. It was only about three yards long, and then we were at the door which is numbered 13. The two windows which look into the little court were boarded up, and had apparently been newly whitewashed. From the windows above a girl looked down upon us quite composedly, and several pots of beer were brought in during our stay to comfort the denizens of the court. At last the key was procured, and the room was surveyed in batches. The inspector, holding a candle stuck in a bottle, stood at the head of the filthy, bloodstained bed, and repeated the horrible details with appalling minuteness. He indicated with one hand the bloodstains on the wall, and point with the other to the pools which had ebbed out on to the mattress. The little table was still on the left of the bedstead, which occupied the larger portion of the room. A farthing dip in a bottle did not serve to illuminate the fearful gloom, but I was able to see what a wretched hole the poor murdered woman called "home". The only attempts at decoration were a couple of engravings, one, "The Fisherman's Widow", stuck over the mantelpiece: while in the corner was an open cupboard, containing a few bits of pottery, some ginger-beer bottles, and a bit of bread on a plate. The rent was 4s. a week. In twenty minutes the jury filed out again and marched back, still accompanied by a curious crowd, to the Town Hall, and began their very simple labours under the direction of Dr Macdonald, the member for the Scotch Crofters.
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