Book Review
Title: The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper
Author: Hallie Rubenhold
Genre: Non-Fiction
Rating: *****
Review: This book is split into five main sections, one for each of the Ripper’s attributed victims; Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elisabeth Stride, Catherine “Kate” Eddowes and Mary Jane Kelly. The introduction tells us of the duality of London in the year between 1887-1888 and how it was almost like two completely different cities depending on where you were at the time. Rubenhold’s intention with this book isn’t to hunt down a killer and places blame but to give back what was stolen from the Ripper’s victims, their dignity. The five canonical victims of Jack the Ripper were mothers, sisters and children all before they meet their ends at the hands of the Ripper in the Autumn of Terror.
Part One is about Polly Nichols born on August 26, 1845 had her life cruelly ended on August 31, 1888 just days after her 43rd birthday. Polly was the only daughter born to Edward and Caroline Walker alongside her two brothers: Edward and Frederick. Polly’s family wasn’t rich but her father’s job as a blacksmith afforded them a semi-comfortable life for what they could afford, Polly unlike a lot of other young women was given an education and she mastered both reading and writing. However, tragedy soon struck the family as Caroline was struck down by tuberculosis and because people weren’t aware how diseases spread her 2 year old son Frederick was struck down as well. Polly’s father was determined to keep the rest of his family together with the help of his sister-in-law, and Polly quickly helped take over the woman of the house’s responsibility.
In 1864 at the age of 18 after two years of courting Polly married William Nichols and the newly expanded family moved to 17 Kirby Street, and in December of the same year the newly married coupled welcomed their first child; William into the world. By the autumn of 1965, Polly was expecting her second child and the family once again moved, this time to 131 Trafalgar Street. While at this time they could afford to rent a four bedroom home, this wasn’t to last. As the Nichols couple brought more children into the world and lost some along the way, the finance didn’t stretch as far. William never made it to his second birthday before dying, but more children followed. Edward John was the first child to be born at the home on Trafalgar Street, on July 4, 1866. He was followed two years later by George Percy, on July 18, and by Alice Esther in December 1870. Shortly after the birth of this daughter, Polly’s brother left home to begin a family of his own. After losing Edward’s financial contribution to the home, the family were left worried about how their finances would stretch to accommodate the growing family.
However, the family were a short time later approved to move into the newly built Peabody Buildings on Stamford Street and there they would have their 5th child Henry Alfred and later in 1876 Eliza Sarah. Now with a 3 bedroom home, they didn’t share with anyone but their children, but with a home to maintain and 5 children financial worries began to creep in once more. The couple soon began to have problems and there are two sides to this story, William afforded their troubles to Polly’s drinking habit yet at the time people in the Peabody Building who developed drinking problems were turned out, so I doubt this story. Polly’s father Edward believes that their troubles were because William had began an affair with their neighbour Rosetta Walls which I more inclined to believe. The dissent between the couple continued and Polly even claimed her husband turned nasty and often turned to her father for help, but they couldn’t take her in, and she had to return to her husband. However, on March 29, 1880, Polly left the family home, turning over her 5 children to her father the only person who could support them and turned her back on them and her husband. Just briefly reading what Polly went through I couldn’t blame her for parting from them all, especially considering she may have been suffering from postnatal depression and with five young children would have been completely exhausted. Yet, I wonder how she left her children behind when she has clearly been a loving and devoted mother since the birth of her first child.
After leaving it is safe to assume Polly turned to her father and brother for help, but it wasn’t long before she found herself at a Workhouse. Meanwhile, William on July 31, 1883, at 164 Neate Street had moved in with Rosetta, who was now used the named Mrs. Nichols despite them not being married and they welcomed their first child Arthur. This tells me that Polly’s accusation of her husband having an affair were true, but he was gifted a continued comfortable existence while Polly had a hard life. She wouldn’t have been afforded any comfort at the Workhouse, but they did help her in getting a maintenance payment of 5 shillings a week from her husband as she couldn’t legally file for divorce as women couldn’t cite adultery alone as a reason for divorce, as men could have extra material activities while the wife could not. However, Rosetta husband had emigrated to Australia and she was now free to set up a home with her lover, but the maintenance payment William was paying Polly made this difficult. The only way these payment could be stopped is if he could prove his wife was with another man and he might have been aware at the time Polly was living with another man. William hired what we would call a private investigator to prove Polly was living in adultery without consent and he proved it in court. William was now absolved of his financial responsibilities to Polly, and on July 28, 1882 he and Rosetta officially moved into together with their 6 children, 5 of which were Polly’s.
After losing this allowance Polly was forced to return to the workhouse for an indefinite stay after it was impossible for women alone to support themselves even if they worked. She did briefly return to living with her father and brother, where her father did say she had developed a drinking habit although it was manageable, but she wasn’t there long before one argument once again led her strike out on her own. In March 1884, Polly met Thomas Stuart Drew, a widower and began a relationship with him as he helped her regain some of the purpose she had lost as well as a roof over her head and meals in her belly. Although Polly and her father were not on speaking terms, Edward Walker noted that when he saw Polly in June 1886, she appeared respectable in both dress and demeanour. However, after her brother died after a freak accident she once again turns to drink and it isn’t long before her relationship with Thomas collapses and he soon remarries. Polly once again returns to the workhouse, it is impossible not to feel a deep sympathy for Polly as she never intended to live this way or actively sort out this life but accepted that it was dealt to her and she did the best with what she was given.
After being homeless it isn’t long before Polly is arrested and returned to the workhouse where she does manage to find employment. This employment does last for whatever reason but rather than returning to the workhouse Polly turns to tramping. Tramping at this time didn’t mean prostitution but under the current laws there was no distinction between beggars, prostitutes or anyone else that lived on the streets. This was a very dangerous choice for Polly to make as men could do whatever they wanted with these women even if they weren’t prostitutes and the police did nothing, so many women were victims of violence and sexual assault. However, once more Polly is ordered to return to the workhouse and she does manage to find another employer, this time it is the Cowdrys. During her employ with the Cowdrys she is comfortable but for whatever reason she leaves the employ taking with her everything that had been provided. Polly would have pawned these items for money and her first stop was probably a public house.
Now we are in the days leading up to Polly’s death, while the official accounts of this time are slim, we know from the account of Ellen Holland, Polly remained at Wilmott’s until roughly August 24, when it seems her funds were running short and she was turned out. She spent the next week on the streets and on the night of the 31st she has been drinking in a pub and left quite drunk returning to Wilmott’s in the hope of securing a bed, but she had no money and was quickly turned away. At 2:30 am Ellen her former roommate on Osborn Street, heading toward the Whitechapel Road and they chatted for a while, but she couldn’t convince Polly to return with her. Polly made her way through the street looking for somewhere to sleep and was struck down. Her husband was called to identify the body and despite her injuries he recognised the woman he used to love, and the mother od his children. William broke down and forgave her for everything and in some form forgave himself for what he had done to her and that is where Polly’s tale ends.
Part 2 belongs to Annie Chapman, September 1841 - September 8, 1888 who was 47 at the time of her death. We meet George Smith who at 15 joined the 2nd Regiment of the Life Guard. In 1837 he served at the funeral of King William IV and George was also part of the coronation of the new Queen in 1838 and on February 10, 1840, he was there to participate in the ceremonies of state on the occasion of her marriage, guarding his monarch against the crowds. Here George meet a twenty-two-year-old servant called Ruth Chapman and by January 1841, Ruth was pregnant and in September she gave birth to an illegitimate daughter, Annie Eliza Smith. Five months later Ruth found herself pregnant again and as George didn’t have permission to marry she was worried he would posted abroad, and she would be left with two children and no financial support. This didn’t happen as on February 20, 1842, two years after the commencement of their relationship, George received permission to marry his sweetheart.
As a soldier’s wife Ruth was allowed to live in the barracks with her husband and children but this wasn’t comfortable, however, as times moved forward the Army allocated funds for married soldiers to rent home for their families and afforded them some privacy, rather than sharing with many single men. Shortly after Ruth and George’s marriage in 1842, a brother, George William Thomas, joined Annie and her parents. He was followed by Emily Latitia in 1844, Eli in 1849, Miriam in 1851, and William in 1854, bringing the number of children to six. Annie and her siblings would enjoy one of the greatest benefits of “life on the strength”: the regimental school so much like Polly, Annie would be educated. While Annie and her siblings would have been educated far better than their working class counterparts, her father’s position in the Army meant they moved quite frequently, and this interrupted her education. Over the course of George’s service with his regiment, from the 1840s through the early 1860s, the family lived at no fewer than twelve addresses between London and Windsor.
While Annie gave the appearance of coming from a good family they weren’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination as he father’s meagre wages had to support a family of 8 and things were going to get worse as outbreaks of scarlet fever and typhus swept through the area and the Smiths weren’t spared. Miriam was the first to die on May 28, and was buried quickly on the following day. While Ruth and George were nursing their youngest girl, their newborn William too was afflicted by the rash and fever, and five days later, he died at the age of five months, on June 2. After carrying away the two youngest, seven days later, scarlet fever took its next victim, Eli, at the age of five. This wasn’t the end as their oldest child, George Thomas, who had just turned twelve, fell ill and was diagnosed with typhus. He struggled with it for three weeks before expiring on June 15 now only 2 daughters remained: Annie and Emily. In less than 3 weeks the Smiths lost 4 of their 6 children which is impossible to imagine by our modern standards.
Even in the wake of this tragedy the family moved on, in 1856, a daughter, Georgina, was born in Windsor. She was followed by another Miriam: Miriam Ruth, in 1858. By the time Annie was 15 and preparing to leave education for domestic service, her parents called Emily home to assist with the younger children and Annie moved into the workplace. By 1861 Annie Smith was working as a housemaid for William Henry Lewer. The family meanwhile welcomed more children as George’s retirement was approaching but this wasn’t the end of his career as in 1856, Roger William Henry Palmer, a hero of the Crimean War who had participated in the charge of the Light Brigade, returned to Britain and exchanged his commission in the 11th Hussars for one in the 2nd Life Guards. When selecting a valet from among the men in his new regiment, Palmer spotted the necessary qualities for a “gentleman’s gentleman” in Trooper Smith and this was a very prestigious role for Annie’s father.
Things continued to get better for the family as on March 19, 1862, less than a month before his forty-third birthday, Trooper George Smith became Mr. Smith. He bid farewell to his associates, the barracks, and the regiment that had made him, and set off to accompany Thomas Naylor Leyland to Paris, where Leyland had arranged to marry his fiancée, Mary Ann Scarisbrick, at the British embassy before embarking on a honeymoon in France. For a while life was good for his family but the deaths of his children and being away from his family almost constantly took its tole on George and he committed suicide. Leyland paid for his funeral as he had a very good friendship with George, but the family’s future was hanging in the balance as George’s pension stopped and the family should have landed in the workhouse despite Annie and Emily’s incomes. This didn’t happen as Ruth was a clever woman and invested George’s owed wages and the donation from Leyland in a home where she rented out rooms and took in laundry to sustain her family alongside her daughter at their former home; 29 Montpelier Place. Montpelier Place was almost exclusively occupied by footmen and grooms and here lives John Chapman.
It isn’t known how the relationship blossomed but on May 1st, 1869, John and Annie were married and moved into 1 Brooks Mews North which they shared with John’s colleague: George White. For the first 8 years of their marriage the couple were comfortable as John earned a decent wage despite the nature of his work which was often temporary and in 1870, rather than summon Ruth to assist her in the birth of her first child, Annie returned to the sanctuary of her mother’s home in anticipation of the first pangs of labour. On June 25, she delivered a little girl, whom she named Emily Ruth, for the two women with whom she shared the closest bonds. By 1873, this child had been joined by a sister, Annie Georgina. The family lived comfortably and even took a step up the social ladder when John is promoted under Francis Barry who hosted the royal party quite frequently but like Polly, Annie had a drinking problem which wasn’t helped by the disposable income the family had. However, where Polly’s drinking was to cope with her situation, Annie seemed to drink for the sake of drinking and it sounds like she will be the downfall of her family, the architect of her own demise.
In 1889, Miriam Smith; Annie’s daughter wrote a letter to the Pall Mall Gazette promoting the movement to restrict the sale and consummation of alcohol, probably due to her mother’s habit. Miriam goes on to describe that many of the children that followed her were cursed by the demon drink as many died with weeks of being born, in total she lost 4 children. Emily had epileptic seizures most likely caused by her mother’s drinking and Annie Georgina had foetal alcohol syndrome. On November 21, 1880, John Alfred arrived. This boy, the last of the Chapmans’ children, suffered from paralysis. Things didn’t get better as in 1882, 22 year old Emily Ruth fell ill and was diagnosed with meningitis and Annie turned to drink in order to cope but when Emily died on November 26, her mother was not present at her bedside. Shortly after Emily’s death Annie was committed in December 9, 1882 to the Spelthorne Sanatorium which acted as a rehab clinic and when she was released on December 20th, 1883, she was sober for a while but quickly fell back into her old habits. At this time John was given an ultimatum by his boss; get rid of his wife or face dismissal, realising he had 2 ill children to care for he couldn’t afford to lose his job so he and Annie parted ways. This was heartbreaking for the pair as they genuinely loved one another, and John sent Annie to her mother’s with a maintenance of 10 shillings a week.
Annie quickly left her mother and sister because she couldn’t live without drink or abide by their rules. She quickly met Jack Sievey who shared her love of alcohol and the pair found themselves in a relationship which in the second half of 1884 led them to Whitechapel. The pair survived and drank on Annie’s maintenance payments, but these suddenly stopped in December 1886. Annie travelled to her husband’s home shortly before his death on Christmas Day but didn’t stay long enough to witness this death, their relationship had turned bitter since John had also turned to drink and it is what led to his death. After returning to Whitechapel she was abandoned in early 1887 by Jack most likely due to the loss of her weekly maintenance. Completely alone she did take up with a man or two in order to support her habit but faced hard times. At this time she was also beginning to suffer from tuberculosis, and she remained estranged from most of her family except her youngest brother; Fountaine, who was also an alcoholic, although he was still working. It is safe to assume that the five pence that Annie procured from “her relatives” on September 7, 1888, likely came from Fountaine, who lived nearby, in Clerkenwell. She had also begin to benefit from her relationship with Edward Stanley who worked from the local brewery.
There isn’t much known about what happened to Annie that night, but her family were informed on September 8th or 9th and the means by which they were informed are unknown. What is known is that Fountaine was the one who identified her body and in his despair stole money form his employers for drink which eventually led to him turning himself in. After his 3 month sentence was completely he moved his family across the Atlantic to Texas. Unlike Polly I don’t have a lot of sympathy for Annie as much of her misfortune she brought upon herself and was responsible not the downfall of her husband and her brother as well as herself.
Part 3 is Elisabeth’s story, born November 27, 1843 and died September 30, 1888, she was 45 at the time of her death and so far all the Ripper’s victims have fallen in the same age group and similar circumstances. In 1843 Gustaf Ericsson found himself with his wife, Beata, labouring with their second child. Three years earlier, she had brought a daughter, Anna Christina, into the world. On this occasion, the farmer would have hoped for a son to assist him in managing the livestock and bringing in the harvests. He had no such luck; on November 27, 1843, little Elisabeth’s newborn cries filled the couple’s bedroom. The family was more fortunate than most who lived off the land in Torslanda, an area that lay roughly sixteen kilometres to the west of the city of Gothenburg. Elisabeth was followed by her two brothers; Lars (born in 1848) and Svante (born in 1851), and she lived the life of a farmer’s daughter. Her only education was in reading as she was expected to read the Bible, as was the norm in her very religious community. Just before her 17th birthday she left the family home to find employment as a domestic servant and in February 5, 1860; her name appears officially on the census as a maidservant to the family of Lars Fredrik Olsson.
Elisabeth left her employment and a reason isn’t stated for this however, we can assume that she was living with a lover or in lodgings paid for by her lover whose name she took to the grave and was placed on the police register after it was found she was living in sin and pregnant. She was also forced to undergo examinations to make sure she was free of any diseases and wouldn’t spread them. Since having her name placed on the police register in March 1865, Elisabeth would have been subjected to this routine no more than a handful of times before it was discovered, on April 4th, that she had developed condyloma, or genital warts. The medical examiner recognized the meaning of this immediately: she was presenting the symptoms of syphilis. She was committed immediately, under police escort, to the Kurhuset, or “cure house” which was a venereal disease hospital where she stayed until May 13th. The shame of her situation also meant Elisabeth was estranged from her sister and father, her mother has passed away in previous years. The treatments she received at the hospital which was more like a prison led Elisabeth to go into early labour and on April 21st, while under lock and key at the Kurhuset, she gave birth to a stillborn seven-month-old girl. She did not cite the father’s name on the birth certificate.
As she had been accused of “lecherous living” Elisabeth would have been treated no differently than known prostitutes and the only way she could make a living was to enter the profession she had been accused of. It is not known precisely how Elisabeth came to join the ranks of the women who sold sex on Pilgatan, Gothenburg’s infamous “street of many nymphs,” but by October 1865, she was citing it as her address. During this time she was treated twice more for the symptoms of syphilis and each time deemed cured, knowing what we know now about sexually transmitted diseases like these we know this isn’t the case. It was also around this time she was employed by Carl Wenzel Wiesner and his heavily pregnant wife, Maria who wanted to show these girls could be reformed. It was Maria was wrote the letter to the police that got Elisabeth’s name struck from the register of shame and gave her the opportunity to restart her life. However, the community weren’t so quick to forget and on February 7th, 1866 she prepared to board a ship to London with her new British employers.
John Thomas Stride was born in 1821 and was the second-eldest child, John was initiated into his father’s profession and trained to become a carpenter. As time progressed and iron replaced wood, John found it harder to find employment which was probably one of the reasons he cared for his elderly father and mental ill brother and remained unmarried even at 40. In 1861, a difficult situation at home may have come to a head when John caught Daniel stealing six pounds, eleven shillings, and six pence from John’s top drawer. William Stride would not have looked kindly on such behaviour, and it is likely that it was his decision to denounce Daniel to the police. Daniel was arrested, imprisoned, and tried at the petty sessions in March, where John refused to prosecute him and instead secured his brother’s release. It was not long after this incident that the frustrated carpenter decided to leave Sheerness and seek work in London. John would have worked long hours and spent most of his time in a coffeehouse where no alcohol was served, and it is here that he most likely meet Elisabeth. In the meantime, she had been working for a new employers, but the new customs, rules and language would have made it a challenge. By the time her employer was moving abroad Elisabeth had expressed an interest to move to France but did not.
The circumstances that led Elisabeth to leave her position in Hyde Park are unclear, but a strange inference made during the coroner’s inquest in 1888 hints at a possible scandal, not unlike the one she may have been embroiled in at Gothenburg. However, she was given a good reference to secure employment elsewhere and over the years she courted many men. It is impossible to say how their meeting occurred or how their relationship progressed, if John and Elizabeth’s paths crossed on multiple occasions, on the street moving to or from work, or in the wooden stalls drinking a dark, sugared brew. Whatever the case, by the early months of 1869, they had become engaged. When the couple married they opened their own coffeehouse and they did face some struggles with this, but they made do. However, four years into the marriage still had born any children, due to Elisabeth’s syphilis of which her husband was still unaware and in 1872 they began to drift apart.
When John’s father passed away he was expecting an inheritance having been so dedicated to his father but to his surprise and horror he received nothing which forced him to close his coffeehouse to pay the debts left from their first business venture and try desperately to keep a roof over their heads. Following the collapse of John’s final attempt to maintain his coffeehouse, their marriage had turned sour. The ensuing financial hardship and possibly other factors, such as the couple’s inability to produce children, may also have contributed to the friction growing between them. Shortly after this Elisabeth left her husband but after being picked up by the police for living on the streets and taken to the workhouse the couple temporarily mended their differences. Two years later, when John had fallen ill, Elisabeth appealed for aid from the Swedish Church, and in 1880, her name appears in workhouse records, once at Stepney Union in February, and a second time at Hackney Union in April, where the word “destitute” was written beside her entry.
As early as September 1878, that Elisabeth alighted upon an ingenious method of supporting herself. She attempted to defraud a charity that was set up after the Princess Alice disaster and while there is no record of her receiving any money from them, the story she created was so elaborate that many believe it. However, this wasn’t to last as in April 1881, the couple were again reconciled, though this time the reunion lasted only a handful of months. By December, John and Elisabeth had apparently agreed to part permanently. Like William Nichols and John Chapman, John Stride may have also consented to pay his wife a small maintenance as a formality of making their separation official. After this Elisabeth moved to Whitechapel, first on Brick Lane, and then, following a stay in the workhouse infirmary for bronchitis, at the lodging house to which she’d return repeatedly over the next six years: 32 Flower and Dean Street. In 1883, fate threw Elisabeth into the path of a woman named Mary Malcolm, a tailoress. One day, perhaps on the street or in a pub, she glimpsed Elisabeth Stride and was convinced it was her estranged sister, Elizabeth Watts. Mary had probably called out her sister’s name, and Elisabeth Stride had conveniently answered to it. The mistaken identity stuck, in part because Elisabeth was all too pleased to use this new relationship to her advantage. For the next five years she convinced Mary to give her money and clothes although she maintained her doubt about Elisabeth for all these years.
In October 1884, Elisabeth received word that John, whose health had been deteriorating for some time, had been admitted to the Stepney Sick Asylum. There, he died of heart disease at the age of sixty-three. He was buried on the thirtieth of the month, and within weeks, Elisabeth’s life rapidly spiralled downward. On November 13th she was arrested for soliciting showing she had gone back to her old profession in order to make a living. It was after John’s death that Elisabeth met and took up residence with another man, Michael Kidney. Michael shared Elisabeth’s love of drinking and the relationship soon became a firm one but like Elisabeth, Kidney also had a violent temper when he was drunk, and Elisabeth reported him several times to the police but later dropped the charges. The couple’s relationship was a complicated one, which was likely to have come unravelled not only on account of Elisabeth’s drinking and Kidney’s violence, but also due to infidelity. By the end of their time together, Michael was suffering from syphilis, for which he received treatment at Whitechapel infirmary in 1889. He would not have contracted this from Elisabeth, who was no longer contagious by the time she was living with him.
In the two years prior to her death there was a distinct change in Elisabeth’s behaviour and by the end of the summer of 1888 she has been charged no less than 4 times in less than 3 months. While her drinking habit would have played a role in this there is another explanation. It had been over twenty years since Elisabeth had contracted syphilis, and the disease would have potentially been entering its tertiary and final phase. Neurosyphilis, or cerebral syphilis, as it was known in the late nineteenth century, presents in a variety of different ways when the disease begins to attack the brain and nervous system. A study of the progress of the disease, identified “epileptic fits” as its first manifestation and many that knew Elisabeth including Mary and Kidney said that she did have fits. In addition to seizures, neurosyphilis can lead to paralysis in some victims and dementia-like symptoms in others. A victim’s memory may falter, and the sufferer may become prone to hallucinations and delusions. Behaviour becomes erratic, if not irrational, inappropriate, or violent. If Elisabeth was indeed suffering from the early stages of neurosyphilis, then her heavy drinking was likely to have disguised these symptoms, or at least offered an easy explanation for her increasing episodes of violence and obscene language.
In late September 1888, Elisabeth returned once more to 32 Flower and Dean Street after she and Michael Kidney had an argument about some possessions she left behind for safe-keeping before leaving temporarily. The day of September 29 was no different from any other for Elisabeth she cleaned up after some whitewashers and Elizabeth Tanner gave her six pence. Elisabeth then went to the Queen’s Head Pub on Commercial Street for a drink, where the deputy keeper saw her again. At the inquest Tanner mentioned in passing that Elisabeth had gone out “without a bonnet or cloak,” a point that would not have been lost on newspaper readers. In the slums, women who wished to show that they were available sexually often appeared “in their figure,” without items of clothing obscuring their appearance. Whether she was out soliciting or not isn’t know but she returned at 6:30pm and asked a friend to mind some items she presumably wanted to pawn and paid for her bed in advance, but she never returned. Elisabeth is the only canonical victim of the Ripper’s that there is doubt over.
Part 4 is the story of Catherine “Kate” Eddowes, April 14, 1842 - September 30, 1888 who was 46 at the time of her death. In June 1843, the Eddowes family numbering 8 left Wolverhampton after the father; George had some trouble with his employer and a brief prison sentence. His wife: Catherine at his side they headed for London with their 6 children, the youngest of which is Catherine “Kate” who was just a year old at the time. Within a few years of moving to London, the Eddowes family welcomed 6 more children making their number 12 although only 10 would survive into their teens. However, when George came across the opportunity to send some of his children to school, he selected Emily and Kate, as one of the eldest it was natural for him to send Emily but the reason Kate was chosen might have been that she possessed an aptitude for learning that her parents wanted to encourage for her to break the cycle of poverty they were living in, as they regularly lived beyond their means.
In 1855 Kate suffered the loss of her mother at 15 and less than two years later her father died as well. The older siblings were looking after the younger children but wanted to remove Kate from London and they saw her as the one who could have the brightest future. She was returned to their aunt and uncle in Wolverhampton but thirteen year old Thomas, twelve year old George, seven year old Sarah Ann, five year old Mary, and twenty five year old Alfred were all sent to the workhouse as orphans. Kate was put to work immediately, and life was okay until she was caught stealing and dismissed, at this time she had also acquired a drinking habit and set out for Birmingham. Here she met her Uncle Tom who was a shoemaker but had made quite the name for himself in the boxing ring and Kate took to him immediately. However, she was returned to working in the tin industry which she hated, and Kate wanted more adventure in her life. Enter Thomas Conway, an Irish born solider who had been stationed in Bombay but after being diagnosed with chronic bronchitis and a heart condition he was discharged and unable to return to work. Thomas, a single man decided to become a chapbook peddler and travelled all over Britain and ended up in Birmingham where he meet Kate. Kate was completely taken with Thomas and his way of life despite her family’s disapproval and when faced with the choice of leaving Thomas or moving out, she moved out, Kate also found out in 1862 that she was pregnant.
Kate continued to travel with Thomas right up until she was to give birth and she did at the infirmary at Yarmouth Workhouse, to a daughter, Catherine “Annie” Conway, on April 18th, 1863. The couple took a brief break but were back to peddling in no time and in 1864 they found themselves in London where they finally decided to set down some roots and for the first time in years, Kate sought out her sisters. Kate throughout her life was challenging the idea of womanhood without even knowing it and her sister’s opinions on this remain unknown. Whether her siblings were present that same year to assist her with the birth of her second child, Thomas Lawrence Conway, is unknown, but by March 1869, Kate was content to name a newborn daughter after her eldest sister, Harriet. However, Thomas wasn’t making much money and soon after Harriet died, Thomas left London to look for work leaving Kate and her two children in the hands of her sister but with a family of 8 it wasn’t long before Kate ended up at the workhouse. It was here she gave birth on August 15th, 1873, to another son, George Alfred Conway, in the maternity ward of Southwark Workhouse.
Life at the workhouse would have been hard for Kate but this was further complicated by her children who she had out of wedlock. In November 1876, when Kate arrived at Greenwich Union Workhouse in anticipation of the birth of her fourth child, Frederick, two year old George Alfred was allowed to remain at her side, but Annie, who was then thirteen, and Thomas who was eight, were dispatched to the Industrial School in Sutton. Annie and Thomas benefitted from the education they were given and began to establish their own lives, but things weren’t going well for Kate. Thomas was abusive towards Kate, but she always returned to him coupled with her inability to take their advice and her drinking habit many of her sisters cut her off except one. After the death of her youngest son Kate frequently took to abandoning her two remaining son and the final time she did this it was Annie that found them before they were taken by their father as Thomas and Kate separated. Now alone, Kate took up with John Kelly we led a similar life to Thomas but shared Kate’s love of alcohol. After Kate took up with John Kelly, even her sister Eliza and Kate’s own daughter, Annie, attempted to distance themselves from her. Annie had left home in her teens, choosing to cohabit with and later marry a lampblack packer called Louis Philips.
John Kelly was a blessing for Kate as he demanded little of her, he didn’t pry into her life and his occasional income made life a little easier but they still regularly staying in doss houses and on the streets. Despite this the pair seemed to have a genuine affection for one another and others even stated that Kate didn’t go with any other men while she was with John Kelly, but her family disliked him even more than they disliked Thomas Conway. The pair spent the summer of 1888 in the Kent countryside for the hop and fruit harvest but the pickings that summer were very poor and on Thursday, September 27th, 1888, the pair returned to London. The exact events of the night of Kate’s death are meddled as she was murdered on the same night as Elisabeth Stride. However, Kelly claims that the pair pawned his boots for provisions to get them through to the following day, Kate then suggested her used the remaining money for the doss house because he had no shoes while she went to a workhouse. However, Kelly later stated that this wasn’t true, and that Kate most likely slept rough in order to meet him early the following morning. Kate was arrested for being drunk and wasn’t released until 1 a.m. she left to find John but was unsuccessful so bedded down in the street, where she would be found the following morning and her sister; Eliza awoken to identify her body. Unlike the other 3 women more than 500 people including her whole extended family tuned out for the funeral of Catherine Eddowes.
The final section belongs to Mary Jane Kelly who is probably the only victim of the Ripper’s that is remembered but not for the life she led but for the horrific way she was killed. Mary was born in 1863 although the date is unknown and died on November 9, 1888 and at 25 she was the Ripper’s youngest victim. Not much is known about Mary Jane Kelly, other than she was most definitely in the sex trade which in the 1882-1884 was in the middle of an evolution. Nothing prior to Mary Jane’s arrival in London has been able to be verified but she was well-known in the seedier districts of London and had many loves or clients including Joseph Barnett. The sex trade in London was evolving from a money for sex transaction to madams getting gentleman to pay many pounds to receive a lady’s companionship for the night which including sex and the girl might also be able to procure extra funds or gifts from the gentlemen and this way of doing business resembles the escort business that still exists today all around the world. In 1883, the number of girls being trafficked to mainland Europe was also steadily rising probably due to the rising ease of travelling between these countries and the rather lack levels of security, if there was any at all.
The one thing that we can almost be sure of is that Mary Jane Kelly came from a well to do family. We can say this because she was known to be a very good artists and poor women wouldn’t have been given lessons in art or been able to afford the materials needed. She was also known to be educated and she spoke very well without the trace of any accent implying that she had received elocution lessons. There is also more evidence for this as she was offered to go to Paris by a gentleman who was probably intending to traffic her, but she returned in less than a fortnight. It is speculated that Mary Jane understood some degree of French and manages to find out what these people were intending to do with her and escape from them but her life in London would never be easy. This account of Mary Jane’s brief trip to Paris is backed up by accounts from other women that were trafficked across Europe in the same time period. I believe Mary Jane to have been someone who was running from something or looking to completely shed her old identity for one she had crafted herself which is why upon her death the police weren’t able to track down any family or why no one came forward to identify her or claim her body. However, the level of disfiguration that Mary Jane received may have also played a role in these issues.
Upon her return to London, Mary Jame didn’t return to her former haunts but instead moved to the Ratcliff Highway which was well known from its prostitution and they seemed to work almost exclusively on the docks. However, during this time Mary Jane acquired a drinking habit and was forced to leave the brothel, in despair she turned to a former brothel owner for lodgings and was accepted as long as she worked. However, the landlady did note that during this time Mary Jane seemed to fear for her safety although she never mentioned who or what caused this anxiety and when a man came calling claiming to be her father, she became a little protective over the young woman. Then, at some point between late 1886 and early 1887, what must have seemed the perfect solution to her problems appeared: someone fell in love with her. Young, pretty, and sexually alluring, Mary Jane would have had no shortage of admirers and, despite the area’s constantly shifting population, a number of regular clients. One of them was a twenty-seven-year-old plasterer from nearby Bethnal Green, called Joseph Fleming. For whatever reason this relationship didn’t last, and Mary Jane soon returned to the brothel and prostitution.
Not long after she and Fleming parted, she began to search for a similar but more stable arrangement. It soon presented itself as she touted for custom on Commercial Street, around March 1887 where she met Joseph. Joseph was smitten with Mary Jane and after only a few days the pair moved in together, and while Joseph worked they both loved a drink and that contributed to their financial problems. The pair moved 4 times in less than a year before they found themselves living in Miller’s Court in March 1888. In the summer of the same year Joseph lost his job and their relationship was tested as they were now in debt to their landlord who also ran the local shop. Mary Jane was hesitant about returning to prostitution after spending a whole year with only one man but as they financial issues rose she reached out to previous lovers or clients from help. By October when the Ripper killings were making the news she offered a roof to women who were sleeping rough making it clear to Joseph that she valued the relationships she had with these women over their own and he left on October 30th, although he admittedly did leave with a heavy heart. Joseph went to visit Mary Jane on the night of her death to try and mend the differences between them but hadn’t been able to and so he left. What happened between Joseph leaving and the discovery of her body remains a mystery but another resident in Miller’s court claimed that nothing moved at 1:30 a.m. in Mary Jane’s room as she had gone to sleep, but the following morning the gruesome discovery had been made. Joseph, who was the closest Mary Jane, had to family was called to identify the body and deal with the burial which burdened him greatly, but it is clear to see that Mary Jane had many people that cared for her.
We know that the Ripper was never caught nor has a face but to the moniker but the killings after Mary Jane Kelly stopped or where no longer attributed to Jack the Ripper. No matter what our personal views are of these women, no one had a right to harm them or take their lives. Overall, I found The Five to be a very interesting read and would recommend it to anyone interesting in Jack the Ripper although personal I find the investigatory books that look into the details of the murders and the clue left behind more interesting and gripping.
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