Gavin Baddeley - Jack the Ripper: The Murders and the Myths

Avert not your eyes from the sight of blood, reader, for the trails of blood are everywhere.

We are in search of that elusive figure whose name has become synonymous with bloodshed.

Whose cultural notoriety is such that only other cultural legends such as Superman, or Jesus Christ have been ascribed names that are perhaps more instantly recognisable than his.

For these are the scarlet historical trails that meet in the legend of Jack the Ripper, the most infamous man in the history of Western culture to effectively have no face, and to possess not one defined identity, but dozens

The composition period of this book was both aided and inspired by Jack the Ripper and the East End a unique and historic exhibition which ran at the Museum of London in Docklands from May to November 2008.

As attendees of the conferences which accompanied the exhibition, the authors approach to the subject was stimulated, challenged and occasionally reinforced by the following lecturers (in order of appearance): Professor Clive Bloom; Alexandra Warwick; Martin Willis; Sir Christopher Frayling; Julia Hofbrand (exhibition curator); Donald Rumbelow. We have therefore quoted selectively (but accurately!) from the above lecturers at relevant junctures in this book, and hope that they feel our context does them justice.

Further thanks are due to the Whitechapel Society particularly Frogg Moody and William Beadle, who graciously granted their time and shared their enthusiasm. The authors began this volume with our general interest in historic murder cases as a starting point; the diverse range of viewpoints surrounding the Whitechapel Murders of 1888 has subsequently persuaded us that ripperology is a subject one could easily devote a lifetime to.

In criminological terms, the contributions to this book by Jon Ogan have been invaluable. As an investigative psychologist and a ripperologist of some renown, his specialised knowledge and insights are expressed in an everyman manner accessible to all. We are similarly indebted to Professor Laurence Alison, Jons colleague at the University of Liverpools School of Psychology. Both Laurence and Jon have allowed us a glimpse at how criminological professionals might regard the Ripper crimes today, with Prof. Alison making particular reference to the contemporary case of Robert Napper.

Paul Woods would like to thank Bobby Wayman and his family for speaking with us. As the former licensee of the Ten Bells/Jack the Ripper pub, Bobby occupies a unique niche in modern East End lore.

A long scalpel slices through the London fog with surgical precision.

Now there can be no mistaking her isolation, her vulnerability. The voluptuous young woman pouts, this time not as a come-on but in terror, as her lips quiver visibly. As she backs up against a street light, seeing barely more than a few inches in front of her face, the gent who shed promised a good time and who in return had offered a good time to her has become a cold-eyed monster, a Mr Hyde with surgeons bag and top-hat.

Her generous cleavage rises and falls as she hyperventilates. The glint of the scalpel comes ever nearer her throat but she cannot scream. She can only obey the coldness of his watchful eye as he presides over this, his experiment in terror.

Her ear-splitting scream will only come as the blade cuts across her oesophagus, disconnecting her mouth from her vocal cords. The discordant shriek is as alarming as it is impossible

Cut!

So runs the classic gothic-horror version of the Ripper murders. Sanitised in the sense that its victims have to appear pulchritudinous, playing its main trope in the form of a charismatic but deadly upper-class character with an obscure and obscene agenda; its a familiar scenario to most of us who have grown up in the shadow of the mass media.

It was also apparent at the very beginning of this book that such popular myths would have to be both embraced and debunked, if we were to set off in pursuit of that predatory chimera weve all learned to call Jack the Ripper.

But to put the synthetic allure of the silver screen and pulp fiction into its rightful context, we have to spend more time trawling around the gutter. Lets try our opening scenario again

Its August Bank Holiday, and Martha and Pearly Poll are out carousing. Martha whos now in her fortieth year looks no older than her age but carries every minute of it on her goodtime girls shoulders. Martha, whos left her bloke Bill back at their lodgings, is no better than she ought to be and she knows it.

But shes not going to let the cares and worries of age creep up on her like that. For tonight, all shes worried about is the here and now. Instead of worrying yourself into the grave because you havent got a pot to piss in, whats the harm in a little bit of what you fancy, a bit of slap and tickle here and there?

Thats our Marthas philosophy, such as it is. Now, here in the shoulder-to-shoulder bonhomie of the Two Brewers, with the thronging punters all drunk and lively, our two girls are going to have themselves a good time with a couple of good sorts theyve picked up.

Theyre proper men too, a couple of guardsmen going by their uniforms. After a few more drinks up the road in Whitechapel High Street, her and Poll take their leave of each other and go off with their separate gentlemen friends. Life can be short and life is dreary, so Martha has only half a bad conscience about sharing this blokes bed for the night. If such a luxurious amenity as a bed is on offer, that is

But Marthas got no illusions cant afford em. If one up against the wall is what its gotta be, then thats what its gotta be. They can always slip back down the road for another quick one afterwards, at the pubs that show no signs of closing. Thats our Martha game for anything, always up for it.

But in the post-midnight gloom, at the far end of George Yard Buildings, poor Martha will get more than what she bargained for. She will find that the pleasures of the flesh and the desecration of the human form can merge into each other quickly, on the turn of a coin

There are some who might argue that Martha Tabram doesnt belong in these pages. That her murder, supposedly by an unidentified serviceman, excludes her from the official canon of victims of the Whitechapel murderer. Others will more vehemently suggest that the surgeon who examined her, one Dr Killeen, has thrown an artificial veil over events by suggesting that she was hacked and punctured by a soldiers bayonet, thus separating her from the later civilian murders.

For now, lets just allow the facts to speak for themselves, before we go wading into the enticing pools of rumour, myth and fantasy: thirty-nine rapid stab wounds to the body; most targeted at the breasts, the abdomen and the genitalia. Later researchers will point out how the difference in the wounds even suggests different bladed weapons, with a possibly ambidextrous killer carving her this way and that with each one.

And before we intoxicate ourselves with the gothic archetypes of pop culture, its as well to bear mind that criminologists say a serial killers MO his modus operandi never arrives fully formed. Its subject to a degree of experimentation at first.

Lets also remember that whether or not all the women died by the same hand Marthas death, on that early morning of 7 August 1888, will in a matter of days be seen to herald a wave of extreme violence in Londons East End, seemingly sexual in nature and psychotic in origin.