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Research Request 2/5/13

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  • #16
    that's entertainment

    Hello Simon. Thanks for that. Very entertaining.

    Cheers.
    LC

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    • #17
      Hi Lynn,

      Entertaining indeed.

      Should we be surprised that John Kelly was suffering "an affection of the kidneys and a bad cough"?

      That 35-mile walk from Maidstone to London obviously did him no good.

      Regards,

      Simon

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      • #18
        Simon:
        I appreciate the time and effort you took in locating that article...thank you sir.
        Is that the entire article that you posted...or a truncated piece ?
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        • #19
          Hi Howard,

          As far as I know it's in its entirety.

          Regards,

          Simon

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          • #20
            Simon:
            Then the article I'm referring to is another one, sir....but thanks ever so much for that one.

            I even asked Stephen Ryder and he didn't recall it. He was the one who found it too.

            It was a pretty interesting article on its own....a reporter went to a local lodging house and made the rounds, eventually getting to Kelly. I remember there being an old woman in the lodging house who drew a lot of attention in the story.

            Now I'm going on a mission to locate that damned thing. Casebook and JTRForums are so big now that it's difficult to find things at times.
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            • #21
              Hi Howard,

              More power to your elbow.

              Regards,

              Simon

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              • #22
                Found it !!!

                http://www.casebook.org/press_report...l?printer=true

                Thanks to one and all who did or may have tried to help the little fat boy out.

                I also need to correct myself....as the original purpose in tracking this down was to provide Lynn Cates an article which contained a reference to Kelly stating that Eddowes, on occasion, prostituted herself.

                In fact, as I've emboldened a relevant quote, the opposite was true, at least in this article.

                Sorry for the confusion....another case of an old guy's memory going to proverbial poop.

                Stephen Ryder
                posted this years ago....

                Evening News
                October 5, 1888
                Truncated
                ***********

                THE MITRE SQUARE MURDER.
                A NIGHT IN THE VICTIM'S DOSS HOUSE.
                (BY OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.)
                Cold and rain were venting their combined discomforts upon my scantily protected frame, as I turned out of Whitechapel road into Commercial street about nine o'clock last night. The severity of the weather was such as to force even the most miserable outcast to seek some sort of shelter, but my quest was in the particular direction of the lodging house in Flower and Dean street, where the unfortunate victim of the Mitre square tragedy had been used to put up. In a short time I reached Flower and Dean street, and shuddered from other sensations than cold as I looked down its long, narrow, dingy looking precincts, wrapped, as they appeared to be, in an atmosphere of notorious and murky mystery. There is little light in the street save that thrown from the windows of the houses. At the south west end of the thoroughfare is a large block of model dwellings whose plain, but well ordered architecture lends a welcome sense of relief to the shamble like structures around.
                With the exception of the model dwellings almost if not every house in Flower and Dean street is given up to accommodation of the lodging house order, and above the doors are inscriptions setting forth the licensed authority of the proprietors to let "good beds" or "well aired beds" to "single men and travellers." I had some difficulty in finding the particular house I was in search of - No. 55 - as there were either no numbers on the doors, or they were invisible in the darkness. At last, however, I struck a number 48, and by counting the houses in succession, I came to what was certainly the most commodious place of the kind in the street - my uncertain movements, by the way, being the subject of the attention of several denizens of the unsavoury quarter. On inquiring of an unkempt, bedraggled looking young woman who was standing at the door whether that was No. 55, I received an answer in the affirmative, and, telling her that I wanted a bed for the night, she conducted me to the "deputy" with the invitation, "All right, guv,nor, this way." Opening the half side of the folding doors, I found myself immediately in a capacious kitchen filled with men, women and children of all ages, and redolent with the fumes of cooked dishes and boiling tea. The deputy sat in a pay box at the entrance, and without any questions booked me a single bed at the modest sum of fourpence. Having paid my coppers, I walked up the large square-built kitchen to one of the two glowing coke fires at the top of the room. Turning to survey the surroundings, I found that divested, even as I was, of all the chief habiliments of respectability, I was regarded as an object of interest. But, after a time, the curiosity of my companions soon exhausted itself, and I was able to enter into conversation with several of the men and women standing around the fire. Naturally the main subject of interest among the lodgers was the murders. Newspapers were being read aloud by several of the occupants to eagerly listening knots, and conspicuous among this class of literature was the pink "extra special" of he Evening News. The details of the paper were enthusiastically discussed and various theories were advanced as to the personality and motive of the perpetrator of the outrages. There was, of course, a general chorus of denunciations against the unknown criminal in language more expressive than refined.
                Occasionally, for the sake of controversy only, I suppose, some cynical member of the company would interpolate a note of dissent to the observations of the revenge party, but he was speedily silenced by howls of indignation or ridicule. One frivolous individual desired that the subject should be changed to something more lively, and proposed that they should discuss "the play." Another declared that "it would be a crying sin to capture the murderer, who was doing a good work in putting so many women out of the way. He reckoned the murderer was a toff and deserved to get off." But he was told by what appeared to be the smart man of the place that "they all knew he was balmy, and that his brains had gone out for an excursion." As the evening wore on and newcomers entered the kitchen, the conversation drifted in various directions, but it all hinged on the one great question of the moment. I ventured to ask for Kelly, the man with whom the murdered woman had been living, but I was told that he had retired to bed early in the evening, being greatly upset at the events of the past few days. Kelly and the woman seem to have had a sincere attachment for each other, and one young fellow told me that since had viewed the body at the mortuary - when he fainted away - Kelly had seemed quite "off his head" and shown signs of an inclination "to do away with himself."
                "Kate" herself was undoubtedly a universal favourite among her acquaintances at the lodging house. "Ah, she was a good sort, I know," said one man, "and often gave me the price of my kip when I was short of a night." "Yes, she was a good sort," agreed a burly looking matron standing by, "and I wish she were 'ere now a-putting down her teapot, as she used to do, along wi' us." Kate's friends in Flower and Dean street strongly resented the idea that she a woman of immoral character, and claimed that she was as true as any wife could be to Kelly. "Kate was a decent woman," said one of the females, "and worked for the Jews; that's how she got her living; she never did any harm in her life." And this apparently was the general opinion entertained of the unfortunate woman's character.
                An old woman, who was known by the sobriquet of "Mother Crack'em" rather startled me by rushing up as I stood at the fireplace and demanding to know if I was "Jack the Ripper." The awkwardness of answering this question I was happily relieved of by the old dame herself assuring me that she did not think I was. "I know you ain't him," she said, "you wouldn't rip me up, would you now? You'd rather give me the fourpence for my doss, but I don't want it, and if you want a cup of tea I'll go and get a farthing's worth of tea and a farthing's worth of sugar, and you shall have a cup." And so the old woman went on with her meaningless but innocent jabber, and I was spared any further attention at her hands by the interference of a number of the other lodgers, who seemed to make her a but for hilarious horseplay and ridicule, all of which she took in the most good natured way.
                A striking evidence of the effect of the murders upon the women of this district was shown in the fact that every one of them in the house declared that they would not venture out in the streets at night after dark. "I ain't going out at night," said one of them who informed that she was the mother of a family. "God knows, it might be my fate to meet him if I was to go out tonight, and I don't want to go just yet. I want to see my boy who is in the 60th's on the rock of Gibraltar before I die, and then to die a natural death." There was one woman amongst them more daring than the test. She was dishevelled and dilapidated looking spectacle wrapped in what seemed to be but a bundle of rags. It was evident that she had no money, as she was wishing to Heaven some one would stand her half a lint of beer. As the desire was not gratified, she resolutely tied up her boots, and saying "she would risk it," walked hurriedly out of the kitchen into the street, regarded with something like awe by those who stayed behind.
                By and by, the proceedings in the kitchen became more lively. There was very little drunkenness visible. I only saw one man the worse for liquor, and even he would not have been noticed but for his falling from his reclining position on a seat to the floor with a thud. Girls commenced singing songs, and the "poet of the company" entertained the room with quotations from Shakespeare and from his own composition, the latter bearing chiefly upon the horrible murder of the day. This is the chorus of what he called his latest:
                "'As any one seen him, can you tell us where he is,
                If you meet him you must take away his knife,
                Then give him to the women, they'll spoil his pretty phiz,
                And I wouldn't give him twopence for his life."
                As the time wore on the place became quieter, and one by one or in couples the lodgers retired to their beds in the rooms above where about perhaps a hundred of the most degraded and poverty stricken people in the great Metropolis sleep upon the deeds - more or less honest - of the day.
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                • #23
                  "Mother Crackem" was the woman I was referring to before....
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                  • #24
                    snug

                    Hello Simon. Thanks.

                    Should have been tucked up in bed instead.

                    Cheers.
                    LC

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                    • #25
                      vote

                      Hello Howard. Thanks for going to all that trouble.

                      Of course, one could contend that the vote of confidence for Kate was misplaced.

                      Cheers.
                      LC

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                      • #26
                        Lynn:
                        That's certainly true.
                        Sorry for getting anyone's hopes up.
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