Love and Poison

London is a city of extremes. It is the financial, cultural and political capital of England and the centre of the global mass media. It looms large in the popular imagination as an exciting, vibrant hub of art and ideas. On the surface it offers opportunity, fame and wealth. However, beneath this glossy exterior lies a hidden seam of exploitation, violence and venality.

The Celtic word for “cruel” is “londos”, and the city is aptly named, if indeed this is where the name actually comes from. The most malevolent side of the capital, in an ironic twist, has created a new market of dark tourism. The Whitechapel murders and the mystery of the identity of the murderer remain a perennial source of fascination, and tours are conducted of the area to willing participants who are even prepared to pay good money for the privilege.

The murders were real events, but over the past century they have acquired the status of myth and legend. Most of the fascination focuses on the murderer and his motives yet scant attention is paid towards his victims. Everybody has heard of “Jack the Ripper”, but very few remember the names of the women he murdered. Not many people are aware of the personal details of these unfortunate women either.

However this is merely a reflection of a sad and pitiful feature of human nature. It seems that less interest is garnered towards ordinary lives but morbid curiosity is perpetually centred upon the evil doers. The media mirrors popular sensibilities but it also profits from the worst elements. Over time the victims of crime are gradually dehumanised, while the perpetrators are humanised and even sympathised with, because their personalities are discussed and analysed in obsessive detail. Human empathy is dwindling, while the most brutal and sadistic characters are lionised. It is a strange inversion of a civilised society.

“The Ripper”’s eleven victims were Emma Elizabeth Smith, Martha Tabram, Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, Mary Jane Kelly, Rose Mylett, Alice McKenzie, Frances Coles and tragically, a woman whose name and identity was never ascertained. They were all murdered in the Whitechapel district between 1888 and 1891, and the perpetrator was never found despite the combined efforts of the police and the local people. However the gruesome nature of these crimes were recorded for posterity by Inspector Dew. Dew was the police officer who attended the scene of one of the murders, he stated that “what happened there, the old nausea, indignation and horror overwhelm me still..It was all before me now, Jack the Ripper at his most devilish. No savage could have been more barbaric. No wild animal could have done anything so horrifying…On the bed, which was drawn obliquely across the small room, was all that remained of a good looking and buxom woman. There was little left of her, not much more than a skeleton. Her face was terribly scarred and mutilated”. The tawdry aspects of East-End existence were put under media glare for the first time.

The vulnerability of the poorest, most downtrodden women was exposed to the public and it generated an outcry. It led to a vociferous campaign to change the living conditions in the most neglected part of London. Acts of Parliament were passed to guarantee a minimum standard of housing and over the following two decades the East-End slums were demolished. The East-End still has an insalubrious reputation for crime, villainy and vice but it also has a proud history of community, jocularity and solidarity. That is the most important thing to remember.