Gloucester Read online

  CONTENTS

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  Title Page

  Introduction

  Case One 1873 ‘They’re killing me!’

  Case Two 1875 ‘He did society no good’

  Case Three 1882 ‘That unhappy lunatic’

  Case Four 1886 ‘Will you come downstairs and see to your wife, for you have killed her’

  Case Five 1903 ‘In great mental trouble’

  Case Six 1919 ‘I quite admit I did it’

  Case Seven 1934 ‘I don’t know where I hit him. I lost my head’

  Copyright

  INTRODUCTION

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  Gloucester in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries had several important roles: as a cathedral city; as a municipal borough; as the county town of Gloucestershire; and as an inland port. In contemporary guides, Gloucester was depicted as a peaceful place, dominated by the cathedral and full of quaint buildings, such as the ancient New Inn. In reality, of course, the city saw its fair share of disorder and crime, illustrated in the newspaper reports of the petty sessions, which saw a daily procession of miscreants accused of drunkenness, violence and thieving.

  It is, then, surprising to discover that in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when compared to the county as a whole, the city and borough of Gloucester suffered relatively little serious crime. As the county town, the assizes for the county and the city were held at Gloucester, and while the eminent judges who presided at them often berated the county magistrates over the large number of cases brought to trial, those of the city paradoxically were praised for the small number of felons on their calendars.

  The most serious crime any human being could commit was, of course, murder. Between 1872 and 1939, seventeen people were hanged for murder at Gloucester Prison, but only one of them committed their crime in the city. This did not mean that no one in Gloucester was tried on a charge of murder, but juries by the second half of the nineteenth century were reluctant to condemn a prisoner to death, and wherever possible looked for mitigating circumstances which allowed a sentence to be reduced to one of manslaughter. There were also, of course, times when the bodies of apparent murder victims were found, but the person who committed the crime was never discovered.

  This volume looks at some of the most interesting cases of murder, attempted murder and manslaughter which took place in Gloucester between 1873 and 1934. Several of Gloucester’s institutions feature in these stories, including the infirmary, the County Gaol, the courthouses at the back of Shire Hall and, in two cases, the County Lunatic Asylum, which played an important role in two of the cases. In one, the death of an inmate who was found to have unexplained injures caused such an outcry that the Home Secretary became involved. In the other, the discharge of a patient as ‘cured’ led to tragic consequences for one Gloucester family. One case concerned foreign sailors involved in a fracas outside a Gloucester public house; in another, the scene of the crime was the Gloucester and Berkeley Canal. The rest took place in terraced houses, overheard by neighbours through paper-thin walls, in streets where everyone knew everyone else’s business, and where it was noticed if a member of the community went missing.

  Map of Gloucester in 1910, published by Baedeker. (Author’s collection)

  Researching the true stories which are told in this volume was helped greatly by the contemporary reports on inquests, remand hearings and trials, which were recorded in great detail in Gloucester’s local newspapers, in particular The Citizen and the Gloucester Journal.

  Grateful thanks are offered to Gloucestershire Archives for giving permission to reproduce images from their newspaper holding and illustrations from other items in their collections.

  Jill Evans, 2013

  Strangers coming to Gloucester in Victorian times would probably have been surprised to find that the atmosphere was more like that of a port than of an inland city. One such visitor was the writer and art historian Mrs Schuyler Van Rensselaer, who wrote in The Century magazine that on coming into the city she saw masts and sails, and described how great vessels came up the River Severn to Gloucester, ‘and lay in its capacious pools almost beneath the shadow of the cathedral tower. Here one may find sailors in the streets, smell tar, and fancy one smells salt; yet a pastoral country lies all around.’

  Gloucester had held the status of a port since 1580, by virtue of a grant made by Queen Elizabeth I, but began to flourish when the Gloucester and Berkeley Canal opened in 1827, allowing seagoing vessels to bypass the difficult stretch of water on the approach into the city. The Gloucester and Berkeley Canal (later renamed the Gloucester and Sharpness) proved to be a great success, and brought in barges, trows and sailing ships carrying cargoes of timber, corn and wine from Ireland, continental Europe, Russia and North America.

  In February 1873, a German brig named the Gustav arrived at the docks, carrying a cargo of timber from Dantzic, North Germany (now Gdansk in Poland). One of the crew was a ship’s carpenter named Otto Moritz, who was a native of Dantzic. He took lodgings at the Barley Mow inn near to the docks. This was a small establishment, situated in Southgate Street, opposite the County Infirmary. The landlady, Ann Jones, was a widow who had taken over running the pub after her husband died.

  Sketch of Gloucester Docks in The Century magazine, 1890. (Author’s collection)

  Engraving of Gloucester Docks by M. Mossman, 1842. (Author’s collection)

  On Monday, 3 March, a French barque named Bayonnaise came into Gloucester docks. Four sailors on board – Emanuel Evain, Emile Poirrier, Etienne Mayon and Joseph Machevaux – left the boat that evening and went into Gloucester together. After spending the evening drinking at various establishments, they made their way down Southgate Street towards the docks at a few minutes before eleven o’clock. As they passed the Barley Mow, they saw that the door was still open, and so they went in. Ann Jones served the French sailors a quart of beer, but asked them to drink up quickly, as it was nearly closing time. The men, however, did not hurry, and Mrs Jones poured away some of their beer. They then got up to leave, but as they did so, Mrs Jones gave a shriek and said she had been hit in the eye by one of the four Frenchmen.

  Otto Moritz followed the men outside and attacked two of them with a knife. One of them was Emanuel Evain, who ran towards the docks, clutching his thigh. The other was Emile Poirrier, who was kicked and stabbed by Moritz as he lay on the ground. Witnesses fetched the police, and Poirrier was soon taken to hospital. Evain, though, was not found until later, near the dock gates, and after being taken to the infirmary, he died.

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  Otto Mortiz was quickly identified as the man who had attacked the two sailors, and he was arrested. On Wednesday, 5 March, he appeared at the City Police Court before the mayor and other magistrates, charged with the murder of Emanuel Evain. The court was very crowded, as there was a great deal of interest in the case among the local population. French and German interpreters were present to help translate the evidence. Mr Taynton, for the prosecution, gave a summary of the events of 3 March, and then called witnesses, whose testimony revealed the details of what had happened two nights before.

  The first to give his evidence was one of the French sailors, Etienne Mayon, who, through his interpreter, said that he was a seaman on board the Bayonnaise, and that Emanuel Evain was also on the same vessel. On the night in question, he, Evain, Poirrier and Machevaux called at the Barley Mow in Southgate Street at about eleven o’clock at night. They ordered some beer, which was served to them, but the landlady requested them to drink up quickly and then be on their way. There were three men in the room besides themselves, one of whom was Moritz. The landlady threw part of the Frenchmen’s beer under the grate. He and Machevaux rose to leave, and as they were go
ing out of the door, the landlady pushed Machevaux against Mayon. Machevaux said to her, ‘Please not to shove me so hard.’

  The docks, in Sketches of Gloucester by A. Ward, around 1922. (Author’s collection)

  Mayon and Machevaux left the house through the side door, then turned into the street. They waited for Evain and Poirrier, and when they appeared, Mayon heard the woman cry out, but did not know what she said. While they were standing at the corner of the house, Moritz came out and he saw him open a knife, which he had in his belt. Mayon called out a warning, then saw Moritz stab at Evain. After Evain came out of the house, he didn’t speak to Moritz, or to anyone, before he was stabbed. He only gave him one blow, and Evain put his two hands down to the lower part of his body and ran away. The prisoner and two other men then set upon Poirrier, who cried out, ‘They’re killing me! They’re hurting me!’ before falling to the ground. Mayon and Machevaux helped Poirrier get up and took him back to the Bayonnaise. Mayon did not see Evain again that night. Mayon was quite sure that the man in custody was the one who stabbed Evain.

  Cross-examined by Mr Coren, for the defence, Mayon said they had left their vessel between seven o’clock and half past, and went first to the Berkeley Arms in Southgate Street. They had two glasses of grog each and stayed there for about half an hour. From there they went to a dance-house, the Ten Bells in Westgate Street. They had something to drink there out of a white bottle. Mayon didn’t know what it was called, but the cork flew up when you took it out – it was not champagne. They stayed there for half an hour to three quarters of an hour. There was music and dancing going on, but they did not dance. There were ladies there, and they talked to them. From the Ten Bells, they went to a boarding house, accompanied by some of the ladies. They were there for about half an hour, and had one glass of grog each and a quart of ale between the four of them.

  Postcard of Southgate Street in the 1920s. (Author’s collection)

  At the Barley Mow, they had one quart of beer between them, supplied in a jug, with little glasses provided. Mayon did not know exactly how long they were there. He and his companions were a little excited, but not out of reason. They were not very annoyed when the landlady threw some of their drink away.

  When Mr Coren asked Mayon, ‘Then why did the landlady push you to get you out?’ he replied, ‘I cannot say.’

  Joseph Machevaux corroborated his shipmate’s evidence regarding the events at the Barley Mow. He said that when all four of them had come out of the house, he saw Moritz take a knife from his waist and stab at Evain, and then Evain ran away. Machevaux didn’t see Poirrier being stabbed, but saw him bleeding, and afterwards he helped to take him away. He did not see Evain again that night – the following morning he had gone to the infirmary and saw his corpse. After they came out of the inn, he did not see Evain do anything to Moritz before he was stabbed. He was quite sure that Moritz was the man who stabbed Evain.

  Mr Coren then cross-examined Machevaux, who said he and his companions had reached the Barley Mow at about ten minutes to eleven. They hadn’t been there long when the landlady asked them to leave the house and emptied the glasses. They were not angry when she did this, and they did not say anything. After he and Mayon had gone outside, and Evain and Poirrier were at the door, he heard a noise inside the Barley Mow. It was a woman’s voice, and she was crying as if she was hurt. Three strangers were in the inn at the time, as well as the two Frenchmen. Neither he nor Mayon had returned to the house. They did go back towards it, however, to pick up Poirrier. No one else was near Poirrier when they went to pick him up.

  Mr Coren asked Machevaux if he had struck or pushed the landlady, or laid his hands upon her. He replied that he had not. He did not know that the landlady had been struck. When he heard the cries, Evain and Poirrier were at the door. He and Mayon had then been outside for about two minutes.

  Charles Priday was the next witness. He was a boat owner who lived at Sudbrook. He was passing down Southgate Street on 3 March, a little after eleven o’clock at night. He was on the infirmary side of the street, on the opposite side to the Barley Mow. When he got near the inn, he heard raised voices inside and saw some sailors come out of the side door. Then he saw the man in custody, Moritz, come out into the alley and ‘plunged one of them down with great force upon the pavement’. Priday did not see a knife. The man who was attacked rolled over several times into the gutter. He tried to get up, but could not, and two of the men went and assisted him. Priday then saw Moritz knock down another sailor and kick him, before going back into the house. Priday went to the injured man, and found that his clothes were all bloody. He stayed with the man until a policeman came. He did not see what became of the first man who was injured. When the police arrived, he went into the Barley Mow where he saw Moritz and another man, William Pidler. He did not speak to Moritz, but went back out and described him to Sergeant Tingle.

  Cross-examined, Priday said he was about fifteen yards from the Barley Mow when he saw the men coming out, and that they seemed to be in great confusion. A man named Price was outside the door, standing near to Moritz. When he went inside, he saw the landlady, who had a black eye. He thought it was the second or third man who came out who was first struck down, but the alley was very dark. There was about a minute between the first and the last man coming out.

  Lower Southgate Street, late 1900s. The Barley Mow was on the left-hand side, near the chapel. (Author’s collection)

  The court then adjourned for half an hour, and Priday went to the infirmary. On his return, he identified the deceased as the man whom he had seen struck down and roll into the gutter.

  John William Price, a boatman, was the next witness. He lived in Barley Mow Yard, Southgate Street. Price said that on the evening in question, a little after eleven, he was going from the docks to his house, and in doing so went up Southgate Street, on the same side as the Barley Mow. When he got near it, he saw five sailors, three in the street and two in the yard or alley. One of the sailors who was standing in the street was knocked down, but he didn’t see who the assailant was. Moritz was outside Mrs Jones’s door, in the alley. A sailor was also standing in the alley and he saw Moritz strike him, causing him to fall to the ground. He then rolled about and Moritz kicked him on the head. Moritz then returned to the Barley Mow. The side door was wide open when the incident took place, and he saw Mrs Jones and another female standing just inside. Soon afterwards, he went home. Price had also been to the infirmary and identified the dead man as being the one he saw struck first. The wounded man was the one who was kicked on the head in the alley.

  Next to give evidence was Police Constable Wilkins. He deposed that he was on duty on the night of 3 March. As he was passing the dock gates at a little after eleven o’clock, a constable named Thomas Stone, who was employed by the Docks Company, called his attention to a man on the ground near the gates. He was on the footpath, leaning against the wall. Supposing him to be drunk, and hearing a disturbance at the Barley Mow, he and Stone left the man there and went up Southgate Street. Wilkins saw a man lying in the yard near the Barley Mow, and went inside and saw the accused man, Moritz. He asked him if he had either stabbed or kicked the sailor who was lying in the yard, and he said he had not. He also asked a young girl who was staying with Mrs Jones, and the servant girl, if they had seen anyone stab or kick the sailor, and they said they hadn’t. Sergeant Tingle then came in.

  Sergeant Tingle said that he went to the Barley Mow at about half past eleven. In the presence of Moritz, Tingle said, ‘It is said outside that a man has been stabbed.’ Someone answered, ‘This is the man they mean,’ and pointed at Moritz, who said nothing. Tingle asked him if he had a knife, and he said he hadn’t. He searched him and found nothing on him.

  He then went to the Bayonnaise, where he found one of the wounded men. He assisted in taking him to the infirmary, and afterwards returned to the Barley Mow, where he found the prisoner in bed and apprehended him. While Moritz was dressing, Tingle took hold of his han
ds and examined them. There was a cut on the inner part of the right hand, about an inch in length. Asked how he got it, Moritz replied, ‘A Frenchman did it.’ When Tingle told him that there was a man lying dead at the infirmary, and he was supposed to have stabbed and killed him, Moritz made no reply. He then took him to the police station. They had got a few paces from the inn when Moritz said, ‘I will tell you all about it.’ Tingle told him it was more than likely that he would be charged with murder, and he had better say nothing. He then took him to the police station and locked him up.

  Dock constable Thomas Stone said that on that Monday night, he saw a man near the dock gates in Southgate Street, standing near the lamp by the weighing machine. The man then turned in towards the dock gates. Stone followed him in order to let him into the docks. The man stood on the footpath for a moment or two, and then fell backwards. Stone picked him up and sat him against the railings. He did not speak, and Stone had the impression that he was drunk. He then went with PC Wilkins to the Barley Mow, before returning to where he had left the man. He found him lying on the ground, face downwards. With assistance, he took him to the infirmary, where he helped the house surgeon undress him. They found his clothes were saturated with blood, and his socks and boots sodden.

  Deputy Chief Constable Griffin was then called, and said he had gone to the infirmary the day before and saw the body, and took possession of the dead man’s clothes, which he now produced. They were saturated with blood, and there was a cut on his trousers and undergarments on the right-hand side of the groin area. The blood had run down his legs into his boots.