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Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast. The podcast dedicated to serial killers. Who they were, what they did, and how. I am your Norwegian host, Thomas Warburg Thun. And so it is, dear listener. We have come to the most famous of all serial killers in history. Tonight, I will introduce you as best I can
to Victorian-era England and the smog-filled streets and alleys of the Whitechapel district in the biggest city in Europe, London. Back in 1888, an unknown killer struck fair in the good people of London between the 31st of August and the 9th of November. His victims were all prostitutes, and he killed them all by slitting their throats.
Only five women are verified to be killed by his hand. But there are many theories that his bloody reign lasted longer than any would imagine, and that his true kill count was far higher. His contemporary nicknames were originally Leather Apron, the Whitechapel Murderer, and Whitechapel Jack. But we all know him best.
as Jack the Ripper. This podcast has in excess of 7 million downloads in total, but both my Patreon page and my Facebook page are only visited by a few thousand.
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Any donation, no matter how small, is greatly appreciated. Most of my listeners will know the story of Jack's original crimes very well. You might have seen films inspired by him, such as From Hell, and maybe read excellent books detailing his crimes and the times they occurred in, such as Who Was Jack the Ripper? The Suspects So Far.
and maybe dozens more, if you're a true ripperologist. I, your humble host, have long contemplated whether or not I was to even embark on a series detailing such a thoroughly researched and explored historical figure. Many podcasts have featured their take on Jack,
Many articles, many books, many TV shows, many movies. Society as a whole is saturated with Jack the Ripper lore. So it is a true challenge to create a podcast show where I bring something fresh to the table to satisfy my listeners' discerning tastes. In any case, this podcast is dedicated to serial killers
and I simply would have been remiss to skip the case that many will say brought the serial killer phenomenon properly to light. In this episode, I will try to give my listeners as good a background on Victorian-era London as possible. We'll travel through the dingy streets and meet both prostitutes and paupers. And of course, we'll start to take a closer look
That's Jack's handiwork. First, before we enter our time machine, let us explore a bit what is meant by the Victorian era. The Victorian era of the United Kingdom and its overseas empire was the period of Queen Victoria's rule from June 1837 to January of 1901. The era was preceded by the Georgian period and succeeded by the Edwardian period.
Some scholars would extend the beginning of the period as defined by a variety of sensibilities and political concerns that have come to be associated with the Victorians, back five years to the passage of the Reform Act of 1832.
This was a long period of prosperity for the British people, as profits gained from the overseas empire, as well as from industrial improvements at home, allowed a large educated middle class to develop. The era is often characterized as a long period of peace, known as Pax Britannica, and economic, colonial, and industrial consolidation.
temporarily disrupted by the Crimean War. Towards the end of the century, the policies of new imperialism led to increasing colonial conflicts, and eventually the Anglo-Zanzibar War and the Boer War. The empire's size doubled during the era. The latter half of the Victorian era roughly coincided with a portion of the Belle Epoque era of continental Europe,
and other non-English-speaking countries within Europe. And as you know, dear listener, the Belle Epoque is my very favorite historical era to cover. The term Victorian morality is often used to describe the ethos of the period, which embraced sexual proprietary, hard work, honesty, thrift, and a sense of duty and responsibility towards the less well-off.
provided that they deserved help, which by the stringent moral standards of the time didn't include very many people. The Victorian morals were also highly hypocritical, as the rise of underground pornography, state-approved brothels and prostitution saw a massive increase in both supply and demand. The Victorian era was a time of unprecedented population increase in the UK,
One reason for the increase was that there was no catastrophic epidemic or famine in England or Scotland in the 19th century. On the other hand, Ireland's population decreased rapidly, primarily due to the Irish potato famine of 1845 to 1849, from 8.2 million in 1841 to less than 4.5 million in 1901.
Gothic revival architecture became increasingly significant in the period, leading to the battle of styles between Gothic and classical ideals. Charles Barry's architecture for the new Palace of Westminster, which had been badly damaged in an 1834 fire, built on the medieval style of Westminster Hall, the surviving part of the building.
It constructed a narrative of cultural continuity, set in opposition to the violent disjunctions of the revolutionary France. A comparison, common to the period, as expressed in Thomas Carlyle's The French Revolution, A History, and Charles Dickens' landmark novel, A Tale of Two Cities. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
And imagine if you will, dear listener, a narrow alley so dark you can barely see a few feet in front of you. The sky is overcast. The moon just a memory of something sickly yellow far above this thick smog that causes you to cough and your eyes to run. The buildings on each side of you are made of brick, and the windows are secured with iron bars, and little to no light come out from them.
We are walking along, and the cobblestone alley doesn't have much of an echo, so your footsteps doesn't make much sound other than the splashes from when you hit a puddle filled with rainwater and liquid of unknown origin. Oh, and of course, the smell. The smell of feces, urine, and rotten food is pervasive. As you got outside, it was almost unbearable.
But after a while, you only notice it in the back of your mind. The year is 1888. The place is London, and we find ourselves in the district of Whitechapel. It is located 5.5 kilometers east of Sharing Cross, and roughly bounded by Middlesex Street and Mansell Street to the west, Fashion Street to the north,
Cambridge Heath Road and Sydney Street to the east and the highway to the south. Because the area is close to the London Docklands and east of the city, it has been a popular place for immigrants and the working class. The reason why so many cities in Western Europe have their working class residents reside in the east end of the cities is due to the weather.
The weather fronts in Western Europe mainly arrive from the west to the east, from the Atlantic Ocean. So, for the most part, the wind made sure that the smoke from the massive amounts of chimneys, both residential and from the many industrial revolution-era factories and mills,
blew straight over and into the east end of the cities, and thus the real estate prices also went drastically down as a result. By the 1840s, Whitechapel, along with the enclaves of Wapping, Aldgate, Bethnal Green, Mile End, Limehouse, Bow, Bromley-by-Bow, Poplar, Shadwell, and Stepney, collectively known today as the East End,
had evolved, or devolved, into classic Dickensian London, with problems of poverty and overcrowding. Whitechapel Road itself was not particularly squalid through most of this period. It was the warrens of small dark streets branching from it that contained the greatest suffering, filth and danger.
such as Dorset Street, now a private alley but once described as the worst street in London, Thrall Street, Burners Street, renamed Hanreik Street, Wentworth Street and hundreds of other small streets and alleyways. In the Victorian era, the basal population of poor English country stock
was swelled by immigrants from all over, particularly Irish and Jewish. Writing of the period 1883 to 1884, Yiddish theatre actor Jacob Adler wrote, and I quote, The further we penetrated into this Whitechapel, the more our hearts sank. Was this London? Never in Russia, never later in the worst slums of New York,
were we to see such poverty as in the London of the 1880s. End quote. This endemic poverty drove many women to prostitution. In October of 1888, the Metropolitan Police estimated that there were 1,200 prostitutes of very low class, residents in Whitechapel and about 62 brothels.
A man could solicit the services of a prostitute in Whitechapel for very little coin indeed. What follows is a section from the book My Secret Life, published in the very year of the Ripper, 1888, written by an anonymous writer. The streets leading out of the Waterloo Road were then occupied much by gay women.
Some were absolutely full of them. They were mostly of a class to be had for a few shillings, if they could not get more. My Granby Street adventure has already been told. But many a swell I have noticed lingering about there. My mother now took nearly all my money for my board, but with little remaining I had a knock-off occasionally."
It was one of my pleasures to walk up those streets when dark, and talk with the women at the windows, which were always open whatever the weather, unless someone as within engaged with the ladies. Each woman had generally but one room, but two or three used to sit together in the front room, in their chemises.
There was the bed, washstand, chamber-pot, and all complete. Perhaps one lulled out of the window, showing her breasts. And if you gave such a one a shilling, she would stoop so that you could see right down past her belly to her knees, and have a glimpse of her cunt-fringe. Sometimes one would pull up her garter, or another sit down and piddle, or pretend to do so.
or have recourse to do other exciting devices when men peeped in. I used to look in and long, sometimes had a shilling peep, and then bashfully asked for a feel of the cunt for it. I so often succeeded that ever since then I wanted that amusement, have offered a shilling for a feel, and met with but few refusals in any part of London.
Sometimes it ended in a fuck. Once or twice, to my astonishment, they took mere trifles, and as I think of it, there is wonderful a little difference between the woman you have for five shillings and the one you pay five pounds, excepting in the silk, linen, and manners. One night I saw a woman with very fat breasts looking out of the window. I was then fond of stout women.
and after talking a minute asked her if she would let me feel her cunt for a shilling yes said she in i went down she shut the window and in another minute i was groping her she did not let me feel her long i had not felt such a bum since mary's and it so whetted my appetite that i struck a bargain for a
What's interesting about this text from the unknown writer is the use of profanity.
I long thought that the use of the swear word fuck was somewhat new, as it didn't really feature in films until the 1970s, and on TV not until the late 1990s. The same goes for the word cunt, which still is considered very offensive and crude. But, as the text tells us,
Those two profanities were commonplace among the general population 130 years ago. The author tells us that he could cop a feel from a woman for as little as a shilling. Now, a shilling might seem very, very cheap by today's standard, but back then it was equivalent to about 20 pounds.
He goes on to write that he could have intercourse with such a prostitute for five shillings, i.e. about £100 in today's money. The luxury prostitutes he references, probably those located in high-end brothels in London's West End, charged around £5.
Adjusted for inflation to today's value, that equals 1900 pounds, a very high price indeed, that only the very wealthy in Victorian-era London could afford. Five shilling, however, was something even the working man might afford, although it might have equaled about two days' pay from his job at the local factory.
Buying sex in Whitechapel was by no means danger-free. The prostitutes were notoriously filthy, as clean water was a rarity few had regular access to in the area, and very often they were riddled with venereal diseases such as gonorrhea and syphilis, the latter being deadly and incurable due to antibiotics not having been discovered yet.
Condoms were very seldom used as they were only invented in 1855 and were not in regular use until much later. But venereal disease was perhaps the least a customer should worry about in that area. The prostitute herself would often pose a serious risk as she sometimes would rob her client while they were sleeping or laying naked and defenseless on her bed.
Such robbery could often turn violent, ending with the client being killed or seriously injured. The prostitute might also have a pimp, who would enter the room when the client was distracted and attack him using a blackjack or a knife. And that's just considering the danger inside the prostitute's chamber.
Real danger was ever present in the alleyway outside, and many men and women met their fate at the hands of violent robbers and thieves there, especially after dark, where a robber could quickly and easily disappear into the smog and darkness without any trace.
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Visit BetterHelp.com slash SerialKiller today to get 10% off your first month. That's BetterHelp, H-E-L-P dot com slash SerialKiller. Mary Ann Nichols, to her friends and acquaintances known as Polly, was drunk and thirsty for more booze. It was 1.20 a.m., and Deputy at Wilmot's Lodging House was kicking her out.
She had drunk away any money she could have spent on a bed for the night at a neighborhood public house. "'Never mind,' Polly had said, with her customary pluck. "'I'll get my doze money. See what a jolly bonnet I've got now.' Doze money was the term used for the fee to sleep at boarding houses. She pointed to the straw bonnet trimmed with black velvet on her head and headed back out into the night.
By the end of August in 1888, the summer weather was long gone. The night of the 31st was drenched in rain and shocked by the flashes and claps of a thunderstorm. On top of the miserable weather, the Shadwell dry dock fire painted the gloomy sky red that night. Observing the spectacle had kept Ellen Holland,
Polly's roommate at the Wilmots' lodging house, out late that very evening. Ellen came across Polly on the corner of Osborne Street and Whitechapel Road at 2.30 a.m. Polly was drunkenly leaning against a wall and bragged that she'd made her Doz money three times over, but had already drunk it all away. Ellen tried to convince Polly to come back to the lodging house with her, but Polly refused.
She was set on earning the money back one more time, claiming she would simply find a man to share a bed with after one more attempt. Leaving her to her conquest, Ellen watched Polly weave her way back down East Whitechapel Road. It would be the last time anyone would see her alive. 3.40 a.m. on the morning of August 31st,
A carter named Charles Cross made his way down the narrow avenue of Buck's Row on his way to work. In the early morning darkness, Cross stopped at the sight of a large object lying in the doorway of a horse stable. He walked closer to investigate, thinking it was a tarpaulin abandoned in the street. A few feet closer, though, he realized the figure on the ground was human.
As he hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, he heard another man's approaching footsteps. It was another carter, Robert Paul, also headed to work. Cross called the other carter over, telling him that there was a woman in the street. Together, in the dark, the two men approached a figure stretched out on the ground.
She was lying prone, her skirts pulled up to her waist. Tentatively, they felt her hands and face, finding them cold. Cross thought that he sensed some movement in her chest, though, which allowed the possibility that she was alive. The men tugged her skirts down over her knees to at least cover her up, and argued whether they should prop her up in the doorway.
They were unsettled by the whole incident, though, and they were both running late for work. They decided not to render further assistance on the scene, justifying their behavior by agreeing to tell the first constable they ran into on their way about what they had seen. They left the woman's body alone on Buck's Row, lying across the gateway. Minutes later, they came across Police Constable Mison, 55H.
"'She looks to me to be either dead or drunk,' Cross said to the constable. "'But for my part I think she is dead. "'If either of the men had possessed a lantern, however, "'there would have been no question that Polly Nichols was very much dead. "'Polly Nichols was born to Edward Walker, a locksmith, "'and his wife Caroline, on the 26th of August, 1845.'
She went on to marry William Nichols, a machinist for a printer, in 1864. They were together for over 15 years and had five children, Edward John Nichols, Percy George, Alice Esther, Eliza Sarah and Henry Alfred. Then, around 1880, the marriage fell apart. Polly's father, Walker, was incensed by the breakup.
and passed around rumors that William Nichols had been responsible for the dissolution of the marriage. He claimed that Polly had been confined with ill health, and her husband had taken up with her nurse. Mr. Nichols did not deny the affair with the nurse, only the idea that this affair had been the reason for the marriage's demise.
Walker's rumor, however, was so widely believed that it was addressed at the inquest into Polly's death. Nichols claimed that, though there had been an affair, it had occurred after Polly herself had left the marriage. He produced a birth certificate testifying that his son with his mistress was born after Polly had left. Regardless of when Mr. Nichols became involved with another woman,
It is clear that Polly had plenty of demons of her own. Alcohol addiction interfered with her domestic life, her relationship with family members and her ability to keep her head above water in a financial sense. During their marriage, Mr. Nichols claimed Polly had left him five or six times until finally leaving for the last time in 1881.
All five children remained with their father, and Williams sent Polly support payments for two years. He found out, however, that Polly had been living as a prostitute and discontinued payments. Polly sent summons for him to keep sending her money, but Williams was able to win his case by proving she was living with another man.
From 1882 onward, Polly drifted from one workhouse to another, at some points completely disappearing from view of her family and public record. At the time of her death, William Nichols had not seen his wife in over three years. From the 24th of March to the 21st of May, 1883, Edward Walker took his daughter in,
as she attempted to pick up the pieces. He reported that she was not fast with men, and did not stay out late carousing, but she did continue to drink at home, causing tension between the two. Their relationship was characterized by constant rows, and soon Polly was out on the street again, breaking off all contact with her father.
Walker claimed that he had left her of her own accord after a particularly bad argument, and that he knew she would come to a bad end. She was seen in June of 1886 at the funeral of her brother, who had died when a paraffin lamp exploded and burned him alive. The family observed that she was dressed respectably, possibly due to her living with a local blacksmith, Thomas Dew.
By October of 1887, she was out on the streets again, spending most of her time in the Lambeth workhouse on Princess Road. In what would be her final attempt to get her life together, Holly took a job as a domestic servant in the household of Samuel and Sarah Cowdery. Trying to quit drinking and gain some control over her life,
She broke the four-year silence with her father to make amends by writing the following letter. I just write to say you will be glad to know that I am settled in my new place and going all right up to now. My people went out yesterday and have not returned, so I am left in charge. It is a grand place inside, with trees and gardens back in front. All has been newly done up.
They are teetotalers and religious, so I ought to get on. They are very nice people, and I have not too much to do. I hope you are all right, and the boy has work. So goodbye for the present. From yours truly, Polly. Answer soon, please, and let me know how you are.
Mr. Walker replied to the letter, but never heard back from his daughter again. It seems that life in the home of the teetotalling Cowdreys had been too high pressure for Polly. After two months, she left their employment, taking three pounds ten shillings' worth of stolen clothing with her. This was her last contact with her father.
Her final days were spent in Whitechapel, splitting her time between Wilmot's lodging house and the White House's Doss house, where men and women were permitted to share beds. She was found murdered on Buck's Row just five days after her 43rd birthday.
Minutes after the two carters left Polly's body, Police Constable John Neal, 97J, was walking his beat on when he came across the corpse lying on the ground on Buck's Row, shining his lantern onto her face. He saw that her eyes were wide open, staring lifelessly into the morning sky.
As Police Constable John Thane, 96J, approached to offer his help, Neil's lantern illuminated the gashes in the woman's throat, almost deep enough to have completely decapitated her. Upon observing the wounds, Neil sent Thane to fetch Dr. Rhys Ralph Lavellin, who pronounced her dead on sight. He judged from warmth in her extremities
that she had been dead for less than half an hour. Neil himself had been within earshot of the site only a few minutes before the body was discovered, and had heard nothing. By then, a crowd of early risers had begun to gather, and Dr. Lavellin called for the body to be moved from the scene to the mortuary. Police canvassed the area, but no one reported having seen or heard anything unusual.
Inspector John Spratling arrived and consulted with Thane after the body had been taken away by ambulance. Thane indicated where the body had lain, as one of the sons of Emma Green, a widow who owned a neighboring house, washed blood from the cobblestones. Lavellin had noted that the blood that had spilled from the body's throat onto the ground
was about equivalent with the volume of two wine glasses. Ambulance workers had noted that though a bit of blood had trickled from her throat onto the street, the back of her dress and her weathered brown ulster was completely soaked in congealed blood as well. Dr. Lavellin had gone home to bed after the body had been taken to a workhouse mortuary in Old Montague Street.
but was summoned again soon afterward. While attempting to move the body from the ambulance into the morgue, Inspector John Spratling observed that unusually brutal mutilations lay beneath Nichols' clothing. Her abdomen had been slashed, a jagged cut exposing her innards from pubis to breastbone, along with additional cuts to the abdomen.
The wounds had been inflicted with violent downward stabs into the victim's body. Lavellin's complete post-mortem report from the 1st of September is lost to time, but surviving notes taken by Spratling upon an initial examination of the body summarize findings this way: Her throat had been cut from left to right.
two distinct cuts being on the left side, the windpipe, gullet and spinal cord being cut through, a bruise, apparently of a thumb, being on the right lower jaw, also one on the left cheek. The abdomen had been cut open from centre of bottom of ribs along right side, under pelvis to left of the stomach. There the wound was jagged,
The omentum, or coating of the stomach, was also cut in several places, and two small stabs on private parts, all apparently done with a strong bladed knife, supposed to have been done by some left-handed person, death being almost instantaneous."
Speculation arose over several points, including whether the killer was left-handed, and whether, perhaps, he had killed her in a separate location and then left her on Buck's Row. This would seem to be supported by the fact that no one in the area had heard screaming, and that she was found lying on her back, as if carefully placed.
The blood at the scene, also, seemed to be minimal when considering the ghastly wounds to her abdomen, unless she had been killed somewhere else. That hypothesis, however, would later be dismissed. There were no trails of blood leading to the site where her body was found, and nobody had heard a carriage or other vehicle carry her to the spot.
Additionally, Dr. Lavellin confirmed that the blood from the lacerations to her abdomen had mostly congealed into the body itself. All the wounds also showed signs of being made with the same knife, a strong bladed knife, moderately sharp and used with great violence, according to the doctor.
Other facts about the possible killer were unclear, but Lavellin speculated that he might have had some knowledge of human anatomy, due to the fact that he had attacked the vital organs and veins of the victim. The blood splatter implied, however, that none of the lacerations were what ultimately killed the victim. If her throat were cut first,
There would have been far more blood, presumably spattered against the wall of the stable or further across the cobblestones, rather than pulled directly under her head. Instead, experts agree that it is very likely the woman was manually choked to death before being mutilated. The entire act would have taken place in about five minutes, between 3.30 and 3.40 a.m.,
and the inspectors acknowledged that the approach of Charles Cross may have even interrupted and scared the killer away. Word of the murder got around Whitechapel, and Ellen Holland soon came from the lodge house at 18 Thrall Street as well to confirm that the victim was indeed Polly. Ellen was moved to tears at the sight of her. Despite Polly's reputation as a drunk,
Ellen found her to be an agreeable person and reported that she was a very clean woman who always seemed to keep to herself. The following day, Polly's father, Edward Walker, and her estranged husband, William Nichols, came to provide identification for her as well. Both men were very affected by the death, and Mr. Nichols is reported to have said as follows, I forgive you, as you are,
For what you have been to me. The three men who had loved Polly the most, her father, her estranged husband and her eldest son, split the funeral expenses. She was buried on the 6th of September, 1888, in a polished elm coffin. Two mourning coaches accompanied the body to the City of London Cemetery at Manor Park Cemetery.
She was buried there, on Seabird Road, Forest Gate, London, E12, and lies under grave number 210752. In 1996, a plaque was placed to mark her grave, and it remains there to this very day. Mary Ann Nicholls' inquest would span from the 1st of September to the 24th of September, 1888.
As far as the evidence went, there was nothing that could identify Polly's killer. Nine days after her body was found, and only two after her body was laid to rest, however, another one of Jack's victims would be brought into the mortuary.
Whoa, easy there. Yeah.
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And next week I have a very exciting interview you can look forward to. So, as they say in the land of radio, stay tuned. I have been your host, Thomas Weyborg Thun. Doing this podcast is a labor of love, and I couldn't have done it without my loyal listeners. This podcast has been able to bring serial killer stories to life, especially thanks to those of you that support me via Patreon.
You can do so at theserialkillerpodcast.com slash donate. There are especially a few patrons that have stayed loyal for a long time. Amber, Anne, Charlotte, Christina, Craig, Jason, Lexi, Lisbeth, Maud, Mickey, Philip, Sarah, Tommy, Troy, and Wendy.
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