A Slippery Ledge On Sunday August 2, 1908, window cleaner Robert Stevenson died in his bed at the Northern Hospital. The day before Robert, a window cleaner, had been busily washing the panes of the Cotton Exchange in Old Hall Street. As he was standing high upon one of the buildings many ledges he slipped, and his usual failsafe, a security belt roped to a railing, snapped causing the forty-eight-year-old to plummet to the flagstones some twenty-five feet below. A fractured leg and several other injuries immediately sent Robert into the care of medics, but he would only survive for twenty-four hours longer.   

A Slippery Ledge

On Sunday August 2, 1908, window cleaner Robert Stevenson died in his bed at the Northern Hospital. The day before Robert, a window cleaner, had been busily washing the panes of the Cotton Exchange in Old Hall Street. As he was standing high upon one of the buildings many ledges he slipped, and his usual failsafe, a security belt roped to a railing, snapped causing the forty-eight-year-old to plummet to the flagstones some twenty-five feet below. A fractured leg and several other injuries immediately sent Robert into the care of medics, but he would only survive for twenty-four hours longer.   

The Merseysider You may have noticed something unusual sitting on the shelves at your local newsagent or spotted a strange new edition to the aisle during your casual browse around Waterstones. On further inspection you’ll be pleased to discover that the eye-catching cover and those shiny, glossy pages belong to The Merseysider, a brand new a magazine (and perhaps not so surprisingly) born right here on Merseyside, for the people of Merseyside. These days there are plenty such publications to choose from each vying for our valuable consumer attention, but for those of us with a decidedly local interest The Merseysider should certainly be one to get. At £2.50 it’s a steal considering the wealth of varied, informative and up-to-date content inside. And all the contributors so far clearly know their stuff. There is music, fashion, opinion, sports and events galore, plus for the history fanatics, you can be sure to find a decent article or two richly delving into an aspect of the region’s days-gone-by. At the time of writing the mag has just reached issue 2 and in a sense, is really only a baby still in need of some motherly nurturing and TLC. Nevertheless this chartaceous child clearly has great potential and it’s promising first steps already suggest a long and successful print life lies in wait. I’ll be contributing some historical natterings myself in the coming months and I hope to be able to maintain the high level of quality The Merseysider currently offers its readers. Be sure to check it out. You won’t be disappointed. www.merseysidermagazine.com  

The Merseysider

You may have noticed something unusual sitting on the shelves at your local newsagent or spotted a strange new edition to the aisle during your casual browse around Waterstones. On further inspection you’ll be pleased to discover that the eye-catching cover and those shiny, glossy pages belong to The Merseysider, a brand new a magazine (and perhaps not so surprisingly) born right here on Merseyside, for the people of Merseyside.

These days there are plenty such publications to choose from each vying for our valuable consumer attention, but for those of us with a decidedly local interest The Merseysider should certainly be one to get. At £2.50 it’s a steal considering the wealth of varied, informative and up-to-date content inside.

And all the contributors so far clearly know their stuff. There is music, fashion, opinion, sports and events galore, plus for the history fanatics, you can be sure to find a decent article or two richly delving into an aspect of the region’s days-gone-by.

At the time of writing the mag has just reached issue 2 and in a sense, is really only a baby still in need of some motherly nurturing and TLC. Nevertheless this chartaceous child clearly has great potential and it’s promising first steps already suggest a long and successful print life lies in wait.

I’ll be contributing some historical natterings myself in the coming months and I hope to be able to maintain the high level of quality The Merseysider currently offers its readers. Be sure to check it out. You won’t be disappointed.

www.merseysidermagazine.com

 

The Bold Street Dummy These days the tasty noodle bar that is Wok n Go stands on this sun-kissed spot at the corner of Bold Street and Slater Street.   In the year 1832 however, things were very different. Back then a Mr. Clements inhabited this building through his trade as a book and print seller. That summer an unusual visitor came to town much to the delight of those who took an interest in mechanical science, or the plain unusual. It was in these rooms that an exhibition of automaton opened to the public and for one shilling and upwards, customers could pay to have their profile drawn by the then revolutionary artistic dummy. Here is the original advert:

The Bold Street Dummy

These days the tasty noodle bar that is Wok n Go stands on this sun-kissed spot at the corner of Bold Street and Slater Street.  

In the year 1832 however, things were very different. Back then a Mr. Clements inhabited this building through his trade as a book and print seller. That summer an unusual visitor came to town much to the delight of those who took an interest in mechanical science, or the plain unusual. It was in these rooms that an exhibition of automaton opened to the public and for one shilling and upwards, customers could pay to have their profile drawn by the then revolutionary artistic dummy.

Here is the original advert:

The Constable Killer The popular passageways around Hanover Street have received some serious financial and cultural investment in recent years, no less so than the enormous construction of the nearby Liverpool One shopping development that now dominates the block. It is surprising to think that back in 1839 this area was one of pitiful poverty with crowded courts and squalid slums housing the general inner city populace of an abject and unruly Liverpool. On the night of April 15, a little before ten o’clock, Police Constable David Bailey, No. 388 was on patrol of Section Two and had the thirteenth beat. Section Two comprised of the Hanover Street district including College Lane, the side Street in which Constable Bailey found himself patrolling that fateful night. Robert Rigg was a master mariner and in his nautical garb he made a common sight to the numerous people that passed as he too walked along College Lane. “Lovely night” remarked Mr. Rigg cheerfully as he passed Officer Bailey on the sidewalk. The two men chatted over the unusually tranquil weather as they walked leisurely together towards Peter Lane. Meanwhile, over in Green’s Court, the scene was distinctly less serene. It was there that thirty-year-old Daniel Cole was returning home to his lodgings. He was a heavy set, powerful-looking man standing at about five foot ten with thick broad shoulders and a deep black moustache. He gave off an impression of a somewhat fearsome temperament to all who laid their eyes upon him. Despite his thuggish appearance Daniel was usually a quiet individual, hardworking and industrious. The house in which he lodged was owned by Mrs. Mary Moran, a widow who lived with her daughter Frances and several other lodgers, including Daniel’s troublesome and trying wife. Mrs Cole was known to the police as an occasional street walker and a woman to be of decidedly drunken habits, but Daniel was no angel; he had previously been known to the courts on account of a previous stabbing incident. That evening saw Mrs Cole indulge in more than enough to drink and her condition became one of utter intoxication. In the room was Mrs Moran and Alice Murphy, a fellow lodger who was on good terms with the Cole couple and Mrs Moran. “You had better go to bed my good woman, for if your husband comes in I am afraid you will catch it,” said Mary, as she made up a bed by the fireplace. She had her back to the door laying down sheets on a mattress when Daniel entered the room. His gaze was captured by Mrs Murphy who at the fireplace. It had become quite dark in the small living quarters so Alice had knelt down to light a candle at the fire. The distinctive smell of smoke wafted about the small living room as the drunken Mrs Cole extinguished the flame with her forefinger and thumb, and giggled. Mrs Murphy relit the wax column but the drunken woman persisted in her wit and jokingly put it out again. Daniel became furious. On several occasions he had returned from work to such alcohol-scented scenarios and he was sick of it. “What’s your humour for quenching the candle?  He realised that she had once again been drinking. “Is that the way again lassie?” Dan despaired. “Dan, I’m not drunk; I’m not drunk!” she argued drunkenly. “Stand up then, directly.” Like an uneasy acrobat Mrs Cole carefully prepared to stand aloft from her seat but could do nothing but lose her balance and tumble backwards into the corner of the room looking very dishevelled with eyes all a blur. Mrs Murphy helped the tenant to her feet and moved some of the now upturned chairs out of the way. Mrs Cole staggered to the kitchen where her husband was now standing in a growing state of intolerance. As an inner red mist clouded his vision he made an impatient strike at his wife in the neck, stepping back a few paces soon afterwards. Mrs Cole at once realised that she had been stabbed and blood trickled steadily down her throat. This sobering act sent Mrs Cole out of the room running and down the court with her apron pressed against her neck. “You villain! You have cut her neck!” raged Mrs Moran. She had only known the Coles for three weeks and was shocked at the nature of Daniel’s unexpected burst of untameable aggression. “Murder! Police! A man has cut his wife’s throat!” It was these terrifying words that reached the ears of Constable Bailey and Robert Rigg as they neared the corner of Peter Lane. Adrenaline began to pump and P.C Bailey wasted no time. He requested assistance from mariner Rigg who with subtle bravado was happy to oblige and the pair ran off to the source of the cries. Local shoemaker Manlove Moulson had been at his home at the bottom of the court when a lodger from Mrs Moran’s came knocking urgently for help. Mr Moulson answered and on hearing news of the incident Moulson, his daughter Ann, and her friend Frances Moran (the elderly landlady’s daughter), ran out the back door and out onto Green’s Court. It was there that Mrs Cole walked unsteadily along the street calling for a doctor as she clasped a red dripping hand tightly around her throat. Ann and Frances went up to the door of the Moran residence and could see that Daniel Cole was still in the house. Mrs Moran was in no uncertain terms admonishing him as a murderous villain and scoundrel as a quantity of Mrs Cole’s blood lay in a glutinous puddle at their feet.  The cobbles of College Lane were soon pounded by the boots of Officer Bailey mariner Rigg and Mr Moulson as they entered the squalor of the urban court. At once Constable Bailey looked through the door. Daniel Cole was within, but he was a huge man; certainly no match for a single officer. The three entered the backyard of the property where Bailey charged his two amateur assistants with keeping Mr Cole in the house while he raced off to find some fellow officers for help in the arrest. It was now up to Rigg and Moulson to stand at the door to prevent the wicked man’s escape. Immediately Robert scolded the rogue for his recent actions, a remark which caused Daniel to come out into the yard and try to take flight. The mariner shoved him back with a hard push to the chest before rapidly closing the door in his face. He and Moulson fought hard to keep the door shut but Mr Cole was proving too powerful. For about five minutes the two men valiantly held the fort but in the end their foe proved too strong. Mr Moulson ran off to find the constable before it was too late. There was no way they would be able to restrain their prisoner if he escaped. He was soon proved right. The door gave way and before he knew it the lone seaman was on the ground nursing a blow to the right cheek. Soon enough he was down again with a second as Daniel Cole ran off out of the court to make his escape. Sporting a reddening and bloody bruise across the face Rigg dusted himself off and gave chase. Several members of the public shouted over to the pursuer and informed in of the direction his assailant had ran. Others called out to P.C Bailey who was now in Hanover Street. “Policeman, this is the way he has gone!” By the time Robert had got to the corner of College Lane Daniel had reached the opposite side of Hanover Street near to the Excise Office. P.C Bailey was following close behind with his trusty nightstick in hand. He was halfway across Hanover Street with his left hand up at shoulder height, about to make a grab at Cole, when Ann Moulson let out the out a gut-wrenching warning, “Oh dear, he’s got a knife! Mind him, take care, he’ll kill someone! P.C Bailey misjudged his distance and sped several paces ahead of his target. He turned abruptly and attempted to take a hold, but Cole was quick to strike with truly tragic consequences. Bailey raised his truncheon but he soon felt the ice cold metal of a knife pressed into his neck. As the wound seeped its crimson content he put a trembling hand up to his left side in horror and began to stagger backwards. The crazed offender raised his weapon a second time to hit the officer once more. He was only prevented from by Robert Rigg who wrestled the reprobate to the ground with seemingly no fear for his own safety. The desperate scuffle that commenced sent both men to the cobbles with Bailey all the while staggering backwards into the road. He was striking his staff loudly and hard against the increasingly bloodstained flagstones in desperate panic. His thunderous repetitive thud for help echoed through the night as the left side of the constable’s neck bled like a waterfall. Witnesses could actually hear the patter of the blood as it hit the pavement. Ann Moulson with the help of Seel Street resident Jane Greason, and local man Charles Dogherty ran across the street to give the constable some much needed support. He was able to walk for approximately four or five yards before his legs gave way and collapsed beneath him. With great haste they carried the P.C to Jason Atherton’s public house over in the now notorious College Lane and called for the vital medical expertise of a doctor. The victim’s attacker Daniel Cole was arrested by several police officers who had eventually reached the hectic scene of the crime. They found him pinned to the ground by a number of people, one being Thomas Fletcher, a watchmaker from Richmond Row who had been in the vicinity when the evening’s commotion had broken out. He had successfully secured Cole’s legs with the help of passer-by James McCluskie, whilst Mr. William Selsby removed the tarnished weapon from their thrashing prisoner’s right hand. Three constables, Gregory, Jones and Ferguson took hold of the attacker and walked him up to the security of the Hotham Street Bridewell. They were assisted by Hugh McCree who noticed that Daniel was very calm on the journey, and even heard him say that if the men would take him honourably he would stay quiet. “Yes, you deserve to be treated honourably after sticking a knife to a man!” retorted Hugh sarcastically. “Yes and I’d do the same to you” Cole answered, and his behaviour became so rebellious and coarse that the officers were forced to offer him several smacks with their batons to shut him up. At the bridewell a silent Cole was handed over into the custody of keeper John Thursby along with a number of pieces of evidence, including a muddy and bloodstained clasp knife and Constable Bailey’s helmet. Daniel would now have to await his destiny behind the bars of the Hotham Street gaol before his trial. Over in College Lane Constable Bailey was dead. He had left a wife and two children. Doctor John Callan, a Duke Street Surgeon and his assistant Doctor Peter McIntyre had arrived at Jason Atherton’s pub a little after ten o’clock that evening and found to their dismay that David Bailey had already perished. It was their estimation that death would have occurred within five minutes of the stab wound being inflicted. Two days later the pair and their colleague Doctor Cooper examined the wound in greater detail and found that the knife had penetrated the skin under the left ear, dividing all the main arteries and even the jugular vein. So severe had been the force of the assault the blade had actually pierced through the tongue and struck against the officer’s inner right jaw bone. The experts agreed that this wound was quite sufficient to cause the fatality of which PC Bailey had suffered. This was now appeared to be a case of murder. On the morning of Tuesday, August 20, Daniel Cole’s crime finally came under the scrutiny of Her Majesty’s Crown Court. His Judge was to be Justice Coltman who arrived at 9am to a greatly crowded court room. In a white moleskin suit Mr Cole was called to stand and give his plea. In a firm voice, “Not Guilty” he answered. The details of the murderous matter were dissected before the twelve admirable gentlemen of the jury with evidence heard from members of the Moran household, their neighbours, the deceased’s fellow officers, and those who were unlucky enough to be walking in the Hanover Street area that atrocious April evening. Also to give evidence was Michael Cole, the prisoner’s brother. He attested to the facts that Daniel had lived in Liverpool for about twelve years and before that he had lived in Ireland. It was one detail in particular though that the people of the court played close attention to: “Sometime previous to coming to Liverpool,” said Michael, “he worked with me at a quarry. He was in the habit of blasting coals. I recollect, upon one occasion, when he was blasting being wounded on the head and was confined for several weeks. After this he got injured again on his head whilst blasting; one of his eyes was damaged and he has nearly lost the sight of it. He was confined to the infirmary for a great number of weeks. He always wore tight bandages around his head and from that time I have never considered him in right mind.” If the prisoner was indeed suffering from a mental illness then there may have been just cause for the charge of murder to be reduced. Of Mrs Cole, who had since recovered from her wound after stumbling into Mr. Taylor’s surgery in Cleveland Square that night, Michel Cole held a very dim view. He described her as a very drunken woman who frequently went off on three or four day benders spending Daniel’s hard-earned wages. “I have known her to sell the provisions out of the house for the purpose of procuring liquor. I have even known her when he has been in my house to throw stones through the window” said the second Mr Cole. When Mrs Cole behaved in this manner Michael said that his brother would become deranged and be obliged to have his head bound tight in bandages. He would take a fit and struggle so much that it required two or three men to hold him still. “After the fits are over he cannot recollect anything which he has done under the influence. I had frequently told him of things he had done and he would not believe me. When he has been so excited he has frequently assaulted me and I have seen him break all the furniture in the house with an axe. He made a kick at me and struck his wife…and I wish he had killed her that day.” That was the end of Michel Cole’s disposition.  Mr Armstrong, prosecuting, took his chance to question the witness and asked the Irishman to further explain the violent fits that his brother seemed to suffer from. Michael admitted that on the occasions he had just mentioned Daniel was so excited he had taken to drink, but even when his wife was sober and he was drunk, Daniel would always behave peacefully. If he ever saw his wife drunk however then he would often break into a rage. “He has asked me when sober, on being told of his violence why I did not tie his head tight. This always had the tendency of quietening him. When his head was not tied he remained violent as long as any person crossed him.” Jeremiah Levi gave a character reference of Daniel Cole and stated that he had worked with him for about eight years at a warehouse in which the men were employed as porters. Mr Levi had always considered Daniel to be a steady, sober man, and a faithful servant to his employer. Differing testimony came from James McDonald with whom the accused had worked with occasionally for about five years. He believed Daniel to be a decent and trustworthy man but noticed that when he took to drink it deranged him. “From his conduct after taking liquor I always considered him out of his mind” said James. There appeared to be no doubt in Judge Coltman’s mind that the deceased had died as a result of the consequences of the stabbing. Considering all the evidence that had been put before them, the jury had to decide as to the exact nature of the offence that had been committed. The judge was keen to remind them that it might have been possible for the accused to have been in a deranged state of mind at the time of the killing and therefore not accountable for the act. Conversely, if they believed Mr Cole was in control of his brutal actions, then was his crime one of murder or merely manslaughter? Did the prisoner intend to kill Officer Bailey? After some further thoughtful remarks by his Lordship into the nature of the law, the gentlemen of the jury retired to deliberate a verdict. They remained away from court for forty-five minutes and upon returning to their seats the foreman was addressed by Judge Coltman. “How do you find the prisoner?” We find the prisoner guilty of a very aggravated case of manslaughter, your Lordship.” “Prisoner at the bar, you have been found guilty of a most aggravated manslaughter; one so nearly allied to murder, that it is only in the slightest degree distinguishable. Fortunately for you that slight distinction has been drawn. If the jury had been of the opinion that capital charge had been established it would have been my painful duty to have left you for execution.” Daniel Cole breathed a huge sigh of relief. His life had been spared. “It is a case in which the life of one of the police offices of the town has been sacrificed by that most base mode of death, stabbing, which I am sorry to find, is of late much on the increase.” Daniel’s heart was still pounding and he knew that he would still face a strict punishment for his actions. “The penalty to which you are liable,” announced Judge Coltman, “and which it is my duty to pronounce upon you is that you be transported beyond the seas to such a place as her Majesty, by the advice of her Privy Council, may determine, for the term of your natural life.” Daniel Cole was then led away from the court and prepared himself for a future far different to anything he had ever encountered.

The Constable Killer

The popular passageways around Hanover Street have received some serious financial and cultural investment in recent years, no less so than the enormous construction of the nearby Liverpool One shopping development that now dominates the block. It is surprising to think that back in 1839 this area was one of pitiful poverty with crowded courts and squalid slums housing the general inner city populace of an abject and unruly Liverpool.

On the night of April 15, a little before ten o’clock, Police Constable David Bailey, No. 388 was on patrol of Section Two and had the thirteenth beat. Section Two comprised of the Hanover Street district including College Lane, the side Street in which Constable Bailey found himself patrolling that fateful night. Robert Rigg was a master mariner and in his nautical garb he made a common sight to the numerous people that passed as he too walked along College Lane.

“Lovely night” remarked Mr. Rigg cheerfully as he passed Officer Bailey on the sidewalk. The two men chatted over the unusually tranquil weather as they walked leisurely together towards Peter Lane.

Meanwhile, over in Green’s Court, the scene was distinctly less serene. It was there that thirty-year-old Daniel Cole was returning home to his lodgings. He was a heavy set, powerful-looking man standing at about five foot ten with thick broad shoulders and a deep black moustache. He gave off an impression of a somewhat fearsome temperament to all who laid their eyes upon him. Despite his thuggish appearance Daniel was usually a quiet individual, hardworking and industrious. The house in which he lodged was owned by Mrs. Mary Moran, a widow who lived with her daughter Frances and several other lodgers, including Daniel’s troublesome and trying wife. Mrs Cole was known to the police as an occasional street walker and a woman to be of decidedly drunken habits, but Daniel was no angel; he had previously been known to the courts on account of a previous stabbing incident.

That evening saw Mrs Cole indulge in more than enough to drink and her condition became one of utter intoxication. In the room was Mrs Moran and Alice Murphy, a fellow lodger who was on good terms with the Cole couple and Mrs Moran. “You had better go to bed my good woman, for if your husband comes in I am afraid you will catch it,” said Mary, as she made up a bed by the fireplace. She had her back to the door laying down sheets on a mattress when Daniel entered the room. His gaze was captured by Mrs Murphy who at the fireplace. It had become quite dark in the small living quarters so Alice had knelt down to light a candle at the fire. The distinctive smell of smoke wafted about the small living room as the drunken Mrs Cole extinguished the flame with her forefinger and thumb, and giggled. Mrs Murphy relit the wax column but the drunken woman persisted in her wit and jokingly put it out again. Daniel became furious. On several occasions he had returned from work to such alcohol-scented scenarios and he was sick of it. “What’s your humour for quenching the candle?  He realised that she had once again been drinking. “Is that the way again lassie?” Dan despaired.

“Dan, I’m not drunk; I’m not drunk!” she argued drunkenly.

“Stand up then, directly.”

Like an uneasy acrobat Mrs Cole carefully prepared to stand aloft from her seat but could do nothing but lose her balance and tumble backwards into the corner of the room looking very dishevelled with eyes all a blur. Mrs Murphy helped the tenant to her feet and moved some of the now upturned chairs out of the way. Mrs Cole staggered to the kitchen where her husband was now standing in a growing state of intolerance. As an inner red mist clouded his vision he made an impatient strike at his wife in the neck, stepping back a few paces soon afterwards. Mrs Cole at once realised that she had been stabbed and blood trickled steadily down her throat. This sobering act sent Mrs Cole out of the room running and down the court with her apron pressed against her neck.

“You villain! You have cut her neck!” raged Mrs Moran. She had only known the Coles for three weeks and was shocked at the nature of Daniel’s unexpected burst of untameable aggression.

“Murder! Police! A man has cut his wife’s throat!” It was these terrifying words that reached the ears of Constable Bailey and Robert Rigg as they neared the corner of Peter Lane. Adrenaline began to pump and P.C Bailey wasted no time. He requested assistance from mariner Rigg who with subtle bravado was happy to oblige and the pair ran off to the source of the cries.

Local shoemaker Manlove Moulson had been at his home at the bottom of the court when a lodger from Mrs Moran’s came knocking urgently for help. Mr Moulson answered and on hearing news of the incident Moulson, his daughter Ann, and her friend Frances Moran (the elderly landlady’s daughter), ran out the back door and out onto Green’s Court. It was there that Mrs Cole walked unsteadily along the street calling for a doctor as she clasped a red dripping hand tightly around her throat.

Ann and Frances went up to the door of the Moran residence and could see that Daniel Cole was still in the house. Mrs Moran was in no uncertain terms admonishing him as a murderous villain and scoundrel as a quantity of Mrs Cole’s blood lay in a glutinous puddle at their feet. 

The cobbles of College Lane were soon pounded by the boots of Officer Bailey mariner Rigg and Mr Moulson as they entered the squalor of the urban court. At once Constable Bailey looked through the door. Daniel Cole was within, but he was a huge man; certainly no match for a single officer. The three entered the backyard of the property where Bailey charged his two amateur assistants with keeping Mr Cole in the house while he raced off to find some fellow officers for help in the arrest. It was now up to Rigg and Moulson to stand at the door to prevent the wicked man’s escape. Immediately Robert scolded the rogue for his recent actions, a remark which caused Daniel to come out into the yard and try to take flight. The mariner shoved him back with a hard push to the chest before rapidly closing the door in his face. He and Moulson fought hard to keep the door shut but Mr Cole was proving too powerful. For about five minutes the two men valiantly held the fort but in the end their foe proved too strong. Mr Moulson ran off to find the constable before it was too late. There was no way they would be able to restrain their prisoner if he escaped. He was soon proved right. The door gave way and before he knew it the lone seaman was on the ground nursing a blow to the right cheek. Soon enough he was down again with a second as Daniel Cole ran off out of the court to make his escape. Sporting a reddening and bloody bruise across the face Rigg dusted himself off and gave chase. Several members of the public shouted over to the pursuer and informed in of the direction his assailant had ran. Others called out to P.C Bailey who was now in Hanover Street. “Policeman, this is the way he has gone!” By the time Robert had got to the corner of College Lane Daniel had reached the opposite side of Hanover Street near to the Excise Office. P.C Bailey was following close behind with his trusty nightstick in hand. He was halfway across Hanover Street with his left hand up at shoulder height, about to make a grab at Cole, when Ann Moulson let out the out a gut-wrenching warning, “Oh dear, he’s got a knife! Mind him, take care, he’ll kill someone! P.C Bailey misjudged his distance and sped several paces ahead of his target. He turned abruptly and attempted to take a hold, but Cole was quick to strike with truly tragic consequences. Bailey raised his truncheon but he soon felt the ice cold metal of a knife pressed into his neck. As the wound seeped its crimson content he put a trembling hand up to his left side in horror and began to stagger backwards. The crazed offender raised his weapon a second time to hit the officer once more. He was only prevented from by Robert Rigg who wrestled the reprobate to the ground with seemingly no fear for his own safety. The desperate scuffle that commenced sent both men to the cobbles with Bailey all the while staggering backwards into the road. He was striking his staff loudly and hard against the increasingly bloodstained flagstones in desperate panic. His thunderous repetitive thud for help echoed through the night as the left side of the constable’s neck bled like a waterfall. Witnesses could actually hear the patter of the blood as it hit the pavement.

Ann Moulson with the help of Seel Street resident Jane Greason, and local man Charles Dogherty ran across the street to give the constable some much needed support. He was able to walk for approximately four or five yards before his legs gave way and collapsed beneath him. With great haste they carried the P.C to Jason Atherton’s public house over in the now notorious College Lane and called for the vital medical expertise of a doctor. The victim’s attacker Daniel Cole was arrested by several police officers who had eventually reached the hectic scene of the crime. They found him pinned to the ground by a number of people, one being Thomas Fletcher, a watchmaker from Richmond Row who had been in the vicinity when the evening’s commotion had broken out. He had successfully secured Cole’s legs with the help of passer-by James McCluskie, whilst Mr. William Selsby removed the tarnished weapon from their thrashing prisoner’s right hand.

Three constables, Gregory, Jones and Ferguson took hold of the attacker and walked him up to the security of the Hotham Street Bridewell. They were assisted by Hugh McCree who noticed that Daniel was very calm on the journey, and even heard him say that if the men would take him honourably he would stay quiet. “Yes, you deserve to be treated honourably after sticking a knife to a man!” retorted Hugh sarcastically.

“Yes and I’d do the same to you” Cole answered, and his behaviour became so rebellious and coarse that the officers were forced to offer him several smacks with their batons to shut him up. At the bridewell a silent Cole was handed over into the custody of keeper John Thursby along with a number of pieces of evidence, including a muddy and bloodstained clasp knife and Constable Bailey’s helmet. Daniel would now have to await his destiny behind the bars of the Hotham Street gaol before his trial.

Over in College Lane Constable Bailey was dead. He had left a wife and two children. Doctor John Callan, a Duke Street Surgeon and his assistant Doctor Peter McIntyre had arrived at Jason Atherton’s pub a little after ten o’clock that evening and found to their dismay that David Bailey had already perished. It was their estimation that death would have occurred within five minutes of the stab wound being inflicted. Two days later the pair and their colleague Doctor Cooper examined the wound in greater detail and found that the knife had penetrated the skin under the left ear, dividing all the main arteries and even the jugular vein. So severe had been the force of the assault the blade had actually pierced through the tongue and struck against the officer’s inner right jaw bone. The experts agreed that this wound was quite sufficient to cause the fatality of which PC Bailey had suffered. This was now appeared to be a case of murder.

On the morning of Tuesday, August 20, Daniel Cole’s crime finally came under the scrutiny of Her Majesty’s Crown Court. His Judge was to be Justice Coltman who arrived at 9am to a greatly crowded court room. In a white moleskin suit Mr Cole was called to stand and give his plea. In a firm voice, “Not Guilty” he answered. The details of the murderous matter were dissected before the twelve admirable gentlemen of the jury with evidence heard from members of the Moran household, their neighbours, the deceased’s fellow officers, and those who were unlucky enough to be walking in the Hanover Street area that atrocious April evening.

Also to give evidence was Michael Cole, the prisoner’s brother. He attested to the facts that Daniel had lived in Liverpool for about twelve years and before that he had lived in Ireland. It was one detail in particular though that the people of the court played close attention to:

“Sometime previous to coming to Liverpool,” said Michael, “he worked with me at a quarry. He was in the habit of blasting coals. I recollect, upon one occasion, when he was blasting being wounded on the head and was confined for several weeks. After this he got injured again on his head whilst blasting; one of his eyes was damaged and he has nearly lost the sight of it. He was confined to the infirmary for a great number of weeks. He always wore tight bandages around his head and from that time I have never considered him in right mind.”

If the prisoner was indeed suffering from a mental illness then there may have been just cause for the charge of murder to be reduced. Of Mrs Cole, who had since recovered from her wound after stumbling into Mr. Taylor’s surgery in Cleveland Square that night, Michel Cole held a very dim view. He described her as a very drunken woman who frequently went off on three or four day benders spending Daniel’s hard-earned wages. “I have known her to sell the provisions out of the house for the purpose of procuring liquor. I have even known her when he has been in my house to throw stones through the window” said the second Mr Cole. When Mrs Cole behaved in this manner Michael said that his brother would become deranged and be obliged to have his head bound tight in bandages. He would take a fit and struggle so much that it required two or three men to hold him still. “After the fits are over he cannot recollect anything which he has done under the influence. I had frequently told him of things he had done and he would not believe me. When he has been so excited he has frequently assaulted me and I have seen him break all the furniture in the house with an axe. He made a kick at me and struck his wife…and I wish he had killed her that day.”

That was the end of Michel Cole’s disposition.  Mr Armstrong, prosecuting, took his chance to question the witness and asked the Irishman to further explain the violent fits that his brother seemed to suffer from. Michael admitted that on the occasions he had just mentioned Daniel was so excited he had taken to drink, but even when his wife was sober and he was drunk, Daniel would always behave peacefully. If he ever saw his wife drunk however then he would often break into a rage. “He has asked me when sober, on being told of his violence why I did not tie his head tight. This always had the tendency of quietening him. When his head was not tied he remained violent as long as any person crossed him.”

Jeremiah Levi gave a character reference of Daniel Cole and stated that he had worked with him for about eight years at a warehouse in which the men were employed as porters. Mr Levi had always considered Daniel to be a steady, sober man, and a faithful servant to his employer. Differing testimony came from James McDonald with whom the accused had worked with occasionally for about five years. He believed Daniel to be a decent and trustworthy man but noticed that when he took to drink it deranged him. “From his conduct after taking liquor I always considered him out of his mind” said James.

There appeared to be no doubt in Judge Coltman’s mind that the deceased had died as a result of the consequences of the stabbing. Considering all the evidence that had been put before them, the jury had to decide as to the exact nature of the offence that had been committed. The judge was keen to remind them that it might have been possible for the accused to have been in a deranged state of mind at the time of the killing and therefore not accountable for the act. Conversely, if they believed Mr Cole was in control of his brutal actions, then was his crime one of murder or merely manslaughter? Did the prisoner intend to kill Officer Bailey?

After some further thoughtful remarks by his Lordship into the nature of the law, the gentlemen of the jury retired to deliberate a verdict. They remained away from court for forty-five minutes and upon returning to their seats the foreman was addressed by Judge Coltman.

“How do you find the prisoner?”

We find the prisoner guilty of a very aggravated case of manslaughter, your Lordship.”

“Prisoner at the bar, you have been found guilty of a most aggravated manslaughter; one so nearly allied to murder, that it is only in the slightest degree distinguishable. Fortunately for you that slight distinction has been drawn. If the jury had been of the opinion that capital charge had been established it would have been my painful duty to have left you for execution.”

Daniel Cole breathed a huge sigh of relief. His life had been spared.

“It is a case in which the life of one of the police offices of the town has been sacrificed by that most base mode of death, stabbing, which I am sorry to find, is of late much on the increase.”

Daniel’s heart was still pounding and he knew that he would still face a strict punishment for his actions.

“The penalty to which you are liable,” announced Judge Coltman, “and which it is my duty to pronounce upon you is that you be transported beyond the seas to such a place as her Majesty, by the advice of her Privy Council, may determine, for the term of your natural life.”

Daniel Cole was then led away from the court and prepared himself for a future far different to anything he had ever encountered.

Did you know…the new Seel Street ‘emporium of world beers, bespoke cocktails and American style chilli dogs’ that is Salt Dogs Slims was once home to E.R. Makin & Co. joiners.

Did you know…the new Seel Street ‘emporium of world beers, bespoke cocktails and American style chilli dogs’ that is Salt Dogs Slims was once home to E.R. Makin & Co. joiners.

Misrecognition The Thursday afternoon of January 12, 1905 witnessed the inquest of theatre-goer Alfred Williams who perished during a festive performance at the Rotunda Theatre. The previous week Mr. Williams had gone along to the Rotunda, situated at the junction of Scotland Road and Stanley Road, with his mother-in-law. The pantomime season was drawing to a close but a production of ‘Aladdin’ was still drawing in the crowds. During the performance Alfred suddenly leaned forward and pointed, exclaiming “That is my wife!” and upon uttering the final syllable he fell to the floor in a state of inertia. Theatre attendants raised the lights and the man was carried out for urgent medical checks. He was however, already dead. Discussions at the inquest  revealed how thirty-three-year-old Williams had lived apart from his wife for some time, and upon seeing who he thought to be his spouse on stage he became wildly animated.  It was agreed that Williams’ death was due to syncope brought about by excitement. Mrs Williams, the deceased’s widow was also in attended for the proceedings. She told the coroner that no doubt, a major mistake had been made on the part of her husband as she had never once set foot on a stage. It had been a tragic case of misrecognition.        

Misrecognition

The Thursday afternoon of January 12, 1905 witnessed the inquest of theatre-goer Alfred Williams who perished during a festive performance at the Rotunda Theatre. The previous week Mr. Williams had gone along to the Rotunda, situated at the junction of Scotland Road and Stanley Road, with his mother-in-law. The pantomime season was drawing to a close but a production of ‘Aladdin’ was still drawing in the crowds. During the performance Alfred suddenly leaned forward and pointed, exclaiming “That is my wife!” and upon uttering the final syllable he fell to the floor in a state of inertia. Theatre attendants raised the lights and the man was carried out for urgent medical checks. He was however, already dead.

Discussions at the inquest  revealed how thirty-three-year-old Williams had lived apart from his wife for some time, and upon seeing who he thought to be his spouse on stage he became wildly animated.  It was agreed that Williams’ death was due to syncope brought about by excitement.

Mrs Williams, the deceased’s widow was also in attended for the proceedings. She told the coroner that no doubt, a major mistake had been made on the part of her husband as she had never once set foot on a stage. It had been a tragic case of misrecognition.        

Liverpool’s Own Piece of Notre Dame

Liverpool John Moores University has a number of buildings across the city used for the education of both home-grown and international students. One such site, ‘The John Foster Building’ stands at the top of Mount Pleasant. It was once a teacher training college set up in 1856 to provide the education of Catholic school mistresses by the ‘Sisters of Notre Dame’.

It was in this year that five members of the group travelled from the Belgium town of Namur and settled amongst the Liverpool people. Their purpose was to educate the girls of England and to nurture the religious upbringing of the poor and needy. The building set up for the task became known as the ‘Training School of Notre Dame’ or simply, ‘Mount Pleasant’ due to its location.

The building itself was constructed the previous year to the designs of the architect Charles Hansom with a chapel being added the following decade by M.E Hadfield. Its current name stems from the fact city surveyor John Foster Junior (c.1786-1846) once lived at an adjoining property at No. 82.

Members of the excellent community site ‘Mr. Seel’s Garden’ interviewed ex-convent employee Anna Ryan earlier this year. She worked in the kitchens during the 1960’s. Her memories of her time there can be heard via this link: http://www.mrseelsgarden.org/stories-of-local-food.html

The Prenton Lane Maniac In Woodchurch’s Prenton Lane there once stood three small sleepy cottages. In one of the dwellings lived the widower Mrs Elizabeth Thomas and her sons. There was the first-born William aged twenty-five, Thomas, aged twenty-three and Samuel, youngest of the trio, aged only nine. The Saturday evening of July 31, 1851 saw Elizabeth and Sam patiently waiting up for the return of the two elder brothers who had gone out for a summer night stroll. At about nine o’clock William returned home alone. “What are you both still up for?” he asked sharply. “We were waiting for you and Thomas to come home” his mother replied, a little shocked at his aggressive tone. She was well aware that William of having some trouble of mind lately but hoped it would soon pass. Sometimes he suffered from headaches so bad that he had been forced to stay home from work and help from doctors seemed to only to temporarily alleviate the symptoms.  “Never mind. I will sit for Joe,” said William, “you go to bed. I’ll wait.” Elizabeth supposed there was no real need for them all to stay up, so she said goodnight and ushered Sam up the stairs and into her bed where he usually slept. William waited until they were safely out of earshot and headed for the garden. It was beginning to get dark. He grabbed a sturdy spade and stuck hard into the grassy turf, digging up mounds of earth until he had dug a hole of some considerable depth. With that done William returned to the cottage, lit a candle, and from a cabinet he retrieved a razor. It was cut-throat sharp.  Creeping up the stairs, blade in one hand, candle in the other, William proceeded towards his parent’s silent bedroom. Five minutes later little Samuel was awoken by a series of rough kicks and subdued moans from his mother. He opened his weary eyes and was shaken to discover the haunting silhouette of his brother and let out a shrill shriek. “Shhhhh!” urged William. He set the candle down on the window sill and grabbed Elizabeth’s throat, slicing it open with the blade. She struggled, but the speed of William’s actions coupled with the absolute shock of the whole affair rendered her body dumb with abject terror. A few seconds of resistance passed before Mrs Thomas’s body relinquished into the stillness of death whilst the tears and cries of her boy Samuel echoed about the whole house. The bloodstained spectre jumped from the bed and hurried around to his brother’s side. “Shhhhh,” William repeated as he carried the frightened child to his own room. “I’ll be with you now,” he added and he gave the boy two kisses. William dressed in some clean clothes and returned to the crime scene. He bound the limp hands of his mother tight with a handkerchief and rolled her up in the crimson bedspread. With a rope he tied it around the woman’s waist and casually dragged her from the bedroom, down the darkened hallway and down the stairs. On hearing the noise Samuel crept to the doorframe to see what was going on. His innocent eyes witnessed the body sliding down the staircase; the neck and head lying limply from a gap in the bed sheets thumping hard on each stair. William dragged the cadaver through the kitchen and out through the back gate and it was with some difficulty that he managed to heave the corpse up some stone steps leading to the garden. The body was then lowered into the make-shift grave and buried with about two feet of compost. William wiped his hands clean of mud with a thorough sense of accomplishment and walked off back into the house. By now it was twenty-to-eleven and Joseph was just returning home from his evening out. He tried to close the front door quietly but the sound was quite audible. “Who’s there?” “Me,” Joseph whispered, conscious not to wake his mother or Sam; little did he know of the dreadful circumstances that had befallen his household. He would wake no one. The middle son saw his older brother descend the staircase with a cold smile. “Joe, I’ve killed mother and buried her in the garden. I’ve made her comfortable, and she will be a good deal better off. Don’t you go and say anything.” “What…what?” Joe broke down into a flood of tears. There was no doubt that William was capable of such a thing and his behaviour had been somewhat unusual of late. His dirty attire confirmed the deed. Without a hint of guilt William guided his brother upstairs to see Sam. He too was crying bitterly. “What’s the use of being that soft? She is better off,” remarked William callously. As he wiped away tears Joseph went over to Samuel, picked him up and carried the lad downstairs. “If you had been half an hour later it would have all been sided,” shouted William as they headed out the door. Neighbour George Roydon was sound asleep when he was awoken by heavy knocking on his front door. The farmer went downstairs and discovered the two Thomas boys standing on his doorstep in obvious distress. He invited them in and asked what on earth had happened. After hearing the sickening events he offered young Sam a spare bed in the safety of his own cottage and agreed to return to the death house to investigate. George put on his coat and followed Joe into the back garden. From the glow of a candle they could see a patch of disturbed land with a recently used spade lying nearby. Farmer Roydon dug down removing a couple of feet of mud finding the wrapped up remains of Mrs Thomas lying below. Her heartbroken son fought hard to stem his tears and informed the authorities. Police Constable Hughes arrived on scene later that evening and charged William Thomas of matricide. He recovered a pair of bloodstained trousers, a shirt and a flannel jacket and took them to the Bridewell as evidence. The following week Mr Thomas was sent to stand trial before local magistrates and the charge was put to him. “Guilty or not guilty?” “No, I did not, not as I can recollect!” he answered with great vehemence. The man’s demeanour in the dock fittingly reflected his tortured mindset, yet he seemed quite unconscious of the awful nature of his position. Evidence from the Thomas brothers was first heard and both accounts corroborated. Samuel said that William and his mother generally got on very well. “She was always kind to him and he to her, except that sometimes he would ‘sauce’ her a little. They had had no quarrel, but two or three days before I had heard him ‘sauce’ her a little.” The prisoner was asked whether he wished to ask Sam any questions. “Eh?” he answered sharply, and loudly. The question was repeated. “No, I’ve nothing to ask him” replied William in the same vigorous tone. Joseph was called to the stand and spoke of his brother’s recent erratic behaviour. “There had been a difference in his manner for about a week before. He seemed to be getting gradually worse. Whenever I went in lately he ordered me out of the house.” “Thou art a liar!” raged William. The unexpected outburst caused quite a sensation in the court room. Joseph continued. “He had been out of his mind previously and a surgeon attended him. He was never violent in his conduct but there had been something wrong about his head for nearly a year. I had often heard my mother alluding to the circumstance. He was never violent but for the last twelve months he seemed to be getting foolish and during the last week he became rather more excited.” The views of George Roydon and Constable Hughes were also taken into account. Testimony from Isaac Byerly was then put forth. He was a surgeon and had known the family for some time. It was he who had examined the gory slash across the forty-eight-year-old victim’s neck. “I know the prisoner who I have attended professionally,” began Isaac. “Six or seven weeks ago his mother called me to see him. He complained of headache and drowsiness and betrayed other symptoms indicating an excited state of the brain. He was bled, and other appropriate remedies were used with a view to abating the excitement. He improved and at the end of the fortnight he told me that he felt quite well and was able to go back to work. Two weeks ago however his mother came to me and said he had not been able to work and requested that I come and see him.” The medical man stated that he found William to be quite compos mentis, but Elizabeth disagreed, saying that her son had been making absurd remarks and being generally odd in his manner. “I again ordered blistering and lowering remedies. On the day before the occurrence Mrs Thomas told me that he was not so well again, so I gave her a blister to be applied to the back of the neck and remarked that I would like to see him. I never saw her alive again.” The Court heard from Sir E. Cust. He had also spoken to the deceased the day before the murder regarding William’s state of mind. “On Friday morning I had some conversation with his mother and she said that if he became worse he should be removed to a lunatic asylum. William answered me quite rationally, and I thought his mental derangement was only temporary. His mother never complained to me of his using any violence, but only his absurd remarks.” The evidence was clear. Elizabeth’s death was undoubtedly caused by the manic actions of her eldest child. “Do you have anything to say in answer to the charge?” enquired the magistrate. After a brief pause he replied, “No, I have nothing to say.” He was sent to stand trial at the assizes. Later that month William Thomas pleaded not guilty to the charge of wilful murder. This time he exhibited none of the aloofness he had displayed at his previous hearing, only occasionally frowning at various witnesses and casting expressive glances as if taking a particular personal interest. No new evidence was submitted and after listening to the details heard at Birkenhead, the jury returned a verdict. They were satisfied that William Thomas was indeed insane and should be acquitted for urgent medical treatment. The Judge agreed and the prisoner was led away. The quiet agricultural suburb of Woodchurch became awash with rumour and the tales of the Prenton Lane Maniac caused quite a sensation for generations.

The Prenton Lane Maniac

In Woodchurch’s Prenton Lane there once stood three small sleepy cottages. In one of the dwellings lived the widower Mrs Elizabeth Thomas and her sons. There was the first-born William aged twenty-five, Thomas, aged twenty-three and Samuel, youngest of the trio, aged only nine.

The Saturday evening of July 31, 1851 saw Elizabeth and Sam patiently waiting up for the return of the two elder brothers who had gone out for a summer night stroll. At about nine o’clock William returned home alone.

“What are you both still up for?” he asked sharply.

“We were waiting for you and Thomas to come home” his mother replied, a little shocked at his aggressive tone. She was well aware that William of having some trouble of mind lately but hoped it would soon pass. Sometimes he suffered from headaches so bad that he had been forced to stay home from work and help from doctors seemed to only to temporarily alleviate the symptoms.

 “Never mind. I will sit for Joe,” said William, “you go to bed. I’ll wait.”

Elizabeth supposed there was no real need for them all to stay up, so she said goodnight and ushered Sam up the stairs and into her bed where he usually slept.

William waited until they were safely out of earshot and headed for the garden. It was beginning to get dark. He grabbed a sturdy spade and stuck hard into the grassy turf, digging up mounds of earth until he had dug a hole of some considerable depth. With that done William returned to the cottage, lit a candle, and from a cabinet he retrieved a razor. It was cut-throat sharp.  Creeping up the stairs, blade in one hand, candle in the other, William proceeded towards his parent’s silent bedroom.

Five minutes later little Samuel was awoken by a series of rough kicks and subdued moans from his mother. He opened his weary eyes and was shaken to discover the haunting silhouette of his brother and let out a shrill shriek.

“Shhhhh!” urged William. He set the candle down on the window sill and grabbed Elizabeth’s throat, slicing it open with the blade. She struggled, but the speed of William’s actions coupled with the absolute shock of the whole affair rendered her body dumb with abject terror. A few seconds of resistance passed before Mrs Thomas’s body relinquished into the stillness of death whilst the tears and cries of her boy Samuel echoed about the whole house. The bloodstained spectre jumped from the bed and hurried around to his brother’s side. “Shhhhh,” William repeated as he carried the frightened child to his own room. “I’ll be with you now,” he added and he gave the boy two kisses.

William dressed in some clean clothes and returned to the crime scene. He bound the limp hands of his mother tight with a handkerchief and rolled her up in the crimson bedspread. With a rope he tied it around the woman’s waist and casually dragged her from the bedroom, down the darkened hallway and down the stairs.

On hearing the noise Samuel crept to the doorframe to see what was going on. His innocent eyes witnessed the body sliding down the staircase; the neck and head lying limply from a gap in the bed sheets thumping hard on each stair. William dragged the cadaver through the kitchen and out through the back gate and it was with some difficulty that he managed to heave the corpse up some stone steps leading to the garden. The body was then lowered into the make-shift grave and buried with about two feet of compost. William wiped his hands clean of mud with a thorough sense of accomplishment and walked off back into the house. By now it was twenty-to-eleven and Joseph was just returning home from his evening out. He tried to close the front door quietly but the sound was quite audible. “Who’s there?”

“Me,” Joseph whispered, conscious not to wake his mother or Sam; little did he know of the dreadful circumstances that had befallen his household. He would wake no one.

The middle son saw his older brother descend the staircase with a cold smile. “Joe, I’ve killed mother and buried her in the garden. I’ve made her comfortable, and she will be a good deal better off. Don’t you go and say anything.”

“What…what?” Joe broke down into a flood of tears. There was no doubt that William was capable of such a thing and his behaviour had been somewhat unusual of late. His dirty attire confirmed the deed.

Without a hint of guilt William guided his brother upstairs to see Sam. He too was crying bitterly. “What’s the use of being that soft? She is better off,” remarked William callously. As he wiped away tears Joseph went over to Samuel, picked him up and carried the lad downstairs. “If you had been half an hour later it would have all been sided,” shouted William as they headed out the door.

Neighbour George Roydon was sound asleep when he was awoken by heavy knocking on his front door. The farmer went downstairs and discovered the two Thomas boys standing on his doorstep in obvious distress. He invited them in and asked what on earth had happened. After hearing the sickening events he offered young Sam a spare bed in the safety of his own cottage and agreed to return to the death house to investigate. George put on his coat and followed Joe into the back garden. From the glow of a candle they could see a patch of disturbed land with a recently used spade lying nearby. Farmer Roydon dug down removing a couple of feet of mud finding the wrapped up remains of Mrs Thomas lying below. Her heartbroken son fought hard to stem his tears and informed the authorities.

Police Constable Hughes arrived on scene later that evening and charged William Thomas of matricide. He recovered a pair of bloodstained trousers, a shirt and a flannel jacket and took them to the Bridewell as evidence.

The following week Mr Thomas was sent to stand trial before local magistrates and the charge was put to him.

“Guilty or not guilty?”

“No, I did not, not as I can recollect!” he answered with great vehemence. The man’s demeanour in the dock fittingly reflected his tortured mindset, yet he seemed quite unconscious of the awful nature of his position.

Evidence from the Thomas brothers was first heard and both accounts corroborated. Samuel said that William and his mother generally got on very well. “She was always kind to him and he to her, except that sometimes he would ‘sauce’ her a little. They had had no quarrel, but two or three days before I had heard him ‘sauce’ her a little.”

The prisoner was asked whether he wished to ask Sam any questions.

“Eh?” he answered sharply, and loudly.

The question was repeated.

“No, I’ve nothing to ask him” replied William in the same vigorous tone.

Joseph was called to the stand and spoke of his brother’s recent erratic behaviour.

“There had been a difference in his manner for about a week before. He seemed to be getting gradually worse. Whenever I went in lately he ordered me out of the house.”

“Thou art a liar!” raged William. The unexpected outburst caused quite a sensation in the court room.

Joseph continued. “He had been out of his mind previously and a surgeon attended him. He was never violent in his conduct but there had been something wrong about his head for nearly a year. I had often heard my mother alluding to the circumstance. He was never violent but for the last twelve months he seemed to be getting foolish and during the last week he became rather more excited.”

The views of George Roydon and Constable Hughes were also taken into account. Testimony from Isaac Byerly was then put forth. He was a surgeon and had known the family for some time. It was he who had examined the gory slash across the forty-eight-year-old victim’s neck.

“I know the prisoner who I have attended professionally,” began Isaac. “Six or seven weeks ago his mother called me to see him. He complained of headache and drowsiness and betrayed other symptoms indicating an excited state of the brain. He was bled, and other appropriate remedies were used with a view to abating the excitement. He improved and at the end of the fortnight he told me that he felt quite well and was able to go back to work. Two weeks ago however his mother came to me and said he had not been able to work and requested that I come and see him.” The medical man stated that he found William to be quite compos mentis, but Elizabeth disagreed, saying that her son had been making absurd remarks and being generally odd in his manner. “I again ordered blistering and lowering remedies. On the day before the occurrence Mrs Thomas told me that he was not so well again, so I gave her a blister to be applied to the back of the neck and remarked that I would like to see him. I never saw her alive again.”

The Court heard from Sir E. Cust. He had also spoken to the deceased the day before the murder regarding William’s state of mind. “On Friday morning I had some conversation with his mother and she said that if he became worse he should be removed to a lunatic asylum. William answered me quite rationally, and I thought his mental derangement was only temporary. His mother never complained to me of his using any violence, but only his absurd remarks.”

The evidence was clear. Elizabeth’s death was undoubtedly caused by the manic actions of her eldest child. “Do you have anything to say in answer to the charge?” enquired the magistrate. After a brief pause he replied, “No, I have nothing to say.” He was sent to stand trial at the assizes.

Later that month William Thomas pleaded not guilty to the charge of wilful murder. This time he exhibited none of the aloofness he had displayed at his previous hearing, only occasionally frowning at various witnesses and casting expressive glances as if taking a particular personal interest. No new evidence was submitted and after listening to the details heard at Birkenhead, the jury returned a verdict. They were satisfied that William Thomas was indeed insane and should be acquitted for urgent medical treatment. The Judge agreed and the prisoner was led away.

The quiet agricultural suburb of Woodchurch became awash with rumour and the tales of the Prenton Lane Maniac caused quite a sensation for generations.

www.liverpoolcitypolice.co.uk This is a really cool site with plenty of historic photos and info on the police of Liverpool. A lot of hard work has clearly gone into its construction containing many unique details of local police dealings in bygone ages with regular updates and additions. A very valuable resource worth clicking if only for the amazing array of images available to view. One for the Favourites folder!

www.liverpoolcitypolice.co.uk

This is a really cool site with plenty of historic photos and info on the police of Liverpool. A lot of hard work has clearly gone into its construction containing many unique details of local police dealings in bygone ages with regular updates and additions. A very valuable resource worth clicking if only for the amazing array of images available to view. One for the Favourites folder!

An Express Suicide On January 15, 1883, an inquest was held into the circumstances of a most gruesome incident that took place on one Birkenhead-bound locomotive. At the Victoria Hotel in Cleveland Street, Coroner Churton sat and mused over the unpleasant details surrounding the death of one passenger which took place on the previous Saturday evening. The first witness was Thomas Henry Evans. A wine merchant, he deposed that he had left the city of Chester by the nine-twenty-four express train on the night of January 13. As the train was nearing Bebington Station, Mr Evans thought that he had heard what sounded like a gun shot. It seemed relatively close by, possibly even in the next compartment to where he was sitting. The noise played on Thomas’ mind and upon reaching Woodside he informed a porter of his suspicions. George Wilson escorted Mr. Evans as he explained his fears.  The porter investigated the carriages, one by one, until he came to one compartment with its door still shut. George gave a gentle knock. There was no answer. “Hello?” he called out, but again there was no response. He turned the handle and gave it a stern slide sideways. Wilson was suddenly met with a most ghastly scene of utter death. In the second class carriage beneath the speckled drawn blinds of the window sat the mutilated corpse of a man. The majority of his face had been blown off by the large and old-fashioned pistol which sat accusingly in the dead man’s hand. Brain tissue was scattered all over the compartment and his black suit was heavily saturated with blood. The porter felt ill. “A man has shot himself!”  George exclaimed. Thomas Evans peered around the door frame to see what had happened. He too was taken aback at the appalling brutality which lay before him. He recoiled immediately but couldn’t banish the stomach-churning image from his mind. Mr. Wilson himself was then called as a witness. He stated that upon finding the body at approximately nine-forty-five he at once informed the Station Master, Mr. Andrew. He recalled how he was ordered to find a doctor whilst Mr. Andrew contacted the police. Police Constable John O’Neil described how after arriving at the platform he got on board the train and was shown to the compartment in question. The small window inside bore a hole the size of a sixpenny piece and it was clear that this was caused by the single bullet that had killed the man that now sat beneath it. The constable recalled that the deceased was in his mid-thirties; about five feet nine inches in height, of slight build and had dark brown hair which was tinged with grey. The corpse had a whisker-style moustache and wore a smart black suit, brown stockings and laced boots. P.C O’Neil  said that he searched the deceased’s pockets and found upon his person, three pounds, a small quantity of gun powder, a number of lead pellets, some percussion caps and some bullets known as slugs. In the man’s coat pocket sat a small bottle containing a sort of spirits. This was also smeared with blood. The constable said that he could not find any papers or documents that would lead him to discovering the identity of the mysterious man; one of the few clues that could be found was the name of the manufacturer of his overcoat. Richardson and Co. Civil and Military Tailors. 179 Hockley, Birmingham The constable then asserted that he ordered the body to be taken to the dead house in Watson Street. There was another clue. Station Master Andrews deposed how upon learning of the origins of the alcohol bottle he had sent a telegraph to the White Lion Hotel in Foregate Street, Chester. In their reply they informed him that the staff remembered a man matching the description given visiting the pub at about eight o’clock that evening. He was not local and had indeed purchased the aforesaid bottle of whiskey. Mr. Andrew’s meticulous research also yielded results about the origins of the dead man’s weaponry. It seemed a Mr. Jones, a gunsmith, returned a telegram stating that he had sold a pistol and powder to a man like the deceased at his shop in Northgate Street, Chester. The jury listened intently and felt compelled to return a verdict of suicide, but there was no evidence to suggest he man’s state of mind at the time. Coroner Churton directed that the internment of the body should be postponed for several days in the hope of identification. Later that week, several people from Birmingham contacted the Birkenhead authorities to inform them that they had links with the deceased and would leave for the Wirral at once to begin identification procedures. It is hoped that the body of the unknown man was reunited with those who knew and loved him best.

An Express Suicide

On January 15, 1883, an inquest was held into the circumstances of a most gruesome incident that took place on one Birkenhead-bound locomotive.

At the Victoria Hotel in Cleveland Street, Coroner Churton sat and mused over the unpleasant details surrounding the death of one passenger which took place on the previous Saturday evening. The first witness was Thomas Henry Evans. A wine merchant, he deposed that he had left the city of Chester by the nine-twenty-four express train on the night of January 13. As the train was nearing Bebington Station, Mr Evans thought that he had heard what sounded like a gun shot. It seemed relatively close by, possibly even in the next compartment to where he was sitting. The noise played on Thomas’ mind and upon reaching Woodside he informed a porter of his suspicions. George Wilson escorted Mr. Evans as he explained his fears.  The porter investigated the carriages, one by one, until he came to one compartment with its door still shut. George gave a gentle knock. There was no answer.

“Hello?” he called out, but again there was no response. He turned the handle and gave it a stern slide sideways. Wilson was suddenly met with a most ghastly scene of utter death. In the second class carriage beneath the speckled drawn blinds of the window sat the mutilated corpse of a man. The majority of his face had been blown off by the large and old-fashioned pistol which sat accusingly in the dead man’s hand. Brain tissue was scattered all over the compartment and his black suit was heavily saturated with blood. The porter felt ill.

“A man has shot himself!”  George exclaimed. Thomas Evans peered around the door frame to see what had happened. He too was taken aback at the appalling brutality which lay before him. He recoiled immediately but couldn’t banish the stomach-churning image from his mind.

Mr. Wilson himself was then called as a witness. He stated that upon finding the body at approximately nine-forty-five he at once informed the Station Master, Mr. Andrew. He recalled how he was ordered to find a doctor whilst Mr. Andrew contacted the police.

Police Constable John O’Neil described how after arriving at the platform he got on board the train and was shown to the compartment in question. The small window inside bore a hole the size of a sixpenny piece and it was clear that this was caused by the single bullet that had killed the man that now sat beneath it.

The constable recalled that the deceased was in his mid-thirties; about five feet nine inches in height, of slight build and had dark brown hair which was tinged with grey. The corpse had a whisker-style moustache and wore a smart black suit, brown stockings and laced boots. P.C O’Neil  said that he searched the deceased’s pockets and found upon his person, three pounds, a small quantity of gun powder, a number of lead pellets, some percussion caps and some bullets known as slugs. In the man’s coat pocket sat a small bottle containing a sort of spirits. This was also smeared with blood. The constable said that he could not find any papers or documents that would lead him to discovering the identity of the mysterious man; one of the few clues that could be found was the name of the manufacturer of his overcoat.

Richardson and Co. Civil and Military Tailors. 179 Hockley, Birmingham

The constable then asserted that he ordered the body to be taken to the dead house in Watson Street.

There was another clue. Station Master Andrews deposed how upon learning of the origins of the alcohol bottle he had sent a telegraph to the White Lion Hotel in Foregate Street, Chester. In their reply they informed him that the staff remembered a man matching the description given visiting the pub at about eight o’clock that evening. He was not local and had indeed purchased the aforesaid bottle of whiskey. Mr. Andrew’s meticulous research also yielded results about the origins of the dead man’s weaponry. It seemed a Mr. Jones, a gunsmith, returned a telegram stating that he had sold a pistol and powder to a man like the deceased at his shop in Northgate Street, Chester.

The jury listened intently and felt compelled to return a verdict of suicide, but there was no evidence to suggest he man’s state of mind at the time. Coroner Churton directed that the internment of the body should be postponed for several days in the hope of identification. Later that week, several people from Birmingham contacted the Birkenhead authorities to inform them that they had links with the deceased and would leave for the Wirral at once to begin identification procedures.

It is hoped that the body of the unknown man was reunited with those who knew and loved him best.

The Diehard Marketers Today Queen Square is a popular point for diners with hungry appetites, but back in the day this area was once an active market centre lined with stalls and produce. Council officials in the nineteenth century however brought it all to an unwanted end. On August 5, 1878 approximately forty fruit, vegetable and fish sellers were summoned to Court for causing an obstruction in Queen Square and Great Charlotte Street. During the proceedings Magistrate Picton enquired as to whether or not Great Charlotte Street, situated on the west side of St. John’s Market was formerly used and generally still recognised as part of the market itself. He was told that it was true there were a great number of people who were in the habit of going there to take up their accustomed spots to trade their wares and had done for many years. The Deputy Town Clerk Mr Atkinson supported this information and recounted the circumstances that had led up to this arrangement. He spoke of how in 1786 under an act of King George III, the Liverpool Corporation had obtained an act through Parliament which allowed them to designate such public parts of the city to use as markets as they saw fit. In 1810, Queen Square and Great Charlotte Street had indeed been designated as such areas. It was not until the previous summer that the market status of those two areas was revoked; a change of which ample notice was given through means of advertisements. “By this order of the Council, Queen Square is no more a market than Bold Street or any other street in the town” exclaimed Mr Atkinson. “Anyone exposing goods there created an obstruction just as much as if they did so in Bold Street and were as much liability to penalty.” Superintendent Hutchinson of the markets deposed that Queen Square was not a market when he was a boy, but had subsequently been adopted as one and had been seen that way for decades. Mr. Little, the manager of the more authorised establishment of St. John’s Market proved that due notice had been given by the Council through means of placards, examples of which were shown to the Court. Mr. Messenger, a market collector, stated that he had not collected any tolls from any traders from Queen Square or Great Charlotte Street for over a month suggesting that any commercial occupation of the Square was most definitely illegal. Doctor O’Feeley, for the defence, argued that the Council ought to have passed not only an order repealing the by-law in regards to the Square, but a separate by-law to disband it all together. In response Mr Atkinson said that that course of action had already been taken earlier that year, when the Council approved a recommendation from the Market Committee that both Queen Square and Great Charlotte Street should be discontinued. The magistrates had heard enough. There could be no excuse for the tradesmen continuing their crafts illegally in places clearly out of bounds. They enforced fines ranging from five shillings to two shillings and six pence out to the forty or so diehard marketers.  

The Diehard Marketers

Today Queen Square is a popular point for diners with hungry appetites, but back in the day this area was once an active market centre lined with stalls and produce. Council officials in the nineteenth century however brought it all to an unwanted end.

On August 5, 1878 approximately forty fruit, vegetable and fish sellers were summoned to Court for causing an obstruction in Queen Square and Great Charlotte Street.

During the proceedings Magistrate Picton enquired as to whether or not Great Charlotte Street, situated on the west side of St. John’s Market was formerly used and generally still recognised as part of the market itself. He was told that it was true there were a great number of people who were in the habit of going there to take up their accustomed spots to trade their wares and had done for many years. The Deputy Town Clerk Mr Atkinson supported this information and recounted the circumstances that had led up to this arrangement. He spoke of how in 1786 under an act of King George III, the Liverpool Corporation had obtained an act through Parliament which allowed them to designate such public parts of the city to use as markets as they saw fit. In 1810, Queen Square and Great Charlotte Street had indeed been designated as such areas. It was not until the previous summer that the market status of those two areas was revoked; a change of which ample notice was given through means of advertisements. “By this order of the Council, Queen Square is no more a market than Bold Street or any other street in the town” exclaimed Mr Atkinson. “Anyone exposing goods there created an obstruction just as much as if they did so in Bold Street and were as much liability to penalty.”

Superintendent Hutchinson of the markets deposed that Queen Square was not a market when he was a boy, but had subsequently been adopted as one and had been seen that way for decades. Mr. Little, the manager of the more authorised establishment of St. John’s Market proved that due notice had been given by the Council through means of placards, examples of which were shown to the Court. Mr. Messenger, a market collector, stated that he had not collected any tolls from any traders from Queen Square or Great Charlotte Street for over a month suggesting that any commercial occupation of the Square was most definitely illegal.

Doctor O’Feeley, for the defence, argued that the Council ought to have passed not only an order repealing the by-law in regards to the Square, but a separate by-law to disband it all together. In response Mr Atkinson said that that course of action had already been taken earlier that year, when the Council approved a recommendation from the Market Committee that both Queen Square and Great Charlotte Street should be discontinued.

The magistrates had heard enough. There could be no excuse for the tradesmen continuing their crafts illegally in places clearly out of bounds. They enforced fines ranging from five shillings to two shillings and six pence out to the forty or so diehard marketers.

 

The Upper Horseshoe Gallery

Here are some rare views of the Upper Horseshoe Gallery at the museum of William Brown Street. It is seen here complete with numerous examples of natural history including several chimps and a life size elephant! The museum itself was built in 1860 but the cost of the creation exceeded all expectations, prompting local merchant and M.P William Brown to personally donate £41,000 of his own funds to finish the mammoth project. His benevolence led to the street to be rechristened (formerly known as Shaw’s Brow) in his honour. Hitler’s malevolent expansion plans eighty years later forced staff to hide the buildings most valuable and prized artefacts away elsewhere for fear of bomb attacks. In time their worst fears were realised and the museum did indeed fall victim to enemy attack with extensive damage inflicted during an early morning air raid in 1941. The gallery and its remaining contents were lost forever.

This great shot shows of the stunning architecture of Liverpool’s Church Street in the early years of the twentieth century. There’s something a little more classy about this style of building. Today’s glass strutcures just don’t seem to have the same effect.

This great shot shows of the stunning architecture of Liverpool’s Church Street in the early years of the twentieth century. There’s something a little more classy about this style of building. Today’s glass strutcures just don’t seem to have the same effect.

A Fiery Feline On October 22, 1896 Sarah Dawber was busy in the back yard of her home having finally found some time to deal with a few household chores. Much to her surprise a ghastly screech soon broke the afternoon calmness and a flickering feline flew into full view. A scrawny cat, one Sarah had seen on a number of occasions strutting casually about the cobbles, seemed a lot more heated than usual. It was on fire, and it ran past Mrs Dawber and in through her kitchen door. She chased it and tried to shoo the cat back out to the less flammable back yard. The flames of its fur were reaching heights of about two feet and the kitchen was in serious danger of also becoming alight. Mrs Dawber filled a bowl of water and poured it on the puss, but it did nothing but make the cat cry out louder. It fled through the living room and out the front door to die a slow, hot death. Inspector Osborn of the RSPCA was contacted and he examined the smouldering carcass. The cat was terribly burnt and it gave off an abnormal smell. As well as the morbid stench of death lingered the strong scent of paraffin oil. Mr Osborn chatted to Mrs Dawber and she related how the cat, all ablaze, had jumped into her back yard from a certain house in Kemble Street, Kensington. Ann Coombes was the occupier and she was questioned by the inspector over her suspected involvement.  On going into the parlour Mr Osborn spotted a container of paraffin oil precariously sitting by the fire grate. Thankfully, the fire was not lit. In the grate itself he discovered some burnt newspaper and some soot saturated with the same distinctive oil. “I put some paraffin on a piece of newspaper to drive a strange cat out of the chimney” said Mrs Coombes, unaware of the terrible outcome her actions brought about.  Before Mr Stewart at the Liverpool Police Court, Ann Coombes was summoned by the RSPCA for cruelty. In answer the woman denied she had coated the cat in paraffin oil, but merely dowsed some paper and lit that. She only wanted to scare the cat out, not kill it. “Without paraffin oil the most inflammable newspaper would not have produced such conflagration upon the poor cat” said the magistrate. “However I don’t believe the oil had been put on the cat and would be sorry to think that any adult, much less this woman, would do such a thing.” Considering this was not a deliberate act of cruelty, Mr Stewart dismissed the case from his court. Mrs Coombes had no conception of the cruel consequences that would arise from her actions and was most sorry for what had happened.

A Fiery Feline

On October 22, 1896 Sarah Dawber was busy in the back yard of her home having finally found some time to deal with a few household chores. Much to her surprise a ghastly screech soon broke the afternoon calmness and a flickering feline flew into full view. A scrawny cat, one Sarah had seen on a number of occasions strutting casually about the cobbles, seemed a lot more heated than usual. It was on fire, and it ran past Mrs Dawber and in through her kitchen door. She chased it and tried to shoo the cat back out to the less flammable back yard. The flames of its fur were reaching heights of about two feet and the kitchen was in serious danger of also becoming alight. Mrs Dawber filled a bowl of water and poured it on the puss, but it did nothing but make the cat cry out louder. It fled through the living room and out the front door to die a slow, hot death.

Inspector Osborn of the RSPCA was contacted and he examined the smouldering carcass. The cat was terribly burnt and it gave off an abnormal smell. As well as the morbid stench of death lingered the strong scent of paraffin oil. Mr Osborn chatted to Mrs Dawber and she related how the cat, all ablaze, had jumped into her back yard from a certain house in Kemble Street, Kensington. Ann Coombes was the occupier and she was questioned by the inspector over her suspected involvement.  On going into the parlour Mr Osborn spotted a container of paraffin oil precariously sitting by the fire grate. Thankfully, the fire was not lit. In the grate itself he discovered some burnt newspaper and some soot saturated with the same distinctive oil. “I put some paraffin on a piece of newspaper to drive a strange cat out of the chimney” said Mrs Coombes, unaware of the terrible outcome her actions brought about. 

Before Mr Stewart at the Liverpool Police Court, Ann Coombes was summoned by the RSPCA for cruelty. In answer the woman denied she had coated the cat in paraffin oil, but merely dowsed some paper and lit that. She only wanted to scare the cat out, not kill it. “Without paraffin oil the most inflammable newspaper would not have produced such conflagration upon the poor cat” said the magistrate. “However I don’t believe the oil had been put on the cat and would be sorry to think that any adult, much less this woman, would do such a thing.” Considering this was not a deliberate act of cruelty, Mr Stewart dismissed the case from his court. Mrs Coombes had no conception of the cruel consequences that would arise from her actions and was most sorry for what had happened.

Did you know…the pizza bar of Tribeca in Berry Street was once home to Alex Matthew & Co. motor car agents and dealers.

Did you know…the pizza bar of Tribeca in Berry Street was once home to Alex Matthew & Co. motor car agents and dealers.

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Daniel K Longman

The tumblr of Daniel K. Longman. Liverpool Echo Columnist. Author of Merseyside history. Updates via Daniel K Longman @ Twitter and Facebook

 

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