The
First Jack the Ripper Victim Photographs - Reviewed by Adrian Morris
At the
very beginning of this book, in the foreword, the esteemed author,
Richard Whittington-Egan ponders where on earth is there left to go
for the budding Ripper author, before resolving to claim that there
has been a decided move away from works that try to identify the
Whitechapel murderer. McLaughlin would add, almost instantly, that his
book is aimed “...squarely at the serious student of the case”.
This may very well be true, but the work McLaughlin produces within
this excellent book can, and often does, stand up of its own accord.
The
book itself tries to resolve, and thus, expand on three central
questions. Firstly, McLaughlin centres his research on the first known
publication(s) of the Ripper mortuary photos, (Eddowes and Kelly) in
French pathological texts in the late 19th century, then he looks at
the original photographers who may, and in one photographer’s case,
actually took some of the photos. Then, finally, tries to work out how
they may have found their way into the possession of these French
authors from their original home amongst the police files in London. A
unique odyssey.
The
Kelly photograph was first published in a work by Andre Lamoureux in
1894, but it was the 1899 production of the Kelly photograph, with
accompanying text by the American ‘criminologist’ Arthur MacDonald in
Alexandre Lacassagne’s work that is more famous. Lacassagne is revered
as the father of modern ballistics and criminal pathology, yet he
relies on the often bizarre figure of MacDonald (McLaughlin provides
an honest critique of MacDonald and his theories), to provide a
mini-discourse on the Ripper murders, (reproduced in English text by
David Black). Obviously, McLaughlin says, because Lacassagne was
relying on a straight forward account of the injuries as best known by
the medical community at that time without the benefit of the police
files - which were resolutely closed, it is unlikely that an eminent
figure such as Lacassagne would have consulted MacDonald beyond this
account. But how did Lacassagne et al get hold of this picture, and
pictures of Eddowes when it was near impossible to do so outside the
higher echelons of the police officials? This is the book’s central
thrust.
In
Chapter Five, McLaughlin decides on working out the central
players at the French end of the equation. The constant in this
equation leads back to Lyon. McLaughlin - attention to detail being
his obvious talent, is able to put names to the publisher: Adrien
Storck, the photo setter: B. Delaye, the French translator
of the MacDonald piece: Dr. Henry Coutagne, whilst also giving
us a fascinating account of Professor Alexandre Lacassagne himself,
his influences and his historical impact - which was great. In this
last part, McLaughlin touches on a very important and vital part of
Lacassagne’s body of work, and in turn - his legacy. This legacy was
to change the face of criminology at the dawn of a new century. For it
was Lacassagne who codified the motto, “les sociétés ont les
criminels qu’elles méritent” (societies have the criminals that
they deserve). The biological and genetic based interpretations
of criminal behaviour advocated by Lombrosian ideas would be replaced
by the more sound reasoning that favoured the emphasis on societal
pressures developed by Lacassagne. Durkheim and the positivism he and
his fraternity had popularised, had arrived.
And so
to Chapter Six; Photographing The Unknown Dead. We get to find
the name of the man who probably took the famous remaining photographs
of the victims. Certainly he was in the employ of ‘H’ Division.
Despite occupying the premises in Cannon Street and the previous
owners’ name appearing on the photographic stationery, it was probably
Joseph Martin who took the aforementioned photographs. McLaughlin
makes this conclusion after some pretty solid research, research that
also showed that Martin was Jewish and would go on to complete fifty
years service with the police. Soon McLaughlin is able to expand on
the methods and policy adopted by all concerned in the photographing
of the unknown dead.
It
would transpire that, despite the elites of both City and Metropolitan
police forces falling out over certain aspects of the Ripper case, the
troops on the ground cooperated. This is borne out when McLaughlin
notices that the City police photographer was probably present at the
Millers Court murder scene. City police officers were there - this
would seem to follow. It is obvious many more photographs were taken
at this murder site and the ‘second’ photo of Kelly was taken with a
different camera. It must also be remembered that in the early 1960s
Don Rumbelow found many of the Millers Court photos in the City police
archives prompting Stewart P. Evans to claim later; “The importance
of Don’s actions, and his foresight in preserving these items back in
the 1960s cannot be overemphasized”.
This
is very true.
McLaughlin then uses the later chapters to ponder and deduce what
became of the missing photographs. Also, McLaughlin concludes,
(probably correctly), that the exterior photograph of Millers Court
was probably taken on that November day in 1888. McLaughlin also
spends time assessing the detail of the Millers Court photograph in
such a way that it is neither gory or melodramatic. This is an
ultimate tribute to his skill as a writer and his talent as a
researcher.
Finally, a debate ensues as to who may have provided the connection
between the photographs appearing in the French publications.
McLaughlin can only speculate but comes up with a prime candidate and
quite frankly, I’m not surprises!!
In
finishing, I can only recommend that you buy and read this book. A
vital tool for serious and casual students of the Whitechapel murders
alike.
Zwerghaus Books 2005 ISBN : 0-9733794-0-5 |
