MEMORIES OF SCOTLAND YARD.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20541, 16 February 1935, Page 28 (Supplement)

MEMORIES OF SCOTLAND YARD.

A DETECTIVE'S REMINISCENCES. PITFALLS FOR THE UNWARY FISTICUFFS RESPECTED BY THE CRIMINAL DRAMATIC CLASHES WITH LONDON'S UNDERGROUND HABITUES DETECTING A BRUTAL SHOP MURDER WILES OF CROOKS AND SHARPERS. (By CECIL, BISHOP, Ex-C.1.D., New Scotland Yard.—All Rights Reserved.) | Below is the first of a new series of seven articles from the powerful pen of Mr. ! • Cecil Bishop, formerly of New Scotland Yard, in which he recalls some of the • J ©utatrnding events in a career into which have been crowded tensely dramatic t i episi«* s and poignant incidents. Mr. Bishop is recognised as one of the most | ! astute detectives in Britain’s great institution, fearless when facing masters of j • crime and desperadoes, merciless in his pursuit of the underworld trickster and , sharp, and resourceful in the battle of wits with the cultured crook. ;

Two months after putting on the uniform of a police constable I caught two wellknown East End pickpockets; and through my strict attention to crime in preference to other duties, I came under the notice of Inspector Nicholls, then in charge of the C.I.D. at Limehouse, who promised to employ me in- plain clothes as soon as the opportunity arose. Three months after I joined tne force I was put on probation in plain clothes, and there followed some of the most active years of my life. I fought with my fists when necessary until the rough element in Limehouse, where in those days were to be found some of the toughest characters in the world, got to know that I could fight who* necessary, and then they respected me. An officer who could use his fists did things quicker, and instead of locking a man up it was often only necessary to say a word to send him away. I never troubled about “drunks” unless they were really incapable. I knew that their pals would look after them. On prostitutes and thieves who lived with them, I waged a remorseless battle. I arrested them on every opportunity and looked upon them as parasites who preyed upon sailors just home from sea, being paid off with £4O or £SO, and having the whole stolen on the first night ashore.

For acting as a plain clothes patrol in winter I received the munificent sum of 2/6 a week extra, but I did not trouble for I was given to understand that if I came through successfully I should be posted to the Investigation Department and become a fully fledged detective. I was really interested in my work, and for the first time my thoughts began to dwell on detection seriously. My first case in “plain clothes” was quite an important Epidemic of Burglaries. An epidemic of burglaries in West Ham had resulted in a number of us being lent to that district. For several nights we found nothing, but on the fourth night just aa I was returning to the station to report, I saw a man carrying a large bag on which were the initials F.C.C. Now detectives are always suspicious of people who carry bags about the suburbs at 1 a.m., and I stopped the man, told him I was a police officer, and asked him his name. “James Brown,” he replied without hesitation “I live in Knightsbridge and I am on my way borne from a party now/’ “Well, if your name is James Brown,” I remarked, **l shall be obliged if you will step along to the station with me so that you can explain why you are carrying a bag with the initials F.C.C. on it.” I took him by the arm and urged him gently along. The quiet way in which he went made me think I was making a fool of myself and that he had borrowed a friend’s case for the night. I saw myself getting “ticked off” for detaining a respectable citizen, but the instinct of the detective for sensing a crook had already begun to develop and served me in good stead. We opened the bag at the police station and out tumbled the contents on the table — about £I6OO worth of jewellery. Mr. ‘‘Brown” got three years and a word of encouragement for me. My first murder was not spectacular in the sense that the Charing Cross trunk murder and the Thompson murders were spectacular, but it gave me a good insight into the human flotsam and jetsam, whose only homes were prison and the “Klip House.” Brutal Shop Murder. The brutal murder of Miss Farmer was one of the first “shop” murders of which there has been something of an epidemic since the war. The woman who kept a small shop in Commercial Hoad was found with her head horribly mutilated, evidently as a result of blows with some blunt instrument. The murder actually took place in H division, and Sergeant Wensley was put on the case. As one of the murderers was believed to be hiding in my division I was deputed to assist him. There is no great call for the use of the higher science in this case. The motive was obvious from the empty till, and we very soon caught a man named Wade. Then we received a hint that another man, Donovan, was also a party to the murder. Tyjpre followed a “comb out” of all the .•sieves’ dens of the East End. The public does not hear much about this part of catching a criminal—but it is quite as thrilling as clipping the handcuffs on the wanted man! One of the haunts I and another officer had to search was called the “kip,” and was about the hottest “shop east of Aldgate. As we squeezed through the narrow entrance we were recognised and a howl of fury went up. Twenty or 30 crooks and toughs were toasting kippers and bloaters in front of a roaring fire, and every one of them rushed at us before we had a chance to explain our business. The porter, true to type, snapped out the gas at the main and in the darkness illumined now and then by leaping flames from the stove we fought our way to the entrance, using fists, feet and knees. No one appeared to notice that we had gone, for the fight continued merrily to the accompaniment of splintering benches, overturning tables and choice oaths. Eventually one little rat of a man emerged and we seized him. Struth Robert,” he said, “I’ve had enough of It— l’m going ter sleep out to-night.

After cross-examination we discovered our man was not in, and we left. What happened when the crowd of toughs found they were hitting their own broken noses instead of spoiling the beauty of those of the Metropolitan Police I do not know! We finally received information as to Donovan’s whereabouts from a girl who liad been living with him. We knew that he was a tough customer and therefore planned to arrest him about 3 a.m., the favourite time for tackling a crook who is likely to fight, as he is drowsy. Unforunately Donovan, knowing that we were after him, was not asleep. No sooner had we entered his room than he made a dive at Sergeant Wensley, who was a good deal smaller than myself. I jumped to Wensley’s assistance, but Donovan put up a good fight—he had committed one murder and was not particular about the methods he employed. Eventually, after a fierce fight, he was overpowered by four of us. Running Fight With Suspect. We started taking him off, but as soon as we got into the street the cool night air revived him and our progress to the police station was a running fight. Donovan was one of the most violent, if not one of the most dangerous prisoners I had to handle. Both Wade and Donovan were hanged.

The experience I gained when searching dosshouses on this case served me in good stead later. I had raided these thieves’ kitchens on many occasions, but rarely without having to fight. One of my “rough house nights” that remain vividly in my memory was the result of my boldness in entering a notorious “Hip House” alone, in search of a rough customer. The porter merely grinned when he saw me, and jerked his thumb towards the kitchen. In I went to be met with a spatter of “No splits or dogs allowed here,” bawled one man, whom I knew was fresn from a burglary, “get to hell, and here s something to help you there.” W itk that he flung a pail of dirty water over me. I was moving towards him when a roasting hot potato just removed from the fire hit me in the side of my head. . . . The pain of that floury bomb bursting was excruciating and for a few minutes I saw “red.” Whirling my heavy “whangee” cane, I cut my way through towards the man I wanted and grabbed him with my left hand. But the way to the door was blocked by a group of men smarting from the blows I had delivered. 1 pushed my prisoner in front of me, using him as a shield, and after he had received a dozen or two of the blows aimed at me, he shouted, let up!” “I’ve had enough of this/ I got my man to the station somehow, but for weeks I was deaf in the potato assailed ear. Disguised as Seafarer. With other officers I worked in K division mostly dressed as a seafaring man. We patrolled Canning Town, the Isle of Dogs, Millwall, Plaistow, West Ham, and even as far east as Barking and Dagenham. We nearly always. worked in pairs, and my best “chum” in those days was Jack Martin, who had been Prince Francis of Teck’s servant in the Ist Dragoons. Jack was a huge man who never knew his own strength and we had some rough nights together. _ On one occasion we were investigating a series of burglaries in the Forest Gate district when, at five o’clock in the morning, we saw a man approaching a house in a stealthy manner. “Big Jack” and I followed him into the gardens. Suddenly a window in the house went up. A revolver barked three times almost in our ears, far too close to be comfortable. “We are police officers,” yelled Jack. “Police officers be damned,” called back a loud voice, “I’ll let the daylight through you thieving skunks as soon as I’ve reloaded my gun.” I promptly jumped for cover behind a coalshed—and who should I bank into but my burglar! “Blimey guvn’r,” the man bowled, pale as the proverbial sheet, “take me —but not while he’s got that gun going.” I called out to Jack that I had got the man, and the burglar kept moaning “You’ve nc right to make me risk my life!” Meanwhile uniformed officers had been attracted by the shots, and they soon pacified the old gentleman, who was a retired ship captain. My captive turned out to be a well-known burglar, and he went back to penal servitude. I had not had very many months in the force before I had the unpleasant task of tackling one of my colleagues. One Sunday morning at 4 o’clock I was in plair clothes patrolling alone in Burditt Road when I saw a man loitering near rnj superintendent’s house. I kept birr under observation when he entered the garden gate and we went into the area “Crikey!” I thought, “he is going to dr the guvnor’s house in.” I followed hirr down th-e steps and grabbed him as h« was trying the door. He swore at m< and we had a struggle. Hearing th< noise Pueerintendent Wells yelled out o: the window, “What’s the row dowr there?” “Bishop here, sir.” T shouted back “There is a man trying to break into youi house.” “Well. I’m damned,” replied my chief i “hang on to him until 1 get down,”

Police Constable Caught. To my surprise he recognised the man as a police constable from the Poplar subdivision who, it appears, had a grievance against an inspector at that station, and having had too much to drink that night got up in the early hours of the morning still under the influence to tell his superintendent about it! He walked straight into the lion’s jaw. Acting on my superintendent’s orders I took the constable to Limehouse police station, where he appeared later as a defaulter for being drunk. He was fined 3/ a week for twelve months, and to regain his advancement at the rate of a shilling a week a year! This was a heavy punishment for being drunk, but I shall never forget the superintendent’s last words to him. “Look here, my lad, if ever I can do a good turn to one of my men I am always ready to help at ,any time of the day or night. But they must come to me sober, for I’ve no use for drunken men. Drink by all means, but be moderate.” The housing conditions in the East End at the beginning of the century were appalling. Ido not suppose there were half a dozen staircases in 'the district that would bear the weight of two men at the same time. Families of five and six, with a few aunts and uncles thrown in, lived in one dirty room, and babies were born with the elder children looking on. By the time the boys were eighteen they were experienced house breakers or pickpockets. The girls went on the streets an early age and carried on pickpocketing as a sideline. Shocking Slum Conditions. Here are two stories which show the condition of the average house. Very early one morning I saw smoke coming out "of the window of a china shop next door to a fried fish shop. We kicked at the door, but there was no answer. By this time a glow was visible through the window and we sent for the fire engine. There were horses on the engines in those days, and not waiting for the arrival of the firemen we kicked down the door and rushed up -the stairs. In one room we found a mother with three children. The woman picked up one child and rushed clownstaii*e. My pal took the other two, then I found the grandmother, a crippled old woman, in bed. Wrapping her up in a blanket, I took her in my arms while she fought and scratched. The place was well alight by this time, and fortunately the stairs had not caught. I made my way down as best I could with the struggling old woman, when suddenly the rotten staircase gave way. Down we crashed, and the old woman, who had been half off her head before, went completely mad. Fortunately the firemen arrived. She was taken to a neighbour’s house and the fire brought under control before it reached the fish and chip shop, which was full of inflammable material. Soon afterwards I was asked to attend the funeral of a costermonger named Pat Murphy, who was very well liked in the district. The Irish decided to hold a wake, and I arrived at the house to find everyone in their Sunday best, sitting round the coffin drinking the dead man’s health. I took my drink near the door and suddenly heard a cracking. In a moment the coffin and half a dozen mourners disappeared through the floor in the cellar. We picked them up, put Pat back in his coffin and continued with the feasting. That _was mv first and last experience of an Irish wake. Pat was one of the few non-criminal members of the population. Another charming character was a man I met nearly every morning about seven when I was on patrol. He always came down the Commercial Hoad with a bag in which were fish from Billingsgate Market. After the first. feiv meetings he used to give me one fish for my breakfast, and I gave him a drink, as he would not take any money.

Over his drink he always gave me words of advice as from an old man to a young one. “Keep your eyes open young man, and you’ll go far in the police. Go about trusting no one and you will get on.” My surprise can be imagined when I met the old fellow in the charge room at the station. He was standing before Detective Inspector Kempt of the Yard. “Who have you got there?” asked the inspector of the station entering the office door. “Quiet Joe,” replied Kempt, “the best burglar I know!” Joe saw me and said, “There, didn’t I tell you to keep your eyes skinned if you wanted to get on, young man?” Words failed me completely. , I kicked myself for a week for not looking under the fish that Joe was carrying in his basket. I had seen him carrying home the proceeds of a score of burglaries without suspecting him of being anything but the charming old man he looked. It certainly taught me not to trust anyone.