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© Museum of London
© Museum of London

9 Things We Learned at London's Crime Museum Uncovered Exhibit

© Museum of London
© Museum of London

For almost 150 years, London’s Metropolitan Police have maintained a private collection of criminal memorabilia. Its origins can be traced to the mid-1870s, after a law required that prisoners’ property be kept for them until their release. Most of this property was never claimed, and objects from the Prisoner’s Property Store became a teaching collection, open only to officers and their invited guests. Inspector Percy Neame later named it the Murderer’s Museum of Scotland Yard, and a few years later the press dubbed it the Black Museum.

Despite the name changes, one thing has remained consistent: It’s been closed to the public. This year, for the first time, original evidence and artifacts are on display in a special exhibit at the Museum of London, The Crime Museum Uncovered, which runs until April 10, 2016. 

1. YOU CAN SEE WHAT THE MUSEUM LOOKED LIKE 100 YEARS AGO.

Inside the Metropolitan Police’s hidden Crime Museum at Scotland Yard, c.1900, © Museum of London  

Two of the rooms within the exhibit are recreations of what the Crime Museum looked like in the early 1880s and 1900s. The rooms, which are ringed by shelves of death masks, were modeled on illustrations made of the museum at that time.

2. PRISONERS FOUND WAYS TO AMUSE THEMSELVES.

Pin-cushion embroidered with human hair by repeat offender Annie Parker, 1879 © Museum of London

Annie Parker was arrested more than 400 times for drunkenness. While in prison, she worked on stitching a sampler cushion as a gift for the chaplain of the Clerkenwell House of Detention, embroidered with her own hair. She gave it to him in 1879. The corners of the cushion read, stitched in hair, “Prudence,” “Justice,” “Fortitude,” and, ironically, “Temperance.” 

3. IDENTIFYING PRISONERS USED TO BE A LOT OF WORK.

Handwritten criminal record card for Arthur James Woodbine, aged 12, 1896 © Museum of London

Before fingerprinting became widely used by the Metropolitan Police after 1901, “anthropometric” observations were taken of each prisoner for identification purposes. These included complexion, head length and breadth, finger length, and foot length. Large metal calipers were used to record some of these measurements.

4. A VICTIM'S GALLSTONES HELPED CATCH THE ACID-BATH MURDERER.

Objects relating to the murder of Mrs Olive Durand-Deacon by John Haigh, 1949 © Museum of London

In 1949, John Haigh met with well-to-do widow Olive Durand-Deacon to discuss her business plan for manufacturing artificial fingernails. Haigh had already murdered five people by then, and disposed of their bodies in a way he thought fool-proof—dissolving them in sulphuric acid. After giving her the same treatment, Haigh smugly thought he’d gotten away with murder, as there was no body. He confessed to turning her into sludge, and also claimed he was insane and drank his victims’ blood. Already known as the “Acid Bath Murderer,” Haigh came to be called the “Vampire Killer” in the press. After being convicted by a thorough forensic investigation based on the few items that were discovered remaining in the sludge—such as Durand-Deacon’s gallstones—Haigh was hanged at Wandsworth Prison. 

5. A SERIAL KILLER HELPED ABOLISH THE DEATH PENALTY IN THE UK.

In March 1953, the bodies of three women were discovered at 10 Rillington Place. By the time the manhunt for and investigation into previous tenant John Christie was done, the body count had climbed to eight. Weirdly, three years earlier, two bodies had been found in the same flat, and another man was hanged for those crimes—and Christie had been the main witness for his prosecution. At Christie’s trial, he claimed responsibility for one of those earlier murders. The uncertainty this raised about the earlier conviction and the possibility for error in a death-penalty sentence played a significant part in the abolishment of capital punishment in Great Britain. 

6. BEWARE OF EXES BEARING GIFTS.

In 1945, a man gave a pair of binoculars with hidden, spring-loaded spikes meant to penetrate the eyes to his ex-fiancée, who had left him. This gruesome weapon later inspired a scene in the 1959 movie Horrors of the Black Museum, one of the goriest films of the 1950s.

7. … AND UMBRELLAS, JUST IN GENERAL.

Writer and journalist Georgi Markov, a defector from Bulgaria, was standing on London’s Waterloo Bridge in 1978 when he felt a sharp pain in his leg. A man near him apologized, while picking up his umbrella, and left in a taxi. After Markov died four days later, a tiny pellet filled with a substance that might have been ricin was found embedded in his leg. The case remains open to this day.

8. CRIMINALS AREN'T ALWAYS AS SMART AS THEY THINK THEY ARE.

A mid-20th-century burglar thought he was being awfully clever when he constructed fake-footprint makers out of shoes smaller than his own on the ends of wooden blocks. He stamped the ground with them, leaving tracks that would not match his own. However, he left his own footprints alongside them, and so was caught.

9. THE MUSEUM HAS HAD SOME CELEBRITY VISITORS.

Visitor book containing names and dates of individuals who visited the Crime Museum, 1877-1904 © Museum of London

The crime museum’s visitor’s book, while mostly full of the names of police officers, lists other notable signatures. Some that stand out: Gilbert and Sullivan, 1882; Sir A. Conan Doyle, 1892; Harry Houdini, 1900; King George V, 1926; and Laurel and Hardy, 1947.

Murder bag: a forensics kit used by detectives attending crime scenes, c.1946 © Museum of London

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How a London Tragedy Led to the Creation of 911
Fox Photos/Getty Images
Fox Photos/Getty Images

In trouble? Pick up the phone and call 911. According to the National Emergency Number Association (NENA), 240 million 911 calls are made each year. But if it weren’t for a house fire and a group of angry Brits, the system might not exist today.

Though 911 is an American staple, its origins are in England. In 1935, there was no such thing as an emergency phone number, and phone calls were dependent on operators who connected people to exchanges or emergency services when necessary. England did have emergency fire call points, but they didn’t use telephone technology—instead, they relied on the telegraph, which was used to send a signal to fire departments from special boxes [PDF]. There were police call points, too, but they were generally unstandardized and inefficient, since police didn’t have a way to receive emergency calls while on their beats. Instead, officers would check in during their rounds at special police boxes, like the one you probably recognize from Doctor Who.

But all that changed after November 10, 1935, when a fire broke out at the home of a prominent London surgeon, Philip Franklin, at 27 Wimpole Street. As the blaze tore through the building, five women sleeping on the upper floors—Franklin’s wife and niece, as well as three servants—became trapped. A neighbor, Norman MacDonald, heard their screams and promptly picked up the phone to dial the operator. Nobody answered.

“It seemed entirely futile to continue holding on and listening to ringing tone, which awakened no response,” he later wrote. A neighbor went to a fire call point and firefighters soon arrived, but they were unable to save the five women.

27 Wimpole Street, London, as it looks today
27 Wimpole Street, London, as it looks today
Eden, Janine and Jim, Flickr // CC BY 2.0

The tragedy sparked a national inquiry—and outrage. Two years later, London unveiled a new service: the emergency number 999. Officials thought it would be best to choose a number that was easy to find by touch on a rotary dial, and rejected a number of other options, like 111, that might be triggered by equipment malfunctions. (It wasn’t unusual for lines rubbing together and other technical glitches to trigger a 111 call; 222 was already in use by a local exchange, while 000 would have just contacted the operator after the first zero.)

The new number wasn’t immediately embraced. Of over 1000 calls made the first week, nearly 7 percent were pranks. And some members of Parliament objected, saying it would be easier to just install an emergency button on phones instead.

A New York City police officer takes an emergency call from his car in the 1960s
A New York City police officer takes an emergency call from his car in the 1960s
John Pratt/Keystone Features/Getty Images

The United States had a similar system of police telephones and signal boxes, but like the UK it lacked the technology to quickly and effectively call authorities during emergencies. In the 1950s, the National Association of Fire Chiefs, inspired by the UK’s system, requested a national emergency number, and by 1967 the FTC was meeting with AT&T, the nation’s largest telephone company, to hash out a plan.

The first 911 call in the United States—a test call made from a mayor’s office—was made in Haleyville, Alabama in 1968 [PDF]. The numbers 911 reportedly made the grade because they weren’t in use for any existing phone exchange, and were catchy and easily remembered.

As the service rolled out nationwide, police and fire departments struggled to keep up with call volume. Despite the success of the program, New York police, in particular, reported being strained and having to hire more officers.

It took a long time to implement the system. Only 50 percent of the United States had 911 service as of 1987, according to NENA. Today, coverage is still not universal, although it’s close: 96 percent of the country is currently covered.

The evolution of telephone technology has brought new challenges, however: The FCC estimates that a full 70 percent of calls now come from cell phones—and given the mobility of mobile phones, that’s a challenge for dispatchers and phone companies. The 911 system was built for landlines, and cell phone GPS systems don’t always transmit data quickly or accurately. Plus, the proliferation of cell phones has led to a spike in accidental butt dials, which tie up the line and can prevent real emergencies from getting the attention they need. Still, we've come a long way from the days of sending telegraph messages inside boxes.

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The Barnes Mystery: A Twisted Tale of Maids, Murder, and Mistaken Identity
The Barnes Railway Bridge
The Barnes Railway Bridge
Garry Knight, Flickr // CC BY 2.0

In the late 1800s, Park Road was a quiet part of Richmond on the outskirts of London. Julia Martha Thomas, a retired schoolteacher, made her home there in the left portion of a semi-detached villa known as 2 Mayfield Cottages. It was a typical English house, two stories high and surrounded by a garden. For the most part, Thomas lived there alone; occasionally, she took on servants like the Irish-born Kate Webster, whom she hired in January 1879.

Three months later, Thomas was nowhere to be found. But her servant had seemingly come into a great deal of wealth.

AN UNSAVORY MAID

The Daily Telegraph would later describe Webster as a “tall, strongly-made woman ... with sallow and much freckled complexion and large and prominent teeth.” Unbeknownst to Thomas, her new maid's resume was far from ideal: She'd first been imprisoned for larceny in her native Ireland at 15 years old, and had lived a life of petty crime ever since. By the time she was 30, in 1879, she’d served multiple sentences for theft.

During one of these sentences, an 18-month stretch at Wandsworth prison in West London, Webster had put her young son in the care of Sarah Crease, an acquaintance and charwoman who worked for a Miss Loder. When Webster filled in for Crease one day, Loder recommended her to Thomas, who she knew was looking to hire a servant.

Webster got the job on the spot, but the relationship between Thomas and the young woman quickly became strained. “At first I thought her a nice old lady,” Webster would later say. But Thomas’s cleaning standards were strict—too strict—and she would “point out places where she said I did not clean, showing evidence of a nasty spirit towards me.” Webster’s love of drink, which she nourished regularly at a nearby pub, The Hole in the Wall, also failed to impress Thomas.

On February 28, after around a month of work, Thomas wrote in her diary that she “gave Katherine warning to leave.” When Webster asked Thomas to extend her employment through Sunday, March 2, Thomas begrudgingly agreed. It was a fatal mistake.

BLOODY SUNDAY

Sundays were half-days for Webster, who was expected at 2 Mayfield Cottages in the late afternoon. Dawdling too long at the ale house, Webster arrived late and Thomas went to church agitated. It was the last time she was seen in public.

That evening, Thomas's landlady's mother Jane Ives, who lived in the other half of the villa, heard a sound “like the fall of a heavy chair.” Ives and her daughter also noticed housework being done quite early the next morning.

The next two Sundays, Mrs. Thomas—a devout Christian—failed to show up for church. Webster, however, seemed to have a new lease on life. She soon met with Henry Porter, a former neighbor from when she had lived in Hammersmith, to share some news. Saying she had married a man named Thomas and spinning a tale of a wealthy dead relative who had left the contents of 2 Mayfield Cottages to her, Webster said she was looking for a broker for the items.

She wined and dined Porter and his son Robert at a local pub, leaving briefly to visit a friend who lived nearby. When she returned, both Porters noticed the heavy bag she had carried into the pub was nowhere to be seen. Robert Porter later helped her carry a heavy box from 2 Mayfield Cottages to a nearby bridge, where Webster said that a friend was coming to come pick it up. As Robert walked away he heard a faint splash, but as Webster caught up with him she assured him that her friend had picked up the container, and he continued on his way.

Several days later, Henry Porter introduced Webster to John Church. In the market for new furniture for his pub, Church offered Webster 68 pounds for an assortment of furnishings. They scheduled delivery vans for March 18.

A HORRIBLE DISCOVERY

The splash the younger Porter had heard was indeed the heavy box he'd helped Webster carry as it hit the river. But it didn't spend long in its watery grave. A coal porter who discovered it near the Barnes Railway Bridge on March 5, a few miles downstream along the Thames from where Webster had let it slip, was horrified to discover the mangled contents: a woman's torso and legs, minus one foot.

The relatively primitive forensic techniques of the day couldn't identify a body without a head, and an inquest failed to establish a cause of death. That a woman's foot shortly turned up in the nearby suburb of Twickenham was little help; police readily concluded that it belonged to the same body, but whose? The unidentified remains were buried in a local cemetery, and the press began buzzing about the "Barnes mystery."

Meanwhile, by the time Church's delivery vans arrived on March 18, Thomas had not been seen for two weeks—and her neighbors had grown suspicious. The younger Miss Ives went to investigate the vans, and was told that a “Mrs. Thomas” was selling her furniture. When “Mrs. Thomas” was summoned, it was none other than Webster, who Ives knew was Thomas’s servant. Webster told Ives that Thomas was away somewhere—she couldn't say where, exactly—but the game was up. Webster panicked and fled with her son, traveling by train to her family home in County Wexford, Ireland. Meanwhile, the police were summoned.

When authorities searched 2 Mayfield Cottages, they discovered a grisly scene: There were blood stains everywhere (some showing signs of cleaning), charred bones in the kitchen grate, and a fatty substance behind the laundry boiler. They also found Webster’s address in County Wexford. The criminal was hauled back to Richmond, and a trial began on July 2, 1879.

The trial turned into a major spectacle, and crowds gathered both inside and outside the courtroom. Webster’s social position made her crime especially salacious—not only had she committed a gruesome murder, but she had attacked her betters. And she was a woman. According to Shani D'Cruze, Sandra L. Walklate, and Samantha Pegg in Murder, “Victorian ideals of femininity envisaged women as moral, passive, and not physically strong enough to kill and dismember a body." Webster's crime had put the lie to those ideals.

Initially, Webster accused Church and Porter of the crime. Though police did find Thomas’s belongings at Church’s pub and home, both men had solid alibis and were cleared. Webster then said an ex-boyfriend, a “Mr. Strong”—whom she occasionally claimed was the father of her child—had driven her to crime. But despite her attempts to shift blame onto others, Webster was eventually convicted of killing her employer.

The night before her execution, she finally confessed to the priest: “I alone committed the murder of Mrs. Thomas.”

According to Webster, she and Thomas had argued when the latter returned home from church. The argument “ripened into a quarrel,” and Webster “threw [Thomas] from the top of the stairs to the ground floor.” Then, Webster “lost control” and grabbed her victim by the throat in an attempt to silence any screams that could alert the neighbors and send her back to prison. After choking Thomas, Webster “determined to do away with the body” by chopping up the limbs and boiling them in the laundry tub.

Legend says Webster attempted to sell the fat drippings from Thomas to the proprietress of a local pub, and even fed them to two local boys, but neither rumor has ever been substantiated. But Webster did burn some of Thomas’s remains in the hearth, and divided much of the rest between the heavy bag she had carried into the pub and the box. Running out of room, she also disposed of one of Thomas’s feet in the nearby suburb of Twickenham. She never revealed where she hid Thomas’s head.

Webster was executed on July 29, 1879. “The executioner having drawn the cap over her face, retired from the scaffold,” read a broadside detailing Webster’s sentencing and execution. “The unhappy criminal was launched into eternity.”

A SURPRISE IN THE GARDEN

The Execution of Catherine Webster at Wandsworth Gaol
The Execution of Catherine Webster at Wandsworth Gaol, The Illustrated Police News
Wikimedia // Public Domain

Thomas's story has a strange modern twist. In 2009, English broadcaster and naturalist Sir David Attenborough bought the vacant pub next door to his house. The building was the former home of the Hole in the Wall, Webster's favorite watering hole, which had closed three years previously.

As contractors were excavating the site to build an extension on Attenborough's property, "they saw a ‘dark circular object,’” according to The Telegraph. That object turned out to be a human skull—one missing its teeth and with “fracture marks consistent with the fall down the stairs and low collagen levels consistent with it being boiled,” an investigating officer told West London Coroners Court. According to a local coroner, there was “clear, convincing and compelling evidence” that the skull belonged to Julia Martha Thomas.

The discovery came too late for the murdered woman, however: Since records of her body’s precise location in Barnes Cemetery were lost, her head wasn’t laid to rest alongside her (its exact whereabouts are somewhat unclear). Though a disappointing ending for a woman who liked things neat and tidy, the Barnes Mystery, at last, was entirely solved.

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