For us today, trying to get a impression of the sheer horror of the Jack the Ripper crimes, and to understand how those crimes impacted on those who had to deal with their aftermath, can be both a sombre and sobering task.
However, the newspapers gave so much detail in their reports at the time, that we can come as close as it is now possible to get to actually being there.
Following the murder of Mary Kelly, the inquest into her death opened on Monday the 12th of November, 1888, and The Pall Mall Gazette, in that day’s edition managed to get a “special correspondent” into the proceedings.
His report appeared in that night’s edition:-
THE INQUEST IN WHITECHAPEL
VIEWING THE BODY AND THE ROOM
By Our Special Reporter
The inquest on Mary Jane Kell began this morning at eleven o’clock, at Shoreditch town hall.
There was no crowd at the doors, and little excitement.
Without the coroner’s court, half a dozen wretched-looking women were sitting on half a dozen cane chairs waiting to be called; and for half an hour the gentlemen of the jury dropped one by one into the green-walled, square, little room which is sacred to the coroner.
A mahogany table, drawn up against the windows, was laden with hats, black bags and papers, belonging to the army of reporters.
The jury, twelve very respectable-looking men, sat on the coroner’s right on two rows of chairs.
THE INQUEST BEGINS
At eleven the coroner, Dr. Macdonald, took his seat.
“Gentlemen of the jury, stand up please,” shouted the officer of the court. “Will you choose a foreman, gentlemen?”
“Mr. Gobbey?”
“Stand up, Mr. Gobbey.”
But a gentleman (I am not sure whether he was Mr. Gobbey) with black gloves and a good coat, objected to serve on the jury. It wasn’t in his ward.
The coroner stiffened, and gave them some of his mind, and Mr. Hammond again asked the jury to choose a foreman, which they did without further objection, for the coroner had evidently got his back up.
HEADING TO VIEW THE BODY
“Each kiss the book and pass it round, gentlemen please,” cried the officer again, and these curious formalities having been observed, Dr. Macdonald’s momentary wrath subsided, and he proposed that the jury should proceed to view the body and the scene of the murder.
So the jury put on their hats, tightened their lips, and marched out, accompanied by a few pressmen.
THE MORTUARY
By this time quite a crowd had gathered around the hall, and followed us quietly to the gloomy gate of the Shoreditch Church.
The little rusty iron wicket was guarded by a policeman, who held it open as we passed into the melancholy churchyard, with an acre of grey, soot-covered gravestones. and sorrowful grass and weeds.
The path ran alongside the church, and, as we turned sharp round to the left, there was a little brick mortuary, a red oasis in the desert of tombstones and soft, dank soil.
The door was open, and disclosed a cool and lofty apartment, lighted by a couple of windows placed high up, which shed a good light on the fearful spectacle upon which we were all gazing.
THE BODY OF MARY KELLY
There, in a coarse wooden shell lay the body of the Ripper’s latest victim.
Only her face was visible: the hideous and disembowelled trunk was concealed by the dirty grey cloth, which had probably served to cover many a corpse.
The face resembled one of those horrible wax anatomical specimens which may be seen in surgical shops.
The eyes were the only vestiges of humanity; the rest was so scored and slashed that it was impossible to say where the flesh began and the cuts ended.
And yet it was by no means a horrible sight.
I have seen bodies in the Paris Morgue which looked far more repulsive.
OVER TO DORSET STREET
The jury being quite satisfied we marched through the churchyard again, and pushed our way through the crowd which followed us up the Commercial- road, and into Dorset-street.
Here another crowd held possession of the field; frowzy women, with babies in their arms, drunken men recovering from their orgies, and a whole regiment of children, all open-mouthed and commenting on the jury.
MILLER’S COURT
The entrance to the court was held by a couple of policemen, and it was so narrow that we could only pass up in single file.
It was only about three yards long, and then we were at the door, which is numbered 13.
The two windows which look into the little court were boarded up, and had apparently been newly whitewashed.
From the windows above a girl looked down upon us quite composedly, and several pots of beer were brought in during our stay to comfort the denizens of the court.
INSIDE THE ROOM
At last the key was procured, and the room was surveyed in batches.
The inspector, holding a candle stuck in a bottle, stood at the head of the filthy, blood-stained bed, and repeated the horrible details with appalling minuteness.
He indicated with one hand the bloodstains on the wall, and pointed with the other to the pools which had ebbed out on to the mattress.
The little table still on the left of the bedstead, which occupied the larger portion of the room.
A farthing dip in a bottle did not serve to illuminate the earful gloom, but I was able to see what a wretched hole the poor murdered woman called “home.”
The only attempts at decoration were a couple of engravings, one, “The Fisherman’s Widow,” stuck over the mantelpiece; while in the corner was an open cupboard, containing a few bits of pottery, some ginger-beer bottles, and a bit of bread on a plate.
The rent was 4s. a week.
BACK TO THE TOWN HALL
In twenty minutes the jury filed out again and marched back, still accompanied by a curious crowd, to the Town Hall, and began their very simple labours under the direction of Dr. Macdonald, the member for the Scotch Crofters.