Dining With Gentlemen

Long before the days that "Gentlemen's Club" was a euphemism for "Strip Club," Victorian society used the term to refer to gatherings aimed towards wealthy gentlemen, where they could drink, smoke and exchange stories away from the delicate ears of their ladies.

Initially, these clubs were formed in coffee shops in the West End of London, and as popularity for them increased, some found more permanent homes in restaurants and "chophouses" throughout the city.

Most of these clubs required a membership - a rule that served two purposes, firstly; that gambling was only legal in Britain in establishments that demanded membership, and secondly; membership allowed dining clubs to fiercely protect just who was permitted to join.

Dining clubs differed from gentlemen's clubs, as they usually gathered only once or twice a week, whereas gentlemen's clubs were often less formal, and were open at all times for their exclusive clientèle.

Some famous examples of dining clubs have included The Bullingdon Club, The Raleigh Club, The Gluttons and of course, The Ravens.

The Ravens are a fictional example of such a group; meeting once a month to dine upon luxurious and exotic meats in one of the most prestigious areas of London. It is here that we are introduced to the characters of Daniel "Duffy" McDuff, Edward Pickles and Toby Baxter.

I used the Ravens to contrast the opulence of the wealthy with the desperation of the poor, but also to allow these characters to take the reader by the hand and walk them through the streets of London - it is through their eyes that we first experience the decadent, filthy joys of Whitechapel.

While these three men are each clearly rich enough to afford a higher class of prostitute from one of London's more salubrious districts, it was not uncommon for well-to-do gentlemen to favour Whitechapel's unfortunates, "dirty girls" more willing to be subjugated; an experience that was all the more naughty for its illicit class disparity.

Prostitutes knew such men as "mashers." Initially, these men sated their desire for down-on-their-luck women in the more sordid music halls of London; establishments which had a reputation for turning a blind eye to such goings on. However, by the mid 1880's, these institutions were so renowned for carnal attractions, that they had garnered the scrutiny of several "temperance committees" - organisations who regarded themselves as the arbiters in what they saw as a degradation of London's morals.

Eager to clear their reputations, and to prevent the ire of the law descending upon them, music halls drove away the prostitutes, who were forced to work instead on the streets of the most deprived areas of London.

This is how the East End found itself home to several thousand street workers and in doing so, became a destination for many of the wealthy members of London's dining clubs, and perhaps that is how a ripper came to find himself among them.

Yours truly,
Charlie Revelle-Smith.

A Scandal on Cleveland Street

The House on Osborn Street, which features prominently throughout 1888, did not really exist, although many such places really did by the later half of the 19th century.

 I knew it would be necessary for some sort of mutual meeting place to be introduced in Whitechapel, where people could come and go frequently, and where I could tie several character's stories together.

The most interesting way of doing this, was for the meeting place to be a bar for gay men, (although, it would be almost a century before the term "gay" was widely applied to such men, and even the word "homosexual" was virtually unheard of in Britain - an issue I avoided by never having any of the characters identify themselves in any way at all in regards to their sexuality.)

1888 deals with such a wide range of differing sexual identities, it was impossible to resist yet another attack against hypocritical Victorian morality, and thus, The House on Osborn Street was born.

Far and away the most famous example of an establishment for homosexual men, is that of the house at 19, Cleveland Street, Fitzrovia, a wealthy district in central London.

Unlike the one on Osborn Street, the Cleveland Street House was a brothel, catering towards upper class gentlemen, and supplying them with working class young men, (for a fee.) The House served spirits and opium and enjoyed a reputation as one of the finest establishments of its kind in all of London, (among those who even knew it existed, of course.)

Homosexual acts between men had always been illegal in Britain, but an 1885 amendment to the standing law, meant that prosecution would be made much simpler and established penalties for those caught perpetrating this crime, (up to two years imprisonment, which may include hard labour.)

In 1889, following a chance revelation from one of the prostitutes working at the House, a team of police officers, led by Inspector Frederick Abberline, (who of course, had made his name the previous winter, by failing to catch Jack the Ripper), raided the Cleveland Street House, and arrested everyone in the building.

The sentences that were eventually handed out, proved to be far more lenient than they could have been, but reputations across London were left in ruins. The scandal became a national sensation, as details of the rich and well connected gentlemen involved in the raid became popular gossip. Lord Arthur Somerset and the Earl of Euston, were two such men claimed to have been regular clients. Rumours whispered that Prince Albert Victor, was another.

Very quickly, the belief arose that homosexuality was a vice of the rich; another means with which to exploit the poor to satisfy the desires of the wealthy. However, the scandal on Cleveland Street was by no means the first such raid - it was simply the one to garner the most attention.

For years similar pubs, clubs and brothels had been raided and countless lives had been ruined by innuendo and speculation. Meeting places such as The House on Osborn Street, knew that in order to survive, a low profile must be maintained.

As its Whitechapel location would imply, The House on Osborn Street is a much more egalitarian affair, catering more to the men of London who are not in such positions of privilege, and while the men who worked and patronised the House, may seem to be among the least likely suspects as far as Jack the Ripper is concerned, they had every reason to fear the police, and hope for their safety that Autumn.

Yours truly,
Charlie Revelle-Smith.

The Ballad of John Pizer

Whenever you're writing fiction based on true events, there will always have to be some compromises between historical accuracy, and dramatic license. The most obvious example of this in 1888 is that of John Pizer (Leather Apron.)

While the essential components of Pizer's story are authentic, more of the details of his life have been altered for the novel than any other character.

The most obvious of these is "Pizer's Boots" - the boot maker's store on Whitechapel Road, which also serves as Pizer's home (and a temporary stop for Edward and Toby on their first night in Whitechapel.) In truth, no such place existed as, by all accounts, John Pizer appears to have been out of work during the Autumn of Terror and most likely would have worked from a room in his home, rather than a shop.

Pizer's residence was also slightly farther away from Whitechapel Road than 1888 suggests. In reality, Pizer lived on Mulberry Street, just off Whitechapel Road. The reason for this change was simply for geographic simplicity. In order for Toby, Edward and Pizer to meet on the first morning of the story, Pizer's Boots would need to be close to both Whitechapel Road and the House on Osborn Street.

By including Pizer in 1888, I wanted to tell a far broader story of anti-Semitism in Victorian London. Aside from Whitechapel's prostitutes, it is hard to imagine any group of people having a worse Autumn than London's Jews.
In the decades proceeding 1888, immigration from eastern Europe was at an all time high, and many of the native born Londoners looked upon this wave of mostly Jewish newcomers with a mixture of fear and anger. It is no surprise that as soon as accusations of a murderer living in the East End were made, the Jewish people of London had the most to fear from reprisals.

Pizer was one such Jew, and while in reality, he may not have lost a shop, the facts are that he did lose his home, his money and his reputation was in tatters. He was continually prosecuted on the flimsiest of circumstances and eventually found himself destitute, penniless and a social pariah, (before suing a newspaper for defamation and receiving a modest settlement.)

Ripperologists may find the most egregious instance of my use of historical revisionism, in the form of something I overlooked, as opposed to a complete fabrication. It is known that Pizer was charged with a stabbing offence several years prior, and several prostitutes named him as a menace and a violent thug.

It is hard to ascertain details about the stabbing offence, but it doesn't appear that he served any time in prison for this crime, and while the suggestions of him intimidating prostitutes may be alarming, this seems as likely to have been a media exaggeration on behalf of the papers of the time, eager to find more dirt on their favourite, Jewish suspect.

The attention to detail I have paid to this book is why I wanted to begin by pointing out the most obvious examples of where I have twisted the truth for the sake of plot. John Pizer may well have been a far less sympathetic character in reality than he is portrayed in the novel, but there are also very good reasons for doubting that he was quite the monster the press had made him out to be.

In the end, the ballad of John Pizer is a redemption story. Through losing everything, Pizer reassesses his opinion of London's prostitutes and begins to empathise with their plights, and while this somewhat simplistic interpretation of the facts may at first appear to be little more than imagination on my part, I believe that the heart of the story is authentic, with a few half truths for decoration.

For this, I hope my honesty will go some way towards being forgiven by the most ardent of Ripperologists!
Yours truly,
Charlie Revelle-Smith

An Introduction

Who was Jack the Ripper?

It is a question people have been asking for almost 125 years, and one which will, in all likelihood, never be answered.

More elusive now than ever, the crimes of this unknown assailant have haunted the world, and led to Jack the Ripper becoming one of the most recognised names in the history of the world - quite an achievement for a man whose real name is still a mystery.

Some have suggested he was a sailor; an immigrant Jew; an eminent surgeon; an abortionist; a mason; a writer, and even a prince. Countless books, films and documentaries have speculated upon the identity of this killer, and yet, there is still no true consensus on who he may have been.

So in a world that is heavy with fiction about the Whitechapel murders, what possible need could there be for yet another?

Writing 1888 was almost an inevitability for me. For most of my adult life, I have been fascinated by these crimes and knew eventually I'd have to put all of this knowledge to use. I knew my Kosminski from my Kaminsky, my Georgina Chapman from my George Chapman. The only problem was, how on Earth do you find something new to say about a subject that has been so well worn?

The title came to me before anything else, although, it would be more accurate (and honest) to say it came to my mother first. I had recently finished writing my first book - a Victorian mystery based on true events, and was itching to write another. I was talking to my Mum on the phone one afternoon, about the possibility of writing a trilogy of books, each based upon an unsolved 19th Century mystery, and she suggested I put my interest in all things Ripper to use, "You could call it 1888" she said.

The simplicity of the title struck me before anything else. I shrugged off the idea of writing a Jack the Ripper novel, as it seemed little more than trying to furrow a barren land, however, try as I might, an idea was already starting to form.

If I was to write about the most famous serial killer in history, I would have to set myself some rules. Firstly; no police investigation. The tale of Inspector Abberline and his attempts to catch the Ripper, have been told so many times that to try again seemed futile. Moreover, even people who know next to nothing about Jack the Ripper, know he was never caught, and that the investigation itself, proved to be fruitless.

Secondly; I would have a large cast of characters from every walk of life in London, from wealthy merchants, to lowly beggars, and their stories would be told in brief chapters which at first appeared very disparate and unconnected, but steadily overlapped as the novel went on. I had in my mind the idea of Victorian "penny dreadfuls" - sensational, populist tales told in short serial form.

Thirdly; I would be as historically accurate as I could. All available information that seemed pertinent to the tale would be included. While some of the characters would be fictional, the vast majority would not, and I would strive to write a story that was not just plausible, but as close to the reality of the Autumn of Terror as possible.

Fourthly; I would include a great deal of popular Jack the Ripper suspects as central characters and most importantly, I would reveal who I believed was the killer.

Now the novel is finished, I am glad to report that I believe I have stayed true to this initial concept. This blog has been started so that readers can peak behind the curtain at the research that went into writing this story, and may learn more about the people, places and events that first inspired me to write 1888.

While the novel stands alone as a piece of work, I shall endeavour to post a new entry every couple of days or so, in hopes that those wanting to separate the truth from my fiction, may do so and those wanting to discover what happened to the characters of 1888 after that year, need look no further.


Yours truly,
Charlie Revelle-Smith