Today in the Pace case: 12 August 1928

Eighty-five years ago on this date, the last instalment of Beatrice Pace's six-part 'life story' appeared in the Sunday Express, the newspaper to which the rights to her autobiography had been sold (on the day after her acquittal for her husband's arsenic murder) for somewhat more than £3,000, which was then a substantial sum.

In the final episode, 'The Beginning of a New Life', Beatrice offered both some final comments on her marriage and a few insights into what--as the title suggested--her life had become.

Sunday Express, 12 Aug 1928, p. 12.

I realise better now that I have to talk about my life on paper, what my feelings towards my husband really were. They were those of a mother with a bad, unruly child much stronger than herself.
I see now that after a very few months I stopped feeling like a wife and began to feel like a mother.

Harry made me feel like that. His carelessness, his dumbness—even his meanness.

Like the meanness of a child who hoards cheep sweets and will neither give them away nor enjoy them himself—all forced me to feel that unless I mothered him he would be quite helpless.

I pitied Harry, I can see that now, and it occurs to me that perhaps he felt it at the bottom of his mind, and resented it.

It may be that I was mistaken to pity him, and that his man’s pride was hurt. It may be that he thought to himself, “Pity me, does she? I’ll show her who’s the best man here!” and perhaps, when his fury was on him, those thought made him more cruel.

**

You can imagine that with such a life my mind did not move much. We had no pleasures and no outings. As I have already said, I was never allowed to go to the cinema or the theatre, and, in any case, I was too shabby to have gone to either.

I had little time to myself, and all I could think about was my home and my children. They were part of my work, and a big part, but they were also my holiday. Worried and troubled as I was with them, seeing that they were so delicate owing to the way Harry treated me, and the lack of proper food, I don't know what I should have done without them. Theirs were the only smiles I saw at home.

I went to the seaside the other day. It was the first time in my life that I had ever seen the sea. The air was wonderful, and I felt better as soon as I began to breathe it in.

**

Since then the world has become a new place for me, and I have been living a life that I have sometimes found it difficult to believe real.

But now I know it is real, and I want once more to thank all those who have shown me sympathy, who have helped me with money or gifts or advice when I was in danger of losing my life.

Though I can never repay you all, I shall never forget any of you.

(Sunday Express, 12 August 1928, p. 12)

(For the other instalments in the series, click here.)

Today in the Pace case: 5 August 1928

Eighty-five years ago today, the fifth instalment of Beatrice Pace's 'life-story' appeared in the Sunday Express, which had bought the rights to her autobiography on the day after her acquittal for the arsenic murder of her husband, Harry Pace.

Like the previous week's instalment, this one combined elements of autobiography with something of an 'advice column'.

It was titled, 'A Talk To Those About To Marry'.

It focused a great deal on the violence in the Pace household and Beatrice's efforts to deal with it.

The Sunday Express, 5 August 1928, p. 15

Sometimes, when I would see him coming over the fields with that walk that I knew meant a thrashing for me, I would go to meet him, and tell him of something special that I had got for his supper.

It used to happen, now and again, that by doing that I escaped a beating, and it used to happen that sometimes I did not. […]

Pancakes were the great things to put him in a good temper, and whatever were my housekeeping difficulties, I nearly always contrived to have in the house materials for making them. If I felt trouble in the air (like our dog, Rover, I often sensed Harry’s moods beforehand), I would hurry to get some pancakes ready, and then run to meet Harry so soon as I saw him coming across the fields.’ […]

I have read about “strong, silent men” in stories, and how women are supposed to love them, but let me tell you that whenever I hear about that kind of man I think of Harry, and I wonder why people write such nonsense. Poor Harry was strong and silent enough, and I do not advise any women to marry such a type. […]

I have said it before, and I say it again—I loved Harry, and I would have stood by him whatever he did, and for another eighteen years, if he had lived. But I say frankly that if I had my life over again I would not marry a man of his type for all the money in the world. It was a deadening existence, one that I could not have believed possible, if I had not experienced it. […]

But this I will say—I don’t advise any girl to marry, whether she is rich or poor, until she knows—and is sure she knows—something about the bad qualities of the man who wants to be her husband.

Today in the Pace case: 29 July 1928

85 years ago today, the fourth instalment of Beatrice Pace's post-acquittal series in the Sunday Express was published, combining a continuation of her 'life-story' with elements of what could be seen as an 'advice column'.

Titled 'A Talk to Wives, by Mrs. Pace', the article is presented in part as a reaction to the letters that Beatrice has been sent by the public. (One chapter in the book deals with the fascinating and often poignant letters received by Beatrice Pace from her admirers.)

There are suggestions that some of these letters might have made some criticisms about the decisions she had made. 

Because it deals so extensively with the issue of domestic violence -- accusations of which featured prominently in the case -- and Beatrice's reactions to it, it is worth quoting a section of the article at length.

‘Since I began my story in the “Sunday Express” I have had hundreds of letters from women, all of them kind, but many of them saying what amounts to this:
You have had a terrible time in your married life: you have suffered terrible pain and anxiety in being accused of a murder you did not commit.
    Your husband treated you worse than an animal, and yet expected you to mother his children and keep his home.
    Why were you such a fool as to put up with it? We would not have done so for a week, let alone eighteen years. We would have run away.
That is the question I have been asked, and I think I can answer it.

I do not believe that the women who say they would have run away would really have done so.

There are things in married life which unmarried women cannot understand and which even married women who have kind husbands cannot understand. There are things deep down in us that only experiences like mine can make use realise—feelings and ideas that a happy life doesn’t bring out.
    It is easy to talk of running away when there is nothing to run from, when you are free, and have no responsibilities and no ties.
    A woman thinks then that she is going to be the master—that the can do as she likes, and that if anything goes wrong she has only to walk out like a cook giving notice.’

‘When you are poor and married and trouble comes, you begin to realise that you have got to light the world together, even if you are fighting each other at the same time. It is difficult for me to explain what I mean—I’m not a writer—but it seems to me like this:
    You feel that you mustn’t just turn your back and run away from things like a coward.
    You feel that you’ve got to fight for what you’ve got, to keep it and to make it better.
    And whatever love there is in your life you feel you want to keep it alive.
I felt I was keeping my love for Harry alive by sticking to him and putting up as best I could with the things he did.
Then there were the children […]
    Anyway, I felt that because I had suffered for them, it was a proof that I had something to love and to work for. Another thing was that they made me feel closer to Harry—not the Harry who beat me, but the Harry I thought of as my husband.
    They seemed to be the better part of him, and I often used to think as I held them in my arms, “Here I hold all that Harry might have been to me.”’

('A Talk to Wives, by Mrs. Pace', Sunday Express, 28 July 1928, p. 14. Emphasis in original.)

Post-trial images

After her resounding acquittal in the closely watched murder trial, images of Beatrice and her children appeared in many British newspapers.

Here are only a few.

This is actually one of the first newspaper images I ever saw of the case, and it was one of the reasons I became so fascinated with it.

Daily Mirror, 7 July 1928

I like the emotion of joy and relief that is visible in these post-acquittal images:

Sunday Pictorial, 8 July 1928

Here are those photos in their full-page context:

Sunday Pictorial, 8 July 1928

And an advertisement for Beatrice's serialised life story:

Sunday Pictorial, 8 July 1928

 

Today in the Pace case: 15 May 1928

Tuesday, 15 May 1928: 11th sitting of the coroner’s inquest, in Coleford.

After brief testimony from police superintendant J. Shelswell and a recalled Alice Sayes, the main event of this sitting is testimony by Beatrice Pace herself, who denies giving poison to her late husband. At the end of her testimony, she breaks down.

As reported by the Dean Forest Guardian: ‘the policewoman handed her some smelling salts as she began to sob and bury her face in her hands.’ (18 May 1928, p. 7) The inquest is adjourned for a week.

It is anticipated that a verdict will be reached at the next session.

Today in the Pace case: 26 December 1927

Monday, 26 December 1927: After Harry's turn for the worse on Christmas Day, on Boxing Day, Beatrice walks miles through deep snow to see the family doctor, William Du Pré. She tells him about Harry’s outburst the previous day and says he is suffering from stomach pains, ‘feverish headache’ and shivering. The deep snow, however, prevents Du Pré from attending Harry.

Christmas at Rose Cottage

While something like this belongs on the Pace case 'timeline' series that I've been maintaining (and which will shortly be revived for another year of marking key events in the case), I presume that most of you will be doing other things on Christmas Day than reading this blog. (I know that I will be...)

So, I thought I would offer the following brief excerpt from the book, which has a definite Christmas connection, even if it's far from being filled with Christmas cheer.

To briefly set the scene: in December 1928, Harry Pace was ill at home, having returned from the Gloucester Royal Infirmary in late October. His condition appears to have been somewhat improving after his return.

However... 

On Christmas morning, [Harry's eldest daughter] Dorothy had, as usual, gone to light the fire in her father’s room. He told her not to bother as he would be coming downstairs. Putting the firewood into the grate, she noticed a bottle and placed it on a chest of drawers. Beatrice went upstairs to ask Harry about it, and Dorothy heard him reply, ‘I don’t know nothing.’

With [younger daughter] Doris’s assistance, Harry came downstairs for the first time since returning home. Rather than a joyful occasion, however, a terrifying scene unfolded. As Dorothy explained, her father, ‘in one of his tempers’, grabbed the tongs from the kitchen fireplace and attacked Beatrice. Dorothy intervened, and Harry, thwarted, bashed in the fireguard before sitting down.

After a pause, he took a straight razor from the cupboard and told his family to ‘clear out’ or else he would kill them. The two boys fled, and Beatrice sent Doris to fetch Joseph Martin, a neighbour who lived a couple hundred yards away.  Harry had ‘cooled down’ by the time Martin arrived, and he then returned to his room.  He would never again leave it alive.

Harry cried bitterly that afternoon and begged for his wife’s forgiveness. His condition, meanwhile, worsened, and on Boxing Day, Beatrice walked miles through deep snow to [family doctor William] Du Pré. She explained Harry’s outburst and said he was suffering from stomach pains, ‘feverish headache’ and shivering. The snow prevented Du Pré from attending until the next day, when he found Harry suffering from severe abdominal pain and vomiting.

He diagnosed gastric influenza. 

Du Pre's diagnosis, as described in the book, would not hold up for very long.

In that spirit: Wishing you all a happy (and, above all, peaceful and healthy) Christmas!

(Passage taken from The Most Remarkable Woman in England:Poison, Celebrity and the Trials of Beatrice Pace, pp. 15-16.) 

Today in the Pace case: 24 October 1889

24 October 1889: The birthdate of Beatrice Pace (or, as she was known then, Beatrice Martin).

Today in the Pace case: 23 October 1909

23 October 1909: Beatrice Martin and Harry Pace were married at the Monmouth register office.

Today in the Pace case: 23 July 1927

Saturday, 23 July 1927: It is, of course, difficult to say when the Pace matter 'began', but a reasonable choice would be this date in the summer of 1927.

While there remained some debate about precisely what happened, it seems very likely that on this day Beatrice and Harry Pace, assisted by their children Doris and Leslie, 'dipped' several of their lambs in a small tub near the railway line that ran past their home, 'Rose Cottage'.

Sheep 'dipping' involved bathing the animals in an arsenic-rich insecticide and fungicide (powdered 'sheep dip' mixed with water) to prevent infestation.

That evening, Harry began to suffer abdominal pains so intense that he rolled around in agony on the ground, and he stayed in bed all the following day.

‘If I live to get home again’

My series on Beatrice Pace's prison letters continues.

Excerpt from a letter written by Beatrice Pace to her friend Alice Sayes from Birmingham Prison, 27 June 1928

I am getting fed right up with one thing and another, as I don’t know what to be doing to be right. But I shall know if I live to get home again. ...

Then I knew little Leslie [1] was getting homesick before I left. So tell him when you see him again that Mam won’t be long before she will be home to him again. Poor little Leslie, it nearly breaks my heart to think how I am parted from him and all the rest. I am longing to get home again. ...

Well, I must not forget to thank you for the lovely things you brought me on Saturday. I ate the choc first. I was longing for a sweet as I had not seen one since I left Coleford. I thought they were ever so nice. ...

[1] Beatrice’s nine-year-old son

'Tonight I'm downhearted, for though we have parted I love you and always will.'

Given that Beatrice Pace suggested, in her prison letter of 20 June 1928, that 'Are You Lonesome Tonight' was one of her favourite songs, I thought it might be nice to post a version of the song that was possibly the one she knew and loved.


('Are You Lonesome Tonight', performed by Henry Burr, 1927)

I've come to the opinion that, should it come to a film version of the Pace story (come on, Hollywood, what are you waiting for?! Write me, we'll do lunch), this music would be an important part of its soundtrack.

It connects with the story on many levels.

And, in the context of the events of the 'Fetter Hill Mystery', there's something very haunting about it.

‘I am suffering for nothing’

My series on Beatrice Pace's prison letters continues.

Excerpt from a letter written by Beatrice Pace to her friend Alice Sayes from Birmingham Prison, 20 June 1928

I am longing to come home and sit in that cosy armchair of yours and hear that record of mine, ‘Are you lonesome tonight, do you miss me tonight, do the chairs in your parlour seem empty and bare. Do you stand on your doorstep and picture me there.’

I hope I shall soon be there as I am getting rather fed up. I am doing my best, my very best to keep up as I don’t want the good people here to think I am not well and happy, but they don’t know how I feel, how I am longing to see my Dear Children. ...

...I don’t want to worry you or anyone with any more of my troubles as I have done enough of that. But, Dear Alice, this case is worrying me to death because I am suffering for nothing. ...

‘There is nothing in life for me now’

My series on Beatrice's prison letters continues.

Excerpt from a letter written by Beatrice Pace to her friends Alice and Leslie Sayes from Birmingham Prison, 12 June 1928:

My Dearest Friends,

I am now answering your most loving letter that I received from you on Saturday. I am glad to hear you are all well. I should have wrote yesterday but I did expect you would be up with Mrs. Paddock [1] and Mrs. Wadell. I was ever so pleased to see them both. They brought me some lovely flowers and Mrs. Paddock gave me some money as I buy my own food. ...

Well Dear Alice can baby [2] say anything yet. It is her birthday today. I hear she is allright and she has a nice Dolly. ...

Mr. Purcell [3] and Mrs. Purcell came last Saturday. I can remember seeing her in court the last time I was there. They were both very nice and said they would come and see me again. Someone has sent me a lovely bunch of flowers. I don’t know who it was. ...

If I live to get home again I shall sell it all. As I am almost broken hearted and think there is nothing in life for me now. This case has made me an old woman.

[1] Proprietor of the King’s Head Hotel in Coleford, Glos., who was also taking care of Beatrice’s daughter Doris.
[2] Beatrice’s infant daughter, Jean.
[3] A. A. Purcell, M.P. for the Forest of Dean and organiser of Beatrice’s legal defence fund.

‘I thought I should soon be home but now I think it is a long way off’

The series of Beatrice Pace's prison letters continues.

Excerpt from a letter written by Beatrice Pace to her friend Alice Sayes from Birmingham Prison, 6 June 1928:

To My Dearest Friends

I am just writing you a line. As you will see I am removed from Cardiff still farther away from you. I have lost all hopes of coming home, but I trust you will see and care for my dear Baby [1] as she is never out of my thoughts, also the others but I think of Baby most as she cannot speak and tell you what she wants. ...

I am very worried as I thought I should soon be home but now I think it is a long way off. Did Mr. Clarke [2] tell you any news or Mr. O’Donnell [3]. Please tell me when you write. Also remember me to all at home. ...

I remain your ever loving friend Beattie xxxxxx

X for Jean. I am delighted to hear she is improving. 

[1] Beatrice’s infant daughter, Jean. (See a picture here.)
[2] D. P. Clarke, another solicitor in the firm of Beatrice's solicitor, G. Trevor Wellington.
[3] Bernard O'Donnell, a crime journalist who wrote several articles on the case (such as this one and the one pictured here) and befriended the Pace family.

The press and the 'tragic widow'

A typical page from the World's Pictorial News (which was among the more sensationalist newspapers of the time) with coverage of the Pace case, featuring pictures of Beatrice, Dorothy, Doris and Jean Pace (and an unnamed lamb):

World's Pictorial News, 13 May 1928, p. 10

Beatrice was, by the way, widely referred to as 'the tragic widow'.

This image comes from the period of the coroner's inquest, before Beatrice was charged with her husband's murder.

‘I am awfully worried’: Beatrice’s prison letters

While she was imprisoned awaiting trial, at first in Cardiff and then in Birmingham, Beatrice Pace wrote several letters to her friends and family.

Some of these letters – all of which had been written to her friend Alice Sayes – have been retained in the Home Office files related to the case. (The reason why these particular letters have been retained relates to a complicated and fascinating post-trial series of events discussed in the book.)

Detail from one of Beatrice's prison letters.

Together, they give insight into Beatrice’s thoughts in the weeks before her trial.

Over the next few weeks I'll be reprinting brief excerpts from the letters (a few of which were quite long) on the dates on which they were written, 84 years ago.

For each excerpt, I have added notes to explain references that might not be clear.



Excerpt from a letter written from Cardiff Prison, 3 June 1928

Ask Les [1] if he has heard when I shall be coming home. Try and keep the papers for me. Give my love to all that ask you about me. I am writing to Mr. O’Donnell [2] this week. I have had two nice letters from him. He was all smiles in court.

Have you heard about the fund they have opened for me. Do you know how much they have got? I am awfully worried. My head is very bad. Well now dear write me a nice long letter. Tell me all the news. I should like the Guardian [3] paper if you could send it. So now I shall have to close and wish you all so long.

I remain your loving Friend Beattie.

Be sure and keep Baby [4]. I am longing to nurse her once more. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[1] Les Sayes, husband of Beatrice’s good friend Alice Sayes.
[2] Bernard O’Donnell, a journalist who wrote several articles about Beatrice’s case.
[3] The Dean Forest Guardian, one of the local papers in the Forest of Dean, where Beatrice lived.
[4] Alice Sayes was taking care of Beatrice’s youngest child, her sickly infant daughter Jean.

'No, I didn't; no I didn't'

As noted, on this day in 1928, Beatrice Pace was charged -- in dramatic circumstances -- with her husband's murder.

This is an excerpt from the Daily Mail's report on the event:

'The stunning effect of the verdict returned against her was so great that she crumpled up instantly. She was able only to shout out, "No, I didn’t; no, I didn’t" and had to be helped out of the coroner’s court after sinking to floor. A policewoman and an inspector gathered her in their arms, where she lay inanimate. 

Medical aid was called, but even under the care of two doctors and Mrs. Bent, the wife of Mr. Alan Bent, the local police inspector, two hours elapsed before she was in a condition to hear the charge.'

'Mrs. Pace Arrested', Daily Mail, 23 May 1928, p. 13.

A 'pathetic place in the pageant of the innocent'

One of the things that has made writing about this case so interesting is the way that new aspects of, sources for and references to it kept turning up.

I have to admit, though, that it's a bit frustrating to keep finding new things after the book is finished.

Appropriately enough -- given that today is the eighty-fourth anniversary of Beatrice Pace being charged with her husband Harry's murder -- I ran across a comment on the case from the Hull Daily Mail (which is now available through the British Newspaper Archive) about the case.

The article was titled 'The Year's Crime', which looked back at the major criminal cases of 1928. And this is what it said about the Pace case:

Mrs Pace’s Ordeal

Perhaps there is just one drama of the courts that alone will be remembered out of the crime annals of the present year. The whole nation followed Mrs Beatrice Annie Pace through the terribly long, drawn-out ordeal of the Coroner’s inquest into the death of her husband, Harry Pace, from arsenical poisoning, and her subsequent trial for murder. The drama was almost without parallel in its development. At the conclusion of the inquest the jury found that the man had died from arsenic, but not self-administered, and the Coroner insisted that some person must be named. Then it came about that 'the tragic widow of Coleford' was arrested and placed on trial. But the hearing came to a dramatic end, for Mr Justice Horridge stopped the case and ordered the jury to find a verdict of 'Not Guilty.' So Mrs Pace takes her pathetic place in the pageant of the innocent.

Daily Mail (Hull), 31 December 1928, p. 6

Free again

One of the many images of Beatrice Pace (pictured here with her daughter Doris) which appeared in the wake of her acquittal in July 1928.

This one is from the Daily Mail, 7 July 1928.