Tuesday, 14 February 2012
Today in the Pace case: 14 February
Tuesday, 14 February, 1928: The nine jurymen of the coroner's inquest jury receive notice that the resumption of the inquest will be delayed until 15 March due to a delay in receiving the report on the forensic analysis.
Saturday, 11 February 2012
Girls these days
Something not especially relevant to the Pace case but which is certainly part of the broader context of press narratives about women in the 1920s, which is an important aspect of the book.
It's also just very interesting....
It's also just very interesting....
Devil-May-Care Girls
“All the riskiest things are done by girls nowadays,” a traffic policeman told me the other day, as a girl motorist sailed through an apparently impassable block on two wheels without slackening speed. “And yet they have the fewest accidents. They have the nerve, that’s what it is.... All nerve, they are.”
It is no use inviting one of them to a quiet dinner to be followed by conversation. They will talk—also dangerously—only at lunch. There must be something with risks in it to be done afterwards. If there is nothing else, the motor-car must come out and be raced through a hundred miles or so in the darkness, with perhaps a river bathe, at the imminent risk of cramp, in the middle.
These girls find a private dance dull unless it is decked out with all kinds of extravagances. There is more “fun” to be found in a round of the night clubs with a chosen small party, particularly if any night club is forbidden ground.
The tragic part of it all—since the Empire needs risks to be taken—is that their dangerous living is of such an unproductive kind.
There is one consolation. These devil-may-care girls who must live dangerously, even if they have to manufacture the danger, will certainly be the mothers of no generation of mollycoddles. I think we may look forward with some confidence to great things to be accomplished by their sons.
Daily Express, 13 August 1926, p. 8
Thursday, 9 February 2012
(Not so) secret admirer
Beatrice's appearance was very much a feature of her celebrity.
A particularly (though not singularly) flowery example:
(*Beatrice was in fact 38, but in the press stories of the time she was consistently described as being two years younger.)‘It would need the pen of a Zola to do justice to the amazing story which lies behind the life of this still young and attractive woman. She is only 36* years of age, and although she has borne no fewer than ten children—five of them still living—and in her far from happy married life has suffered the most terrible experiences it is possible to imagine, she still retains the fresh, rosy cheeks and smiling eyes which were one of her greatest charms.’Bernard O’Donnell, ‘Secrets of Mrs. Pace’s Life and Marriage’, World’s Pictorial News 15 July 1928, p. 1.
'A strange new creature called woman'
One of the most important aspects of the context in which the Pace case was discussed was the debate around women's roles.
As Adrian Bingham, in his excellent book Gender, Modernity and the Popular Press in Inter-War Britain, notes:
Mrs. Pace, who was 38 at the time of her trial and idealised as a traditional wife and doting mother, hardly fit the image of the 'flapper': nonetheless, her presentation in the press was influenced by the discussions around the 'modern woman'.
That's a long story (to which I devote a whole chapter in the book).
However, as is well known, 1928 was the year in which women's voting rights were equalised with those of men.
There was a lot of discussion around the 'flapper vote', but I think my favourite contribution to it was the following advert, which appeared shortly before the 1929 general election, the first in which women could vote on equal terms as men:
As Adrian Bingham, in his excellent book Gender, Modernity and the Popular Press in Inter-War Britain, notes:
‘Flapper’ has often been described as ‘one of the defining words of the Twenties; equally pervasive was the visual image of modern femininity, slim, short-skirted with cropped hair. ... ‘In the old days,’ [an article from Newspaper World in August 1927] claimed, ‘a two-page account of a murder...was the great attraction; now it seems to be what some well-known man or woman thinks of the modern girl.’ ... ‘If a future chronicler were to study the files of our newspapers,’ speculated the novelist Rose Macaulay in 1925..., ‘he would get the impression that there had appeared at this time a strange new creature called woman who was receiving great attention from the public.’ (pp. 48-49)
Mrs. Pace, who was 38 at the time of her trial and idealised as a traditional wife and doting mother, hardly fit the image of the 'flapper': nonetheless, her presentation in the press was influenced by the discussions around the 'modern woman'.
That's a long story (to which I devote a whole chapter in the book).
However, as is well known, 1928 was the year in which women's voting rights were equalised with those of men.
There was a lot of discussion around the 'flapper vote', but I think my favourite contribution to it was the following advert, which appeared shortly before the 1929 general election, the first in which women could vote on equal terms as men:
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| Daily Herald, 20 May 1929, p. 3 |
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
Key figures: G. Trevor Wellington
Over the months that the 'Fetter Hill Mystery' occupied headlines in the Gloucester area and throughout Britain, Beatrice Pace's fate was in the hands of a variety of people, the vast majority of them men: detectives, journalists, lawyers, magistrates, the coroner, politicians, etc.
Perhaps the most important figure in her life during this time -- at least with regard to the matter of her husband's death -- was G. Trevor Wellington, who acted as Beatrice's solicitor throughout the case.
We'll be hearing a bit more about Wellington as time goes on (and he plays an important role in the book), so I thought it would be a good moment to introduce him.
Although Wellington provided remarkably dedicated and effective legal assistance to his impoverished client, he was ultimately overshadowed by some of the legal heavyweights brought into the case at the trial stage, which is unfortunate.
The best introduction, perhaps oddly enough, comes via his obituary, which appeared upon his death in 1963. He had a long -- and very full -- life.
Interestingly enough, the Pace matter is not mentioned, although it was undoubtedly the most high-profile criminal case of his career.
Perhaps the most important figure in her life during this time -- at least with regard to the matter of her husband's death -- was G. Trevor Wellington, who acted as Beatrice's solicitor throughout the case.
We'll be hearing a bit more about Wellington as time goes on (and he plays an important role in the book), so I thought it would be a good moment to introduce him.
Although Wellington provided remarkably dedicated and effective legal assistance to his impoverished client, he was ultimately overshadowed by some of the legal heavyweights brought into the case at the trial stage, which is unfortunate.
The best introduction, perhaps oddly enough, comes via his obituary, which appeared upon his death in 1963. He had a long -- and very full -- life.
Interestingly enough, the Pace matter is not mentioned, although it was undoubtedly the most high-profile criminal case of his career.
Death of Mr. G. Trevor WellingtonCity Coroner for a great many years, Mayor of Gloucester and City Controller during the critical war period, a former City High Sheriff and a leading figure in local legal circles, Mr. Gilbert Trevor Wellington died yesterday at the age of 80.
Long Record of Public Service for Glo’ster
Mr. Wellington, founder of the Gloucester firm of solicitors Wellington and Clifford, was active in business until late last year. He had been in hospital for several weeks.
Born in the Gloucester area, Mr. Wellington became Mayor during what must have been the most strenuous period in which any holder of that office has ever served, and he was only prevented by ill-health from serving as long as, or even longer, than any other mayor.
As it was, only the late Sir James Bruton, who served during the period of the first world war, from 1912 to 1919, held the mayoralty longer than Mr. Wellington, who was in office for six years.
He was made a member of the City Council as far back as 1907, and he represented the Tuffley ward until 1910. He was first elected Mayor in 1937, after serving as City High Sheriff the previous year, and was still in office when war broke out.
He assiduously took on the many extras duties which the war brought, the most onerous being that of City A R P Controller.
Giving unstintingly of his time to both the mayoralty and the chief controllership, Mr. Wellington drew heavily on his reserves of energy, and earned the gratitude of the city for the efficiency with which he carried out his many tasks.
His services to the city in this and over a much longer period were recognised in 1942, when he was awarded the C B E.
Throughout the most trying period of the war and including the time when the city suffered under enemy attack, Mr. Wellington was at the heart of Gloucester’s affairs. It was the unanimous wish that he should “see the job through,” but ill health forced him to resign in 1943.
His mayoralty was distinguished by his clarity of vision, his unquestioned powers of persuasion and his firm, but courteous hand in time of trouble.
SOLICITOR NEARLY 60 YEARS
Mr. Wellington was admitted a solicitor in 1904 and with the exception of the years of the first world war, had practised in the city ever since.
A senior partner in his firm, he became extremely well known and respected in legal circles throughout Gloucestershire.
In his legal activities he rendered great service not only to his clients but also to the public, for over a considerable period he conducted criminal and civil proceedings on behalf of the Chief Constable and local authorities.
He was for many years clerk of the magistrates at Stroud and Newent, offices which are now held by his son and partner in the firm, Lt.-Col. Brian Wellington.
Mr. Wellington first became the City Coroner in 1921, but relinquished the post when elected Mayor. He took up the Coroner’s duties again in 1944.
OTHER OFFICES
He was for some considerable time honorary solicitor to the former Gloucestershire Royal Infirmary. He was vice-chairman of the Cheltenham and Gloucester Building Society and in 1938 was elected president of the Three Counties Show. He was a former president of the Gloucestershire and Wiltshire Law Society and a vice-president of the Gloucestershire British Legion.
He saw considerable active service during the first world war and was in the Royal Gloucestershire Hussars Yeomanry.
Afterwards he was attached to the 6th (subsequently the 2nd) Reserve Regiment of the Cavalry, the Curragh, Co. Kildare, the 1/3 County of London Yeomanry in Egypt and Palestine and the 103rd (City and 3rd County of London Yeomanry) Battalion Machine Gun Corps in France and Belgium.
Mr. Wellington had lived for many years at the Bear Hotel, Rodborough Common, Stroud. He was predeceased by his wife and is survived by his son and two grandchildren, one of whom went to Canada.
The other was a practising solicitor in this country for some years before her marriage.
At Mr. Wellington’s request the funeral is to be private.
(The Gloucester Citizen, Monday, 4 February 1963, p. 1)
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Period feel: advertising
In researching The Most Remarkable Woman in England, I spent a lot of time reading newspapers from the late 1920s.
There are many things that I enjoyed about that experience, but one of them relates to something that had nothing to do with the main topic of my book: advertising. Not all newspaper adverts were interesting, clever, amusing or silly. But many of them were. And, in looking through my records on the case, I have run across several that are, I think, worth sharing.
So, based on the argument that they might provide a little late 20s atmosphere (and on the fact that I just like them), I thought I'd start a new occasional series here on adverts.
The first one is, at least thematically, somehow related to the Pace case: it features the police.
Of course, I do not advocate the purchase or use of any of the products advertised....
There are many things that I enjoyed about that experience, but one of them relates to something that had nothing to do with the main topic of my book: advertising. Not all newspaper adverts were interesting, clever, amusing or silly. But many of them were. And, in looking through my records on the case, I have run across several that are, I think, worth sharing.
So, based on the argument that they might provide a little late 20s atmosphere (and on the fact that I just like them), I thought I'd start a new occasional series here on adverts.
The first one is, at least thematically, somehow related to the Pace case: it features the police.
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| (Daily Herald, 7 April 1927, p. 8) |
Britain's first serial murderer?
A bit belatedly, I note that there was an interesting article by David Wilson at the Daily Mail on Mary Ann Cotton, who was executed in 1873 for killing several people with arsenic.
There are many fascinating details about the case, as there are in many of the sensational nineteenth-century murder trials. (For those interested in mainly Victorian poisoning cases, I would recommend Katherine Watson's Poisoned Lives.)
However, I was a bit surprised by this:
Going by this definition, I can think of at least one other case which preceded Cotton's spree and would meet the definition of 'serial murder' provided here: the well-known Burke and Hare murders.
Burke and Hare killed (at least) sixteen people over the period of a year (famously, for the purpose of selling their bodies to Edinburgh's corspse-hungry medical schools) and were hanged in 1829.
Furthermore, having recently reviewed a very worthwhile book on that case -- Lisa Rosner's The Anatomy Murders -- it was also apparent that the killers made great use of urban 'anonymity' to get away with their murders as long as they did.
In any case, I'm not sure that we'll ever know who the 'first' serial murderer in Britain (or anywhere else) was; in the end, we can only talk about the people who were caught.
There are many fascinating details about the case, as there are in many of the sensational nineteenth-century murder trials. (For those interested in mainly Victorian poisoning cases, I would recommend Katherine Watson's Poisoned Lives.)
However, I was a bit surprised by this:
Here is not just the first British serial killer – someone who has killed more than three people in a period greater than 30 days – but the first to exploit and abuse the anonymity of a new industrial age.
Going by this definition, I can think of at least one other case which preceded Cotton's spree and would meet the definition of 'serial murder' provided here: the well-known Burke and Hare murders.
Burke and Hare killed (at least) sixteen people over the period of a year (famously, for the purpose of selling their bodies to Edinburgh's corspse-hungry medical schools) and were hanged in 1829.
Furthermore, having recently reviewed a very worthwhile book on that case -- Lisa Rosner's The Anatomy Murders -- it was also apparent that the killers made great use of urban 'anonymity' to get away with their murders as long as they did.
In any case, I'm not sure that we'll ever know who the 'first' serial murderer in Britain (or anywhere else) was; in the end, we can only talk about the people who were caught.
Saturday, 4 February 2012
Relevant things elsewhere
An interesting series of posts related to inter-war crime fiction (and therefore relevant to the broader context of the Pace case) was posted in the last few days.
Deborah Blum considers Agatha Christie's The Mysterious Affair at Styles and strychnine poisoning.
Ann Finkbeiner writes about post-traumatic stress, the First World War and Dorothy Sayers’s Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club.
Jennifer Ouellette examines another of Sayers's books, Gaudy Night from the perspective of the physics of music.
Deborah Blum considers Agatha Christie's The Mysterious Affair at Styles and strychnine poisoning.
Ann Finkbeiner writes about post-traumatic stress, the First World War and Dorothy Sayers’s Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club.
Jennifer Ouellette examines another of Sayers's books, Gaudy Night from the perspective of the physics of music.
Thursday, 2 February 2012
Relief and joy
These are actually a couple of my favourite photos from the case; unfortunately, I was only able to find them on microfilm, hence the relatively poor quality.
Still, I think the combination of emotions is very striking, and shines through.
They were taken in the wake of Beatrice Pace's acquittal, and the joy and the relief is quite plain. (Click for larger version.)
Left, we see Beatrice Pace herself; right, Doris and Leslie Pace, two of her five children.
Still, I think the combination of emotions is very striking, and shines through.
They were taken in the wake of Beatrice Pace's acquittal, and the joy and the relief is quite plain. (Click for larger version.)
 | ||||
| Sunday Pictorial, 8 July 1928, p. 26. |
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Reasonable cause to suspect...
Having described the context in which the coroner's inquest into Harry Pace's death got under way, here a couple of more related details.
One of them is the relevant passage on the duties of the coroner from what was the main guide for coroners, known as Jervis on Coroners.
The duties of coroners were regulated by the Coroners Act of 1887, as modified by subsequent legislation (the most recent amendments before the Pace case had been in 1926, which had necessitated a new edition of Jervis the following year).
To accompany this passage: a photo of the coroner who would handle the Pace inquest, Maurice Carter. (This is the only picture of him that I managed to find.)
Some aspects of the way that he handled the case became very controversial indeed.
At this point in our timeline, however, he was still waiting for a forensic report.
One of them is the relevant passage on the duties of the coroner from what was the main guide for coroners, known as Jervis on Coroners.
The duties of coroners were regulated by the Coroners Act of 1887, as modified by subsequent legislation (the most recent amendments before the Pace case had been in 1926, which had necessitated a new edition of Jervis the following year).
‘Where a coroner is informed that the dead body of a person is lying within his jurisdiction, and there is reasonable cause to suspect that such person has died either a violent or an unnatural death, or has died a sudden death of which the cause is unknown, or that such person has died in prison, or in such place or under such circumstances as to require an inquest in pursuance of any Act, the coroner, whether the cause of death arose within his jurisdiction or not, shall, as soon practicable issue his warrant for summoning not less than seven nor more than eleven good and lawful men to appear before him at a specified time and place, there to inquire as jurors touching the death of such person as aforesaid.’
-- F. Danford Thomas, M.A. Sir John Jervis on the Office and Duties of Coroners with Forms and Precedents (Seventh Edition, London: Sweet and Maxwell, 1927), pp. 20-21There were, in the event, nine jurors on the inquest jury.
To accompany this passage: a photo of the coroner who would handle the Pace inquest, Maurice Carter. (This is the only picture of him that I managed to find.)
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| Maurice Carter Sunday Dispatch, 8 July 1928 |
Some aspects of the way that he handled the case became very controversial indeed.
At this point in our timeline, however, he was still waiting for a forensic report.
Monday, 30 January 2012
Cornish...of the Yard
It's nice when friends get the attention they deserve: our copy of the London Review of Books arrived today, and what should I find but a review by John Pemble of The Ascent of the Detective: Police Sleuths in Victorian and Edwardian England by Haia Shpayer-Makov.
Having long been an admirer of Haia's work (like this co-edited collection here), I'm very much looking forward to reading her book, which in some ways can be seen as describing one important part of the pre-history of the Pace case: the rise of the detective.
By the inter-war period, the mystique around those magical words 'Scotland Yard' was fairly firmly in place, and there was something of a craze for detectives' memoirs in the period.
Among them we would find one by Chief Inspector George Cornish, the lead detective in the Pace case.
Here is he is, rather living up to the image of the detective, I would think.
This image comes from his autobiography, Cornish of the ‘Yard’: His Reminiscences and Cases (London: John Lane, 1935).
We'll be hearing more about him, don't worry.
Having long been an admirer of Haia's work (like this co-edited collection here), I'm very much looking forward to reading her book, which in some ways can be seen as describing one important part of the pre-history of the Pace case: the rise of the detective.
By the inter-war period, the mystique around those magical words 'Scotland Yard' was fairly firmly in place, and there was something of a craze for detectives' memoirs in the period.
Among them we would find one by Chief Inspector George Cornish, the lead detective in the Pace case.
Here is he is, rather living up to the image of the detective, I would think.
This image comes from his autobiography, Cornish of the ‘Yard’: His Reminiscences and Cases (London: John Lane, 1935).
We'll be hearing more about him, don't worry.
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
Harry Pace's funeral
While I'm laying out the initial order of events, I thought it might be appropriate to post this image, which is the only published picture that I found of Harry Pace's funeral, which took place in Clearwell, Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire.
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| Dean Forest Guardian (20 January 1928), p. 5 |
In search of lost timelines
One of the things that I thought might be an interesting feature to pursue on this blog is to lay out the actual series of events that composed the 'Pace case'.
Since the main occurences and key dates occurred from early January (with the death of Harry Pace) through August (with the final installment of Beatrice Pace's 'life story' in the Sunday Express), it occurs to me that this fits in quite nicely with the publication schedule of the book, which is due to be published on 20 August this year.
Of course, like most of my good ideas, I'm getting on this one a bit late.
But, better late than never, as the saying goes.
I won't be giving detailed discussions of each of the events on the blog (that's what the book's for, after all!), but I will be marking -- 84 years to the day -- some of the key milestones in the case as we go along this year.
As I think about it, this process might help to provide a sense of the scale of the case in 'real time'. As with any historical event, reading about it in retrospect makes it too easy to lose sense of the actual 'feeling' of the time as it went by. For instance, one of the key complaints of Beatrice's supporters was that she had been subjected to an 'ordeal' of grinding suspense as a result of a lengthy coroner's inquest. Perhaps pointing out some key signposts (or, perhaps 'timeposts') as we go along this year, might help to regain that sense of what they meant.
All the posts in this series can be called up by clicking on the 'timeline' label at the bottom of each post.
So, at first, a little catching up, as there was a flurry of activity in mid-January (that is, in a manner of speaking, over the last couple of weeks):
Tuesday, 10 January 1928: Harry Pace -- a quarryman and sheep farmer -- dies at his home ('Rose Cottage') in Fetter Hill, a small hamlet in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, after a long and mysterious illness that began the previous summer. His physician, Dr. Du Pré, confirms a death from natural causes.
Wednesday, 11 January: several of Harry's suspicious family (i.e., his side of the family) meet and decide to take their doubts about the naturalness of Harry's death to the police. The local police, stationed in the nearby market town of Coleford and led by Inspector Alan Bent, begin their investigations.
Thursday, 12 January: Inspector Bent and Sergeant Charlie Hamblin visit Beatrice at Rose Cottage and inform her of their inquiries.
Friday, 13 January: Sgt. Hamblin tells Beatrice that Harry's funeral (planned for Sunday, 15 January) will have to be postponed.
Saturday, 14 January: A post mortem examination is carried out on Harry Pace (at his home) by Dr. Charles Carson. Blood samples are taken and several organs are removed and sent to Professor Isaac Walker Hall at the University of Bristol for analysis.
Sunday, 15 January: Several mourners, who were not informed about the delayed funeral, arrive in Fetter Hill, resulting in 'considerable consternation'.
Monday, 16 January: The inquest into Harry's death, led by the coroner, Maurice Carter, opens at the nearby 'George Inn'. A few necessary formalities are taken care of. Carter then adjourns the inquiry for a month, pending the results of the forensic analysis.
Tuesday, 17 January: Harry Pace is buried in the nearby village of Clearwell.
Wednesday, 18 January: Bent resumes his investigations, visiting a chemist in Coleford, who -- among many other things -- sold 'sheep dip'.
What followed was a bit of an official pause, as the inquest could hardly get going in the absence of forensic results.
But, as we shall see, this case was only getting started.
Since the main occurences and key dates occurred from early January (with the death of Harry Pace) through August (with the final installment of Beatrice Pace's 'life story' in the Sunday Express), it occurs to me that this fits in quite nicely with the publication schedule of the book, which is due to be published on 20 August this year.
Of course, like most of my good ideas, I'm getting on this one a bit late.
But, better late than never, as the saying goes.
I won't be giving detailed discussions of each of the events on the blog (that's what the book's for, after all!), but I will be marking -- 84 years to the day -- some of the key milestones in the case as we go along this year.
As I think about it, this process might help to provide a sense of the scale of the case in 'real time'. As with any historical event, reading about it in retrospect makes it too easy to lose sense of the actual 'feeling' of the time as it went by. For instance, one of the key complaints of Beatrice's supporters was that she had been subjected to an 'ordeal' of grinding suspense as a result of a lengthy coroner's inquest. Perhaps pointing out some key signposts (or, perhaps 'timeposts') as we go along this year, might help to regain that sense of what they meant.
All the posts in this series can be called up by clicking on the 'timeline' label at the bottom of each post.
So, at first, a little catching up, as there was a flurry of activity in mid-January (that is, in a manner of speaking, over the last couple of weeks):
Tuesday, 10 January 1928: Harry Pace -- a quarryman and sheep farmer -- dies at his home ('Rose Cottage') in Fetter Hill, a small hamlet in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, after a long and mysterious illness that began the previous summer. His physician, Dr. Du Pré, confirms a death from natural causes.
Wednesday, 11 January: several of Harry's suspicious family (i.e., his side of the family) meet and decide to take their doubts about the naturalness of Harry's death to the police. The local police, stationed in the nearby market town of Coleford and led by Inspector Alan Bent, begin their investigations.
 |
| Inspector Alan Bent |
Friday, 13 January: Sgt. Hamblin tells Beatrice that Harry's funeral (planned for Sunday, 15 January) will have to be postponed.
Saturday, 14 January: A post mortem examination is carried out on Harry Pace (at his home) by Dr. Charles Carson. Blood samples are taken and several organs are removed and sent to Professor Isaac Walker Hall at the University of Bristol for analysis.
Sunday, 15 January: Several mourners, who were not informed about the delayed funeral, arrive in Fetter Hill, resulting in 'considerable consternation'.
Monday, 16 January: The inquest into Harry's death, led by the coroner, Maurice Carter, opens at the nearby 'George Inn'. A few necessary formalities are taken care of. Carter then adjourns the inquiry for a month, pending the results of the forensic analysis.
Tuesday, 17 January: Harry Pace is buried in the nearby village of Clearwell.
Wednesday, 18 January: Bent resumes his investigations, visiting a chemist in Coleford, who -- among many other things -- sold 'sheep dip'.
What followed was a bit of an official pause, as the inquest could hardly get going in the absence of forensic results.
But, as we shall see, this case was only getting started.
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Fame, Fleet Street and the tragic widow
Along with being a book about crime and justice history, The Most Remarkable Woman in England explores aspects of the 1920s version of what today is known as 'celebrity culture'.
In many ways, clearly, the last couple of decades have seen a dramatic expansion in the ways for people to become 'celebrities', even if only briefly: 'reality' TV, casting shows and the Internet.
But while there is much that has changed in how unknown people now become well-known 'celebrities' overnight, the phenomenon itself is far from new. For example, the second half of the nineteenth century witnessed the emergence of a 'new journalism' which focused on dramatic, emotionally reported 'human interest' stories. This style was pioneered by the Daily Telegraph (founded in 1855) and the later growth of tabloids such as the Daily Mail, Daily Express and Daily Mirror. Here lay the origins of Britain's sensationalist (and prurient) press culture that has often gone under the shorthand term of 'Fleet Street'.*
The 1920s and 30s were in some sense a 'golden age' of press reporting: newspaper circulations were growing rapidly (especially among women readers) and the press did not as yet face competition from radio and television news. By this time photography had become a common feature in the papers, which may have helped to establish a more immediate (though imagined) connection between readers and those reported upon. Crime -- the more sensational the better -- was a favourite topic, and probably the main vehicle whereby 'ordinary' people became nationally-known figures. This is, of course, something that remains true.
Whether the subjects of these stories became popular or merely notorious depended a great deal on the specific circumstances of the case as well as the ways that journalists decided to spin the case. Beatrice Pace was fortunate in that, although suspected of (and then charged with) murder, she was consistently depicted as a sympathetic figure, even before her eventual acquittal and the sale of her life story to the Sunday Express.
Why and how that was so is a rather long tale and a major focus of my book.
But this is a good example of how the case was presented to the public at the more sensationalist end of the press spectrum, in the World's Pictorial News. (Click on the image for a larger version.)
To give some context: this article appeared in the midst of the lengthy coroner's inquest into Harry Pace's death: Beatrice at this point was (officially) not a suspect in the case. As was often true, the papers didn't get everything right: for example, the caption referring to the lad feeding the lamb refers to 'Kenneth' Pace when his name was actually Selwyn (often called 'Teddy'). This sort of error recurred often across the year or so that the case was in the news. The story about the 'suddenly' interrupted funeral is also not entirely accurate (as I explain).
I aim to present further such images in the future, but I thought this time around I'd also give some background.
My research into the newspaper reporting on the case was one of the most enjoyable parts of writing the book, and it led me to other projects that I've been working on in recent years, such as a study of police powers, civil liberties and the term 'the third degree' in the 1920s: a couple of these articles can be seen here and here.
---
*Interesting overviews of this history can be found in Kevin Williams, Get me a murder a day! A history of mass communication in Britain (London, 1998) and Adrian Bingham, Family newspapers?: Sex, private life, and the British popular press 1918-1978 (Oxford, 2009)
In many ways, clearly, the last couple of decades have seen a dramatic expansion in the ways for people to become 'celebrities', even if only briefly: 'reality' TV, casting shows and the Internet.
But while there is much that has changed in how unknown people now become well-known 'celebrities' overnight, the phenomenon itself is far from new. For example, the second half of the nineteenth century witnessed the emergence of a 'new journalism' which focused on dramatic, emotionally reported 'human interest' stories. This style was pioneered by the Daily Telegraph (founded in 1855) and the later growth of tabloids such as the Daily Mail, Daily Express and Daily Mirror. Here lay the origins of Britain's sensationalist (and prurient) press culture that has often gone under the shorthand term of 'Fleet Street'.*
The 1920s and 30s were in some sense a 'golden age' of press reporting: newspaper circulations were growing rapidly (especially among women readers) and the press did not as yet face competition from radio and television news. By this time photography had become a common feature in the papers, which may have helped to establish a more immediate (though imagined) connection between readers and those reported upon. Crime -- the more sensational the better -- was a favourite topic, and probably the main vehicle whereby 'ordinary' people became nationally-known figures. This is, of course, something that remains true.
Whether the subjects of these stories became popular or merely notorious depended a great deal on the specific circumstances of the case as well as the ways that journalists decided to spin the case. Beatrice Pace was fortunate in that, although suspected of (and then charged with) murder, she was consistently depicted as a sympathetic figure, even before her eventual acquittal and the sale of her life story to the Sunday Express.
Why and how that was so is a rather long tale and a major focus of my book.
But this is a good example of how the case was presented to the public at the more sensationalist end of the press spectrum, in the World's Pictorial News. (Click on the image for a larger version.)
To give some context: this article appeared in the midst of the lengthy coroner's inquest into Harry Pace's death: Beatrice at this point was (officially) not a suspect in the case. As was often true, the papers didn't get everything right: for example, the caption referring to the lad feeding the lamb refers to 'Kenneth' Pace when his name was actually Selwyn (often called 'Teddy'). This sort of error recurred often across the year or so that the case was in the news. The story about the 'suddenly' interrupted funeral is also not entirely accurate (as I explain).
I aim to present further such images in the future, but I thought this time around I'd also give some background.
My research into the newspaper reporting on the case was one of the most enjoyable parts of writing the book, and it led me to other projects that I've been working on in recent years, such as a study of police powers, civil liberties and the term 'the third degree' in the 1920s: a couple of these articles can be seen here and here.
---
*Interesting overviews of this history can be found in Kevin Williams, Get me a murder a day! A history of mass communication in Britain (London, 1998) and Adrian Bingham, Family newspapers?: Sex, private life, and the British popular press 1918-1978 (Oxford, 2009)
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Family history
One of the nicer experiences I had while writing The Most Remarkable Woman in England was having the chance to personally get to know -- first via email then in person -- a few of Beatrice Pace's descendants. I found them quite by chance via the Internet (how does anyone find anything these days otherwise?) when one of her...wait, let me get this right...great-granddaughters had made an offhand comment about her family history at a web forum on a completely different topic (a popular television game show, as I recall).
This is what led me to writing her.
(After I became the member of an internet forum regarding a show I'd never at that point watched. My devotion to historical research, clearly, knows no bounds.)
In any case, emails were passed along and exchanged, and I was soon communicating with one of Beatrice's grandsons. After years of research via newspapers and official files, it was quite an experience to finally be in touch with someone who had personally known the main person profiled in my book. As 'Gran'. (Beatrice had a long life after her trial.)
A couple of trips of mine to Gloucestershire and the Forest of Dean followed, and I am very grateful, both for the information I received and the hospitality I enjoyed there.
Later, I corresponded with another grandson who provided me with a few of the pictures used in the book.
As to the information about Beatrice's post-trial life, you'll have to, as they say, read the book.
However, I thought I would share an aspect of how it came to be written.
When I first decided to get in touch, I had, I must admit, some qualms. In fact I debated with myself for some weeks before making initial contact. Of course, I wanted to find any relevant information for my book: most of all, I was aiming at filling in the story of what happened to Beatrice Pace after she disappeared from the headlines...and therefore from the historical record.
On the other hand, I wasn't quite sure what reaction to expect.
I mean: someone shows up out of the blue and says he's writing a book about your grandmother who was accused of murder? How would you react?
I am pleased to say that the family members I have dealt with have been nothing but friendly and have all been very supportive of the project, providing me with helpful details about the later life of the 'Tragic Widow of Coleford', as she was known in the late 1920s. In return, I am pleased to have been able to fill in many details for them about a striking aspect of their own family history.
That was nice enough.
However, a couple of weeks ago this story took another twist.
While we were on holiday, I was contacted by another of Beatrice's descendants: the grandson of a different one of her children than the people I had to this point spoken to. He had heard rumours of this book online last year and then found this blog.
Very kindly enough he sent me a few family photos that I hadn't yet seen, and, even more kindly, he said I could share them here on the blog.
Although I have very few details about either of them, I estimate that they're both from the mid-to-late 1930s. The first is of Beatrice with her youngest daughter 'Jean' (actually Isobel Jean). Jean, sadly, was a sickly girl and died during the Second World War aged 14. She had, as I describe in the book, been a prominent focus of coverage of the Pace case in 1928 and was frequently mentioned in letters Beatrice received from her supporters and admirers. (One of the aspects of the case that I consider was the way the public responded to press reporting of it.)
Along with any information that I received through getting to know the family the experience very much helped to bring something home to me: that history is about real people. This may sound banal, but when you spend large amounts of time getting to know people through reading documents (and even printed pictures) their reality becomes a bit abstract.
Speaking to people who had known Beatrice Pace personally -- had seen her, heard her voice, touched her -- certainly helped to give my own perspective on the case a new vividness.
One that I hope I have been able to impart.
This is what led me to writing her.
(After I became the member of an internet forum regarding a show I'd never at that point watched. My devotion to historical research, clearly, knows no bounds.)
In any case, emails were passed along and exchanged, and I was soon communicating with one of Beatrice's grandsons. After years of research via newspapers and official files, it was quite an experience to finally be in touch with someone who had personally known the main person profiled in my book. As 'Gran'. (Beatrice had a long life after her trial.)
A couple of trips of mine to Gloucestershire and the Forest of Dean followed, and I am very grateful, both for the information I received and the hospitality I enjoyed there.
Later, I corresponded with another grandson who provided me with a few of the pictures used in the book.
As to the information about Beatrice's post-trial life, you'll have to, as they say, read the book.
However, I thought I would share an aspect of how it came to be written.
When I first decided to get in touch, I had, I must admit, some qualms. In fact I debated with myself for some weeks before making initial contact. Of course, I wanted to find any relevant information for my book: most of all, I was aiming at filling in the story of what happened to Beatrice Pace after she disappeared from the headlines...and therefore from the historical record.
On the other hand, I wasn't quite sure what reaction to expect.
I mean: someone shows up out of the blue and says he's writing a book about your grandmother who was accused of murder? How would you react?
I am pleased to say that the family members I have dealt with have been nothing but friendly and have all been very supportive of the project, providing me with helpful details about the later life of the 'Tragic Widow of Coleford', as she was known in the late 1920s. In return, I am pleased to have been able to fill in many details for them about a striking aspect of their own family history.
That was nice enough.
However, a couple of weeks ago this story took another twist.
While we were on holiday, I was contacted by another of Beatrice's descendants: the grandson of a different one of her children than the people I had to this point spoken to. He had heard rumours of this book online last year and then found this blog.
Very kindly enough he sent me a few family photos that I hadn't yet seen, and, even more kindly, he said I could share them here on the blog.
Although I have very few details about either of them, I estimate that they're both from the mid-to-late 1930s. The first is of Beatrice with her youngest daughter 'Jean' (actually Isobel Jean). Jean, sadly, was a sickly girl and died during the Second World War aged 14. She had, as I describe in the book, been a prominent focus of coverage of the Pace case in 1928 and was frequently mentioned in letters Beatrice received from her supporters and admirers. (One of the aspects of the case that I consider was the way the public responded to press reporting of it.)
Along with any information that I received through getting to know the family the experience very much helped to bring something home to me: that history is about real people. This may sound banal, but when you spend large amounts of time getting to know people through reading documents (and even printed pictures) their reality becomes a bit abstract.
Speaking to people who had known Beatrice Pace personally -- had seen her, heard her voice, touched her -- certainly helped to give my own perspective on the case a new vividness.
One that I hope I have been able to impart.
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