Two days ago I was in one of the mining districts, had just called on my friend the parson of the parish, and was walking back in the twilight, alone, across certain lonely, grimy fields among the pits and forges. Suddenly I was approached from behind by a party of seven stout collier lads, each of them about 18 years old, except their leader, who was a stalwart young fellow of 23 or so, more than 6ft high. He rudely demanded my name, which, of course, I refused to give. "Then," said he, "You are Jack the Ripper, and you'll come along wi' us to the
police at-;" naming the nearest town, two miles off. I inquired what
authority he had for proposing this arrangement. He hesitated a moment, and then replied that he was himself a constable, and had a warrant (against me, I suppose), but had left it at home. "And," he added fiercely, "if you don't come quietly at once, I'll draw my revolver and blow your brains out."
"Draw it then," said I, feeling pretty sure that he had no revolver. He did not draw it; and I told him that I should certainly not go with him. All this time I noticed that, though the whole seven stood around me, gesticulating and threatening, no one of them attempted to touch me. And, while I was considering how to accomplish my negative purpose, I saw a forgeman coming across the field from his work. Him I hailed; and, when he came up, I explained that these fellows were insulting me, and that, as the odds were seven to one, he ought to stand by me. He was a dull, quiet man, elderly like myself, and (as he justly remarked) quite ready for his tea.
But, being an honest workman, he agreed to stand by me; and he and I moved away in spite of the leader of the gang, who vowed that he would take my ally in charge as well as me. The enemy, however, were not yet routed. They consulted together, and very soon pursued and overtook us; for we took care not to seem as fugitives. But, meanwhile, I had decided what to do, and had told my friend that I would walk with him as far as our paths lay together, and then I would trouble him to turn aside with me up to the cottage of a certain stout and worthy pitman whom I knew.
Thus, then, we walked on over barren fields and slag-heaps for half a mile, surrounded by the seven colliers, who pressed in upon me, but still never touched me, though their leader continued his threats, and freely observed that, whatever I might do, I should certainly go with him to the town. At last we came into the road at a lonesome and murderous-looking spot, commanded on all sides by the mountainous shale-hills of disused pits. Up among these ran the path that led to the pitman's dwellings which I was making for. When we reached it, I said to my friend the forgeman, "This is our way," and turned towards the path.
"That's not your way," shouted the tall man, "you'll come along the road with us," and he laid his hand on my collar. I shook him off, and informed him that he had now committed an assault, for which I could myself give him in charge. Perhaps it was only post hoc ergo propter hoc, but at any rate, he made no further attempt to prevent me and my friend from ascending the byway. He stuck to us, however, he and his mates; swearing that he would follow me all the night, if need were. We were soon on the top of the col, if I may so call it, from which the pitmen's cottages, lighted within, were visible in the darkness against a starry sky.
"That is where I am going," I said aloud. To my surprise, the tall man answered in a somewhat altered tone, "How long shall you be?" "That depends," I replied, "you had better come to the house with me." "No," said he, "I shall wait for you here;" and the forgeman and I walked up to the cottage together. At its door I dismissed my ally with thanks and a grateful coin; and entering in, I told my tale to my friend the stout pitman and his hearty wife, who heard it with indignation. In less than a minute, he and I sallied from his dwelling in search of the fellows who had dogged me. But they had vanished. Seeing me received and welcomed by people whom they knew, they doubtless felt that pursuit was futile and suspicion vain.
Now, I do not object to adventures, even in the decline of life; nor do I much blame my antagonists, whether their motive were righteous indignation, or, as is more likely, the hope of reward. But I think them guilty of a serious and even dangerous error of judgment in not distinguishing between the appearance of Jack the Ripper and that of your obedient servant, AN ELDERLY GENTLEMAN
There may have been a reason that escapes me for this elderly "gentleman" traveling through the country and the mining district, and omitting his name and the names of the places. I suppose there may have been a reason why a "gentleman" in those very class-aware days would have friends who were pitmen or forgemen. But I am at a loss when I try to figure out why anyone would assume that Jack the Ripper was an "elderly gentleman," and why a paper as respected as The Times would publish such a sophomoric tale, unless upper-level journalists were being infected by Rippermania and were grabbing after any Ripper tidbit they could find.
But there are details in the letter worth noting. The author claims to have been traveling a lot of late, and Ripper letters indicate the same. The "gentleman" mingles with the working lower class, and Sickert was known for that. The letter reminds readers that the Ripper is feared not just in London, but everywhere, and this would be a self-serving assertion if the "elderly gentleman" were really Walter Sickert. In his role as Jack the Ripper, he wanted to frighten as many people as he could.
"If the people here only new who I was they would shiver in their shoes," the Ripper writes in a letter mailed from Clapham on November 22, 1889. And as an additional "ha ha" he uses the return address of "Punch amp; Judy St." Sickert would have been familiar with Punch and Judy. The puppet plays were wildly popular, and his idol Degas adored Punch and Judy and wrote about the violent puppet plays in his letters.
Granted, acceptable humor in the Victorian era differs from what is acceptable today. Some people find Punch and Judy to be offensive. Punch beats his infant daughter and throws her out a window. He repeatedly cracks his wife, Judy, on the head, "fairly splitting it in two." He kicks his doctor and says, "There; don't you feel the physic in your bowels? [Punch thrusts the end of the stick into the Doctor's stomach: the Doctor falls down dead, and Punch, as before, tosses away the body with the end of his staff.] He, he, he! [Laughing.]"
In Oswald Sickert's Punch and Judy script, "Murder and Manslaughter or, The Devil Fooled," the puppets' cruel antics go beyond Punch's spending all the household money on "spirits."
Punch dances around with the child.
(hits the child's head against the railing, the child cries)… Oh don't… be quiet my boy (puts him in the corner}.
I will get you something to eat (exits}.
Punch returns, examines the child very closely.
Have you already fallen? Be quiet, be quiet (exits, the child continues to cry}
Punch with porridge and spoon Son of my quiet love do not make me stroppy. There, now be quiet.
(Feeds the child porridge non-stop} there-you go,
there you go. Good heavens!… don't you want to be quiet? Quiet, I say! There you go, there's the rest of the porridge.
(Turns the bowl upside down into the child's face!} Now I have nothing left! (Shakes it crudely} You still won't be quiet?