The Ilford Murder
The Case for and against a Reprieve
By James Douglas
Editor of Sunday Express
Sunday 17 December 1922
Publisher’s Foreword
Realising at once the interest and the importance of the case, we arranged with Mr James Douglas, the Editor of the “Sunday Express”, to review the tragedy and the trial. Mr Douglas is the most famous criminologist in English journalism. Week after week he analyses the human drama in the courts. He brings to bear on the subject something of the same genius as De Quincy and Edgar Allen Poe. He sees the tragedy of the background as well as the foreground. He sees the human element in the midst of horror. He understands the passionate and uncontrolled laws of life which have brought men and women to the dock to answer to the law of the nation.
People are being asked to sign petitions for the reprieve of Mrs Thompson and Bywaters. This review of the trial, written by Mr Douglas, gives the individual members of the community the materials necessary to determine whether it is their duty to sign or not.
Stanley Paul, 31 Essex Street, Strand, W.C.2
THE ILFORD MURDER
The Case For and Against a Reprieve.
By JAMES DOUGLAS,
Editor of the “Sunday Express”
Shortly after midnight on October 4 Mr Percy Thompson, a shipping clerk, employed in the City of London, was stabbed to death. He was returning home with his wife, Edith Thompson, from the Criterion Theatre, at which they had been present with some friends at a performance of “The Dippers’, the riotous farce in which Mr Cyril Maude provokes roars of laughter and merriment. It was a strange prelude to a tragedy which in many respects is without parallel or a precedent in the annals of crime.
Percy Thompson married, in 1915, Edith Jessie Graydon, whose parents lived at Manor Park. At the time of Mr Thompson’s death he and his wife were living at Kensington Gardens, Ilford, at the scene of the tragedy. Mr Thompson was 32. His wife was 28. She will be 29 on Christmas Day. There were no children of the marriage.
Mrs Thompson was employed by a firm of wholesale milliners on Aldersgate Street as bookkeeper and manageress. She was capable and industrious, and earned £6 a week, with bonuses amounting to about £30 a year.
Frederick Edward Francis Bywaters is now only twenty. He was employed by the P, and O. Co. as a laundry steward or writer in the “Morea”. At the time of the murder he was living with his mother at Upper Norwood. He had been at school with the Graydons, but it was not until 1921 that he became more intimate with the Thompsons. In June, 1921, he spent a week’s holiday with them at Shanklin, in the Isle of Wight. He then returned with them to their house in Ilford and stayed with them as a paying guest till August, when there was a quarrel between Mr and Mrs Thompson, which resulted in the departure of Bywaters. He ceased to be their lodger.
During the absence of Bywaters on his voyages there was a passionate correspondence between him and Mrs Thompson. After the arrest of Bywaters the police found sixty-five letters from Mrs Thompson to him in his bedroom and in his ditty box on the “Morea”. These love letters contained references to various poisons, to fragments of glass electric light-bulbs, and to the use of these things in attempts to poison Mr Thompson.
Sir Henry Curtis-Bennett, on behalf of Mrs Thompson, argues at the opening of the trial at the Old Bailey, on December 6, that the letters were not admissible. Mr Justice Shearman ruled that they were admissible, both as evidence of intent and motive.
The trial lasted five days. On Monday, December 11, the jury, consisting of 11 men and one woman, after an absence of two hours and a quarter, returned a verdict of guilty against Edith Thompson and Frederick Bywaters, and they were both sentenced to death. They both appealed, and petitions for their reprieve have been circulated. The result of the appeal was not known when this review of the case went to press.
It is my fortune or misfortune to be interested in whatever interests the public. That is why I sat hour after hour for five days, watching the unparalleled and unprecedented trial of Frederick Bywaters and Edith Thompson at the Central Criminal Court. Five hours and a half each day of sordid dullness and squalid boredom, with a few flashes of lightning zigzagging across the miles of black monotony! It was like sitting through a series of putrid plays, drenched with stale melodrama, soaked with dirty water, stifled by foul stenches, and sickened by the cheap perfumes of second-hand sentiment. There was no fresh air in the crammed court, and there was no fresh air in the evidence. It would have taken a ton of civet to sweeten the imagination.
Let me paint the scene as I saw it and describe the effect of it upon my own mind. Let me analyse the unhealthy lure that drew a morbid mob to the guarded door. The shivering women who stood in the street in the bitter wind at night were not a pretty sight.
Commonplace People
There is no mystery about the death of Percy Thompson. The element of doubt as to the cause of his death does not exist. Nor are the accused persons uncommon or extraordinary. Bywaters is a commonplace young man of twenty who was a ship’s writer, a seagoing clerk earning £4 a week. Mrs Thompson was also a commonplace young woman who was a clerk in a wholesale millinery firm in the City. She earned £6 a week. Her husband was a shipping clerk. He earned £6 a week. Three ordinary clerks. Nothing here to madden the London mob with feverish emotion.
Why, then, all the pother? The answer is Mrs Thompson’s letters. In them she revealed a neurotic pseudo-romantic personality, nourished on melodramatic plays like “Bella Donna” and “Romance”. She also displayed a mania for self-analysis in copious epistles to her lover that reeked of the theatre and the novel. She stood forth as the creature and creation of a hectic and hysterical age.
Drama Outrivalled
If Doris Keane had been in court she would have been amazed, for the stage limped far behind the new version of “Romance”. Mrs Thompson made all the melodramas I have ever seen look pale and colourless. She was pale and pitiful. She drooped and collapsed like a lily. She vibrated like a violin, with every plaintive note in her beseeching voice. By turns she was weak and strong, vivid and colourless, alert and inert. Never was there a more elusive enigma of a woman, subtle and artless almost in the same breath, now like a broken reed and now like steel.
Yet this perplexing creature had a long-suffering husband and a cosy home. There was no apparent reason why she might not also have had a happy husband and a happy home. She was twenty-eight. Her lover was twenty. He was hardly more than a boy.
It was not a case of a Romeo and Juliet, or a Paolo and Francesca. It was something else. It was the case of a mature wife who was weary of her husband and who ached with romantic longing for release from her duty and her obligation in order to be free to live with her youthful lover. Her illicit passion devoured her. Its blind force led directly or indirectly, wittingly or unwittingly, to the culminating tragedy. There is no evidence of the restraining influence of religion or honour or morality. These were not there. They may have been there at one time, but they do not come into the wretched story.
What is still more disquieting is the utter absence of them in the whole environment. Everybody in this milieu seems to be morally helpless. There is no stern voice, no warning entreaty, to austere censure, no rebuke, no reproof. Where were all the old anchors and moorings in this grimy surge of moral anarchy? It is a glimpse of a modern London without a conscience or an idea. This is our life and this is how it is lived.
There is something profoundly and fatally corrupt in a society which breeds this frame of mind in the respectable, drab, dull soul of ordinary, commonplace folk. It makes one feel that we are going rotten at the bottom as well as at the top, and that the paganising process of moral decadence has gone further and deeper than we had suspected. It would not surprise us in the higher strata of the social organism, where luxury and self-indulgence have sapped the will and corrupted the conscience. But it is staggering to discover it in the underworld of the humdrum clerks and the humdrum milliners where life is lived on a few pounds a week. Madame Bovary in a bunshop!
Pollution
There is no trace or tinge of any moral standard or any ethical code of conduct in this cross-section of common life, It seems to be sodden and saturated with the dregs of vulgar melodrama and transpontine sensationalism. Its lack of moral ease is affrighting. Its unhealthy atmosphere polluted the whole court, with the gaping and staring mob outside and inside. Even the case-hardened lawyers wore an air of contemptuous disgust as they toiled through the sewers of sensation. Their very wigs looked cynically derisive as they took the wash of the unspeakable.
Let us be realists, not romantics, as we hold our noses, for all this ordure is the product of the dregs and scum of romance in putrescence. The death of Percy Thompson is not the worst things in this apocalypse. His blood-stained corpse is not the supreme horror. No! It is the festering soul, the mind diseased, the hard heart, and the wanton surrender to the baser and more brutish senses. It is the degradation of love into a vile caricature of its own image. It is the stricken misery of an old father and two old mothers gazing at the moral ruin of their offspring. And behind it all is the vision of national decay, for there can be no hope for a race that loses its ancient bearings in a sea of sensual anarchy. There is something irredeemably rotten in a community which feeds on offal as if it were manna from heaven and nor horror from hell.
The Woman
All day long in the great square dock, with its high wooden walls and its tall glass screen, a pale, frail, fragile wisp of a woman sits under the hard, converging stares of mean women packed close above her in the gallery over the dock, jammed in rows behind a platoon of wigs, standing in the gangways, and peering through the doorways on the judge’s left.
Hundreds of eyes above her, below her, behind her, and all round her. Hour after hour the passionless wheels of the law revolve slowly and smoothly, grinding out facts. But the pallid, haggard, worn face of the woman never loses its air of weary intensity that seems to make her deaf and blind to the ruthless curiosity of the hungry spectators.
She sees nothing but her own thoughts. Her eyes and her face are remote and aloof from all these voices and gestures. She sits far away in as trance of agony.
Girlish Figure
A refined and sensitive face, shadowed by a black velvety hat with black quills curving forward from the left side in a scythe-like sweeping droop. At first she wears a heavy tawny musquash coat with a great shawl collar, but the court is hot, and she slips out of it, a slim figure in a soft, clinging black frock. She will be twenty-nine on Christmas Day, but she looks girlish.
There are two terrible moments in her suffering. She looks at that sorrowful mother in the witness-box while she gives evidence about her son. Mrs Bywaters and Mrs Thompson – the two tragic women – both linked to the boy sitting there between the warders, both suffering as only women can suffer in such a plight. “One of the best sons a mother ever had”, cries the tragic mother, with a pang of motherly love in her trembling voice, And Mrs Thompson buries her face in her hands while we all shrink from the triangle of misery revealed in the three.
The other dreadful moment is during the evidence of the police surgeon, as the glittering knife is passed to him across the court, and as the blood-stained trousers are taken out of a bag and held up before our eyes. The eyes fill with tears, and her face goes down sobbing into her handkerchief, her slim shoulders quivering.
And this it is that fixes every eye on the pale woman in black whop sits all day long in a dreadful solitude. She is so young, so delicately made, so pitifully pale, and yet so tragically wrought that her thoughts are visible as they flit across her face, like a flower fading on its stem, while she listens to her own letters read in dry, colourless legal tones that veil and muffle their passionate import.
And what of the boy? Frederick Bywaters is a handsome youth, with a clear skin, a keen, finely carved profile, a trenchant, high forehead, brilliant eyes, and a great wave of thick brown hair brushed back high from his white brow.
He is virile and vigorous in his gait, walking with a firm step and swinging arms.
That it is that throbs all day in the court – youth in the toils of destiny. Youth caught in the net of circumstance.
DRAMA OF THE TRIAL
Bywaters in the Box
The second day of the trial fell into three phases:-
- The police evidence, the expert medical evidence, and the evidence relating to certain exhibits, such as Mrs Thompson’s cashbox, the ditty box, the knife, and the letters.
- The reading of new extracts from the letters.
- The evidence of Bywaters
Four copies of the letters are handed to the jury, one copy for each three. They put their heads together in threes and follow counsel word by word.
While the letters are being read the packed court sits in strained silence watching Mrs Thompson as she listens to her own impassioned phrases. I have never seen dramatic irony so poignant in any play or in any novel.
The woman in the dock listens with her head hanging on her breast. Some of the passages are almost inconceivably ironical. For example:-
Yesterday I met a woman who had lost three husbands in eleven years, and not through the war. Two were drowned, and one committed suicide; and some people I know cannot lose one.
For dramatic irony that could hardly be surpassed in any work of imaginative art. The Greek dramatists are full of this unconscious irony, and there are many examples of it in Shakespeare’s tragedies. But here was life utterly dwarfing the inventions of dramatic genius.
Averted Looks
Mrs Thompson is a perplexing puzzle in psychology. She enters the dock more dead than alive, her face dull and expressionless, her features a mask of fatigue, her limbs heavy as lead, her feet dragging, and all her weight thrown on the wardresses.
When she rises from her chair to leave the dock she waits till the wardress puts her hands under her arms and lifts her to her feet, and almost staggers to the staircase.
Yet when she wishes to consult her solicitor she springs to her feet, leans far over the dock rail, and talks without any sign of weariness or weakness. Whereas Bywaters frequently looks at her, she never looks at him. While he is in the witness box she seldom glances at him, but listens with her head down.
But during the reading of the letters she seems to be on the verge of a swoon. All through the afternoon she sits in her heavy fur coat of long-haired yellowish musquash with its enormous shawl collar, although the court is hot and stifling. She alternates bewilderingly between vigilant vitality and neurotic collapse.
Her letters are bitingly analytic and morbidly introspective. Although she is a romantic, steeped in melodramatic novels, like “Bella Donna”, “The Fruitful Vine”, and hyper melodramatic plays like “Romance”, her phrases are pungently direct and simple utterances of flaming passion. They are seldom imitative or reminiscent, but born of the mood and the moment.
The Man
Bywaters is cool and composed in the witness box. His profile is remarkable. The forehead slopes back in a sharp slant, almost parallel to the line of nose and lip and chin. His eyes are deeply set in dark circles. He clenches both hands and, as he speaks, ceaselessly taps the ledge with his right fist. He wipes his face and hands with his handkerchief.
Their “compact”, he explains, was suicide, but he never intended to carry it out. He suggested it to calm her. There was never any agreement between them to poison her husband. “The greatest violence was separation”. All the cryptic allusions in her letters referred to going away together or getting a separation or a divorce.
The electric light bulb passage is explained thus:-
“ She was trying to put herself in the same place as ‘’Bella Donna’ – merely melodramatic.”
The “bitter taste” passage referred to quinine. Bywaters smiled at the “elephant” passage. “I take ten grains”, he said. “I told her that thirty grains was enough for an elephant.”
When she suggested suicide he suggested putting it off for five years, so that she should not commit suicide.
THE THIRD DAY
Mrs Thompson Tell her Story
The third day of the trial was intolerably painful. Bywaters and Mrs Thompson both told their story and both were cross-examined by Mr Inskip, the Solicitor-General, in cool, slow, steely tones.
Both strove hard to parry the thrusts of the keen legal rapier, and during the dreadful duel waves of emotion swept through the court.
There was no sound, but over and over again the hush was broken by a strange sigh audible, but it was felt by every ear. Men and women held their breath during a tragic answer, and then came the sudden rustle of amazement and dismay. It was too intangible to deserve rebuke. It was an exhalation of the collective soul of the crowd moved by a common emotion.
Bywaters never flinched although at times his voice faltered and cracked and broke. His reconstruction of the crime was appallingly realistic. He illustrated it with dramatic gestures. He showed how Thompson struck him, stretching out his left arm. He reproduced the swift movement of Thompson’s right hand to his hip pocket. He stood for a moment in a fixed, tense attitude, simulating the pose of the dead man.
“Pulling her Leg”
Bywaters gave his interpretation of the letters. In passionate accents he denied that they meant poison.
“I say it is not true”, he cried, his voice ringing through the court. Pressed to explain the “elephant” phrase, he declared, “I was pulling her leg”. Everything meant either suicide or separation – never poison. Her question about the bi-chloride of mercury was a “general common or garden question”.
As the cross-examination grew deadlier his face turned paler, his voice became weaker, but he fought unflinchingly to the end to clear the woman and to depict the crime as utterly unpremeditated and as an act of self-defence.
The Woman Denies
Mrs Thompson walked to the witness box with slow, uncertain steps, looking miserably worn and weary. She sank into the chair, closing her eyes, and breathing in quick, panting gasps. But she rapidly revived during her examination by her counsel, Mr Frampton, slowly turning over the pages of the letters.
She denied that she had tried to poison her husband. Her stories in the letters were untrue. The poisoning incidents were all imaginary. She was only trying to “keep” Bywaters “to her”. She dropped her head and sobbed while she told the story of the crime.
Under cross-examination she admitted that she had lied to shield Bywaters. Pressed about the poison passages in her letters, she explained that Bywaters had promised to give her something to make her husband ill.
She wanted to show that she was willing to do anything he might suggest, eager to do anything to help him. At first she had objected; afterwards she had acquiesced. She invented the “bitter taste” story to make Bywaters think she had done what he had suggested. Here she broke down and covered her eyes with her hands.
Bywaters, she then declared, had suggested that she should give her husband something to make him ill, so that he would not be able, when he had a heart attack, to resist it. She was acting to Bywaters as if she wished to destroy her husband’s life.
As Mrs Thompson walked from the box to the dock she was on the verge of collapse. The mental stress of the cross-examination had been intense. The long duel had been dreadful, and her face was frozen into frigid and haggard anguish. And we were all glad to escape from the ghastly spectacle of a soul in torment.
The third and fourth days were occupied with the examination and cross-examination of the witnesses and with the speeches of counsel for the defence.
The Judge Sums Up
It is the last day of the trial. Half past three! Mr Justice Shearman utters the last words of his summing-up. The jury go out to consider their verdict. The judge goes out. The two prisoners vanish from the dock for the last time but one. After five days all the evidence and all the arguments are over. The hands of the clock below the gallery look like the hands of fate.
Nothing can hasten or retard their march round and round the dial. A sense of the irrevocable outcome overcomes me. Few of us are in a mood to leave the court. We sit or stand. We talk. The buzz of debate fills the building. Here and there a smiling face, but most faces are grave.
The last hour goes by. It seems to go swiftly. The tension of suspense is too great to allow us to mark the moments. The second hour has gone before we are aware. We are surprised when then hands pause for a second at half-past five. Two hours already!
FATAL MINUTES
When the Jury Returned
The hand of the clock creeps to the figure eight. Another minute, another minute, another minute, and then an official with a solemn mine comes out of the door through which the jury had disappeared.
There is a stir in the court. Every eye is fixed on the jury doorway. One by one, very slowly and very sadly, the members of the jury file in. They are all pale. The verdict of guilty can be discerned in their strained eyes and mournful features. The woman comes in last. She is white to the lips. As they sit down in their places they look inexpressibly grave and grieved.
The judge comes in. He sits down with his eyes fixed on the empty dock. Where are the prisoners? There is an interminable delay. All eyes are fixed on the dock. Will the man and the woman never appear? The suspense becomes unendurable. There is a painful silence. At last Bywaters appears. His face is blanched, but he walks steadily to the front of the dock and gazes steadfastly at the judge.
Another delay, and then slowly up the stairs comes Edith Thompson, supported by the wardress nurses who have been ministering to her for five days. She totters rather than walks to the dock-edge, upheld by her arms. She is barely able to stand, and would have crumpled on the floor if she had not been sustained on each side by her attendants. Her features are chalk-white and her eyes are glassy.
She clutches the edge of the dock with trembling hands. On the left hand the wedding-ring glitters pitifully in the soft electric light.
The Clerk of Arraigns asks the fatal question concerning Bywaters, and the foreman replies, “Guilty!” Bywaters does not flinch. He is asked whether he has anything to say why sentence should not be passed upon him.
Standing with head flung back he speaks in slow, deliberate tones that ring through the soundless air:-
“My lord, Edith Thompson is not guilty of murder! I am not guilty! I am no murderer! I am no assassin!”
The Black Cap
There is a dreadful stillness while the black cap is placed on the judge’s head. It is awry and askew, and under it the ascetic features of the judge are as grey as his moustache. He says no word of his own. He does not trust to his memory. The awful words of the sentence of death are before him, and he reads them in a low, grave, but clear voice that is charged with controlled emotion.
The woman all this time is standing, with the hands of the nurses holding her up.
The clerk now puts to her the question which he had put to the man, and in a faltering, thin voice she replies, “I am not guilty! Oh, God! I am not guilty!”
The woman weeps
The pale, worn woman collapses in her chair. Every eye is fixed on her as she seems to swoon in her agony. Then the nurses gather round her, lift het out of her seat, and carry her towards the stairs of the dock. As she is borne out of our sight she bursts into a passion of weeping and wailing. The agony of it rends us. It grows fainter and fainter and dies away. Then there is a brief sorrowful silence, and we all stare at each other in a dazed and wordless trance.
The moments of doom have fled swiftly. It is hard to come back to the workaday world. We are all benumbed as we leave the court. Outside there is a great, silent crowd with closed ranks of police keeping them back. They have already heard the verdict, and they, too, seem benumbed.
It was a dreadful day, and I never wish to endure another like it. The eloquence of Sir Henry Curtis-Bennett as he pleaded for the woman was consummate. He left nothing unsaid, but the effect of his powerful advocacy ebbed away during the speech of the Solicitor-General, which to the end was scrupulously fair and unemotional.
Mr Justice Shearman’s analysis of the evidence was a masterpiece of cold reason. Its logic marched step by step, and as the hours went by one felt the last lingering doubts fading away.
Should They Hang?
Should Frederick Bywaters and Edith Thompson both be hanged? Should the man be hanged, but not the woman? Should the woman be hanged, but not the man?
These questions agitate the public mind. Some say that the man should escape the scaffold because he is young. Others say that the woman should escape (a) because she is a woman and (b) because her guilt has not been proved.
Before examining the case for mercy, let me say that the summing-up and the verdict must be left to the Court of Criminal Appeal. It is a legal problem. Whatever may be the final decision of the Appeal Court, we ought all to accept it as the last word of impartial justice.
Mercy is not justice. It is the prerogative of the Crown acting upon the advice of the Home Secretary. Let us consider whether this is a case for mercy. “The quality of mercy is not strained.” It seasons justice, but it does not strain it. Would justice be strained if either or both of these persons were punished by imprisonment instead of death? Nobody can say that I am lacking in sentimental compassion. I have received many letters rebuking me for my sentimentalism.
During the trial I suffered agonies of pity, and I have not concealed them. How could I? But as the trial proceeded my pity for Mrs Thompson turned into pity for the late Mr Thompson. How could I help it? Every foothold of compassion for his murderers crumbled away.
After the jury retired I was asked what verdict I should give if I were a juror. Without hesitation I replied that I should find both guilty and both equally guilty. My sense of justice had overcome my sense of pity. Something stronger than pity rose up in me. I felt that if a crime so extreme were to evade the extreme penalty, justice would be betrayed and murder would be made easy.
No Deterrent
Reflection has confirmed and fixed that conclusion. I search in vain for a way of escape from it. There is none. It is said that capital punishment ought to be abolished. The answer is that it is the only effective deterrent. Imprisonment is not a deterrent. It was tried in France, it failed, and capital punishment was restored.
Imprisonment under modern conditions is merely loss of liberty. The prison has been made humane. A murderer who would risk imprisonment would hesitate to risk his life. The risk of gaol is not so awful as the risk of death. The deliberate murderer weighs the risk. If there is no rope there is no risk. The risk of gaol is trifling compared with the object of murder. Imprisonment puts a premium on murder.
The sentimentalist may say that no woman of any age and no man under the age of twenty-one ought to be hanged. What does this mean? It means that every woman of every age and every man under twenty-one can count upon the privilege of being allowed to commit murder without running more than the risk of imprisonment. A dangerous doctrine! It would utterly destroy capital punishment as a deterrent in the case of two enormous sections of the community. It would create two great classes of privileged murderers. It would guarantee the life of every male murderer up to his twenty-first birthday. It would make murder a safe feminine profession. It would confer a large measure of immunity and indemnity upon the female prisoner and the adolescent assassin.
But all this is irrelevant. It is idle to discuss what the penalty of murder ought to be. We are solely concerned with the law as it exists today. The penalty of murder is death. Therefore, the question is whether in regard to this murder the prerogative of mercy ought to be exercised. At once we meet a dilemma. It will be admitted that mercy, howsoever strained, could not go so far as to deliver both of these murderers from the scaffold. The mind recoils from a negation of justice so gross. It is unthinkable and inconceivable. It would convert trial by jury into a monstrous farce. It would embolden and encourage every potential murderer and murderess in the land.
A Dilemma
Note the resultant dilemma. It is impossible to reprieve one of these murderers without inflicting a dreadful injustice upon the other. If the one be reprieved because he is young, how can we refuse to spare the other on the ground that she is a woman? Mercy for the man involves mercy for the woman. It is as horrible to hang a woman of eight-and-twenty as it is to hang a man of twenty. If we yield to compassion in the one case, we are bound to yield to it in the other. There is little difference in the degree and measure of their guilt. The disparity of age is cancelled by the disparity of sex. The man was not too young and the woman was not to weak to plan murder. Neither his years nor her sex prevented them from debating about the art of poison. They both say they were deceiving each other. He was only “pulling her leg”, and she was only pretending to poison Mr Thompson. This theory of a double deception right up to the eve of the murder is incredible.
The knife destroyed all my pity for the murderer. It was no ordinary sailor’s knife. It was a great dagger with a guard. It was driven through the thick muscles at the back of the neck into the mouth. A second blow on the back of the neck penetrated the spine. A third blow which may also have been delivered from behind entered the gullet and cut the carotid artery. The witness who heard the woman crying, “Don’t”, did not hear any cry from the murdered man. He was butchered like a sheep. There was no mercy for the late Mr Thompson, and it is hard to see why there should be mercy for those who murdered him.
We have not heard the late Mr Thompson’s side of the case. He is dead. Dies he deserve no pity? How much did he know? Not very much. His wife and her lover were secretly plotting to poison him. She said he was suspicious. He seems to have been singularly unsuspicious, although his tea tasted bitter and he found glass in his food.
His wife deceived him by simulating affection for him, and she explicitly explained to her lover how she deceived him. There is no evidence of cruelty on his part except that of the two murderers. He seems to have been a good husband who was kept in the dark till he was murdered in the dark. Why didn’t they go away together and let him live? They were too respectable! They wanted to keep theirs posts and their reputations. They preferred the risk of murder to the risk of scandal!
The Plea for Mercy
If these murderers be reprieved, capital punishment is abolished. How can any murderer be sent to the scaffold if they escape? The opponents of capital punishment may logically plead for mercy. Its supporters cannot. They may pity the murderers, but they must also pity the late Mr Thompson. They must also pity society. Mercy is murder! It sentences to death all the other Thompsons for whom poison is being prepared. “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” The new reading of the Sermon on the Mount is: “Blessed are the merciless, for they shall obtain mercy.”
To those who demand mercy for murderers, the answer is: “Let the murderers commence!”
I have described my own impressions of the trial. Let me now summarise (1) the case for the defence, (2) the case for the prosecution, and (3) the summing-up of Mr Justice Shearman.
Mr Cecil Whitely, K.C., in his address to the jury on behalf of Bywaters, said there was no dispute as to the fact that Percy Thompson met his death owing to a blow inflicted on him by Bywaters. In order to convict him of murder the jury must be satisfied that when the blow was struck Bywaters had the intent to kill, and that it was an intent preceding the act. Finding a difficulty in proving this, the prosecution had tried to show that Mrs Thompson was acting in concert with Bywaters.
Was there any agreement and conspiracy? This was not a court of morals. The relationship between Bywaters and Mrs Thompson was irrelevant.
Two letters between February and March did not suggest that Bywaters was lending himself to any suggestion that Percy Thompson should be injured or poisoned.
The jury ought to distinguish fact from fiction in the letters. Mrs Thompson’s object was to show that there was nothing at which she would not stop in order to free herself and join him.
The letters showed that Bywaters was trying to break away from her and that she was determined to retain his affection.
As to the knife, was it strange that Bywaters, a seafaring man, visiting seaports in foreign countries, should possess such a knife? There are few sailors who do not possess a knife.
The evidence of Bywaters, if accepted, pointed to the following conclusions: (1) That his object in going to meet the Thompsons was to make some arrangement with him, and not to kill him; (2) that when he arrived at Belgrave Road he had no intention of using the knife; (3) that Thompson struck him a blow on the chest and said “I will shoot you,” at the same time putting his right hand into his hip pocket.
If the jury believed that Bywaters used the knife in the heat of passion, in consequence of the attack made on him by Thompson, they were entitled to reduce the crime from murder to manslaughter.
Ort if they believed that Thompson struck him a blow, followed by the words, “I will shoot you”, and by a movement of his hand to his pocket, then there would be such provocation as would enable them to reduce the crime from murder to manslaughter.
Bywaters’ Last Instructions
Mr Whiteley pointed out that he had asked no question of Mrs Thompson, although entitled to do so. Why? Because his instructions were that neither by word nor deed in conducting his case should a word be said or action taken which would in any way hamper the defence of Mrs Thompson.
“Frederick Bywaters”, counsel concluded, “makes his last appeal to you through me. He says”:
“It is true, only too true, that I have been weak it is true, only too true, that I allowed myself to drift into this dishonourable entanglement and intrigue with a married woman, living with her husband”.
“It is true that I had not the moral courage to cut myself adrift from it, and to end it all; it is true, only too true, that she confided in me, that I was flattered that she should come to me, a young man of nineteen, and confide in me.”
“It is true that I pitied her, and that my pity turned to love. I did not realise, I did not know, I had not enough experience in this life to know, that true love must mean self-sacrifice.”
“All this is true”, he says, “but I ask you to believe and by your verdict to proclaim to the whole world, that in all this history I am not an assassin; I am, no murderer.”
Mr Inskip K. C. Speaks
The Solicitor-General, Mr Inskip K.C., in his reply for the Crown, thius stated
the case against Bywaters: –
I ask the jury to treat the case as an ordinary one. It is indisputable that Mr Thompson was killed that night by Bywaters; that Bywaters chose a spot a great distance from his own home and went there deliberately; that it occurred after midnight. A most unsuitable hour at which to engage in a discussion about separation; and that it was a place suitable for such a crime.
The whole circumstances in which he attacked that man suggests at first sight a case of deliberate murder.
It is said that Bywaters was moved by no intention to kill, and that your verdict should be one of manslaughter; it has even been suggested that it was a case of justifiable homicide.
The only observation I make on that is that it was made for the first time by Bywaters in the witness-box; it did not appear in either of his statements – that he was under the apprehension that Thompson was about to produce a revolver. It must have occurred to you that if that is the real defence it would have been produced long before Bywaters produced it in the witness box.
I suggest to you that there can only be verdict of murder in this case. At least four or five deep and probably fatal blows were inflicted. One of the blows was delivered fourteen feet from the place where the attack began. Probably any one of them would have disabled Thompson.
They were delivered with a weapon which could hardly be used by a violent man without running the grievous risk of immediate death on the part. Of the other man, and they were delivered with a force which was quite inconsistent with any other intention than the intention to kill the man against whom they were directed.
The Judge on Bywaters
Mr Justice Shearman, in his summing-up thus dealt with the charge against Bywaters:
After Bywaters came home from his last voyage, every day, except when it was impossible without the husband knowing, he met Mrs Thompson was killed, by arrangement with her husband and other people Mrs Thompson went to the theatre. About seven o’clock that evening Bywaters presented himself at Shakespeare Crescent, the home of the Graydons, about two miles from where Thompson was found dead. Bywaters had a knife in his pocket.
His account of the knife was that he always carried it about wit him. It was a little difficult to put in any pocket, and Bywaters said he always carried it in his overcoat pocket. No one else had seen it.
When Bywaters arrived in Shakespeare Crescent he had the knife in his overcoat pocket. It was not suggested that he showed it to any one there, but it was suggested by the prosecution that he went there with his knife and that no reasonable man in England who was spending an evening with friends would take a knife like that with him. The only inference is that Bywaters had the knife in his pocket for the purpose her had in view,].
His Impulse
He was there until eleven o’clock, and it was there, he said, that this impulse to talk to the husband on the subject of a separation and divorce came over him. It is suggested by the prosecution that it was nothing of the sort, and that he went there to lie in wait.
What did happen was that, at half-past twelve at night the husband and wife were coming down on the pavement. In one of his statements Bywaters said he waited for them. In his sworn evidence he said he came up from behind. You must consider, if he was walking up to argue, whether Mr and Mrs Thompson would have heard him, or whether the blows were struck before they heard him.
Thompson was struck. He was struck again. He then got into the roadway, where there was a lot of blood. He went back, staggered, and wobbled and sank down against the wall. What was found on his body?
The Fatal Wounds
There was a wound which came in behind the neck, and it came out into his mouth. There was another one driven with such force that it ran to the spine. There was a third wound which the doctor thought might have been inflicted from behind, and which cut the gullet and the artery, rendering death inevitable in a few minutes.
What happened afterwards? The woman ran away, asking for help and for a doctor. The man went away. The man who was killed sank – even the doctor who came up was under the impression that he had broken a blood vessel and that it was an illness. Eventually, the police came up, and when the body was taken away the wounds were discovered.
On Bywaters own evidence he ran away. A number of people came up, and the whole of their evidence dealt with Mrs Thompson.
Bywaters made statements, the first of which was a tissue of misstatement. They were made for nothing else but for deceiving the police. In the second statement he said: ‘I gave him an opportunity of standing up, but he would not’ This meant, in other words, that Thompson had declined to fight.
Nobody questioned that Bywaters inflicted the wounds on Thompson, and you have a simple task in arriving at your decision. It is the law that if a man intentionally kills a person he is guilty of murder, but if he kills a person in legitimate self-defence then it is justifiable homicide.
It has been proved that there was no weapon on Thompson. Except for the stabs and cuts there was no sign of a struggle. Bywaters story that he acted in self-defence is contradicted by the wounds themselves, and it was not put forward until he himself went into the witness-box. It is a story you are entitled to reject entirely. It you believe it you will acquit Bywatrs. If you do not believe it you will disregard it altogether.
It has been said that you can reduce this charge to one of manslaughter. The law with regard to that id that if a man in the heat of blood kills someone else when he had provocation, then you may say that the provoctaion was the only thing that started the murderous impulse, and can then reduce the charge to one of manslaughter. It is inconceivable that it would be any provocation for a man to say ‘I will nor allow you to run away with my wife’. That is not provocation. Provocation is blows or violence. As regards Bywaters story of a blow by Thompson, is there any injury to this man or his clothing?
Mrs Thompson’s story does not help Bywaters very much. If you think that Bywaters really did this quite innocently, and only did it because of the stir which was put forward in the witness-box that he thought he was going to be shot, and acted in self-defence, you will acquit him. Bywaters said ‘He struggled, but he would not fight’. That is no provocation.
If Bywaters is found guilty of the charge, there is only one sentence to be passed. The prerogative of mercy does not lie with either judge or jury, an if you find him guilty you must return a proper verdict, however unpleasant a duty it may be.
The Case for Mrs Thompson
Sir Henry Curtis-Bennett, K.C., in his address to the jury on behalf of Mrs Thompson, said it was important that the jury should realise what they were trying. They were trying one of two indictments. The prosecution had chosen to proceed upon the first, which charged both the prisoners with murder. There was another indictment which might be tried by then or some other jury against both the prisoners, and it was important that the jury should know what the second indictment was. It contained five counts: –
It charged then with, on diverse dates between August 20, 1921, and October 2 of this year, conspiring together to murder Percy Thompson;
That between February 10 of this year and October 1 Mrs Thompson did solicit, endeavour to persuade, and propose to Bywaters to murder Thompson.
That between the same dates she did unlawfully solicit and incite Bywaters to conspire with her to murder Thompson;
That on March 26 and he did not know why that date had been chosen – she administered and caused to be taken by Thompson certain poisons or other destructive thing with intent to murder; and
That on April 20 she did administer and cause to be taken by Thompson a certain destructive thing, namely, broken glass.
The Letters
For some reason the prosecution had elected to put these two people into the dock together and charge them with murder. It was stated that Mrs Thompson was what was known in law as a principal in the second degree. which was a person who ‘aids, abets, or assists a murderer when he is committing a murder.
If the case, as suggested by the prosecution, was that Mrs Thompson knew what was going to happen that night, and that she took the person who was to be murdered to a spot where he was murdered, he would welcome that case. The jury would see that the whole of the evidence was to the contrary on that.
I suppose, continued Sir Henry, that the case for the prosecution is founded upon nothing but these letters written over a period of time, and founded , outside that on nothing but guess work contradicted when you come to test it. But I suppose the case is that Mrs Thompson knew quite well as she was walking down the road near her home that at any moment her husband was going to be taken from her side and murdered in cold blood.
Melodrama
Sir Henry contended that every single action of Mrs Thompson’s upon the night when the killing took place shows that she knew nothing of what was going to happened.
‘This is no ordinary case you are trying’, he continued. ‘These are not ordinary people that you are trying. This is not an ordinary charge of murder. Am I right or wrong in saying that this woman is one of the most extraordinary personalities you or I have ever met? Bywaters described her truly – did he know? – when he said she was a woman who lived in melodrama. She was a woman who lived an extraordinary life of make-believe, and in an atmosphere which was created by something which had left its impression on her brain.
She was a woman who read books and who wrote to tis man in apparts if the world asking for his views regarding the characters in the books she had just read.
You have read her letters. Have you ever read, mixed up with criticisms of books, mixed up with all sorts of references with which I shall have to deal, more beautiful language of love? Such things, I suggest, are very seldom put by pen upon paper. Have you any doubt that you are here trying a woman of extraordinary personality?
I care not whether it is described as raving passion or adulterous intercourse. This is not a court of morals. If it was, I should never be out of it, nor would you.
Whatever name is given to it, it was certainly a great love that existed between the two people. They had known each other for years.
The husband of the woman threw her across the room. There was unhappiness, and the comforter was at hand. The man was ready to take her part, and he became from the friend the lover.
‘Full of human nature, is it not?’, he commented, and then went on to emphasise that the two lovers agreed to wait for five years. Was such a wait the arrangement of murderers, of people who had made up their minds upon a certain date or dates to murder a man?
The Last Letter
The very last letter stated, ‘There is only three and three-quarter years left.’ ‘Yet’, went on Sir Henry, ‘the person who is writing that letter, it is said, is a murderess by inference, not because she struck any blow as a murderess, but because she was planning murder the very next night.’
Sir Henry then dealt with the letters and told the jury not to forget thatr although they had been combed and combed to find anything which suggested that Mrs Thompson was a murderess, thirty-three out of sixty-five were not put before them.
On one of the letters was the phrase ‘All I could think about last night was that compact we made … It seems so horrible today.’ It is not palpable that the explanation they have given is the one that they had entered into some foolish compact to commit suicide? She talks there of death for herself and [… part-line not legible].
It is so easy to pick out bits from letters without their context, and without knowing the mentality of the person writing them and to say ‘Look at that, what does it mean?’ If you take the letters and read them through, as I was anxious you should do, what does it come to? At the most it might possibly make that woman guilty of one of the charges in the second indictment, They certainly do not make her a principal in the killing of Thompson on the night of October 3.
Counsel went on to quote from a letter of December 1921: ‘It is the man who has no right who generally comforts the woman who has wrongs. You will have the right, soon won’t you? Say yes!
Is that put before you, picked out as some evidence of murder in the mind? Is it not absolutely consistent with innocence?
What it means is that: ‘Thank goodness I shall be taken away and living with you either as your wife, if I am divorced or as your mistress if there is no divorce. You will then have the right’.
Sir Henry went on to refer to the porridge incident, and quoted the passage: ‘I had the wrong porridge today. I don’t suppose it will matter. I don’t seem to care much. You will probably say I am careless. Perhaps I am, but I don’t care. Do you?’ He pointed out that the evidence was that the porridge was prepared by Mrs Lester. Mrs Thompson was asked about it, and she said that she put it in with an object, and Sir Henry’s argument on this took the line that it was an extraordinary way of showing how ‘I am prepared to go to any extreme to keep your love.’
No Trace of Poison
That, he said, was the mentality under which those letters were written. By means of writing stuff of that sort she hoped to impress upon Bywaters that she was devoted to him. He referred to the letters as ‘the outpourings of a hysterical, melodramatic brain.’ and proceeded to deal with the exhumation of Thompson’s body.
The prosecution, he said, thought the only way for them to prove whether this statement in the letters were true or untrue was to have the body of Thompson exhumed. What did they find? The found no possible trace of any sort or kind of poison. They found no trace of glass having been administered in that body.
Sir Henry emphasised the fact that when she found poison in her husband’s possession – aromatic tincture of opium – Mrs Thompson destroyed it. Was that the act of a murderess?
Dealing with the giving of quinine to Mrs Thompson, Sir Henry said that it might be that Bywaters thought she was a woman to be pandered to. He knew the sort of woman she was, and he described her as living in books and melodramatic. There is unfortunately, among us all a great deal of loose talk. So often do you hear the expression He should be shot or ‘I would like to poison him’, even in ordinary conversation.
Any man with an intrigue with a married woman might use such an expression about her husband without meaning it. If you get a woman like Mrs Thompson, she might easily say ‘I will back him up’. Don’t you think that is how this suggestion came to be used?
Sir Henry said that it has been suggested that the whole theme of the book ‘Bella Donna’ was the slow poisoning of a husband in order that the wife might live with a wealthy man. Fortunately they had Mrs Thompson’s view of Bella Donna. If it were to be suggested that the reference to digitalin meant ‘was it any use for poisoning the husband’, then they must look at her view of the woman in the book, and she had described her as a monster.
‘Is it suggested’, asked counsel, ‘that Mrs Thompson was slowly poisoning her husband? There is no evidence of it’. In a reference to the phrase ‘You’ll never leave me behind again unless things are different’, Sir Henry submitted that it meant unless the next time Bywaters came home she had got a separation or a divorce – unless she was his and could be left behind as his wife or mistress – she would not be left at home at all – they would go away, they would take the risk, and she would go anywhere.
Glass
Counsel also quoted the passage starting ‘I am not going to try it any more until you come back. And about the ‘tea tasted bitter’, and said that while it was suggested that those statements meant ‘murder him’, the answer of the defence was ‘fiction – just as much fiction as ‘Bella Donna’.
Returning to the subject of the aromatic tincture of opium found at the Thompons’ house, counsel said it was an amazing thing if this woman was desirous of her husband dying that when he found in possession of something, it was taken way from him, and that she refused to return it.
Sir Henry again read the phrase ‘the third time he found a piece’, in reference to the alleged administration of glass and asked the jury to imagine what effect such a piece of glass would have in passing through the intestines. Could it have got through without scarring the sides of the intestine?
Sir Henry referred again to one if these letters written on August 28, and containing the passage ‘I said I would wait five years and I will, darling. It is only three years and ten months now’.
That letter, said Sir Henry is a very important one indeed, because it shows what the mind of Mrs Thompson had in it on that date. She was saying then to her lover ‘We arranged five years. I am prepared to wait five years, and there are only three years and ten months yet to pass.’
Sir Henry next dealt with a letter written on September 12 in which Mrs Thompson referred to the fact that Bywaters was nearing England and expressed the view that ‘this time everything seems different. I do not hear from you. You do not talk to me by letter and help me, and I do not even know I am going to see you.’ Does that not show, said Sir Henry, what I have been putting before you, that on September 12 Mrs Thompson had in her mind that Bywaters was not so fond of her as he had been, and she was anxious to show him that she would go to any extreme to keep his love.
An Iron Band
Sir Henry quoted from a letter of September 20: ‘Cannot we be pals only?’ Do you mean always, because if you do, no, a thousand times no. It is impossible, physically and mentally. If you still only mean for a certain time it shall be so. We shall not be ourselves; we should have to pit a curb on ourselves like an iron band which does not expand.’
That is the woman, said sir Henry of September 20, writing a letter which, of course, she had no idea would ever be used against her in this light, writing what she is really feeling a fortnight before the tragedy. Then it is suggested by the prosecution that there was not only a conspiracy which could be dealt with on the other indictment, but she was a principal in the tragedy which took place on the night of October 3. I submit these last letters, one after another, show quite clearly that this charge which has been made is ill-founded, a charge made on the prejudice of these letters.
Of course, they are prejudicial to the writer, all of them, but you have to be very careful you do not allow prejudice to be turned into proof. These last letters do not prove at all what the prosecution seek to make them prove.
The Day Before
Sir Henry proceeded to deal with the letter which was said to have been written by Mrs Thompson on October 2. That letter, he said, is one of the strongest documents that you could have against the suggestion that these two persons had made a prior agreement before October 3 that Thompson should be murdered. It is of the greatest importance to see the very day before the tragedy took place what it was that was being written by Mrs Thompson to Bywaters.
Sir Henry then proceeded to read extracts from the letter, and emphasised the passage: ‘I tried so hard to find the way out tonight, but he was suspicious and still is. I suppose we must make a study of this deceit for some time longer. I hate it; I hate ever lie I have to tell to see you’. Further on the letter ad: ‘There would be scenes and he would come to 168 and interfere, and I could not bears that.’ Another passage read ‘Until we have funds we can do nothing’. ‘Do the prosecution’ asked Sir Henry, ‘say that this letter written on October 2 is evidence that these two people were intending murder the next day, or the day after or the week after? This woman was saying on October 2 ‘It is funds we want, and until we have funds we can do nothing.’
They did not want funds for murder, said Sir Henry, with a dramatic gesture, but it was essential they should have funds for the purpose of living together.
Sir Henry then passed to the letter which said ‘Don’t forget what we talked about in the tea room. I will still risk and try if you will. ‘The suggestion of the prosecution was that in that tea room in Aldersgate Street these two people were plotting murder. There was not one scrap of evidence of this. But having put all those letters before the jury and having created the prejudice these letters must create when first read without an explanation, the prosecution then said ‘The night of October 3 Thompson dies and ‘Don’t forget what we talked about in the tea room’, and the jury, said Sir Henry, were urged to believe that they were talking about murder.
Both the prisoners had been in the witness-box, and had told how the conversation was the same old story of taking Mrs Thompson away, as to her leaving her husband and risking all her future with Bywaters. Has it not been shown that that is the way to look at that sentence when the last words of the letter read ‘We have only three and three-quarter years left, darlingest; try and help me’? It is almost inconceivable that it could be suggested that such a letter shows that these two people were plotting murder.
The Night
‘Do you imagine’, continued Sir Henry ‘that a woman who at that time, according to their case, had got to the degree of having incited this man to the extent the murder is imminent, would be writing “We have only three and three-quarter years left?”.
Sir Henry Curtis-Bennet then proceeded to deal with the night of the murder, and contended that everything pointed to the killing of Thompson being an unpremeditated act by Bywaters, which he committed because he was in fear of his life. The letters provided the only evidence on which the charge of murder was framed against Mrs Thompson. Everything that was done and said by her on that night shows as strongly as it could that not only did she not know the murder was going to be committed, but that she was horrified when she found that her husband was killed.
On October 3, he said, there was a family theatre party. You have seen this woman sitting in the dock, you have seen her in the witness-box. The evidence is that it was an ordinary theatre party, that Mr and Mrs Thompson were with Mr and Mrs Laxton, that they went to the Criterion Theatre and, according to Mr Laxton were happy and normal.
On the Way Home
Do you believe that that woman could have sat with her husband and the Laxtons the whole evening, happy and in normal condition, if there was to her knowledge going to happen the tragedy which did happen to her husband? I suppose the suggestion of the prosecution is that on the journey home Mrs Thompson knew that at some particular spot, or at some spot upon that walk, her husband was to be attacked and murdered.
I must deal in a most serious way with such a suggestion. I venture to point out that there is not a bit of evidence to show that she knew anything of the sort. The evidence is that she had made an arrangement to go with her husband the next night to meet her maid in Paddington. Is that true or not? Test it! The maid did arrive the next night and did go to the house. Do you think this woman, if she was doing what the prosecution suggest, would have made that arrangement?
The prosecution declared that the tragedy took place at a dark spot, but as a matter of fact the spot was similarly light to the neighbourhood around. Mr Thompson had not been lured into any bypath. It was his ordinary way home. There is also the fact that there had been a happy theatre party. Where is the evidence that this was the result of a conspiracy between the two, and that she was a party that night to what happened or in leading her husband to the spot knowing what was going to happen?
I suggest that Bywaters made up his mind suddenly to see Thompson and settle the question of his leaving his wife You all know how matters of that sort suddenly strike people; there is nothing extraordinary about it. Mrs Thompson’s story that she was pushed aside and stunned is corroborated by her mother, who had felt the bruise.
Members of the jury, said Sir Henry, every step in this case, when you really cone to look at it in the light of the evidence, is only consistent with the story of the defence being the true one.
Piteous Cry
The piteous plea ‘Don’t, don’t’ of Mrs Thompson, her cry to the doctor ‘Why did you not come sooner and save him? and her statement to Mrs Lester ‘If they allow him to come home I will make him better’ are all consistent with the story of the defence.
Every act of Mrs Thompson on that occasion was not only consistent with her story that she did not know that the murder was going to be committed but that she was horrified when she found that her husband had been killed. Test the evidence, urged Sir Henry; don’t be satisfied with guess work.
Dealing with the statements made by Mrs Thompson to the police after the murder, Sir Henry said the jury must remember what human nature was.
Of course she knew her husband had been attacked by her lover, and had died as a result of the affray. Of course Bywaters protected Mrs Thompson, and of course Mrs Thompson protected Bywaters. Of course one should always tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth but when in a murder case two people are sitting in the dock awaiting your verdict is there anything in the fact that both kept from the police until a certain moment information about the other?
Bywaters would not have been a man if he had not tried to shield the woman. Mrs Thompson would not have been a woman if she had not tried to save her lover.
Then Mrs Thompson was taken to the police station, and that day another statement was taken from her. A statement was taken from Bywaters, and next day, the 5th, a statement in writing. Still a denial by Mrs Thompson that Bywaters was the man and by an extraordinary chance, if the story of the prosecution were to be believed, when Mrs Thompson was being taken back to the CID room she happened to pass the very room where Bywaters was standing and she saw him. That is one story.
The Other Story
The other story is that Mrs Thompson was actually taken into the room where Bywaters was, and they were confronted with one another. The woman said ‘Oh God, oh God, what can I do? Why did he do it? I didn’t want him to do to it. I must tell the truth’.
Is that the statement of a woman who was party to the killing, or is it the statement of a woman who had protected her lover as far as she could from the police, but the statement of an innocent person who, having protected her lover, realised that the time for protection had passed and that she must tell the truth? The statement Mrs Thompson then made to the police was exactly what she stated today.
A little later both these persons were charged, and what was then said? Bywaters when charged said ‘Why her? She was not aware of my movements.’ And where was the evidence in the case that she did know his movements on that night? It was all founded upon the suggestion that they had tea together and might have there discussed the murder. All the evidence is to the contrary – that she did not know that he was coming back that night. The statement of Bywaters himself was, “I made up my mind at the last moment”.
As far as Mrs Thompson is concerned you do not have to consider the case against her until you are satisfied beyond all reasonable doubt that Bywaters is guilty of murder, a decision which in my submission to you you will never come to when you consider your verdict.
I am loth to leave the discussion because I am anxious to feel and know I have dealt with the whole case as it is put against Mrs Thompson. I know I have risked your displeasure in taking up your time at such great length, but you do not grudge a few hours one way or the other spent on something which means eternity.
The Crown Replies
The Solicitor-General, in his reply for the Crown, thus stated the case against Mrs Thompson:- If Mrs Thompson and Bywaters agreed to kill Thompson, and Thompson was killed in pursuance of that agreement, then it was a verdict of murder against Mrs Thompson as well as against Bywaters. Again, if Mrs Thompson incited Bywaters to murder Thompson, and if in consequence of that incitement Bywaters did murder Thompson, similarly Mrs Thompson would be guilty of murder.
The judge interposed at this point and asked Mr Inskip how he would define the word incitement.
Mr Inskip said he would take the word persuasion, if his lordship thought it appropriate.
I am not going to suggest to the jury, he continued, that merely because some foolish or wild expressions were used in the letters it is sufficient for the jury to say that in consequence of that the murder was committed and Mrs Thompson was guilty. I agree with my learned friends for the defence that in order for you to arrive at a verdict of murder against Mrs Thompson, you must be satisfied that the suasion lasted right up to – not the moment of the murder – but substantially right up to the murder, and was the continuing cause in consequence of which the murder was committed by Bywaters.
If you think that the suasion had no real connection with the murder, and that the expressions were not really the cause of the murder, then it will not be a case of murder against Mrs Thompson.
What I ask you to consider is the progress of the idea found in the letters, and to see how it was pressed by Mrs Thompson on Bywaters and how the idea continued right up to the very last moment.
When you get to the time at which the two accused were in the tea room together on October 3, one would no longer expect to find correspondence passing between them, and if you find from the correspondence that the direction was continuing substantially up to the time of the murder, it is my duty to submit to you that that amounts to murder.
Bywaters in the witness-box suggested over and over again that the statements in the letters all referred to a proposal to commit suicide. I do not suppose you will have much difficulty in dismissing that suggestion.
Sir Henry Curtis-Bennett suggested over and over again that what was passing in the minds of these two persons was divorce or separation in order that she might go with Bywaters, and that all the other expressions were hysterical and extravagant utterances on the part of this woman.
Divorce?
The view I suggest you should consider is that there is no determination on Mrs Thompson’s part to leave her husband or give him cause for divorce. For some reason or other they both seem to have pout that out of the range of possibility. It may be that that was not a thing Mrs Thompson or Bywaters could contemplate, because if she left her husband she would not be able to continue in her position, and neither she nor Bywaters had means. Mrs Thompson seems from first to last to have done all she could to keep her connection with Bywaters from her husband.
The Solicitor-General then proceeded to quote some passages from the letters including, “Darlint, I surrendered to him unconditionally. Do you understand me?” I think it is the best way to disarm suspicion. He has several times asked me if I am happy now, and I have said, “yes, quite”, but you know that is not true, don’t you?” and “I told him I did not love him, but would try my best to make him happy and contented. It was an easy way out of a lot of things to promise this, darlint.”
I do not find in these letters, he said, that Mrs Thompson was plainly trying to get her husband to give her a divorce. That suggestion, like the suicide suggestion, did not seem to be present in their minds. Right up to the very end the proposal in those letters was that her husband should be removed by poison.
In her examination in chief Mrs Thompson did not disguise that a certain expression did refer to a proposal, either made in a moment of hysteria or, perhaps almost as a joke, that her husband should be poisoned. At any rate, the reference was to poison, however it began.
On the next page of that letter it looked as if it was made more or less seriously, because towards the end of the letter she said, “I acquiesced in everything he said or did or wants to do. At least it will disarm any suspicion je might have if we have to take any drastic measures”.
Destroyed letters
It is important to remember the visits home of Bywaters, because you have only her letters. Bywaters’ letters have all been destroyed, and the correspondence was interrupted by his visits home. You have the letters which passed while he was abroad, but what happened when he was at home you can only judge from the correspondence subsequently resumes.
The first letter after he left home was that of February 10, which begins, “You must do something this time.” That letter was written to Aden, and Bywaters had received it somewhere about March. If it is suggested, “You must do something this time” referred to the making of plans for running away with her, it is curious that the next paragraph referred to something not connected with divorce. It is the paragraph in which she relates her attempt to discover the prescription. The passage is, “I told Avis about the incident, only I told her as if it frightened and worried me”. That could only mean that she wanted to create evidence at that time which might be useful in the case of something happening which might throw suspicion on somebody as having poisoned her husband.
That part of the letter showed that Mrs Thompson was interested in disarming suspicion, but if you have any doubt, it will be dispelled after reading the last part: “It would be so easy if I had the things. I do hope I shall. How about cigarettes?” To suggest that all those passages are a question of hysteria or fun you can exclude. In a later letter there is a definite suggestion of some drug, medicine, or something. “I suppose it is not possible for you to send it to me, not at all possible. I do so chafe at wasting time.”
Then there is the passage which contains the statement, ~”This will be the last time you will go away unless things are different ……If things are the same again I am going with you. If it is to sea, I am coming too, and if it is to nowhere I am coming.”
The jury must consider whether that passage throws any light on whether there had been any discussion between Bywaters and Mrs Thompson as to what was going to happen between herself and her husband, and if they think it does throw any light they must give it proper weight.
The light bulb
On April 28 she was writing, “I used the light bulb three times.” Sir Henry Curtis-Bennett has poured ridicule on that, and said it must be the imagination of an hysterical woman because its use would have left indications on the gullet or organs of the body. It was exactly with reference to that that Dr Spilsbury was called. I called him as much to assist the defence as the Crown.
It is complained that it was elicited that the administration of glass, even in large pieces, would not necessarily have left an indication in the organs of the body. I venture to say that that was a piece of evidence the jury will think it desirable; Dr Spilsbury should have given. It may not carry the case any further, but it would have been wrong to have left you with the impression that an injury must necessarily have been found if glass had been used.
Then there is the letter in which Mrs Thompson alludes to some weakness on her husband’s part. Thompson fell ill on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, and stated that he had had another heart attack. Mrs Thompson says, “I had to laugh at this, because I knew it could not be a heart attack.” How should she know this?
On July 4 she wrote a letter referring to poison. “Why are you not sending me something?” she inquired. “We are no further advanced. If I do not mind the risk, why should you?” Mrs Thompson admitted in cross-examination that “something” was something to injure her husband. She referred to something which Bywaters had suggested to her, to which she first objected, and in which she afterwards acquiesced.
It is a serious piece of evidence against Bywaters if her statement is accepted, because she seemed to have thought that the only way in which she could keep the love of Bywaters was by falling in with these suggestions that poison should be administered to her husband. Why did she think that she would thus keep Bywaters’ love? Was it not because Bywaters was proposing this to her as the only way in which she could be his wife or live with him? From whichever point of view it is regarded this is a matter of the utmost importance.
Mr Inskip passed to the letter which concluded with the “startling” postscript, “Have you studies bichloride of mercury”, and asked What did she mean by that? Does a steward usually study bichloride of mercury, even if he was once interested in chemistry? I suggest that that passage throws a little light upon the suggestion of Mrs Thompson, that all she was doing was to humour the whims of her lover.
Dealing with the passage in Mrs Thompson’s letter, “Be jealous, so that you will do something desperate”, Mr Inskip said: You can only read that in the light of what had gone before. Here the letters stopped with one exception. As soon as Bywaters landed from his voyage Mrs Thompson telegraphed to him. She got in touch with him on every occasion that she could right up to October 4.
Acquiescence
On October 2 she wrote to him, and at the end of the letter appears a sentence which repeats a phrase that has already appeared, and which Mrs Thompson has admitted in the witness-box means what counsel suggest it does. “Don’t forget what we talked about in the tea rooms. I will still risk and try if you will. We have only three and three quarter-years left, darlint”. All these letters show, said the Solicitor-General, that right up to the end she was acquiescing in Bywaters’ suggestions.
Mrs Thompson allowed Bywaters to think that she was prepared to co-operate with him in poisoning her husband right up to the end. She never undeceived him. In trying to reconstruct the conversations between Bywaters and Mrs Thompson you can only draw inferences which can fairly be drawn by giving Mrs Thompson and Bywaters the benefit of any reasonable doubt there may be.
Nothing I have said should give you reason to think that I wish to press a single phrase, a single letter, beyond its proper importance. But Mrs Thompson left Bywaters under the impression that she was prepared to give her husband something to make him ill. She never undeceived him. Is it possible that the proposal would not be the subject of conversation between them?
If the anxiety to injure her husband had evaporated with the last letter Mrs Thompson wrote to Bywaters on his homeward journey, it is your duty to say that Mrs Thompson is not guilty. These are matters for you to decide.
Let us come to the day of the crime itself. I do not think it is relevant to consider what arrangements had been made by the Thompsons for October 4. Of course, Mr Thompson would make arrangements without knowing that he was going to be assaulted. As regards the knife, Bywaters said he always carried a knife, but no single witness has been called and asked whether they had ever seen this knife in Bywaters’ possession. I suggest that Bywaters’ story about the knife has not been corroborated.
The case for the Crown is that there was an agreement between these two persons to get rid of Mr Thompson; for if there was not an actual agreement in terms, there was an instigation by Mrs Thompson to get rid of him on which Bywaters acted so as to kill him.
Bywaters’ case should be considered apart from the letters. If he went there to kill Mr Thompson it was murder. Then you must consider Mrs Thompson’s position, and, taking her admissions as to what she intended, what she proposed to Bywaters, her acquiescence in Bywaters suggestion, and weighing everything carefully on her behalf, say whether Mrs Thompson is guilty of murder.
You have an anxious task, but it is my duty to ask you not to shrink for one moment to give a reasonable construction to these letters and to every incident in the case, even though it results in your returning a verdict of guilty of murder against the woman as well as the man.
The Judge Sums Up
Mr Justice Shearman pointed out that there were several indictments against Mrs Thompson and Bywaters, but only one of them was before the jury, the indictment of wilful murder. The case presented, he said, is that these two agreed to murder Thompson and the murder was effected by the man.
Unless you are satisfied that they did it by arrangement, there is no case against the woman. If you are satisfied there was no arrangement, but that Bywaters intended to murder Thompson, you can find him guilty of that. You should consider the man’s case first.
In this case we have had very large numbers of the public present, and I am not blaming anybody, but it is inevitable that you have been surrounded by a different atmosphere from that which prevails in the ordinary humdrum courts. You must throw that side, because this charge is a common and ordinary charge of a wife and an adulterer murdering the husband. I am not saying it is proved, but that is the charge.
I was amazed to hear it suggested that never before in the history of crime has anyone been charged with a murder when he was not the person who took a hand in inflicting the blow. These cases are not uncommon.
History is full of cases in which husbands, in order to marry someone else, wished to get rid of the wife, and wives for a similar purpose to get rid of their husbands. It was more often the man who was in that position.
During the hearing use was made by counsel of the expression, “Thank God, you have to decide it.” I hope you will not be frightened of that. You are dealing with human justice, and I dislike any reference in this court to the Deity. In trying a difficult case you must apply the ordinary principles of common sense.
You have been told that this is a case of great love. Just at the end of the letters came this passage: “He has the right by law to all that you have the right by nature and love.”
Gentlemen, if that nonsense means anything, it means that the love of a husband by his wife mean nothing because marriage is acknowledged by the law. I have no doubt that every proper-minded person is filled with disgust by such an expression. We must get rid of all that atmosphere.
It is perfectly clear that from the moment Bywaters left the house of the Thompsons the relations between him and Mrs Thompson were affectionate, and they were clandestine from beginning to end. If they were clandestine, how can you believe the evidence that they were always talking to Thompson and saying, “Give her up”, and he replied, “No, I won’t give her up.”
That being the relations of these two, you have to ask yourselves if the relations were clandestine, in considering a good deal of the evidence, what it meant, and why it was clandestine. It is said that all they were writing about, all they were saying, was merely about going off together.
Nothing prevented nowadays a woman going off with a man excepting the Divorce Court and the question of ways and means.
Their Risk
These two people said in effect that they were going to keep their relations quiet because they could not afford to risk their [positions and places in society. You must bear in mind whether you should believe particularly the evidence Bywaters gave that he and Mrs Thompson were always asking Thompson to grant a divorce and let them go off together.
I now turn to the case of Mrs Thompson, a case which I have no doubt you will carefully and anxiously consider, being desirous of doing justice to the woman.
Of course, if you find this was not murder at all, that is another matter. If there was never any intention on the part of the man to commit it, or if he never premeditated it, if he only did it because he was struck by any blow and got so excited that he did something he never thought of doing before – if, in fact, it is a case of manslaughter and not murder – that is an end of the matter, because the lady cannot be convicted of doing something done under provocation and not by design.
If this was murder, was the lady a part of it? I ask you to consider one thing – was it an arranged thing between the woman and the man? No doubt I can accept the law of the Solicitor-General that if one hires an assassin and there is a bargain that the assassin should go out and murder someone, then the person who hires the assassin is guilty of murder. And if a woman says to a man, “I want this man murdered, promise me you will do it”, and he promises her, and she believes he is going to keep his promise as soon as he can get an opportunity, believing she is genuine, and he goes out and murders someone, then she, also, is guilty of murder.
But I do not think that is quite the case you have to consider. If there was a promise by the man to do it, and when he left her that afternoon she told him she was coming back with her husband that evening; if you think that it was no surprise to her when she saw him there that evening, and if you think that when he came there that evening he came there under her direction and information, and that she knew well as soon as she set eyes upon him who he was, she was guilty of murder too. If you think he had that knife in his pocket intending to murder that man that evening, and if she knew it, it follows that she is implicated.
Was She a Party?
Was she a party committed to the murder in the sense that she was aiding and abetting – that is, giving help? It is necessary absence of evidence that makes the letters of so much importance. If two people agree to murder anyone, they do not make that agreement when anyone is listening, and
they do not commit it when anyone is looking on. Therefore it follows, if it is committed, there are no witnesses present, and it therefore necessarily follows in cases of this description you have what is called circumstantial evidence.
The mass of cases are circumstantial evidence. It rarely happens that a murder is committed when anybody is there to see. The short case of the prosecution is that for months these people were corresponding, for months the lady was writing to the man inciting him. If you think those letters were genuine and meant, in fact, what they said, that she was involved in a continual practice of deceit, it is obvious she was concealing from her husband her deceit, and not appealing to him to let her go.
She may have thought that if she ran away she would lose her position, and having lost it they would have nothing to live upon. The only question is: what were they talking about in the extracts from those letters. It is quite clear that if they had removed the husband their way would have been clear. As was said by the prosecution, that was their clear way, and that was the thing they were from time to time discussing. Having discussed it backwards and forwards in their letters; they certainly discussed it when the man came back.
“Bella Donna”
It is said that those letters not only throw an inference, a light on the motives of the man and woman, but also on the intentions of their minds on this particular day, particularly on the intentions of the woman.
Bywaters’ letters only breathe this insensate silly affection, and do not help you in any way. The prosecution says that from beginning to end Mrs Thompson’s letters show that she was seriously considering and inciting the man to assist her in poisoning her husband. If she did that, and you find that in a week or two after he came back poisoning was considered no longer possible, that he was no longer studying bichloride of mercury or reading “Bella Donna” to see if that could be of any use, they would naturally turn to some other means of effecting their object.
When you find them meeting day after day you may perhaps say, “Here is step following step, a long-studied incitement of him to help her to poison her husband.” If within five or six hours of their parting on the evening of October3 the man was assassinated from behind you should consider whether the woman sped him on his errand, whether she knew he was there, and whether as soon as it was done she had not told lies to conceal the whole facts.
The letters are full of the outpourings of a silly, but at the same time wicked, affection. What does the phrase, “Use drastic measures” mean? Does it mean divorce, or does it mean removing her husband? What does the phrase mean. “Will these things I am going to do make any difference?” It is for you to judge the plain meaning of the words, “if I poison him you may think badly of e afterwards.”
The plain meaning of the phrase in one letter that “the tea tasted bitter” was that she had tried something and failed.
The letters formed a very strong case that Mrs Thompson was writing to Bywaters who made the suggestion. It is for you to say whether you believe that. You must consider what was done before. The two prisoners met frequently. They met at 5.30 on that evening, and at 12.30 that night the woman’s husband was lying dead, killed by a dagger.
Where was it done? It was in a lonely road in a place where no houses fronted except the house of one of the witnesses, and there were only the backs of other houses.
The Woman’s Voice
It is said by the prosecution that the moment Mrs Thompson saw Bywaters she expected him. The prosecution asks you to believe that she saw the murder done. What evidence is there of that? Mrs Thompson denied it.
There is the evidence of Mr Webber, who said he heard a noise and heard the words ‘”Oh, don’t”, in piteous tones. He was some way off. The voice was that of Mrs Thompson. It was three or five minutes before Mr Webber came out, and then he heard a doctor asking had he (Thompson) been ill.
“Don’t, don’t” in piteous tones rather suggested that Mrs Thompson objected to the murder. If you believe that she objected to them murder it means that she was looking on and seeing it. It is quite incompatible with her statement that she was senseless and only recovered afterwards.
Her story is that she knew nothing of it. If her story is true, and when she came to she saw the scuffle, she could not have called out, ”Don’t, don’t`’, while her husband was being struck.
If you believe Mr Webber’s evidence it completely disproves what Mrs Thompson said about being knocked senseless. It is almost incredible that she should not have seen what happened. It is hard to believe a sudden push against the wall rendered her senseless.
All the witnesses said that Mrs Thompson was very agitated, and one of them said she did not know what she was saying, yet, from the beginning to the end she was shielding the man. She was not speaking the truth. If she had lost mental control, it was not to the extent of telling.
Miss Pittard, one of the witnesses, stated that Mrs Thompson said, “Will you help me? My husband is ill; he is bleeding.” I asked what had happened and she said, “When I turned to speak to him, blood was pouring out of his mouth.” That was the story given to Miss Pittard. Not a word more – he was ill. You have to consider whether this was part of the pre-arranged plan.
Mrs Thompson left the doctor under the impression that her husband was only ill. The evidence of the police constables contained the phrases spoken by Mrs Thompson, “They will blame me for this”, and “I don’t know what happened. I only know he dropped down and said ’oo-er’. ”You will doubtless bear in mind that all the witnesses said she was agitated. It is perfectly clear that she was concealing. On her own showing she knew Bywaters was there.
If you think she saw the crime and the stabs, then, from beginning to end, there is a series of descriptions as to the real facts of the case. Was she really out of her mind, or had she got sufficient sense to know that she was concealing what had happened?
At the police station Mrs Thompson exclaimed, when he saw Bywaters there, “Oh, God, why did he do it? I did not want him to do it”. You must not, of course, use that against Bywaters, but, again, it is noticeable that she is laying the blame on him and excusing herself.
All that I say to you is, if you find him guilty of murder, was this woman an active party to it? Did she direct him to do it? Did she know he was going, and are you satisfied she was implicated directly in it?
Her own story is that she knew nothing about it, that she was surprised and brushed aside and fainted. Her story with regard to the letters is that she was merely saying that she was poisoning her husband to create an appearance for Bywaters, and that she is quite innocent of this charge.
You will not convict her unless you are satisfied that she agreed that Bywaters should murder her husband, that she knew he was going to do it, and that he did it by arrangement with her. If you are satisfied of that, you will convict; if not, you will acquit her.
THE LETTERS
[EDITOR’S NOTE: Douglas’s quotations from Edith Thompson’s letters are highly selective and at times primly censored, as one might expect from one of the chief advocates of sexual censorship in the 1920s.
To let the reader judge for themselves the extent to which Douglas is rewriting some of the letters – thus, for example, Edith’s ‘comforts the woman’ becomes Douglas’s ‘covets the woman’, and he edits out (among others), Percy’s striking his wife or Edith’s references to refusing sex to her husband – in each case Douglas’s version of a letter is followed, in square brackets, immediately by Edith’s (and Freddy’s) original letter.]
What did Edith Thompson Mean?
December 1921
It is the man who has no right who generally covets the woman… But, darling, it is not always going to be, is it? You will have the right soon, won’t you? Say yes. …
The time goes slowly enough, in all conscience. I don’t seem to care who spends the money as long it helps me to dance through the hours. I have had the wrong porridge today, but I don’t suppose it will matter. I don’t seem to care much either way. You will probably say I’m careless. I suppose I am, but I don’t care.
[EDITH THOMPSON: “It is the man who has no right, who generally comforts the woman who has wrongs … You will have the right soon, won’t you? Say yes. … but it will help to pass some time away, it goes slowly enough in all conscience – I dont seem to care who spends the money, as long it helps me to dance through the hours. I had the wrong Porridge today, but I dont suppose it will matter, I dont seem to care much either way. You’ll probably say I’m careless and I admit I am, but I dont care.]
January 3rd, 1922
Immediately I receive a second letter I destroy the first, and when I get the third I destroy the second. Now, the only one I have is the ‘Dear Edie’ one, which I am going to keep as it may be useful.
… I have surrendered to him unconditionally now, if you understand me. I think it the best way to disarm any suspicion He has several times asked me if I am happy now and I’ve said ‘Yes quite’, but you know that’s not the truth, don’t you.
[EDITH THOMPSON: Immediately I have received a second letter, I have destroyed the first and when I got the third I destroyed the second and so on, now the only one I have is the ‘Dear Edie’ one written to 41, which I am going to keep. It may be useful, who knows?
Darlint, I’ve surrendered to him unconditionally now – do you understand me? I think it the best way to disarm any suspicion, in fact he has several times asked me if I am happy now and I’ve said ‘Yes quite’, but you know that’s not the truth, don’t you.]
Another communication contained the phrases:
Darling, you must do something this time. I am not really impatient, but opportunities come and go, as they have to, because I’m helpless, and I think, and think, and think. It will perhaps never come again. About 2 a.m. he woke me up and asked for water as he felt ill. I got it for him and asked him what the matter was, and this is what he told me – whether it was to frighten me, I don’t know, at any rate it didn’t. He said a man he knew in town had given him a prescription to drive away insomnia, and he had made it up and taken it to be with him. He certainly looked ill. I have looked for the prescription everywhere, but cannot find it.
[EDITH THOMPSON: Darlint – You must do something this time – I’m not really impatient – but opportunities come and go by – they have to – because I’m helpless and I think and think and think – perhaps – it will never come again.
I want to tell you about this. On Wednesday we had words – in bed – Oh you know darlint – over that same old subject and he said – it was all through you I’d altered.
I told him if he ever again blamed you to me for any difference there might be in me, I’d leave home that minute and this is not an idle threat.
He said lots of other things and I bit my lip – so that I shouldn’t answer – eventually went to sleep. About 2 a.m. he woke me up and asked for water as he felt ill. I got it for him and asked him what the matter was and this is what he told me – whether its the truth I dont know or whether he did it to frighten me, anyway it didn’t. He said – someone he knows in town (not the man I previously told you about) had given him a prescription for a draught for insomnia and he’d had it made up and taken it and it made him ill. He certainly looked ill and his eyes were glassy. I’ve hunted for the said prescription everywhere and cant find it ]
February 22
I suppose, dear, it is not possible for you to send it to me – not at all possible. I do chafe at wasting time darlint.
[EDITH THOMPSON: I suppose it isn’t possible for you to send it to me – not at all possible, I do so chafe at wasting time darlint.]
March 31
This time really will be the last time you will go away like this. We said it before, darling, I know, and we failed, but there will be no failure this next time. There must not be. If things are the same again, then I am going with you, wherever it is. I am going too, and if it is to nowhere, I am going also, darling.
[EDITH THOMPSON: This time really will be the last you will go away .. like things are, won’t it? We said it before darlint, I know and we failed … but there will be no failure this next time darlint, there mustn’t be … I’m telling you … if things are the same again then I’m going with you … wherever it is … if its to sea … I’m coming too and if its to nowhere – I’m also coming darlint.]
April 1
Dont keep this piece. I am not going to try any more until you come back. He was telling his mother the circumstances of my Sunday morning escapade, and he put great stress on the fact of the tea tasting bitter as if something had been put into it. Now I think whatever else I try at any time again will taste bitter. He will recognise it and be made suspicious still, and if the quantity is still not successful it will injure another chance I may have of trying when you come home. … He says to his people he fought and fought with himself to keep conscious. ‘I will never die except naturally. I am like the cat with nine lives’ he said. He detailed to them an occasion when he was young and nearly suffocated by gas fumes. I wish we had not got electric light. It would be easy. I am going to try the glass again occasionally when it is safe. I have an electric light globe this time.
[EDITH THOMPSON: Dont keep this piece.
About the Marconigram – do you mean one saying Yes or No, because I shant send it darlint I’m not going to try any more until you come back.
I made up my mind about this last Thursday.
He was telling his Mother etc. the circumstances of my ‘Sunday morning escapade’ and he puts great stress on the fact of the tea tasting bitter ‘as if something had been put in it’ he says. Now I think whatever else I try in it again will still taste bitter – he will recognise it and be more suspicious still and if the quantity is still not successful – it will injure any chance I may have of trying when you come home.
Do you understand?
I thought a lot about what you said of Dan.
Darlint, don’t trust him – I don’t mean don’t tell him anything because I know you never would – What I mean is don’t let him be suspicious of you regarding that – because if we were succesful in the action – darlint circumstances may afterwards make us want many friends – or helpers and we must have no enemies – or even people that know a little too much. Remember the saying, ‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.’
Darlint we’ll have no one to help us in the world now and we musnt [sic] make enemies unnecessarily.
He says – to his people – he fought and fought with himself to keep conscious – ‘I’ll never die, except naturally – I’m like a cat with nine lives’ he said and detailed to them an occasion when he was young and nearly suffocated by gas fumes.
I wish we had not got electric light – it would be easy.
I’m going to try the glass again occasionally – when it is safe Ive got an electric light globe this time.]
April 24
I used the light bulb three times; the first time he found a piece, so I have given it up until you come home.
[EDITH THOMPSON: I used the ‘light bulb’ three times but the third time – he found a piece – so I’ve given it up – until you come home.]
May 1
I don’t think we are failures in other things, and we must not be in this. We must not give up as we said. No, we shall have to wait if we fail again. Darlint, fate cannot always turn against us, and if it is we must fight it. You and I are strong now. We must be stronger. We must learn to be patient. Well, wait on, darling, and you will try and get some money, and then we can go away and not worry about anybody or anything. You said it was enough for an elephant. Perhaps it was. But you don’t allow for the taste, making only a small quantity to be taken. It sounded like a reproach – was it meant to be? Darlint I tried hard – you won’t know how hard, because you were not there to see, and I can’t tell you all, but I did. I do want you to believe I did for both of us. I was buoyed up with the hope of the ‘light bulb’ and I used a lot – big pieces, too –and it had no effect. I quite expected to be able to send that cable, but no, nothing has happened from it, and now your letter tells me about the bitter taste again. Oh darlint, I do feel so down and unhappy. Would not the stuff make some small pills, coated with soap, and dipped into liquorice, like Beecham’s – try while you are away. Our boy had to have his thumb operated on because he had a piece of glass in it; that is what made me try that method again – but I suppose, as you say, he is not normal. I know I feel I shall never get him to take a sufficient quantity of anything bitter.
[EDITH THOMPSON: I don’t think we’re failures in other things and we mustn’t be in this. We mustn’t give up as we said. No, we shall have to wait if we fail again. Darlint, Fate can’t always turn against us and if it is we must fight it – You and I are strong now. We must be stronger. We must learn to be patient. We must have each other darlint. Its meant to be I know feel it is because I love you such a lot – such a love was not meant to be in vain. It will come right I know one day, if not by your efforts some other way. We’ll wait eh darlint, and you’ll try and get some money and then we can go away and not worry about anybody or anything. You said it was enough for an elephant. Perhaps it was. But you don’t allow for the taste making only a small quantity to be taken. It sounded like a reproach was it meant to be?
Darlint I tried hard – you won’t know how hard – because you weren’t there to see and I can’t tell you all – but I did – I did want you to believe I did for both of us.
You will see by my last letter to you I havn’t forgotten the key [is this the key to Carlton & Prior for trysting after hours?] and I didn’t want reminding – I didn’t forget that – altho’ I did forget something last time, didn’t I, although it was only small.
We have changed our plans about Llandudno – it is too expensive we are going to Bournemouth July 8th, and while Avis was over last night he asked her to come with us. The suggestion was nothing to do with me – it was his entirely and altho’ I wouldn’t have suggested such a thing for the world – I’m glad – because if things are still the same and we do go – a third party helps to make you forget that you always lead the existence we do.
Au revoir for the week end darlint.
The mail was in this morning and I read your letter darlint, I cried – I couldn’t help it – such a lot it sounded so sad I cried for you I could exactly feel how you were feeling – I’ve felt like that so often and I know.
I was buoyed up with the hope of the ‘light bulb’ and I used a lot – big pieces too – not powdered – and it has no effect – I quite expected to be able to send that cable – but no – nothing has happened from it and now your letter tells me about the bitter taste again. Oh darlint, I do feel so down and unhappy.
Wouldn’t the stuff make pills coated together with soap and dipped in liquorice powder – like Beechams – try while you’re away. Our Boy had to have his thumb operated on because he had a piece of glass in it that’s what made me try that method again – but I suppose you say he is not normal, I know I feel I shall never get him to take a sufficient quantity of anything bitter.]
June 13
On Thursday he was on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and said he was dying, and wanted to – he had another heart attack through me. Darling, I had to laugh at this because I knew it could not be a heart attack. When he saw this had no effect on me, he got up and stormed. I said exactly what you told me to, and he replied that he knew that was what I wanted and he was not going to give it to me. It would make things far too easy for both of us, especially for you.
[EDITH THOMPSON: On Thursday – he was on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and said he was dying and wanted to – he had another heart attack – thro me.
Darlint I had to laugh at this because I knew it couldn’t be a heart attack.
When he saw this had no effect on me – he got up and stormed – I said exactly what you told me to and he replied that he knew that’s what I wanted and he wasnt going to give it to me – it would make things far too easy for both of you (meaning you and me) especially for you he said.]
No date
Then we were pals; this year we seem no further advanced. Why should you not send me something? You never do. You still have your own way always. If I do not mind the risk, why should you? –
From then onwards everything has gone well with our lives. Darling. I should not mind if I could feel some day I should make up to you for some of the unhappiness I have caused you. I feel it shall come right, but there is no conviction in it. Why cannot we see into the future?
[EDITH THOMPSON: then we were pals and this year we seem no further advanced.
Why arnt you sending me something – I wanted you to – you never do what I ask you darlint – you still have your own way always – If I don’t mind the risk why should you? …
From then onwards everything has gone wrong with our lives – I don’t mean to say it was right before – at least mine wasn’t right – but I was quite indifferent to it being either right or wrong and you darlint – you hadn’t any of the troubles – or the worries you have now – you were quite free in mind and body – and now through me you are not – darlint, I am sorry I shouldn’t mind if I could feel that some day I should be able to make up to you for all the unhappiness I have caused in your life – but I can’t feel that darlint – I keep on saying to myself that ‘it will – it shall come right’ – but there is no conviction behind it – why can’t we see into the future?]
No date
Darlingest – I don’t quite understand you now … You say ‘Can we be pals only? It will make it easier.’ Do you mean for always? If you do, no. A thousand times. We cannot be pals for always. It would be impossible physically and mentally. … It must be still the hope of all or the finish of all. If you only mean for a certain time, and you think it best, it shall be so. I do not see how it can be easier
You sound very disappointing when you say about time passes and with it some of the pain … Does some of the pain you feel pass with time? Perhaps it does. Things seem so much easier to forget with a man, but with a woman its always the same. Darling, my pain gets more and more hurtful . … Yes, darling, you are jealous of him and want you to be jealous. He has the right by law to all you have the right to by nature and love. Yes, darlint, be jealous so much that you will do something desperate.
I tried so hard to find a way out tonight, darlingest, but he was suspicious, and still is. I suppose we must make a study of this deceit some time longer … Don’t forget what we talked about in the tea-room. I will still risk and try if you will. We have only have three and three-quarter years left, darling.
Will you please take these letters back now? I have nowhere to keep them, except a small cash box, and I want that for my own letters only, and I feel scared to death in case anybody else should read them.
[EDITH THOMPSON: Darlingest boy – I don’t quite understand you about ‘Pals,’ You say ‘Can we be Pals only, Peidi, it will make it easier.’
Do you mean for always? Because if you do, No, no, a thousand times. We can’t be ‘pals’ only for always darlint – it’s impossibe physically and mentally.
– it must be still ‘the hope of all’ or ‘the finish of all.’
If you still only mean for a certain time and you think it best, darlint it shall be so – I don’t see how it will be easier
You sounded very despondent when you say about ‘Time passes and with it some of the pain – Fate ordained our lot to be hard.’ Does some of the pain you feel pass with time? Perhaps it does – things seem so much easier to forget with a man – his environment is always different – but with a woman its always the same.
Darlint my pain gets less and less bearable – it hurts more and more every day, every hour really.
Yes, darlint you are jealous of him – but I want you to be – he has the right by law to all that you have the right to by nature and love – yes darlint be jealous, so much that you will do something desperate.
I tried so hard to find a way out tonight darlingest but he was suspicious and still is – I suppose we must make a study of this deceit for some time longer
Don’t forget what we talked in the Tea Room, I’ll still risk and try if you will – we only have 3 ¾ years left darlingest.
Darlingest, – Will you please take these letters back now! I have nowhere to keep them, except a small cash box, I have just bought and I want that for my own letters only and I feel scared to death in case anybody else should read them.]
That Compact
It is Friday today, that loose-end sort of day (without you), preceding the inevitable week-end. I don’t know what to do – to just stop thinking very, very sad thoughts, darling, they will come, I try to stifle them, but it is no use. Last night I lay awake all night thinking of you and of everything connected with you and me. … All I could think about last night was that compact we made. Shall we have to carry it through? Don’t let’s darlint. I do like to live and be happy – not for a little while, but for all the while you still love me. Death seemed horrible last night when you think about it, darling, but it does seem a horrible thing to die when you have never been happy, really happy for one little minute. … Yesterday, I met a woman who had lost three husbands in eleven years and not through the war. Two were drowned and one committed suicide, and some people I know cannot lose one. How unfair everything is. …Today is the Derby Cup, and I have some money on Front Line. I don’t suppose it will win. I am never lucky, not in anything darling, except in knowing you.
People tell me I have got fatter in the face this last fortnight. Darlint, do you put on flesh when your heart is aching? When I lie awake at night and think, the small ray of hope seems so frail, so futile, that I can hardly make myself keep it alive. … He asked me why I was not happy, and I said I did not feel unhappy, just indifferent. I suppose I was content to just jog along just before I knew what real happiness could be like, before I loved you darlint. Of course I did not tell him that, but I did tell him I did not love him and he seemed astounded. I told him I did not love him, but that I would do my share to try and make him happy and contented. It was an easy way out of a lot of things to promise this. You say, do I remember that Monday Oct. 31. I will never forget it. It seemed so grand to see you again, so grand to just feel you hold my shoulders, while you kissed me. I did feel happy then.
[EDITH THOMPSON: It is Friday today, that loose-end sort of day (without you) preceding the inevitable week end. I dont know what to do – to just stop thinking, thinking very very sad thoughts darlint, they will come, I try to stifle them, but its no use.
Last night I lay awake all night – thinking of you and of everything connected with you and me.
All I could think about last night was that compact we made. Shall we have to carry it thro? dont let us darlint. Id like to live and be happy – not for a little while, but for all the while you still love me. Death seemed horrible last night – when you think about it darlint, it does seem a horrible thing to die, when you have never been happy really happy for one little minute.
Yesterday I met a woman who had lost 3 husbands in eleven yars and not thro the war, 2 were drowned and one committed suicide and some people I know cant lose one. How unfair everything is.
Today [Friday 18 November 1921] is the Derby Cup and I have some money on ‘Front Line.’ I dont suppose it will win, Im never lucky not in anything darlint, except in knowing you.
People tell me I have got fatter in the face this last fortnight, darlint do you put on flesh when your heart is aching, I suppose you must if I am fatter because my heart aches such a lot. When I lay awake at nights and think, the small ray of hope seems so frail, so futile, that I can hardly make myself keep it alive.
He asked me why I wasn’t happy now – what caused the unhappiness and I said I didn’t feel unhappy – just indifferent, and he said I used to feel happy once. Well, I suppose I did, I suppose even I would have called it happiness, because I was content to let things just jog along, and not think, but that was before I knew what real happiness could be like, before I loved you darlint. Of course I did not tell him that but I did tell him I didn’t love him and he seemed astounded.
I told him I didnt love him but that I would do my share to try and make him happy and contented. It was an easy way out of a lot of things to promise this darlint.
You say do I remember? that Monday Oct. 31. I’ll never forget it, it seemed so grand to see you again, so grand to just feel you hold my shoulders, while you kissed me, so grand to hear you say just 3 ordinary commonplace words ‘how are you.’ Yes I did feel happy then.]
No date
… I have promised to go to the Café – tonight. Can you guess with whom? God knows why I said so. I don’t want to, especially with him, but it will help to pass some time away. It does go very slowly. I have no conscience … We had – was it a row? – anyway, a heated argument again last night. It started from the usual source, and he wanted to know why, as soon as he went in August, I was different. Had I transferred my affections from him to you? Darlint, it was a great temptation to say ‘yes’ but I didn’t. He said we were cunning, the pair of us, and other things that I forget. Also that I told lies about not knowing you were coming home on Saturday. When I said you hadn’t written to me he said ‘That’s another lie.’ Now, darlint, I am beginning to think I have gone wring in the way I manage this affair. I think perhaps it would have been better had I acquiesced in everything he said and did or wanted to do. At least it would have disarmed any suspicion he might have, and that would have been better if we have to use drastic measures. Darlint, understand?
[EDITH THOMPSON: I have promised to go to the ‘Café Marguerite’ to dinner tonight. Can you guess with whom? God knows why I said Id go, I dont want to a bit especially with him, but it will help to pass some time away, it goes slowly enough in all conscience – I dont seem to care who spends the money, as long it helps me to dance through the hours. I had the wrong Porridge today, but I dont suppose it will matter, I dont seem to care much either way. You’ll probably say I’m careless and I admit I am, but I dont care –
We had – was it a row – anyway a very heated argument again last night (Sunday). It started through the usual source, I resisted – and he wanted to know why since you went in August I was different –‘had I transferred my affections from him to you.’ Darlint its a great temptation to say ‘Yes’ but I did not. He said we were cunning, the pair of us and lots of other things that I forget, also that I told lies about not knowing you were coming home on that Sat. He said ‘Has he written to you since he has been away,’ and when I said ‘No’ he said ‘That’s another lie.’ I think perhaps it would have been better had I acquiesced in everything he said and did or wanted to do. At least it would have disarmed any suspicion he might have and that would have been better if we have to use drastic measures darlint – understand?]
No date
Darlint, – I feel the beastliest, most selfish little wretch that’s alive. Here have I been slating you all this trip for not talking to me, and I get all those letters from Marseilles, darlint, I love them, and don’t take any notice of me. I know I am selfish, and you ought to know by now. I told you, haven’t I, heaps of times? Now, what have I got to talk to you about? Heaps of things, I believe, but the most important thing is that I love you and am feeling so happy that you are coming back to England, even though, perhaps, I am not going to see you … You know best about that, darlint, and I am going to leave everything to you – only I would like to help you, can’t I. Of course he knows you are due on the 7th, and will be very suspicious of me from then, and I suppose I wont be able to see you, will I? You know, darlint. Don’t have the slightest worrying thoughts about letters, as ‘to be careful I’ve been cruel’, to myself I mean. … Darlint, I never want to refuse you anything. It is lovely for me to feel like that about you. I think by this you can understand how much I love you. … The French phrase, darlint, if I can remember rightly, was ‘I cannot wait so long, I want time to go faster.’ You use the iron and I use my heel, and it is such a long time ago, or seems so, since I asked a question to which your ‘I did that’ is the answer, but I have forgotten what my question was.
[JAMES DOUGLAS: The letter went on to say]: ‘Darlint, I’ll do and say all and everything you tell me to, only remember not to do anything that will leave me behind by myself’.
[EDITH THOMPSON: Darlint, I’ve felt the beastliest most selfish little wretch that is alive. Here have I been slating you all this trip for not talking to me and I get all those letters from Marseilles darlint, I love them and don’t take any notice of me, I know I am selfish – and you ought to know by now, I told you haven’t I? heaps of times. Now what have I got to talk to you about? heaps of things I believe – but the most important thing is, that I love you and am feeling so happy that you are coming back to England, even tho perhaps I am not going to see you – you know best about that darlint, and I am going to leave everything to you – only I would like to help you, can’t I. Of course he knows you are due in on the 7th and will be very suspicious of me from then, so I suppose I wont be able to see you – will I? You know darlint, don’t have the slightest worrying thoughts about letters as ‘to be careful I’ve been cruel’ to myself I mean.
Immediately I have received a second letter, I have destroyed the first and when I got the third I destroyed the second and so on, now the only one I have is the ‘Dear Edie’ one written to 41, which I am going to keep. It may be useful, who knows?
Darlint, I’ve surrendered to him unconditionally now – do you understand me? I think it the best way to disarm any suspicion, in fact he has several times asked me if I am happy now and I’ve said ‘Yes quite’, but you know that’s not the truth, don’t you.
Darlint, I never want to refuse you anything, its lovely for me to feel like that about you, I think by this you can understand how much I love you.
The French phrase darlint, if I can remember rightly was ‘I cant wait so long, I want time to go faster.’
You used iron and I used my heel and its such a long time ago, or seems so since I asked a question, to which your ‘I did that’ is the answer, that, I have forgotten what my question was.
Darlint Ill do and say all and everything you tell me to, about friend, only remember not to do anything that will leave me behind by myself.]
A Conscience-Prick
Thank you for those greetings darlint; but you won’t always be ‘The man with no rights’, will you? Tell me you wont. Shout at me – make me hear and believe, darlint. About that ‘do you’ I believe I felt about the worst I have ever felt when that happened. I think when I noticed what I had done I had a conscience prick and felt ‘I don’t care what happens, and I don’t suppose he does really’. But you would care, wouldn’t you, darlint? Tell me yes. If I really thought you wouldn’t, darlint, I shouldn’t want to die, I just want to go mad.
[EDITH THOMPSON: Thanking you for those greetings darlint, but you wont always be ‘The man with no right’ will you – tell me you wont – shout at me – make me hear and believe darlint, about that ‘Do you’ I believe I felt about the worst I have ever felt when that happened I think when I noticed what I had done I had a conscience prick and felt ‘I dont care what happens and I dont suppose he does really ‘but you would care wouldn’t you darlint? tell me yes, if I really thought you wouldnt darlint I shouldnt want to die, I just want to go mad.]
No date
Darlint, – I’ve been beastly ill again this week – only with a cold though, but it was a pretty rotten one – pains all over me, I caught it from him. I asked him when he had his if he would sleep in the little room and he said ‘No, you never catch my colds, I always catch yours’. So we remained as we were, and I caught it badly. Darlint, in a hundred years you would never guess what happened on Sunday. I will tell you, but you mustn’t laugh. I was given my breakfast in bed. I think he was feeling sorry about not sleeping alone when I asked him, so did that. Darlingest boy, it is four whole weeks today since you went, and there is still another four more to go. I wish I could go to sleep for all that time, and wake up just in time to dress and sit by the fire – waiting for you to come in on March 18. I don’t think I’d come to meet you, darling; it always seems so ordinary and casual for me to see you after such a long time in the streets. I shall always want you to come straight to our home and take me in both your arms and hold me for hours – and you can’t do that in the street or the station, can you, darlint? … Darlint, pleased, happy, hopeful and yet sorry. That is how I feel. Can you understand? Sorry that I have got to remain inactive for more than another whole month, and I had thought by that time I should be seeing you for just as long and every time you wanted me. However, for that glorious state of existence I suppose we must wait for another three or four months. Darlint, I am glad you succeeded. Oh, how glad I cannot explain. When your note came I did not know how to work at all. All I kept thinking of was your success – and my ultimate success, I hope. You are going to love me always aren’t you? Even when you are cross with me, and when you are I’ll ruffle all your hair lots of times until you have to melt and smile at me. Then you’ll take me in both your arms and hold me so tight I can’t breathe, and kiss me all over until I have to say ‘Stop, stop at once.’
Why do you say to me ‘Never run away. Face things and argue and beat everybody.’ Do I ever run away? Have I ever run away? And do you think I should be likely to now? That is twice this trip something you have said has hurt me.
Ready with every detail
You will have to kiss all that hurt away – ‘cos it is really hurt – it’s not sham, darlint. I am not going to talk to you any more – I cannot, and I don’t think I have shirked, have I – except, darlint, to ask you again to think out all the plans and methods for me, and wait and wait so anxiously now – for the time when we’ll be with each other – even though it’s only once – for ‘one little hour’ – our kind of hour, and not the song kind, and just to tell you that Peidi loves you always. Will you do all the thinking and planning for me, darlint – for this thing – be ready with every little detail, when I see you – because you know more about this thing than I, and I am relying on you for all plans and instructions – only just the act I’m not. I’m wanting that man to lean on now, darlint, and I shall, hard – so be prepared. In this case I shan’t be able to rely wholly on myself, and I know you won’t fail me. I can’t remember if I only sent one letter to Port Said. If it was a very long one, perhaps there only was one, but even if there was not one, it doesn’t matter much, does it? There would be no identification marks in it either for you or me, and the loss of one letter seems such a small thing when you and I are looking forward to such big things, darlint, this time. What about Dr Wallis’ case? You said it was interesting, but you did not discuss it with me.’
[EDITH THOMPSON: Darlint, I’ve been beastly ill again this week – only with a cold tho, but it was a pretty rotten one, pains all over me. I caught it from him, I asked him when he had his if he would sleep in the little room and he said ‘No, you never catch my colds, I always catch yours’ so we remained as we were and I caught it badly.
Darlint in a hundred years you’d never guess what happened on Sunday – I’ll tell you, but you mustn’t laugh I was given my breakfast in bed, I think he was feeling sorry about not sleeping alone when I asked him, so did that.
Darlingest boy, it is four whole weeks today since you went and there is still another four more to go – I wish I could go to sleep for all that time and wake up just in time to dress and sit by the fire, – waiting for you to come in on March 18, I dont think Id come to meet you darlint it always seems so ordinary and casual for me to see you after such a long time – in the street, I shall always want you to come straight to our home and take me in both your arms and hold me for hours – and you can’t do that in the street or a station can you darlint
Darlint, pleased, happy, hopeful and yet sorry – thats how I feel, can you understand? Sorry that I’ve got to remain inactive for more than another whole month, and I had thought by that time I should be seeing you for just as long and every time you wanted me. However, for that glorious state of existence I suppose we must wait for another three or four months. Darlint, I am glad you succeeded Oh so glad I cant explain, when your note came I didn’t know how to work at all – all I kept thinking of was your success – and my ultimate success I hope.
I suppose it isn’t possible for you to send it to me – not at all possible, I do so chafe at wasting time darlint.
You are going to love me always aren’t you – even when you’re cross with me, and when you are I’ll ruffle all your hair lots of times until you have to melt – and smile at me – then you’ll take me in both your arms and hold me so tight I can’t breathe, and kiss me all over until I have to say ‘Stop, stop at once.’
Why do you say to me ‘Never run away, face things and argue and beat everybody.’ Do I ever run away? Have I ever run away? and do you think I should be likely to now? That’s twice this trip, something you have said has hurt. You will have to kiss all that hurt away – ‘cos it does really hurt – it’s not sham darlint.
I’m not going to talk to you any more – I can’t and I don’t think I’ve shirked have I? except darlint to ask you again to think out all the plans and methods for me and wait and wait so anxiously now – for the time when we’ll be with each other – even tho’ it’s only once – for ‘one little hour’ – our kind of hour, not the song kind.
and Just to tell you
(Peidi) Loves you always.
Will you do all the thinking and planning for me darlint – for this thing – be ready with every little detail when I see you – because you know more about this thing than I, and I am relying on you for all plans and instructions – only just the act I’m not. I’m wanting that man to lean on now darlint, and I shall lean hard – so be prepared.
In this case I shan’t be able to rely wholly on myself, and I know you won’t fail me. I can’t remember if I only sent one letter to Port Said, if it was a very long one perhaps there only was one, but even if there wasn’t – it doesn’t matter much, does it? There would be no identification marks in it either, for you or me, and the loss of one letter seems such a small thing when you and I are looking forward to such big things darlint, this time?]
No date
Darlingest Boy, – This will be the last letter to England – I do wish it wasn’t. I wish you were never going away any more – never going to leave me. I want you always to be with me. Darlint, about the doubt – no, I have never really doubted, but I do like to hear you reassure me … I always say and think and believe nobody on this earth is sincere – except the one man, the one who is mine. Pride of possession is a nice feeling, don’t you think, darlint? – when it exists between you and me… .After tonight I am going to die – not really, but put on the mask again, darlint, until May 26. Doesn’t it seem years and years away? Darlint – You are not, and never will be satisfied with half, and I don’t want to give half – all, every ounce of me that lives to you. You say you’re sorry for some things that happened. Yes, I suppose I am in a way, but, darlint, I feel I don’t do enough. I want to show you how much my love is, and when it is something you want, and you do want it just at that moment, don’t you, I want to give it. I want to stifle all my own feelings for you.
[EDITH THOMPSON: Darlingest Boy, This will be the last letter to England – I do wish it wasn’t, I wish you were never going away any more, never going to leave me – I want you always to be with me.
Darlint, about the doubt – no, I’ve never really doubted – but I do like to hear you reassure me … I like you to write it … so that I can see it in black and white and I always want you to say, ‘Please do believe darlint that I don’t really doubt … its just a vain feeling I have to hear you say things to me … nice things – things that you mean … which most people don’t. I wonder if you understand the feeling – perhaps you don’t – but I always say and think and believe nobody on this earth is sincere – except the one man – the one who is mine.
Pride of possession is a nice feeling don’t you think darlint – when it exists between you and me.
After tonight I am going to die … not really … but put on the mask again darlint until the 26th May – doesn’t it seem years and years away?
This time really will be the last you will go away .. like things are, won’t it? We said it before darlint, I know and we failed … but there will be no failure this next time darlint, there mustn’t be … I’m telling you … if things are the same again then I’m going with you … wherever it is … if its to sea … I’m coming too and if its to nowhere – I’m also coming darlint. You’ll never leave me behind again, never, unless things are different.
Darlint you’re not and never will be satisfied with half and I don’t ever want to give half – all every ounce of me that lives to you.
You say you’re sorry for some things that happened. Yes! I suppose I am in a way darlint, I feel I don’t do enough. I want to show you how large my love is and when it is something you want and you do want it just at that moment don’t you – I want to give it you – I want to stifle all my own feelings for you.]
May 1
The mail was in this morning, and I read your letter, darlint. I cried, I couldn’t help it, such a lot. It sounded so sad, I cried for you. I could exactly feel how you were feeling. I felt like that so often that I know. …
You tell me not to leave finger marks on the box. Do you know I didn’t think of the box, but I did think of the glass or cup, whatever was used. I wish I could do something. Think for me, do. I do want to help. If you only knew how helpless and selfish I feel letting you do such a lot for me, and I doing nothing for you. If ever we are lucky enough to be happy, darling, I will love you such a lot. It is s a terrible feeling to want, really want to give all and everything, and not to be able to give a tiny little thing just through circumstances. I cannot bear to think of it – a whole four weeks and things the same as they are now. All that lying and scheming and subterfuge to obtain one little hour in each day, when by right of nature, and our love, we should be together for all the twenty-four in every day.The pain gets too heavy to bear, but if things were different what a grand life we should start together. Perhaps we could have that one week. I could be ill from shop. More lies, but the last. Do experiment with the pills while you are away, please darling. No, we two, two hearts have not yet come to the end of our tether’.
[EDITH THOMPSON: The mail was in this morning and I read your letter darlint, I cried – I couldn’t help it – such a lot it sounded so sad I cried for you I could exactly feel how you were feeling – I’ve felt like that so often and I know.
I was buoyed up with the hope of the ‘light bulb’ and I used a lot – big pieces too – not powdered – and it has no effect – I quite expected to be able to send that cable – but no – nothing has happened from it and now your letter tells me about the bitter taste again. Oh darlint, I do feel so down and unhappy.
Wouldn’t the stuff make pills coated together with soap and dipped in liquorice powder – like Beechams – try while you’re away. Our Boy had to have his thumb operated on because he had a piece of glass in it that’s what made me try that method again – but I suppose you say he is not normal, I know I feel I shall never get him to take a sufficient quantity of anything bitter.
You tell me not to leave finger marks on the box – do you know I did not think of the box but I did think of the glass or cup whatever was used. I wish oh I wish I wish I could do something.
Darlint, think for me, do. I do want to help. If you only knew how helpless and selfish I feel letting you do such a lot for me and I doing nothing for you. I always show you how much I love you for all you do for me. Its a terrible feeling darlint to want – really Want to give all and everything, and not to be able to give a tiny little thing – just thro’ circumstances.
– I can’t bear to think of it a whole four weeks and things the same as they are now. All those days to live thro for just one hour in each.
All that lying and scheming and subterfuge to obtain one little hour in each day – when by right of nature and our love we should be together for all the 24 in every day.
Darlint don’t let it be – I can’t bear it all this time – the pain gets too heavy to bear – heavier each day – but if things were different what a grand life we should start together. Perhaps we could have that one week I could be ill from shock – More lies – but the last. Eh darlint.
Do experiment with the pills while you are away – please darlint.
No we two – two halves – have not yet come to the end of our tether’. ]
May 18
It reminded me of the book you lent me ‘The Way of these Women.’ Do you remember the man and the woman who didn’t take the case into their own hands, although they could have done so easily – too careful of the opinions of their so-called friends and the world? When Geoffrey remembered, he should have taken her away, laughed at all her protests, and carried her off. They were made for each other. He was married to another through no fault of his own … Hurry up and take me away, to Egypt if you like – but anywhere where its warm.
[EDITH THOMPSON: It reminded me of the book you lent me ‘The Way of these Women.’ Do you remember the man and the woman who didn’t take their fate into their own hands although they could have done so easily. Too careful of the opinions of their so-called friends and the world. When Geoffrey remembered he should have taken her away mastered all her protests and carried her off. They were made for each other, he was married to another through no fault of his own.
– hurry up and take me away – to Egypt if you like – but anywhere where its warm.]
No date
Darlingst Boy – I dont mind a bit pencil as long as its words on paper – it doesn’t matter – because they’re what you say and think and do – a letter darlint is like food only you have food every day to keep you alive and I have a letter ever how many days? 14 sometimes and I have to keep alive in that all that time. About Bella Donna – no I dont agree with you about her darlint – I hate her – hate to think of her – I dont think other people made her what she was – that sensual pleasure loving greedy Bella Donna was always there. If she had originally been different – a good man like Nigel would have altered her darlint – she never knew what it was to be denied anything – she never knew ‘goodness’ as you and I know it – she was never interested in a good man – or any man unless he could appease her sensual nature
[EDITH THOMPSON: darlint pal? I dont mind a bit pencil as long as its words on paper – it doesn’t matter – because they’re what you say and think and do – a letter darlint is like food only you have food every day to keep you alive and I have a letter ever how many days? 14 sometimes and I have to keep alive in that all that time. About Bella Donna – no I dont agree with you about her darlint – I hate her – hate to think of her – I dont think other people made her what she was – that sensual pleasure loving greedy Bella Donna was always there. If she had originally been different – a good man like Nigel would have altered her darlint – she never knew what it was to be denied anything – she never knew ‘goodness’ as you and I know it – she was never interested in a good man – or any man unless he could appease her sensual nature.]
May 23
I would like you to read ‘Bella Donna’. You may learn something from it to help us. Then you can read ‘The fruitful Vine’ when you are away. You don’t talk enough about books and things to me. Darlingest boy, I am not going to say anything at all about anything. I am just going to be thankful for what I do receive.
I think to myself I must not be impatient. Perhaps they won’t always be crumbs. … You talk about the cage you are in. That’s how I feel, only worse, if it can be so, because mine is a real live cage with a keeper as well to whom I have to account every day, every hour, every minute nearly.
You get into Marseilles tonight. I wonder how you’re feeling, darlint – very blue, or not feeling anything at all – just drifting – it’s hard either way isn’t it? I wish you had taken me with you, darlint. I don’t think I will be able to stay on here all alone. There seems so much to contend with – so long to dance when you’d rather die, and all for no definite purpose. … I am wondering if you remember what your answer was to me in reply to my ‘What’s the matter’ tonight of last year. I remember quite well – ‘You know what’s the matter, I love you!’ – but you didn’t then, darlint, because you do now, and its different now, isn’t it? From then onwards everything has gone wrong with our lives. I don’t mean to say it was right before – at least, mine wasn’t right – but I was quite indifferent to it being either right or wrong, and you, darlint – you hadn’t any of the troubles or the worry you have now. You were quite free in mind and body, and now through me you are not. Darlint, I am sorry. I shouldn’t mind if I could feel that some day I should be able to make up to you for all the unhappiness I have caused in your life. But I can’t feel that, darlint …
[EDITH THOMPSON: I’d like you to read ‘Bella Donna’ first you may learn something from it to help us, then you can read ‘The fruitful Vine’ – when you are away. You say you think, I think, you dont talk enough about books and things to me. Darlingest boy I’m not going to say anything at all about anything – I’m just going to be thankful for what I do receive … think to myself … ‘I must not be impatient perhaps they wont always be crumbs.’. You talk about the cage you are in … that’s how I feel … only worse if it can be so … because mine is a real live cage with a keeper as well … to whom I have to account every day, every hour, every minute nearly.
On Thursday – he was on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and said he was dying and wanted to – he had another heart attack – thro me.
Darlint I had to laugh at this because I knew it couldn’t be a heart attack.
When he saw this had no effect on me – he got up and stormed – I said exactly what you told me to and he replied that he knew that’s what I wanted and he wasnt going to give it to me – it would make things far too easy for both of you (meaning you and me) especially for you he said.
I rang Avis yesterday and she said he came down there in a rage and told Dad everything – about all the rows we have had over you – but she did not mention he said anything about the first real one on August 1st – so I suppose he kept that back to suit his own ends. Dad said it was a disgraceful thing that you should come between husband and wife and I ought to be ashamed. Darlint I told you this is how they would look at it – they dont understand and they never will any of them.
You get into Marseilles tonight. I wonder how you’re feeling darlint, very blue – or not feeling anyting at all – just drifting – its hard either way isn’t it?
I wish you had taken me with you darlint – I don’t think I will be able to stay on here all alone – there seems so much to contend with – so long to ‘dance’ when you’d rather die and all for no definite purpose. Oh, I’ll pack up now, I can’t talk cheerfully – so I shan’t talk at all. Goodnight darlint.
It’s Friday now, darlint, nearly time to go. I am wondering if you remember what your answer was to me in reply to my ‘What’s the matter’ tonight of last year.
I remember quite well – ‘You know what’s the matter, I love you’ now, isn’t it? From then onwards everything has gone wrong with our lives – I don’t mean to say it was right before – at least mine wasn’t right – but I was quite indifferent to it being either right or wrong and you darlint – you hadn’t any of the troubles – or the worries you have now – you were quite free in mind and body – and now through me you are not – darlint, I am sorry I shouldn’t mind if I could feel that some day I should be able to make up to you for all the unhappiness I have caused in your life – but I can’t feel that darlint – I keep on saying to myself that ‘it will – it shall come right’ – but there is no conviction behind it – why can’t we see into the future?]
June 13
I rang Avis (her sister) yesterday, and she said he came down there in a rage and told Dad everything about all the rows we had over you … Dad said it was a disgraceful thing that you should come between husband and wife, and I ought to be ashamed. Darling, I told you that was how they would look at it. They dont understand, and they never will.
[EDITH THOMPSON: I rang Avis yesterday and she said he came down there in a rage and told Dad everything – about all the rows we have had over you – but she did not mention he said anything about the first real one on August 1st – so I suppose he kept that back to suit his own ends. Dad said it was a disgraceful thing that you should come between husband and wife and I ought to be ashamed. Darlint I told you this is how they would look at it – they dont understand and they never will any of them.]
No date
When you are not near, darlint, I wish we had taken the easiest way. I suppose it is because I can’t see you – can’t have you to hold me and to talk to me, because when you are in England I always want to go on trying and trying and not to give up. To see and feel you holding me is to hope on, and when I can’t have that I feel a coward. …Is anything worth living for? All I can hope is that you will never, never feel like I do today
In one part of it you say you are going to still write to me, because it will help. In another part you say ‘Perhaps I shan’t write to you from some ports because I want to help you.’ I don’t understand. I try to, but I can’t really, I can’t, darlint. My head aches – aches with thinking. You never do what I ask you, darling. You still have your own way always. If I don’t mind the risk, why should you? Whatever happens can’t be any more than this existence looking forward to nothing and gaining only ashes and dust and bitterness.
[EDITH THOMPSON: When you are not near darlint I wish we had taken the easiest way – I suppose it is because I can’t see you – can’t have you to hold me and talk to me – because when you are in England I always want to go on trying and trying and not to give up – to see and feel you holding me – is to hope on, and when I can’t have that I feel a coward.– is anything worth living for?
All I can hope is, that you will never never feel like I do today
In one part of it you say you are going to still write to me because it will help, in another part you say – ‘Perhaps I shant write to you from some ports – because I want to help you.’ I dont understand – I try to – but I cant – really I cant darlint – my head aches – aches with thinking sometimes.
– then we were pals and this year we seem no further advanced.
Why arnt you sending me something – I wanted you to – you never do what I ask you darlint – you still have your own way always – If I don’t mind the risk why should you? whatever happens cant be any more than this existence – looking forward to nothing and gaining only ashes and dust and bitterness.]
Two Letters from Bywaters
December 1, 1921
I want to wish you all that you could wish yourself. I know all those wishes of yours will run into a deuce of a lot of money. Such items as fur coats, cars and champagne, will be very prominent on the list. Anyhow, good health and I hope you will get it.
Darling Peidi Mia, – Tonight was impulse, natural, I couldn’t resist. I had to hold you, darling little sweetheart of mine. Darlint, I was afraid. I thought you were going to refuse to kiss me, darlint little girl. I love you so much, and the only way I can control myself is by not seeing you, and I’m not going to do that. Darlint Peidi Mia, – I must have you. I love you, darlint. Logic, and what others call reason, do not enter into our lives, and where two hearts are concerned. I had no intention, darlint, of doing that – it just happened, that’s all. I am glad now, cherie, darlint, when you suggested the occupied carriage. I didn’t want to go in it. Did you think that perhaps I did, so that there would have been no opportunity for me, to break the conditions that I had stipulated? Darlint, I felt quite confident that I would be able to keep my feelings down. I was wrong, Peidi. I was reckoning on will power over ordinary forces – but I was fighting what? Not ordinary forces – nothing was fighting the whole of me. Peidi, you are my magnet. I cannot resist, darlint. You draw me to you now and always. I shall never be able to see you and remain impassive. Darlint, Peidi Mia, idol mine, I love you – always – always, ma cherie. Last night when I read your questions I didn’t know how to answer them. I have now Peidi? Darlint, I don’t think I can talk about other things tonight. I want to hold you so tightly. Bon nuit, ma petite, cherchez bien pour votre.
[JAMES DOUGLAS: The other letter contained the passages]:
Darlint Peidi Mia, – I do remember you coming to me in the little room, and I think I understand what it cost you – a lot more then, darlint, than it could ever now. When I think about that I think how nearly we came to be parted for ever. If you had not forfeited your pride, darlint, I don’t think there would ever have been yesterday or tomorrow.
[FREDDY BYWATERS: I want to wish you all that you can wish yourself. I know all those wishes of yours will run into a deuce of a lot of money. Such items as fur coats, cars and champagne, will be very prominent on the list – anyhow, good health and I hope you get it.
Darling Peidi Mia
Tonight was impulse – natural – I couldn’t resist – I had to hold you darling little sweetheart of mine – darlint I was afraid – I thought you were going to refuse to kiss me – darlint little girl – I love you so much and the only way I can control myself is by not seeing you and I’m not going to do that. Darlint Peidi Mia – I must have you – I love you darlint – logic and what others call reason do not enter into our lives, and where two halves are concerned. I had no intention darling of doing that – it just happened thats all – I’m glad now chere – darlint when you suggested the occupied carriage, I didn’t want to go in it – did you think that perhaps I did – so that there would have been no opportunity for me, to break the conditions that I had stipulated – darlint I felt quite confident that I would be able to keep my feelings down – I was wrong Peidi. I was reckoning on will power over ordinary forces – but I was fighting what? not ordinary forces – nothing was fighting the whole of me. Peidi you are my magnet – I cannot resist darlint – you draw me to you now and always, I shall never be able to see you and remain impassive. Darlint Peidi Mia Idol mine – I love you – always – always Ma Chere. Last night when I read your questions I didn’t know how to answer them – I have now Peidi?
Darlint I don’t think I can talk about other things tonight – I want to hold you so tightly. I’m going to tonight in my sleep. Bon Nuit Ma Petite, cherchez bien pour votre.]
Darlint Peidi Mia – I do remember you coming to me in the little room and I think I understand what it cost you – a lot more than it could ever now. When I think about that I think how nearly we came to be parted for ever – if you had not forfeited your pride darlint I don’t think there would ever have been yesterday or tomorrow.]
THE RIDDLE OF THE WOMAN
I have now set forth my own impressions of the trial as recorded day by day, together with the case for and against the man and the woman, as presented by trained legal minds. The prosecution has been heard; the defence has been heard; and the impartial arbiter of dispassionate justice has been heard. After weighing all the evidence, after hearing all the advocates, after considering the sober analysis of the judge, the jury delivered their verdict. The found both of the accused guilty of murder. They made no recommendation to mercy
Some Aspects
If the Court of Criminal Appeal should confirm the sentence of death, the final decision will rest with the Home Secretary. He may or may not be influenced by petitions for mercy. But there are some aspects of the case which ought to be examined by us all before we come to a decision with regard to the problem of our duty I respect to these petitions. I have stated my own view without in any way desiring to imposing it upon my readers. It is the view of an unofficial spectator who heard every word of the evidence. I confess that my sympathy fluctuated during the trial. At the beginning I was moved by compassion for the tortured woman and the tormented man. My pity dominated my reason. I hated the sight of human beings on the rack. Then my reason dominated my pity. I loathed the murder and I also loathed the horror of the sentence of death, of the long weeks before the hanging, and of the hanging itself. Between my sense of justice and my sense of pity I was distraught. I am sure that this painful conflict has raged in every mind. We are all human and we are all humane.
Holding the Scales
And now I wonder whether I have stated the whole case quite fairly and quite justly. Have I held the scales evenly? I am well aware that justice is at best clumsy and that the rules of evidence are lacking in the finer shades of subtlety. There may be moral enigmas that are beyond the processes of reason. There may be psychological riddles which evade and baffle the logician and the dialectician. This may be one of those rare murders which owns no precedent. Its complexity may be past the wit of man to fathom.
Therefore, so that I may not be guilty of intellectual contumacy or obstinacy or dogmatism, I desire to state the case of those lay students of human nature who are neither lawyers nor journalists, but merely human beings with a knowledge of human nature. Some of them are novelists. Some of them are dramatists. Some of them are psychoanalysts. Some of them are philosophic psychologists. Some of them are psychoanalysts. Some of them are men of the world, business men, politicians, clergymen, men of science.
I have discussed the llford enigma with them all. They hold that the murder was not wilful. They argue that it was the accidental consequence of a strange combination of illusions and hallucinations, a tragedy neither forewilled nor foreseen by either of the protagonists. They maintain that Edith Thompson was an actress playing a part in a wholly imaginary dream-drama in a dream-world of sexual fantasy. She was a moral mime posturing and posing before herself and her lover, alternately feeding her own appetite for unreal histrionics and his.
She was building up for him and for herself a legendary hero and heroine of a mythical tragedy. She was a stage murderess playing to a stage murderer. Her poisons and her powdered glass were all properties. Her incitements and instigations were all theatrical make-believe. She did not conceive the possibility of her rantings and ravings turning into realities. She never seriously proposed to leave her husband or to kill her husband. She devoured the situation and tried to protract and prolong it in order to distil every drop of sensation out of its ebb and flow. It saw her private melodrama, and she expected her lover to play it out like a Chinese play, interminably.
For a while, her lover stuck to the stage and acted up to her acting. She knew he knew that she was acting. He knew she knew he was acting. But she was the more consummate actress. At some point in the stage play she over-acted her part and he over-acted his part. She did not mean to allow her acting to become unreal, but he misread her melodrama. He suddenly passed from the part of the unreal actor to the art of the real actor. He allowed reality to overcome unreality.
Panto-Tragedy
Their dual histrionism went to his head. He saw himself as the real hero of a real conflict of wills. He resolved to turn the pantomime into a tragedy. He determined to prove that he was the great lover capable of sacrificing everything for as great passion. He resolved upon a great flamboyant gesture. The husband who was ‘the lowest kind of snake’ should be given one last chance of surrendering his victim-wife to her true lover. He armed himself with a dagger as a knight of old girt himself with a sword. When the husband laughed at his preposterous ultimatum he slew him in an ecstasy of romantic exaltation.
This is the theory of the murder put forward by many subtle minds. They emphasise the stupidity of the murder, the absence of craft and cunning in its design, and the subsequent neglect to carry out any preconcerted or preconceived or prearranged plan of camouflage or concealment. They say that the woman and the lover had no collusive story ready. They say that the man did not try to destroy the damning letters, although he tried to shield the woman. The whole thing, they declare, was a bungled muddle, consistent with the hypothesis that it was the product of impulse and aberration.
He did not mean and she did not mean him to murder her husband. They were both horrified after he had murdered her husband. They had muddled into murder without intending it. That is the explanation of his protest in the dock that he was not an assassin and of her cry that she was not guilty. The whole thing was a psychological accident without any relation to the comedy which preceded it. The two tragedians were really comedians caught in a net of pretence and make-believe, puppets who had suddenly become flesh, marionettes with blood instead of sawdust in their veins, foolish mimes who unwittingly stumbled over the threshold of melodrama intro the abyss of crime.
Dagger of Death
There was no talk of murder in the tea-room. The dagger in the man’s pocket was a property dagger that in a flash tuned into an instrument of death. The whole comedy of leg-pulling and posturing was suddenly transformed into a common and vulgar murder. The actors found themselves shuddering in the dock instead of genuflecting on the stage. Nobody believed the transition possible. All their lies turned into evidence. All their posturings turned into proofs. All their limelight turned into midnight, all their rhetoric into reality.
The psychoanalysts take a hand in the game. They say that it is a blind tragedy of repression and suppression. They talk about complexes. They refine and analyse and subtilize all the hidden motives and secret forces and their interplay. They say that these two fated creatures did not know the mysterious impulses working in their blood and in their brains. They were wrought and driven to their doom by energies beyond their ken and their control.
The humanitarians descant upon the cruelty of the law, its spiritual indignity, its moral futility, its crude barbarity, its slow torture, and its final gesture of blind brutality. They would substitute the grey horrors of penal servitude for the swift savagery or the scaffold. Ten years, they say, would be sufficient punishment.
I have set forth all these arguments as fully and as fairly as possible. They represent the effort of humanity to achieve something like divine justice by human agency in a world of human beings.
A Great Gap
There remains the prosaic argument of some acute legal minds. Put briefly, it is that the evidence was not sufficient to establish the guilt of Mrs Thompson. They hold that there is a great gap in the chain of proof between the letters and the murder. They say that the evidence against the theory of a dual agreement is greater than the evidence in favour of it. But they admit that the Court of Criminal Appeal is the best available authority on this problem.
These, then, are the materials upon which private persons may form their private judgment before they decide to sign petitions for a reprieve. There I leave it. Far be it from me to throw a final feather in the balance of life and death!
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