Stride had fallen victim to London’s most famous serial killer. He had viciously killed and brutalized their bodies.
Then Donald guided us to another area. He stopped at a place called Durward Street. ‘This was Buck’s Row,’ he told us and stood back expectantly waiting to hear what we had to say.
I allowed myself to drift back in time once more. The small area of rough ground where I was standing bore no resemblance to the picture which unfolded before my eyes. Now it is a concrete jungle with high-rise flats and flagstones sprouting tufts of grass. There is a graffitiscarred concrete garage next to a fence with a wooden gate hanging off its hinges.
I was drawn to this break in the fence and as I walked over to it I could smell the same revolting odours which had assaulted my nostrils in Mitre Square. This time I could see the body of a rather stocky dark-haired woman; her clothes were obviously filthy but appeared to be soaked in blood. Her face was slashed and I could see that one of her ears was hanging off. In stark contrast, on the floor not far from her body lay what appeared to be a shiny black straw hat. I was impressed to utter the name ‘Nicholas’. Could this be the name of the murderer? The name ‘Polly’ was also strongly evident to me.
As I allowed myself to drift back to the present day, I relayed the picture I had seen to Dr Montz and Mr Rumbelow. They confirmed that it was in the area of the gateway that the body of a woman called Polly was found.
‘Can you describe the person responsible for the murders?’ Dr Montz asked me.
‘I feel that there were two people responsible,’ I said. ‘I believe that there was a “copy cat murder”. The man responsible for most of the murders is tall and slim—not heavy-set at all—and in his thirties. He has strong crease marks down the side of his face with high cheekbones. He has dark hair with touches of grey to the sides and he definitely has facial hair. He carries a pocket watch and seems to be constantly conscious of time. He certainly isn’t a poor working man. The person I’m talking about is used to mixing with the aristocracy and I feel he could have some connection with royalty.’
‘And a name?’ questioned Dr Montz.
Sadly, no. On this occasion I was not being impressed by the name of the man who became infamous as ‘Jack the Ripper’.
I would like one day to revisit the site of the Whitechapel murders and see what else I can uncover. I still maintain that more than one person was behind what I would describe as ritualistic killings. I feel that five of the murders were carried out by the same man but there was at least one other murder for which another individual was responsible.
The Euxton Mills Hotel
Following our investigation of the killing fields of Jack the Ripper, we travelled north and based ourselves at a hotel in Leyland, which is a suburb of the old Lancashire town of Preston.
The Euxton Mills Hotel is a 300-year-old establishment which was once a coaching house which accommodated travellers on their journeys from Scotland and the north of England to more southern areas. The manager, Keith Burgess, had kindly agreed to allow the ISPR team to conduct an investigation of the premises. Although Mr Burgess was sceptical of mediumistic abilities, he was interested to see whether the ISPR team could shed any light on the strange goings-on experienced by members of his staff.
Immediately I walked into the lounge area I was aware of a spirit man standing in the centre of the room. Wearing a dark cloak and stovepipe hat, he had the appearance of a Victorian gentleman. He said nothing but as he gently faded from my view Sam told me that his name was George Chapman and he had frequently visited the hostelry and enjoyed his stays there. He was a jovial soul who enjoyed the company of women and had a tactile nature. Indeed, to this day, employees of the hotel talk of being touched by an unseen person.
As the spirit form of George Chapman disappeared, Linda, Peter and I were simultaneously drawn to the washroom area at the rear of the lounge and in particular to the ladies’ toilets. As I entered the toilet area I had the feeling that things were not quite as they should be. It was a ladies’ toilet but I felt a distinctly male influence and that George would have visited these facilities when he arrived at the hotel in his earthly life.
At that moment, the temperature began to drop dramatically and a lady in a long Victorian-style dress and hat walked past and through us and exited through the door into the lounge. She seemed intent on what she was doing and appeared to be keeping a very tight hold of a small bag. I was not given her name nor was I told the reason for her continuing to visit the hotel, but it was confirmed by the staff that a ‘grey lady’ is often seen in the ladies’ toilet area.
Our investigation continued in the cellars. I was immediately aware of a male presence and knew that the male in question was not the jovial George Chapman. This was a different personality—not angry, but certainly mischievous.
‘You have problems down here,’ I said to Keith. ‘In particular I feel you have problems with the beer lines. There’s spiritual interference here. A man comes down and plays with the lines and I feel you could have experienced the gas in the kegs pushing back.’
Keith laughingly confirmed that on many occasions he had experienced just that and had been forced to go up and change his shirt because of the soaking he had received.
‘Well, the next time it happens, tell Tom to stop it,’ I advised.
I had the distinct impression that Tom had at one time worked at the public house and was still jealously guarding what he considered to be his domain.
Tonge Hall
Tonge Hall in the Middleton area of Manchester was built by the Tonge family in 1594. It is a beautiful Tudor-style black-and-white building and is owned by Norman Wolstencroft, who was our amiable host for the next investigation.
The main room of Tonge Hall, where Norman was seated with our expert for the day, Mr W. John Smith, was cosy and welcoming after the cold and rain outside.
I had only been standing in this room for a few moments when I became aware of a gentleman. ‘I have a man with me,’ I told Dr Montz, ‘and he wants to talk to me. He tells me his name is Richard and he’s very proud of his staircase! He’s asking us to follow him!’
We all hurried out, following Richard as he took us out of the lounge and past a staircase to a part of the house which was undergoing renovation. ‘There,’ Richard said, pointing towards a set of stairs which the team had been unaware of, ‘these are the stairs that I designed and I’m extremely proud of them!’
Mr Smith, our expert, confirmed that Richard Tonge had indeed built a second staircase and noted that this set of stairs was unusual for the time in that they were built out of wood.
‘There are two men here now,’ I said, ‘both Richards! They’re different generations. One is very much younger than the other. And there’s a William too—he has a very bad limp. William seems very fond of the younger Richard.’
Mr Wolstencroft was able to confirm that William was the father of the younger Richard. He had received a bullet wound to his leg in the First World War but wouldn’t allow amputation, so he spent the rest of his life with a limp. He also told us that his grandmother had five sons. Four of them were wounded but Uncle Dick had been particularly badly hurt and also limped. This must have been the Richard who had shown himself to me earlier.
We were all drawn to the upper levels
