The Bermondsey Murder: Scotland Yard’s First Great Challenge and Dickens’ Inspiration

Preface

Bermondsey is one of my favourite parts of London. Steeped in history, it is a lively and culturally rich district. It was also the home to a branch of our family’s history. My husband’s 3 x great-grandparents lived in Bermondsey for a century, and they were there when Charles Dickens was exploring the dark streets of its seedy underworld.

By the time of the cholera epidemic in 1849, the Corderoys had been living in Bermondsey for eighteen years. William and Eleanor had moved south of the river from Shoreditch in 1831, with their family of four sons: William junior, aged 6; Thomas, 4; James, 2; and 1-year-old George. William found work as a hoop bender for a local cooper. However, they did not fare well in their new home, as baby George died soon after their arrival and was buried in the graveyard of St Mary Magdalen’s church. Over the next almost two decades, they had nine more children, four of whom died in infancy.

William and Eleanor’s thirteenth child, Joseph, was born in April 1849. He only survived for three weeks, and his death certificate revealed that he had died of ‘want of breast milk’: the Corderoys were living in one of the poorest and most unsanitary districts of London. When Joseph died, they were lodging in George Row, close to the infamous Jacob’s Island, which shortly after became known as ‘the capital of cholera’. Journalist Henry Mayhew described the squalid, cramped lodgings along the street and the devastating effects of the disease on the residents. That summer, at the height of the epidemic, the Corderoys lost yet another son. This time, their eldest child, William, aged 24, died at Guy’s Hospital of fluid on the brain, which may have been caused by a tumour.

Shortly after these tragic events took place, PC Barnes and PC Burton walked past the same hospital towards Minver Place, where they would find the body of missing customs officer, Patrick O’Connor. The Corderoys lived just 15 minutes’ walk away. Despite their own tragedies, they most certainly would have heard about the ‘Bermondsey Horror’ – perhaps they stopped to listen to the ballads sung in the neighbourhood (they were illiterate) and discussed this infamous case with their neighbours. Maybe they visited the crime scene, as was customary, to get a glimpse of the action, or they might even have attended the execution of the convicted murderers. It was through my investigation into the family’s past that I came across this brutal murder.

Today, although the area has been redeveloped, if you follow in the footsteps of the two police officers on their way to make their gruesome discovery, you can still see vestiges of the past. When you step out of London Bridge tube station beneath the dazzling tower of the Shard, it doesn’t take long to be back in the small, labyrinthine streets of old Bermondsey. Passing Guy’s Hospital and then walking down Weston Street, you soon come to the Leather Exchange building with its stonework friezes depicting the processes of leather-tanning. Built in 1878, this replaced the old leather market, which had first opened in 1833. Maria and Frederick Manning, who were hanged for the murder of Patrick O’Connor in 1849, lived opposite, in Minver Place, which has now disappeared.

When I wandered round these streets for the first time, on a wet summer’s day, it brought this dramatic and shocking crime case back to life. Using original documents, such as the police reports and trial records, I have pieced together this legendary true crime story in an attempt to verify the facts. Where sources have differed, I have selected the information which I consider to be the most accurate. It is a tale of passion, greed and self-interest, with a brutal murder and a desperate race to catch the killers. It also sheds a fascinating light on aspects of mid-nineteenth century society, including the impact of the cholera epidemic, the emerging role of police detectives, and the development of new technologies, such as the telegraph.

The case was sensationalised at the time as the prime suspects were a married couple and, due to Victorian stereotypes and opinions towards women, Maria Manning instantly became a ‘femme fatale’. Almost two centuries later, this historical homicide is still well known, especially as two of the protagonists in this real-life drama were immortalised by Charles Dickens.

Angela Buckley

Bermondsey, 2023

Chapter 1

‘A frightful murder’

Shortly before 1 pm on Friday 17 August 1849, two police constables met at the corner of St Thomas Street and Weston Street in Bermondsey, on the south side of the Thames. Although the day was overcast with a strong breeze, the officers would have been hot in their regulation uniform of tightly buttoned thick blue tunics with stiff collars, and top hats. PC Barnes from K Division in Stepney, who was stationed at Arbour Square police station, had crossed the river at London Bridge and then walked past Guy’s Hospital to join his colleague PC Burton from Stones End police station in M Division, which served Southwark. Together, the officers made their way through the crowded tenements, warehouses, builders’ yards and tanneries of Weston Street towards Minver Place on New Weston Street, where they were about to make a gruesome discovery.

In the early decades of the nineteenth century, Bermondsey, together with its neighbouring district of Rotherhithe, in the borough of Southwark, was one of the most important industrial centres of Victorian England. In the eighteenth century, Bermondsey had been a spa town but by the early 1800s, the ancient river stairs and waterways of Shad Thames, the historic street that gives its name to the surrounding area, had been transformed into one of the busiest cargo ports in Great Britain. Ships bearing exotic goods from all over the British empire came to dock in the River Thames. Merchandise was unloaded onto the wharves at Bermondsey, where it was stored and processed in the warehouses and manufactories along the river and in its vicinity. In 1853, when Charles Dickens accompanied the Thames River Police on a nocturnal excursion, he described passing through the rows of ships moored on the river: ‘the tiers were so like houses, in the dark, that I could almost have believed myself in the narrower byways of Venice’ (‘Down with the Tide’, Household Words, 5 February 1853). Many household brands, such as Peek Freans biscuits, Jacobs cream crackers, Courage beer, Hartley’s jam and Sarson’s malt vinegar have their origins in Bermondsey, which became known as ‘London’s Larder’.

In 1849, Bermondsey was the centre of the leather trade. Animal skins had been processed and traded in the district since medieval times because of its freshwater tidal streams and proximity to the city of London. Easy access to water from the river; oak tree bark, which was used in the tanning process; and cattle hides from the capital’s butchers made this the ideal location for the industry; by the end of the 1700s, it produced a third of the leather in the United Kingdom. Tanneries and processing plants populated the area, with their characteristic stink of rotting flesh and noxious chemicals, which made the air reek with ‘evil smells’ as described by Charles Dickens junior in his Dictionary of London. The process of leather dressing involved soaking the hides in urine and lime, which loosened the hairs and flesh to aid removal. Next, the skins were pounded with dog faeces (known as ‘pure’) to soften them. Following this, the leather was oiled and prepared by immersing the skins in a pit filled with chemicals. The tanned hide was then rolled and dried ready for trading in the leather market at the heart of Bermondsey.

Amid the stench of the tan pits, a few minutes’ walk from Guy’s Hospital and London Bridge railway station, Police Constables Henry Barnes and James Burton passed by the rows of soot-blackened back-to-back houses, with listless children gazing out from dank doorways. The officers walked through the bustle and clamour of narrow streets lined with hop warehouses, breweries and rope works as they made their way past the tanneries in the leather-making district, towards the Bermondsey Leather Market, where tens of thousands of skins were processed and sold. The leather market had opened in 1833, after being relocated from Leadenhall Market and the building was replaced in 1878.

The constables were investigating a missing person from PC Barnes’ patch in Stepney. Patrick O’Connor, a customs gauger at the London Docks, had not been seen for just over a week. He had left his lodgings in Mile End Road, Stepney, at 7.30 am on Thursday 9 August. Later that day, at about 4.45 pm after finishing work, he bumped into two colleagues, William Patrick Keating and David Graham, on the south side of London Bridge, to whom he mentioned that he was heading to Frederick Manning’s house in New Weston Street, Bermondsey. His acquaintances were not surprised by this, as it was O’Connor’s usual practice; he was a frequent visitor to Manning’s home, being particularly friendly with his wife Maria. However, when Patrick failed to turn up for work the following day, his colleagues became suspicious.

On Friday, as there was still no sign of him, his friends took action. Keating went to O’Connor’s lodgings in Mile End to look for him, but he was not there. Another colleague, William Flynn, who was also Patrick’s relative, reported him missing to PC John Wright at Stones End police station, the headquarters of M Division, Southwark, where he shared his suspicions that ‘foul play had been directed towards him [O’Connor]’. The following day, William Keating tried O’Connor’s lodgings again, but there was no sign of the customs officer having returned there. On Sunday, Patrick’s friends paid a visit to his landlady, Ann Armes, who told them that he hadn’t been home since Thursday. She suggested they try Maria Manning who ‘was a great friend of his’. Keating and Graham went straight to Minver Place to see if Mrs Manning had any news of him.

When they arrived at the house about midday, Maria opened the door and invited the two men in. Keating asked her if Patrick had come to the house for dinner on the previous Thursday, as he had planned. She replied that he had not turned up. Keating commented that it was strange, as Patrick had been seen coming over London Bridge that evening and was clearly heading in her direction. Mrs Manning had nothing to say to this, except to accuse O’Connor of being ‘ungentlemanly’ in missing their dinner date. When Keating questioned her about her visit to O’Connor’s lodgings on the night he disappeared, she explained that she had gone to inquire about his health, as he had been at her house the night before and had been unwell. She recounted how he had laid on the sofa and she had rubbed eau de cologne on his face. Keating then asked if he could see her husband, but she said that he was out at church. William suggested coming back later, but she put them off by saying that she and Frederick were going out to tea. He later described Mrs Manning’s demeanour as ‘nervous’.

Later that Sunday, William Flynn also paid a visit to Minver Place, but there was no one in. Afterwards, he met up with Keating and Graham, and they went to Stones End police station to ask the police if they could put a watch on the Mannings’ house and if PC Wright could visit Minver Place with them the following day. With still no word from the missing man by the end of the weekend, his friends issued handbills for information. Funded and organised by William Flynn, they were circulated to all the police stations in London and to the press:

£10 REWARD! MISSING, Mr. Patrick O’Connor, who left his residence, 21, Greenwood-street, Mile End Road, on THURSDAY, the 9th Inst., at half-past Seven o’Clock; was last seen at London Bridge, about 5 o’Clock the same day. DESCRIPTION – About 50 Years of Age, 5ft. 11in. high, Fair Complexion, Light Hair, Sandy Whiskers, Aquiline Nose, Stout made, Stoops a little when walking, wears a Set of False Teeth, Dressed in a Black Dress Coat, Light Plaid Trousers, Black Silk Stock, and Albert Boots. Any Person giving such Information as will lead to his discovery, shall receive the above Reward, by applying as above, or at the Arbour Square Police Station.

On Monday 13 August, PC Henry Barnes and PC James Burton were instructed by their respective superiors to look for the customs officer and they set out to get to the bottom of this pressing and worrying matter.

The row of four ‘respectable’ houses of Minver Place (also written as ‘Miniver’ and ‘Minerva’) was in the middle of New Weston Street, on the corner of Guy Street. They were approached at the front by a flight of several stone steps from the street, with iron railings on either side. The façades were stuccoed to the first-floor windows, above which was a broad cornice. The roofs were flat with chimneys. Each house had a small garden at the rear, overlooked by a kitchen window and accessed by a back door. Inside, there were six rooms over three floors; with two parlours on the ground floor, two bedrooms above and two kitchens in the basement below. The two-storey houses were built by James Coleman, who lived at number one. He ran the construction business with his brother, and they had sixty employees. He had named the row of new houses after their home town of St Minver in Cornwall. Coleman was the landlord of number three, which was next door but one to his house. He had sublet it for six months to Frederick and Maria Manning. The builder later revealed that he had not let the house directly to the couple, but that a previous tenant had wanted to leave and had found them to replace him. Maria Manning had given Patrick O’Connor’s name and work address to the landlord’s brother. James visited the London dockyard where he saw O’Connor, who had provided a reference for his prospective tenants. After paying the half quarter’s rent in advance, Mr and Mrs Manning took on the tenancy on 25 March.

At 10 am on Monday 13 August, PC Barnes, who was in uniform, Patrick’s cousin William Flynn and PC John Wright, who was wearing plain clothes, visited Minver Place. Mrs Manning answered the door. Flynn described her as ‘a handsome well-dressed 30-year-old with a slight French accent’. She was home alone and invited them into the front parlour, where PC Wright asked her if she had seen O’Connor. Manning said she had not seen him since the previous Wednesday when he had been ‘very tipsy’, and his friend Pierce Walsh had had to escort him home. Flynn commented on how strange it all was. Maria agreed and explained his continued absence by saying that he was a ‘very fickle-minded man’, and he often visited their house but left again after a few minutes. She added that he might be at Walsh’s house in Vauxhall. Mrs Manning then sighed, saying, ‘Poor Mr O’Connor! He was the best friend I had in London!’ At this, her face paled and Flynn noticed that she was shaking; when he inquired after her health, she told him that she had been ill some six weeks earlier and had not yet recovered. He asked her if she had visited O’Connor’s lodgings on Thursday 9 August, to which she replied that she had. As the party left, Mrs Manning remarked, ‘You gentlemen are very susceptible,’ but offered no further comments. During the informal interview, which lasted about 20 minutes, Maria had responded to their questions ‘with coolness and composure’ and, according to The Morning Post, ‘her coolness quite threw the police off their guard.’ They did not press her any further.

That evening, about 8 pm, PC Barnes, William Keating, William Flynn and a Mr Pervis went to O’Connor’s lodgings at 21 Greenwood Street, Mile End Road. In the presence of his landlady, Ann Armes, the police officer searched O’Connor’s room. He forced open a trunk in which they found an unlocked cash box. Inside were a few IOUs and memoranda but no shares or money. As well as working for the customs, Patrick O’Connor was a moneylender, and it was believed that he had as much as £4,000 (about £400,000 in today’s value) in railway shares, all of which were missing. His landlady confirmed that no one had been into Patrick’s room since the previous Friday evening, when Maria Manning had visited for a second time since the lodger’s disappearance. This new piece of information aroused PC Barnes’ suspicions even further.

By the next morning, Patrick’s friends had become extremely concerned for his safety and ‘sinister apprehensions began to be entertained respecting his fate’ (The Morning Post, 20 August 1849). They returned once again to Minver Place with Constables Barnes and Burton. Acquiring a key from a neighbour, they entered the property but found it empty; no one was at home. They searched both the front and back kitchens but, despite the house being suspiciously ‘disordered’, found no evidence to suggest that O’Connor had been there. Despite this, the police removed several personal items including twenty-eight or thirty pieces of recently washed linen, which was piled up on the shelves of a cupboard in the front kitchen, and two pencil portraits of the recent inhabitants. PC Burton found a coal shovel, which he also took away. His colleague PC Barnes noticed that the flagstones in the back kitchen looked as if they had recently been paved and scrubbed. However, they left the premises without taking any further action.

A few days later, there was no new information on the whereabouts of the missing man. However, when PC Barnes received reports of threats made to O’Connor by Frederick Manning, he proceeded straight back to Bermondsey with Constable Burton. On Friday 17 August, they arrived at 3 Minver Place just after 1 pm and the landlord gave them a key to the property.

The two officers began by searching the garden, which was small with a few shrubs and some scarlet-runners, a type of runner bean. Finding no obvious signs of disturbance, they returned to the front of the building, and PC Burton opened the door to let his colleague in. As the police constables entered from the street, they stepped straight into the front parlour on the ground floor. This substantial room ran the width of the house and had a large fireplace on the right-hand wall. They passed through the room to the back parlour, which was directly behind. To the left was a small passage with stairs leading down to the basement and up to the first floor. Constables Barnes and Burton descended the stairs to the kitchens, which were directly below the parlours. Both kitchens had a fireplace, and the front room was larger with a cupboard. The police officers walked through the front kitchen into the back one, which had a window with iron bars that looked out into the garden.

As they inspected the flagstones of the back kitchen in the dim light, ‘sharp-sighted’ PC Barnes spotted a damp patch between the edges of two of the flagstones on the floor. He further observed that the cement between the slabs was of a slightly different colour to the others and that, although the flagstones in both kitchens had been cleaned, it looked as if dust had been swept onto these two and the surrounding ones, perhaps to cover up recent scrubbing. Barnes tested the mortar between the joints with his penknife and found that it was soft. Suspecting that the floor had been disturbed, he called his colleague who, after borrowing a crowbar from a neighbour, helped him to lever up the flagstones. Made of Yorkshire stone, a type of sandstone known for its durability, the flags were thick and heavy; one measured 3 feet by 2 feet and the other was 2 feet square. PC Burton lifted one stone with a boat hook, while PC Barnes raised the other with the crowbar. Underneath was a layer of wet mortar and then earth, which was composed of limestone, hardcore and clay, as would have been used in the house’s construction. The earth was damp and loose. After calling for further assistance, they began to dig.

The officers started by removing the loose soil with a shovel and, after a foot of digging, they came across a piece of rag (some newspapers speculated that it was, in fact, a brand-new woman’s stocking). They continued to dig, and PC Barnes uncovered a human toe ‘protruding through the mould’. Another few inches revealed the rest of the body. The naked man was lying on his front, with his legs doubled up behind him and tied around his thighs with a rope resembling a clothes line. The man’s head was buried slightly lower in the ground, embedded in slack lime, which ‘had commenced its work of destruction … the flesh in several places being eaten away’ (Lloyd ’s Weekly, 19 August 1849).

While they had been carrying out their excavation, Samuel Meggitt Lockwood arrived at the house. The surgeon, who lived nearby in Newington, had heard about the discovery and rushed to the address, closely followed by a newspaper reporter. Lockwood entered the back kitchen just as the body was being uncovered. The dead man’s head was battered and there was a bulge in his temple above the right eye, which suggested that a bullet might have lodged there. As he watched the officers uncovering the body, the surgeon reached down and removed a set of false teeth from the victim’s mouth.

The hole in which the body had been buried was 5 feet long and 2 feet wide. The officers had dug to a depth of between 2 and 3 feet. Once the body had been completely exposed, they removed it from its shallow grave and carried it into the front kitchen, where Lockwood immediately undertook an initial examination. He was assisted by another surgeon George Odling who had, by this time, joined him.

The surgeons began by examining the head. The small lump over the right eye was hard but moveable. Lockwood cut into the flesh and removed a bullet, as suspected. There was a hole in the skull under the site of the bullet, directly over the eye, but it had not pierced the skin and extensive fractures at the back of the head prevented them from tracing the bullet’s trajectory. The brain had decomposed so much that it was almost in liquid form.

On discovery of the body, the police had sent messages to the missing man’s colleagues. William Flynn and Pierce Walsh arrived at the house first, as the body was being removed from the hole. From the shape of the chin and the set of false teeth,