It’s a dark night in Whitechapel in August 1888. Through the gloom, an observer watched the two figures struggling. Martha Tabram was fighting for her life on a staircase in George Yard. A fight she was losing as her assailant stabbed her again and again. The knife rose and fell, rose and fell, on and on. Suddenly, the witness moved toward the fray and grabbed the mugger’s knife arm, twisting it up behind him, causing the shoulder to dislocate. Crying out in agony he dropped the small knife he had been using on Martha and fell to his knees. It was too late to save Martha already dead from the many stab wounds inflicted upon her.
’What the hell do you think you are doing on my patch?’ yelled the observer. ‘You’ve murdered this girl! What has she done to you?’
‘She’s just a slut! Probably one of the thousands of Jewish sluts infesting Whitechapel. And even though I said I’d pay for a fuck, she wouldn’t fuck me!’ shouted the assailant.
The witness looked at Martha more closely. ‘I know this girl!’ he exclaimed. ‘She’s my mate Johnny’s girl and she’s no whore, so you’re lying to me, you bastard. I’m taking you to Johnny. Get up!’
Slowly, the murderer got up from his knees. He swayed a little, in pain. He attempted to escape the clutches of the witness, setting off running, but the dislocated shoulder proved too big a handicap. The observer grasped him by his knife arm, exacerbating the pain dragging him through the lanes and back alleys of Whitechapel towards Wapping. Eventually, he stopped outside a hovel close to the Thames and slipped through the door, dragging the attacker behind him.
‘Johnny’ he called.
‘In the back room’ came the reply.
The murderer was pushed through another door and thrown to the floor, much to the surprise of Johnny. ‘What’s going on?’ he cried.
‘This bastard has murdered your girl Martha,’ said the eyewitness ‘He stabbed her over and over in George Yard up Whitechapel way. I tried to stop him, but I was too late.’
Johnny grabbed the man, marching him out of the hovel, through the back streets with his mate’s assistance, down to the Thames. ‘Time for your life to end,’ said Johnny.
‘Mercy, mate, I’ve made a terrible mistake and done a very bad thing,’ said the murderer.
‘No mercy for you, you bastard. You never showed my Martha mercy,’ an anguished Johnny retorted, as he slit the murderer’s throat. With the help of his mate the body was rolled into the Thames. The tide was ebbing. With any luck the body would be swept out to sea and never seen again. Not that Johnny cared. He was too distraught, as he was helped back to his hovel by his friend.
‘I’ll be off then, Johnny. Look after yourself, mate. See you around,’ said Jack the Ripper, taking his leave.
Burnside Writers Group 