In 1895 the village of Caversham was decidedly rural. Lying on the northern reaches of the Thames it presented a timeless scene of bucolic dwelling. The river meandered past meadows and orchards, floodplain pastures and the gentle chalk hills and sloping fringes of the lower Chilterns. The lives of the villagers of Caversham centred on the river; boat-builders, bargemen, local farmers and their families all depended upon its waters or the surrounding fertile meadows for their livelihoods. Even the village laundress was obliged to lug buckets of water from the river to fill her copper kettles.
Not so strange, then, that the woman who appeared in this quaint and sleepy village in the middle of August 1895 should also come to rely upon the river, but for a far more sinister purpose.
Amelia Dyer arrived alone, alighting from a train at Reading Station. As the billowing steam cleared from the platform, she found herself in a grandiose building, the mellow creaminess of the old Bath stone and the imposing clock tower creating an elegant gateway into Reading. Whether by accident or design, she made her way to the Clappers Temperance Hotel, a small establishment run by a Mrs Clark and only a short walk from the station terminus in Vastern Road, well within sight of the rickety old Clappers footbridge which led over the Thames and the weir to Caversham. Viewed in the light of a glorious summer’s day, the river could not have appeared more enticing. A Temperance hotel was an odd choice of lodging for a woman who, by all accounts, “drank brandy to excess”, but it may have been that Mrs Clark offered a sympathetic welcome to a lone female traveller and the Christian values of the Temperance Movement would have presented Amelia with a cloak of respectability behind which to hide.
Three days later she was back on the platform at Reading Station to meet the train from Cardiff carrying Granny Smith, the Palmers and a three-month-old infant who was being “nursed” by Polly. Together once more, the family spent a night at the Clappers Hotel before taking their leave of Mrs Clark and moving to a small terraced house in Caversham, number six in a block of newly built houses situated along the Thames front named Elm Villas. The family was hard to ignore, being “a curious kind of neighbour and of that character likely to cause talk”. Beyond a few boxes and portmanteaux, no furniture was moved into the house and the family was forced to sleep on the floor. They had undoubtedly left Cardiff in a hurry (Arthur Palmer later paid 7s.6d. for a mattress, before purchasing other items of furniture). They were a mystery to their neighbours, the indolent Palmer preferring to spend his days digging the garden and planting shrubs, rather than taking up any kind of paid occupation. Sometimes he claimed to be a ship’s steward on leave; at others that he was in the process of buying a public house in Basingstoke. On the whole, though, they were regarded as fairly respectable, being pleasant and courteous; it was noted, however, that “Mrs Thomas”, as Amelia Dyer referred to herself, dressed most grandly at times, as when she was on her way to the station, but at others was seen to be very “shabby and neglectful of appearance”.
The “Miscellaneous Wants” columns of the Western Daily Press were particularly full that August with advertisements seeking anything from horsehair couches, wicker bath chairs and chicken coops to foreign stamps, smith’s bellows and good homes for beloved pets. Among the advertisements for these everyday items could also be found a number of apparently incongruous and simply worded advertisements dealing in the business of baby adoption.
Amelia Dyer was an avid reader of these columns, and would have noted the adoption advertisements and read them with interest. She would have paid no heed to the fact that such advertisements sat so comfortably together, as much – or as little – importance being attached to a child’s life as to the needs of the furniture dealer wishing to purchase “good sideboards”.
Even with so many children on offer that month, she nonetheless placed her own advertisement in the Western Daily Press and sat back to wait for a response.
It wasn’t long before various children began to be seen and heard in the Dyer/Palmer household. One set of neighbours, Mr and Mrs Manning, often heard children’s voices and the sound of babies fretting. Willie Thornton, a bright young lad of nine, was the first to be brought to Elm Villas. He was later to recount in court that he could not remember his “Papa” but had been living in London with a Mrs Henwood before going to boarding school. He had been taken away from there by his “Godma”, who, he said, was his “real Mamma”, to an address in London where a Mrs Dalton lived. From there he was handed over to Mother. Willie arrived in Caversham with only a battered old carpet bag containing a few items of clothing, the sole reminder of his former life. Willie was the inconvenient child of a socially unacceptable tryst, and was now paying for his parents’ mistake by being shunted from one home to another, so that his existence should not bring shame upon the reputation of his natural family. Despite an unsettled and difficult life, Willie became a great favourite with the neighbours in Elm Villas, on account of his intelligence, polite manner and sunny disposition. Mother undoubtedly received a healthy weekly sum for the boy which boosted the family coffers.
Willie Thornton, Weekly Dispatch, 19 April 1896
Willie was soon joined by a little girl, about four or five months old. She was brought back from London by Mother and the Palmers. Mother always told Granny she went to London for the children. She had left early one morning to catch the nine o’clock train, and the Palmers had gone out shortly afterward. Later that night, Mother arrived home carrying a child in her arms; Polly bore a parcel. The baby was healthy with beautiful curly hair and the parcel contained the very best clothes, little plaid dresses and a prettily embroidered white frock with a cape and a matching hat. There was a red gown and a piece of black mackintosh which was later used to line the child’s cradle. Mother took the clothes and locked them in a box in her bedroom. The baby’s surname was Isaacs. Granny grew particularly fond of “dear little Ikey”, as she named her.
Granny Smith was a simple, faithful soul who, since leaving the workhouse, had experienced a very different kind of life from the one of care and comfort that Mother had promised: in reality she was treated as little more than a servant; she cleaned the house, minded the children and fed them on whatever meagre rations she was provided with.
There was a distinction between the children Mother fetched and those Polly brought in; Granny was only ever told to look after Mother’s. Granny didn’t care too much for cats, but Mother did, gathering the neighbourhood strays to her hefty bosom and allowing the tamer ones to sleep in her bedroom. She loved her cats and bought them cat meat, while the rest of the family had to make do with bread and dripping all week. Mother would sometimes, on a Sunday, buy six pennyworth of pigs’ liver which Granny would chop up into small pieces and stew for dinner. Mother never ate this; she would always buy herself something nice.
Granny would sit and watch – observing the daily comings and goings of Mother and the Palmers. Watching how Mother would don a decent dress with clean collar and a pair of good boots, pinning her ribboned poke bonnet firmly on her head and fastening her long, blue nurse’s cloak at the throat with a black bow. Observing how Mother and the Palmers made almost daily excursions to the town, down toward the river, over the Clappers footbridge and on into Reading, the vaporous air by the weir dampening their clothing and smelling faintly of sewage, the roar of the water muffling the sound of their footsteps. It could be a desolate place, and Arthur in particular was afraid of crossing the bridge after dark. It was narrow and the handrails precarious and, with only the lock-keeper’s gaslight glowing in the distance, it could be a hair-raising experience. Mother had no such fears and would laugh at his cowardice as she strode on confidently, her long, dark cloak flying behind her. They often left early in the morning and returned home at unusual hours; sometimes they brought back with them yet another new baby and were too exhausted by the length of their journey to take their supper.
A CHILD STRANGLED AND THROWN INTO THE CANAL
On Saturday afternoon a lad named Frederick Worrall, who had been playing football, went to the canal near the Ashton Old Road to wash the dirt off his boots. He was passing under the bridge when he noticed a child’s leg sticking out of the water. He got the assistance of some companions and they together drew the body of the child on to the towing path. The police were at once informed and the corpse was taken by Police Constable Pointon to the Fairfield Street mortuary. There Dr. Heslop divisional police surgeon made a post mortem examination of the body which was that of a child apparently 5 months old. It had on a white linen skip, white linen shirt and white flannel binder. There was a cord tied tightly around the neck, and fastened to the waist by a piece of string was a granite set weighing six or seven pounds. The body, which was that of a well developed female child, had in the opinion of the doctor been in the water from 1-4 days. The tongue was protruding and the cause of death was strangulation. A coroner’s inquiry was opened yesterday morning at the City Coroners Court and adjourned until Wednesday 15th. It was stated that about a week ago two strange women were seen to throw something in the canal near where the body was found, but the police have no substantial clue to the perpetrators of what at present seems a very cold-blooded murder.
Manchester Guardian, 1896
Granny continued to watch: the newspaper advertisements that were scoured daily, the mounds of letters that were written and wrapped up in pieces of brown paper so that no one in the house would see the address. Mother was adept at writing letters, filling pages with a curling script and a cunning imagination; glowing descriptions of her tender regard for “the dear little ones” in her charge. She painted a pleasant picture of a comfortable and homely situation, “most healthy, with a little orchard just outside the front door”. Willie usually took the letters out to post; he was cautioned to put each package into the box separately and to listen out for the sound of it dropping to be certain that each was posted safely. Piles of letters were delivered back to the house and stored in a tin on the mantelpiece.
Farmer wife having no children, would adopt one; premium small. Farmer c/o Mrs Thomas, 6, Elm Villas, lower Caversham, reading.
Bristol Times & Mirror, 21 August 1895
Granny could only sit back and watch as the mound of unworn baby clothes grew larger; the napkins and bonnets, the frocks and cloaks, all parcelled up and taken to pawn, the tickets stuffed in a jar in the kitchen. But worst of all she had to watch the unkindness. Had to sit back and watch mother strike dear little Ikey a blow to the head for fretting at the pain of cutting teeth.