The Mansfield News, Ohio, 4 March 1903.
James had spent his years as executioner with a policy of avoiding reporters. Any scandal that was eventually hinted at was borne more from his increasingly troubled mind than any history of irresponsibility. Of all his children William, often known as Billy, was the wildest.
There was a small incident that briefly attracted Home Office attention in the summer of 1900: William Warbrick forwarded a newspaper clipping that noted William Billington’s involvement in a ‘drunken fracas’. On 16 July the Chief Constable of Bolton Police reported that William Billington had lashed out after becoming irritated at being taunted as the hangman. He stated that William was not drunk and the Home Office decided that there was no issue to pursue.
After the death of his father, William’s first appointment was just four days later in Newcastle for the double execution of an uncle and his nephew, both called John Miller. William continued to act as number one until 1905. He was frequently assisted by his brother John, but also by future legendary hangmen Henry Pierrepoint and John Ellis.
His final tally of executions was seventy, less than half of his father’s total, but the famous cases read like a criminal who’s who: Sach and Walters, Edgar Edwards, George Chapman, the Veronica Mutineers, Dougal the Moat Farm Murderer and doomed lovers John Gallacher and Emily Swann, and all but a few packed into a period of three years. At his most prolific, James executed a maximum of nineteen people in a year (1896), but in William’s first active month after training he executed five men, then twenty-two in 1902 and a further twenty-five in 1903.
The letters to the Prison Commission and Home Office continued; William Warbrick was still determined to damage the Billington family and sent a further stream of anonymous notes.
On 4 February 1902 the Prison Commission received another such letter:
I wish to inform you of the disgraceful conduct of William Billington, it is time some person wrote to you about him he has never worked for twelve months and he is drunk from morning to night. In fact he is never sober for he has been drunk since he was on the last job at Liverpool and I am taking the liberty of informing you of the way he ill treats his wife and child. He goes away for week at once and leaves them without food and fire …
But this had not come from the same source. The handwriting was different and far less literate. Mr Ruggles-Brise asked for a report and within a few days a note was added commenting that the letter was written ‘as if by an irate wife’ and ‘not at all in accord with the reports received from governors as to William Billington’s conduct.’
In response to a request by the Commissioners to look at all letters relating to William Billington the secretary reported ‘they are all satisfactory’ and drew attention to one particular letter from the Governor of Wandsworth Prison, which stated that ‘William Billington was a more suitable man than his father.’
The secretary also drew their attention to an earlier letter: ‘… you will see that William Warbrick (who is on the list of candidates but considered a poor hand) brought an accusation of drunkenness against William Billington, but the police reports on Billington were satisfactory.’ And then in a more recent letter William Warbrick brought to notice a conviction of William Billington for assault. Enquiries were made into the matter and it was held that no doubt of Billington’s moral character could be assumed.
Although William’s reputation was still untarnished it wasn’t long before reports of worrying behaviour started to filter through. On 7 January 1903 in Kilkenny, William executed Joseph Taylor, and on the 9th Mary Daly. Both had been convicted of the violent murder of Mary’s husband.
In a Home Office file that had been sealed until 2004, a tantalising remark had been written in the margin of a paper containing notes on Mary Daly’s execution. It was dated 10 January 1903 and read, ‘r.e. Billington’s conduct at this execution see Billington’s file A48697’.
Disappointingly A48697 no longer exists.
On 4 March 1903 the Lincoln Evening News (Nebraska) ran a story entitled ‘Vicious Assault on England’s Executioner’ which appeared in local and national papers in England and America:
Hangman Billington, England’s famous executioner, was found lying unconscious on a railroad track outside of London this morning. He had been assaulted and thrown from a moving train. Billington yesterday presided at the execution of murderer Edwards and the police think some of the latter’s friends sought revenge.
Billington recounted the assault in his memoirs, incorrectly stating that it had followed the 1904 Wade and Donovan execution at Pentonville rather than the 1903 execution at Wandsworth:
After a look around the city a friend saw me off on an evening train from St Pancras. On the way to the station and on the platform I kept seeing a man somewhere near me. He was a tallish fellow, and I began to think he was taking an interest in me. While we were standing at the door of a compartment I looked around sharply, and there was my man behind me, sauntering about and looking at me.
Steam was up, porters were hurrying people into their carriages and with a word of farewell to my friend I jumped into an empty compartment and put my box and hat on the rack. As I leaned from the carriage window I told my friend of my suspicions. He laughed and expressed the opinion that there was ‘nothing in it’.
However, as the guard blew his whistle and the train began to move, the man who seemed to have been watching me sprang into the same compartment.
The express was soon racing into the night, her speed creeping towards sixty miles an hour. The lights of London twinkled past in the gloaming, and we were soon heading for open country.
It was a cold evening, and with a little shiver I looked to see if the heating apparatus was turned on, and buttoned my overcoat tightly round me.
It had been a long, busy day, starting with a job which demanded that I should have all my wits about me, while most of the previous day had been spent in travelling. So you can perhaps understand that I soon began to feel drowsy. I nodded, then I pulled myself together, only to start nodding again.
My companion, after settling himself in a corner of the compartment took no more notice of me. I considered him. Perhaps, after all, my nerves had got a little over strung. What reason could any man have for following me about?
The noise of the train was lulling me, and it was difficult to keep awake.
Well, thought I at last, if I must go to sleep, better to go to sleep in a comfortable position than wake up stiff and cramped. So I put my feet up, and I was soon going ‘down the tunnel’ into a sound sleep.
I awoke with a start. Only a few minutes must have passed since I let go the reins of consciousness.
My travelling companion was stooping over me, and was in the act of gently unbuttoning my overcoat!
I sprang to my feet.
‘What’s the matter?’ I demanded. ‘Have I got something that you want?’
‘Oh no,’ said the man. ‘I just thought you would be cold, and I was going to button your overcoat.
‘This overcoat was buttoned when I lay back,’ I said. ‘Now, what’s it going to be?’
As I have said, I am not very tall, but I have been a boxer, and I felt ready to hold my own.
Seeing I had a pretty fair idea that he had been after my pockets, the man went for me.
For a few minutes we struggled mightily. Backwards and forwards we went and round and round in the cramped space of the compartment. We clinched and struck, and clinched again. My opponent was hefty and strong, but I was well holding my own.
Suddenly, he braced himself up and flung me from him against the door of the carriage. There was a sharp snap. I heard a roaring, and felt myself flung through the air. Then I felt a bump and saw more stars than ever shone in the sky.
For some moments I lay, feeling pretty sore and dizzy. Then I looked round. I was on my back on the railway. I tried to rise, but my foot was pinned under the metals.
So there I was, unable to help myself, badly shaken, and with the possibility that a train might come roaring past at any minute to add to my torments.
It seemed as though I had been sitting there for hours and hours and hours, when I heard the distant noise of a locomotive. Nearer and nearer it came, but it did not seem to be moving fast. It came within fifty yards or so and someone hanging on to the step and looking ahead yelled, ‘Here he is.’
The engine stopped, and men came from it, and were astonished to find me alive and actually conscious. I was released from my uncomfortable position, lifted into the engine, and taken to Luton Station, which was only about four hundred yards away!
It seems that the express had gone tearing on until someone noticed that there was a compartment with both doors flying open. At the first stop the compartment was found empty. My companion had taken a risk and jumped clear at some part of the journey.
On the rack was my box and hat.
The light engine was sent back down the line to search for me.
At Luton a doctor was waiting, and he examined me.
‘Do you feel as though any bones were broken?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ I said, pointing to my right side. ‘I’ve a few ribs this side, and feel as though they ought to be at the other side.’
After examining me thoroughly the doctor said, ‘Now, you’ll have to be very careful for some time to come. Your heart may be affected, and your nerves will certainly suffer.’
I smiled. I was only too glad to find I had broken nothing. A few bruises I did not mind. I thanked him, and said I thought I should be ready for business again in a day or two. And I was right in my forecast.
But I have a vivid memory of the man who pitched me out of the train. The world is not such a big place but what I may some day meet him, and then …
Neither the station staff nor the police were taken in by the story; eyewitnesses claimed that Billington had been alone in the carriage. Pierrepoint later said that William’s injuries were the result of a bar brawl. William had been due in court over a separation order issued by his wife and needed a way to explain his appearance.
His domestic problems were soon revealed to the public with reports of a court appearance hitting the papers. On 17 October 1904, the Daily Mirror reported:
William Billington, the common hangman, has been summoned before the Bolton magistrates by his wife for desertion.
Questioned as to his earnings, he said he was a blacksmith’s striker, and could earn from 24s to 25s a week. Asked as to his income from his other occupation he stated he was not allowed to say, but the magistrate’s clerk said it was well known the salary was £200 a year.
The magistrates made an order for Billington to pay his wife 16s a week.
William never made even the first payment.
Official patience had been exhausted and apart from a run of four executions across eight days in December, it was all over for William. It is not clear why William received those last engagements, perhaps it took that long for news of his latest indiscretion and a subsequent decision on his future to rattle through the halls of bureaucracy. William’s last appearance in England was on 21 December 1904 for the execution of violent housebreaker Eric Lange.
William made one final appearance in Ireland when he was assisted by John Ellis in the hanging of ex-policeman John Foster. Typically, even this did not pass without incident.
On 11 January 1901, James Billington had refused to attend the Cork inquest of Timothy Cadogen, he left the gaol directly after the execution, causing the inquest to be postponed. A warrant was issued for his arrest, but because he never returned the inquest never resumed and Cadogen was never formally declared dead. His father’s experience should have prepared William for the different expectations held by the Irish system, but nevertheless drama ensued, described here by Ellis:
I always expected something out of the ordinary to happen whenever I had to go to Ireland to carry out an execution, and I don’t think I was ever disappointed in this respect.
My first trip was a memorable one, as you may guess when I tell you that warrants were issued for the arrest of ‘Billy’ Billington and I in order to prevent us leaving until the Coroner had finished with us. We had no intention of obeying his desire that we should be called as witnesses at the inquest upon the executed man, and so we cleared out.
Foster made no remark, and showed no emotion when the Judge donned the black cap and solemnly sentenced him to be executed on Saturday, April 22, 1905.
Foster’s supporters, however, made one final effort on his behalf. A petition was framed, largely signed, and forwarded to the Lord Lieutenant. Nevertheless, no valid reason could be discovered to merit a reprieve, and so on Tuesday, April 19th, the Governor and chaplain walked into the condemned cell in Cork Prison and informed Foster that the law must take its course. The only alteration was that the doomed man was to have three added days of life, his execution being now fixed for Tuesday, April 25th.
This short respite somewhat confused the arrangements. John Billington had been engaged to carry out the sentence, and arrived in Cork for this purpose on the evening of the 19th. When he heard that the execution had been postponed to the 25th he had to resign the commission and return to England; for he had another appointment there.
Consequently his brother William was hurriedly wired for, and he accepted the engagement, with me as his assistant.
This was to be not only my first appearance at an Irish execution, but also my first venture upon a sea voyage, if you except a trip I once made to Brighton. My memories of that occasion were so full of discomfort and sea sickness that I rather dreaded crossing the Irish Channel. However, it wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated, and ‘Billy’ Billington and I duly reached Cork on the Saturday prior to the Tuesday of the execution.
‘Billy’ knew a bit more than I did about things of this kind, and soon after we entered the gloomy portals he secured permission to stay out of prison until five o’clock on the Monday afternoon. Hearing of this, I tried to secure the same privilege, but I was too late, and had to remain within the gaol.
On the Monday afternoon Billy Billington returned, and didn’t he just make my mouth water with tales of the lively times he had been having.
Now that the time for the execution was so near we began to get busy on our duties in connection with it. We were taken to see Foster, and were struck by his magnificent figure. Even after all the mental stress he must have gone through since the commission of the crime, nearly five months previously, he was still as bulky as ever, and the doctor informed us he actually weighed 224lbs. He was easily the heaviest condemned man I ever had anything to do with in all my career.
He was bearing up very well, though they told us he had been troubled with nerves on the Saturday, which would have been his execution day had it not been for the respite.
Foster rose early, and was apparently perfectly collected. He made the most careful preparations so far as his personal appearance went. His boots bore a remarkable polish, and, as is the usual practice, he put on his own clothes instead of the hideous convict garb he had hitherto worn.
When we had arranged everything on the scaffold and measured off the rope for a drop of 5ft 9ins., we went towards the prison again, but met with instructions that we would not be allowed to enter the condemned cell.
‘You must be standing hidden behind some door when he comes out’ we were told ‘and as he passes you must come behind him and pinion him.’
What reason there was for such procedure I could not discover, but of course we had to do as we were told. There was a dark building on the path the condemned man would traverse to the scaffold, and there we hid ourselves with the door ajar.
Presently the condemned man came in sight, accompanied by two chaplains who had been in attendance upon him almost since he rose that morning. As he went by we crept quietly out of our place of concealment, got behind him and began to pinion him. Had he cared to be troublesome, he was just the type of fellow who could have made mincemeat of us, but his manner was exemplary. Within a few seconds that part of our task was accomplished, and the procession resumed its mournful way.
The final adjustments on the scaffold took very few seconds, as Foster made no resistance of any kind. The actual execution was soon over, and the man died quite instantaneously.
Then arose an exciting proposition. How were we to get away?
Just before the execution we were told by an official ‘There is a warrant out now for your arrest at the instance of the coroner. They want to get hold of you and make you appear at the inquest to give evidence.’ However, he concluded, consolingly, ‘I do not think you will be caught.’
Still, in spite of this assurance, we wondered how things would go with us, and it was not a comforting prospect to think about while we were executing the condemned criminal.
We need not have worried, though. When the execution was over we quietly left the prison, and two officers drove us to the station in the Governer’s car. We caught the train for Dublin without mishap, the officers still accompanying us, and on the journey we had a good laugh at the ruse we had been actors in.
It appeared that, although the warrants had been issued against us, we were taken in one direction, whilst the police were sent to look for us in another.
I should have loved to have seen the Coroner’s face that morning when he presided at the inquest and found there was no response when an officer was instructed to ‘Call William Billington and John Ellis’. Then began a hot passage of words between him and the police inspector concerned.
‘I wrote to you last night and sent a messenger with summonses for the attendance of the executioners,’ said the Coroner.
‘Yes’ replied the Inspector, ‘but I did not get your message till this morning, and could not serve the summonses then, as the executioners had gone.’
At that the Coroner grew angry.
‘It is a ridiculous farce,’ he cried.
‘Why should a halo be placed round the head of the executioner?’ he demanded. ‘There is no earthly reason for it. We have come here in the interests of the outside community for the purpose of ascertaining whether this man Foster has been executed in accordance with the law. The agents for ascertaining that are the executioners, and they are not here. I intend to adjourn until this day week on the grounds that those summonses have not been served.’
A week later the inquest was resumed, but by this time the Coroner’s indignation had cooled down, and with a few more remarks he let the matter drop, and advised the jury to bring in the usual formal verdict.
It was not to be William’s last run-in with the law. Just as the decline in James’ professional conduct had been reflected in his personal standards, William’s career as hangman ended as his private life derailed. William’s family, including his five-month-old daughter Ann, was received by Bolton Union Workhouse in February 1905. They remained there for a month before going to stay with Catherine’s sister in Burnley. This did not last and when William continued to avoid paying maintenance he received a court summons.
On Friday 21 July 1905, the Manchester Courier printed an article entitled ‘Billington Sent To Prison.’ News on the once famous Billington family was given just the smallest space:
At Bolton Police Court yesterday William Billington the hangman was placed in the dock at the Instance of the Board of Guardians charged with neglecting to maintain his wife and family.
Mr Joseph Barton relieving officer stated that the defendant’s wife and two children had been in the workhouse. The cost of their maintenance was £3 7s 6d.
William was sentenced to one month’s hard labour but within two months of his release in August 1905 he was again brought before the magistrate. He claimed that he had given up alcohol and had tried to find work. His family had been back in the workhouse but he assured the magistrate that he was determined to care for them and promised to send them money so that they could travel to Bolton to live with him.
William had brought too much disgrace on himself to ever be considered for the hangman’s post again.
In the space of just three years, three of the four Billington executioners had been lost. Only the youngest, John, remained and he took over from William immediately after the execution of Eric Lange on 21 December 1904.
On 28 December 1904, assisted by Pierrepoint, John visited Leeds for the hanging of Arthur Jefferies. It was his sixth appearance as number one and he was still only twenty-four years old. His reputation was unblemished, there seemed no reason why he wouldn’t be able continue his father’s work, but his final execution was closer than anyone could have guessed.