Jack the Ripper

The cold evening chill against my face only added to my already heightened sense of anticipation. Slayings, subterfuge, and the sinister story of London’s first recorded serial killer was only moments away. How was I so certain? This was at least my fifth walking tour of the killing grounds of Jack the Ripper.

Standing on the pavement awaiting the guide, Aldgate High Street bustled with activity. I looked across the road, back towards The Hoop and Grapes where I had earlier enjoyed a pint after discovering that this ancient drinking den, built in 1593, had been the only pub to survive the great fire of 1666. The old and the new fused together often effortlessly, yet occasionally awkwardly too, typified no more than by a seemingly modern office block hosting a huge illuminated sign that simply proclaimed, “White Chapel.” The killer had been referred to as the Whitechapel murderer prior to the media frenzy following the publication of the infamous “Dear Boss” letter, received by the Central News Agency of London on 27th September 1888, and latterly the “From Hell” correspondence. Sent to George Lusk, chair of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee on 15th October 1888, this letter was accompanied by half a human liver.

As I awaited the arrival of my guide I became frustrated. He was late. I called the tour number only to discover that the error was mine and I was an hour early. Was this a lack of attention to detail on my part or further evidence of how this story had gripped me? To kill some time I had another beer in the nearby East India Arms, built next to the once goliath of overseas trading, the East India Company. The intimacy of most of the East End boozers I had previously frequented was elegantly reflected in this example. Cramped, yet with small booths that allowed a degree