I had such a magnificent, exhilarating, exhausting, hilarious time at the Social History Society Conference last week. So many wonderful people and papers and ideas; I came home wanting to write at least seven books.
Of course, then reality set back in and I spent quite a long time this week looking at the civic structure of nineteenth-century Peterborough. The agony and the ecstasy.
You’ll be thrilled to know I’m moving away from 1861 for a whole week: expect a glut of 1871 murders in the autumn. This week’s case was instead selected by the time honoured method of opening a random trial sheet, and picking a homicide. This week, we’re in Wiltshire.
Workhouses come up a lot in my line of research. People went to the workhouse in extremis, either through lack of food or shelter, or because they were injured or unwell. Dying in the workhouse was normal, although dreaded by the poor.
Unlike deaths in a prison or asylum, which always required an inquest, workhouse deaths were only subject to inquests if there was something sudden, violent or otherwise odd about them. People were fairly strictly segregated from the people most likely to kill them in a domestic setting: spouses separated, parents removed from children. Drinking was kept to a minimum. Discipline was enforced by staff, and sometimes this discipline (whether through acts of force or omission) caused deaths. Sometimes these deaths were swept under the carpet…
Devizes workhouse was at the modern site of St James’ Gardens, and was built to house 400 inmates. In 1881, the vast majority of inmates were either infirm or unable to look after themselves. Seventy inmates were classed as ‘lunatics’, the Victorian catch-all for people suffering mental illness.
Stephen Coleman was born in Worton in approximately 1810, and baptised in neighbouring Potterne. As a young man, he worked as a bricklayer. He married in 1849, and lived with his wife in Alverstoke. Stephen worked as a maltster in Alverstoke. Sarah, his wife, died in 1877. By this time Stephen was physically disabled, and deaf. He had no children to support him, no family to rely on. He returned to Worton, perhaps relying on distant family. However, in November 1880, he applied for indoor relief at the workhouse. Perhaps not the retirement he had hoped for, but at least he would be reliably fed and sheltered.
Charles Gerrish (or Garrish, depending on source) was born in Bradford-on-Avon in 1811. His early life is a bit of a mystery: he appears to have been married twice before 1851, and spent some time living in Monmouthshire. However, he was absent from the census in 1861 and 1871, and claimed to have been in the United States. When the 1881 census was taken, he was in the workhouse at Avoncliffe, a rather smaller building than the one at Devizes. This workhouse still stands, and has been converted into flats.
Charles was not a permanent resident of the workhouse. He was a ‘tramp’, a casual user, seeking shelter as necessary. He arrived at Devizes on 10th August 1881, having walked from Avoncliffe. Three days later, he claimed to have been born in the local parish of St Mary’s, and was formally admitted as an inmate, meaning a move from the casual wards (famously and grimly described by George Orwell) to the permanent ward.
The old men of Devizes workhouse were not expected to engage in much work, and had a day room to spend their time. On 24th November, five of them congregated there: Charles and Stephen, along with George Porter, Thomas Batt and Richard Hayward. All five men were in their sixties and seventies, and shared dormitory space.
Stephen and Charles had a very minor squabble about the position of a stool near the fire. Stephen felt it was too close to the fire, Charles did not. Stephen moved it. Some words were exchanged… Charles left the stool, lit his pipe and put the poker into the fire.
The other men watched Charles smoke by the fire, watching the poker heat up for around five minutes. The men used the poker to light their pipes, and to brand pieces of wood to mark ownership, so allowing it to heat up was nothing unusual. But there was malice in the air… They knew something was going to happen, but they cannot have imagined what.
Charles took the red-hot poker from the fire, and plunged it into Stephen’s neck, burning his face and piercing the carotid artery.
Richard Hayward made some exclamation and Charles threatened to stab him as well. Hayward, deaf and infirm, took hold of Charles and held him to the ground, burning his hand in the process, until a porter came to help. Charles told the master of the workhouse
“I have done it and you had better lock me up.”
Meanwhile, Stephen bled to death.
Charles claimed that Stephen had pulled a knife and threatened to stab him, apparently forgetting the three other witnesses to the attack. A folding knife was found on Stephen’s body, covered in crumbs and clearly not opened for some time.
The inquest was held that afternoon in the workhouse, allowing the jury to visit the scene of the crime, and the body. Although an early attempt at an insanity defence was floated - Charles was described as quick-tempered but sane - the coroner advised that wilful murder was the only available verdict. This was the verdict returned.
Charles went before the magistrates twice, Friday 25th and Wednesday 30th November. Nothing new was added to the inquest evidence, and he was committed to assize trial. He spent Christmas in Devizes prison, waiting for the assize to begin on 11th January. His trial was held on the 13th.
The calendar was a busy one for Wiltshire, with two homicides, two rapes and a concealment case alongside the felony thefts and financial crimes. The Grand Jury, returning a True Bill* against Charles, said there was no fault to be laid at the Board of Guardians.
Charles pleaded not guilty, but had no defence, as you’d expect of a man with no funds. Mr Matthews was assigned to watch the case and sum up on Charles’ behalf. Without ever speaking to his client, he suggested that Charles had no intention of stabbing Stephen, until someone asked him what he was doing with the poker.
Charles asked for permission to speak in his own defence. He told the court that it was his job to sweep the dayroom and he moved the stool to do that. He also told the court that Stephen had threatened to kill him a few days before.
The judge clearly thought it was the most obvious case of murder, to the point where he suggested that the jury really didn’t need to retire. So they didn’t, and returned a verdict of guilty.
Putting on his black cap, the judge told Charles that he must die a death “both painful and shameful”. Charles was removed to wait for death in Devizes prison.
Charles had no friends, no family, no contacts. There was no petition to respite his execution. He made no resistance to his execution, and was hanged in private by William Marwood at Devizes prison on 30th January 1882. About five hundred people waited outside for his death, and then moved on.
According to the newspapers, Charles had a violent life. He said his two wives had died by homicide, although I can find no evidence of this.** He had served time as a sailor, possibly in the American navy, and bore the scars of a cat o’nine tails whipping on his back.
None of this really explains why, at seventy years of age, he was inspired to murder a man so viciously, in cold blood.He had no criminal record in England or Wales, although this only means any prior violence had gone unreported. Murder usually has a motive: it may not be justifiable, but there is usually a reason. There was no reason here. And this was no spontaneous outburst: he heated the poker for five minutes, calmly and without speaking. It was meaningless, an act of unbelievable, unprovoked ferocity.
Stephen had been in the workhouse for a year when he died, probably hoping for a bit of peace in his old age. Instead, he died in the most hideous manner, for nothing.
*It was not enough to have a coroner and a magistrate send someone to trial: the indictment had to be checked by a Grand Jury. The Grand Jury had the right to throw out any indictment they didn’t consider valid (recorded as No True Bill).
** It is possible that Mary Ann Gerrish, his second wife, was slain overseas.
Stephen Coleman
(1810-1881)