Foul Deeds & Suspicious Deaths Around Leicester

Introduction

. . . the shocking horror of murder in

all its grisly guises.

From the early days of the nineteenth century, as books and newspapers became increasingly available to an ever greater number of people, accounts of murder and suspicious death began to capture the imagination of the public at large. So passionate were they about the subject, most writers and reporters quickly realised that whenever a crime of this nature occurred they had almost free license to report on the circumstances in a depth of detail previously unheard of. Regardless of the ability of their readers to understand the text, illiteracy being high, they knew the literate were all too well prepared to read aloud in pubs, clubs and meeting rooms to any that would listen. This in turn gave them a wider audience than they had been hitherto able to reach and also allowed them a degree of economy when it came to telling the truth. From this came the single printed broadsheets announcing the arrest of the killer, which were widely circulated and, if found guilty at their trial, the killer’s final condemned cell confession detailing their life. These so-called confessions were often sold to the huge crowds that flocked to see an execution.

For the Victorian public, detailed true life crime reportage was often mimicked by lurid and sensational fictional stories loosely based around fact, known as Penny Bloods. These were always strikingly illustrated, eight pages long and packed with vivid tales of murder and mayhem. They sold in their thousands and attracted a readership drawn to the shocking horror of murder in all its grisly guises. As the nineteenth century progressed and education improved, this same readership became more discerning. The popularity of the old broadsheets as a method of dissemination when it came to murder slowly declined, as did the sensationalism portrayed by the artists and writers of the Penny Bloods, who found it increasingly difficult to maintain their grip on the public imagination. Literacy had spread across the country with every passing year and with it a level of discernment that had not existed when they first picked up their pens. The same public that had once bought so enthusiastically and recoiled in mock horror at the murderous detail these men had produced, no longer found it germane to their life or their lifestyle. Greater knowledge, improved living conditions and the ability to read, had shifted the public’s perception of most things criminal. From the fiction writer they demanded a level of honesty and plausibility in the stories they told and from the reporter they insisted on both accuracy and truth. The fiction writer quickly adapted and by the end of Victoria’s reign so had the newspapermen. In the case of the latter it was their ability to translate the drama of the courtroom into a piece of prose that won them their readership. The ability, in a similar way to that of the novelist, to express not only the horror behind the detail but also of the pressures and emotions experienced by all those involved in a trial, virtually ensured they also held on to it. So true crime was born and there can be no doubting our continued fascination with the subject.

In Foul Deeds and Suspicious Deaths in and Around Leicester I have used this same principle and put together a comprehensive case study of the crimes that dominated the city over the past hundred years or so. Crimes whose stories eclipsed all other news of the day, capturing the headlines of not just local newspapers but in many cases those of the national press. These were read avidly by Leicester’s public at large and not just because of the nature of the crime, which was murder, but also because of the gladiatorial atmosphere of the courtrooms in which those accused were brought to account. One must remember, of course, that to be found guilty in all the cases I discuss meant a death sentence.

Also included here amongst the list of the notorious are some of Leicester’s most baffling and still unsolved murders such as the utterly perplexing death of James Gray Lowe and, of course, the now world famous and equally mysterious, Green Bicycle Murder. These two cases alone merit an in-depth study and invite the reader today, as they did many years ago, to attempt to unravel a mystery that has confounded countless would-be sleuths and curious authors. Each of the following pages is, therefore, a glimpse into a not too distant past that will both shock and fascinate.

So, please enjoy the journey and as you do so may I also take a moment to thank all those at the Record Office at Leicester whose help and guidance often goes unnoticed. I would also like to thank the Leicester Mercury and all those newspapermen that over a century and more reported diligently on all things important to the people of Leicester, and whose almost verbatim reportage of the activities of the Leicester courthouse have been of great assistance. Lastly, I must offer up a huge thank you to Maureen Yule whose patience has been boundless and whose photographic skill has once again proved invaluable.

CHAPTER 1

The Price of Envy The Murder of Acres Fowkes 1855

. . . William saw a sudden movement

outside the window . . .

John Fowkes had been born into a comparatively wealthy family but, it could be argued, had never benefited from that wealth. His father, known to have walked a fine line where the law was concerned, had inherited the one hundred acre farm at Snareston, including a number of cottages, long before he had been born. Believed to have been a Resurrectionist before that inheritance came about, he had been suspected for years of having stolen and sold freshly buried corpses to various dubious medical establishments in Birmingham. The notion that he would have embraced farming in the manner he did had surprised most that knew him. Not only had he taken to the life, he had done so spectacularly, proving himself surprisingly successful in all aspects of agriculture, and turning himself into an astute businessman. The wealth he accumulated, however, was never to be spent on the education of his children.

John was the eldest of three brothers and two sisters, none of whom had received anything other than a simple, rudimentary schooling and, as he grew older, he began to resent that omission from his childhood. Always known by the nickname of ‘butcher’ by any that knew him in the village on account of having taken up the trade as a young man, he had initially tended to work from premises in the village. But by the mid 1840s, possibly still feeling somewhat embittered, he had enlisted in the army and moved away from Leicestershire. It did not last long. After serving with his regiment in Ireland he began to make overtures toward his father for money. Disaffected by military life, and quite probably unable to accept the discipline it also demanded, he made the decision that the lesser of the two evils was home and family.

The small village of Snareston today. The author

By 1855 he was back on the farm working alongside his younger brother, William. As a farm labourer his sense of discontent was ever stronger, as by now he believed his station in life to have been thoroughly usurped by his own nephew. His father, now an old man, may have helped him escape the army but was never going to allow either himself or his brother any form of responsibility or control over the farm. Instead, he had, over the latter years of his life, invested money in his daughter Elizabeth’s son, Acres Fowkes. Whether because age had brought with it a realisation that none of his own family would be capable of taking over the farm on his death, or simply that he regretted his refusal to educate his sons effectively when he had had the opportunity, he never explained. Either way his nephew was the beneficiary of good schooling for much of his life and at its conclusion had then been brought, with his mother, to live in the farmhouse and take full business control of the farm. As the year drew to a close Acres responsibility had even been widened, not only to control the farm’s business accounts but also to oversee much of the day-to-day running, which meant he had, in all but name, become the overall farm manager. This power enabled him to manage the labour force and with it the daily working lives of his two uncles. Incensed by all he saw John refused to live in the same house and moved into a farm cottage some half a mile away. Bitterly resentful, he made no secret of his growing hatred for the young man and most of the villagers knew he harboured sentiments that were both serious and dangerous. In fact they helped fuel them. On 25 November of that same year John was told, by a man he knew well, that Acres had taken £700 from his father. John wanted to know why.

From an Edwardian postcard. Author’s collection

With that aim in mind he had stormed into the cowsheds early that evening in search of his brother William and, when he finally found him, he demanded to know if the rumour was true. Whether William could possibly have known is extremely doubtful but in an attempt to calm his brother he told him that he believed the sum of money that had been given over was only £100. It did little to assuage John’s anger and he swore vengeance for what he believed was an injustice committed by his father. He told William he would put an end to Acres involvement in the farm and leaving him to cogitate on exactly what he meant by that he stormed off toward his own house.

That same night, whilst all this was taking place, Acres Fowkes was sitting in the Square and Compass public house drinking with the village policeman, PC Cooper. The two men had known each other for several years and were considered friends, and when the landlord shouted time he invited the constable back to the farmhouse for another drink. Not one to refuse hospitality, PC Cooper readily accepted and the two arrived back at a little after 11 pm. William was already in the house having laid out fresh straw for the cattle. His father, who suffered badly from asthma, was standing at the open kitchen window trying to suck in fresh air. The three men were familiar with his symptoms, which did not cause them too much concern and they left him where he stood. Acres suggested they all have a drink and after drawing beer from a cask kept in the kitchen each pulled up a chair and sat by the fire. At about the same time William saw a sudden movement outside the window where his father stood and gave a startled shout, ‘There’s Butcher!’ Everyone turned to look and as they did so the glass pane shattered. There was a gunshot and Acres Fowkes instantly fell backwards from his chair wounded in the head. PC Cooper was the first to react and ran toward the door. He found his exit barred from the outside by means of a length of wood, which had been passed through the door latch handle and securely tied to a post beside the house’s back wall. It took several minutes for he and William to cut through the rope and by the time they had succeeded in reaching the farmyard, John Fowkes had fled. Whether through shock or uncertainty the young constable made no attempt to follow the killer. Instead, he organised someone to fetch Spencer Edmonds, surgeon, from Appleby whilst he returned to Snareston where he despatched another constable to Ashby de la Zouch to fetch sergeant John Platts.

The Globe, once the Square and Compass. The author

Platts, for obvious reasons, took some time to arrive and it was after 4.30 am when he finally walked into the Snareston police house. By this time Acres Fowkes had been attended by the doctor and had fallen into a coma with no chance of recovery. But the police sergeant, unlike his constable, was a meticulous man when it came to viewing a crime scene. After examining the ground outside the window from where the shot was fired, he discovered a number of distinctive footprints. These he followed for much of the length of the field that stretched out beyond the farm until they disappeared around an opening in the hedge. The piece of land on the other side formed part of a narrow road, the surface too compacted to show any further prints. Certain that whoever had fired the gun had run along this road the sergeant followed a hunch. Ducking under the hedgerow he followed the contours of the narrow track until it entered into another open field. There, in the glare of his lamp, the footsteps reappeared and travelled for several yards towards another narrow road. Here they finally petered out but not until they were within sight of Fowkes farm cottage. Platts knocked at the door and to