I’ve always wondered how the grim and grimy reality of the Whitechapel murders of Jack The Ripper morphed into the sanitized, Hollywood revision of evening wear, handlebar moustaches, tophats and rosy-cheeked-petticoated-bustled young tarts.
Of course I can’t attest to the appearance of the killer but the victims are quite another case. Those women were rough to a degree that would scare the hell out of the most seasoned streetwalker living today. They were emaciated, sallow, diseased and toothless. They wore mens boots and lived in their clothes for weeks, even months on end without bathing. Except for Mary Kelly, they were in their mid to late 40’s. They subsided on gin and ‘bloaters’, went without sleep for days at a time and had random, unprotected sexual contact with men who were probably filthier than they were.
Their life stories weren’t penny dreadfuls but tales of absolute horror and it may seem callous and heartbreaking, but their deaths were likely inadvertant acts of mercy.
Going forward, don’t think Heather Graham or Eliza Dolittle or Mary Poppins…Think a 50ish Amy Winehouse with rickets and a touch of scurvey.
-JPB
My New Renaissance 