Removal from Woking

I had been admitted to the infirmary suffering from a feverish cold. I had been in bed a fortnight and was feeling very weak, when, on the morning of November 4, 1896, I awoke to find the matron standing at my bedside. “Maybrick,” she said, “the governor has given orders that you are to be removed to-day to Aylesbury Prison. Get up at once.” Without a word of explanation she left. I had become a living rule of obedience, and so with trembling hands dressed myself. Presently I heard footsteps approaching. A female warder entered with a long, dark cloak covered with broad arrows, the insignia of the convict. I was told to put on this garment of shame. Then, supported[128] by the warder, I crossed the big yard to the chief matron’s office. There other women of the “Star Class” were waiting, handcuffed. A male warder stepped forward and told me to hold out my hands, whereupon he fastened on a pair of handcuffs and chained me to the rest of the gang. This was done by means of a chain which ran through an outer ring attached to each pair of handcuffs, thus uniting ten women in a literal chain-gang. This was to me the last straw of degradation—the parting indignity of hateful Woking; but, happily, this was a painful prelude to a more merciful régime at Aylesbury.

Some of the women were weeping, some swearing. When all were ready the prison-van drove into the yard and we filed out to the clanking of our chains. Then the door was shut and we were driven off. A special train was waiting at the station, and escorted between male warders we got in. It was bitterly cold and raining heavily, but crowds lined the road and platforms.

Copyright by S. G. Payne & Son, Aylesbury.

AYLESBURY PRISON,
Where Mrs. Maybrick was confined from 1896 to 1904.

New Insignia of Shame

We were objects of morbid curiosity to the idle and curious people, who may or may not have felt sorry for us. But to be stared at was most distressing to all, to the first offender in particular. If the public but realized how prisoners suffer when their disgrace is thus brought to the public notice, they might feel ashamed of their lack of ordinary human consideration and pass on. But why should it be necessary at all to subject a prisoner to such humiliation and degradation? Male as well as female prisoners could be transferred from one prison to another without attracting any notice in the street or at the station, if they were provided with garments for traveling upon which the hideous brand of shame—the “broad arrow”—is not stamped. It is this mark of condemnation which attracts the morbid curiosity of the people. Such exhibitions and the callous disregard of a[130] prisoner’s feelings can only harden and embitter the heart and lower his or her self-respect.
Arrival at Aylesbury Prison

After a journey of nearly five hours we arrived at Aylesbury Station. The public were apparently aware that the first batch of convicts was to be transferred that day, as there were crowds at all the stations at which we stopped. When we got out at Aylesbury it was with difficulty that a passage was made for us. The prison-vans were in readiness, and we were rapidly driven away. I felt weak and faint and cold. A thick fog enveloped the town, and I could see only the dim outlines of houses appearing and disappearing as we passed along. We stopped before what appeared a gigantic structure, and then drove through two large iron gates into a small courtyard. There we descended and drew up in line to be counted by the[131] officer, while our numbers and names were given to the governor, who stood waiting to receive us. The order “Pass on!” was called by the matron in charge, whereupon we entered a long, dark, gloomy passage, at the end of which was a strong, barred door. This was unlocked, and, when we had passed in, relocked.

I have already described what a prison is like. Again we stood in line. Then a male warder came forward. He unlocked my handcuffs and unclasped the chain which bound me to my fellow convicts. With a clang that echoed through the empty halls they fell together to the ground. My wrists were bruised and sore from the long pressure of their combined weight.

Presently the order “Pass on!” was repeated, and, led by a female warder, we went up two flights of the iron stairway to the top ward of the hall. Each prisoner was then in turn locked into a cell. Thus ended my second journey as a prisoner.[132] The contrast with former journeys in my life drew bitter tears from my eyes.

During the remainder of the week daily batches of prisoners continued to arrive, and on the sixth day all had been duly transferred from Woking Prison, which was then turned into military barracks.

After this short break in our prison life the same daily routine was once more taken up. Whether it was due to the change of air or other physical causes I can not say, but from the time of my arrival I began to droop. I lost strength and suffered terribly from insomnia.
A New Prison Régime

Six months after our arrival, there came a change of authorities, and with the passing of the years a more enlightened régime was instituted by the Home Office. If a prisoner has any complaint to make or wishes to seek advice, she asks to have her name put down to see the governor.[133] She is then termed a “wisher,” and is “seen” by him in his office in the presence of the chief matron. Her request is written down by him in her penal record, and if he can not settle the matter out of hand it is referred to a “visiting director,” to whom the prisoner is permitted to make a statement. If this gentleman finds that his powers are insufficient to deal with the question, he in turn passes it on to the prison commission, and sometimes it goes even to the Secretary of State himself.

The same privilege holds good concerning medical matters. If a prisoner is feeling ill she asks the officer in charge of the ward where she is located to enter her name on the doctor’s book. At ten o’clock the prisoner is sent for, and sees the doctor in the presence of an infirmary nurse. He enters her name in a book, also the prescription, both of which are copied later in the prisoner’s medical record. If a prisoner is dissatisfied with the treatment she is receiving, she can make application[134] to see the “medical inspector,” who comes to the prison every three months. But if neither the governor, nor the doctor, nor the director, nor the inspector gives satisfaction, then there is the “Board of Visitors” to inquire into the complaint.
The Board of Visitors

The idea of the “Board of Visitors” is to act as a guaranty to the public that everything is honest and above board, and that there can be no possibility of inhuman treatment. If this is the sole object in view—namely, that the prisoners shall be seen by these “visitors”—then the object is largely attained. They have done much to ameliorate the prisoners’ condition. Whereas, at one time the women slept in their clothes, they are now provided with nightdresses; instead of sitting with their feet always on the stone floor, they are now allowed a small mat, as well as a wooden stool; and, as the result of many[135] complaints regarding the rapid decay of teeth, toothbrushes are allowed, a concession which I much appreciated. For a short time felt slippers were granted us, but these have been discontinued on the ground of expense. The same beneficent influence also secured wide-brimmed hats for the women. Formerly they had nothing to protect their eyes, and the reflected glare from the stone walls was the cause of much weakness and inflammation.

There were several changes in the diet also. Tea was substituted for cocoa at breakfast and supper, white bread in lieu of wholemeal bread, and tinned meat replaced the dry bread and cheese previously given on Sunday.

The time of solitary confinement was reduced from nine months to four, and immediately on its expiration the probationers can now work in “association” in either the laundry or the tailor’s shops where the officers’ uniforms—of brown cashmere in summer and navy-blue serge[136] in winter—are made, besides all the clothing for the prisoners’ own use; also in the twine-room, where excellent spinning is done; while the prisoner with special aptitude may be recommended to the bead-room, which turns out really artistic work.
Regulations Concerning Letters and Visits

The prisoners were also allowed to receive three photographs of near relatives and to keep them in their cells. Previously these had to be returned within twenty-four hours. Best of all, the intervals between letters and visits were reduced by a month. The number of letters permitted to be sent by a prisoner varies according to the stage she is in. In the fourth stage a letter is allowed every two months, and a “special letter” occasionally, if the prisoner’s conduct has been satisfactory.

The following is a copy of the prison[137] regulations concerning communications between prisoners and their friends:

“The following regulations as to communications, by visit or letter, between prisoners and their friends, are notified for the information of their correspondents:

“The permission to write and receive letters is given to prisoners for the purpose of enabling them to keep up a connection with their respectable friends, and not that they may be kept informed of public events.

“All letters are read by the prison authorities. They must be legibly written, and not crossed. Any which are of an objectionable tendency, either to or from prisoners, or containing slang or improper expressions, will be suppressed.

“Prisoners are permitted to receive and to write a letter at intervals, which depends on the rules of the stage they attain by industry and good conduct; but matters of special importance to a prisoner may be communicated at any time by letter (prepaid) to the governor, who will inform the prisoner thereof, if expedient.

“In case of misconduct the privilege of receiving and writing a letter may be forfeited for a time.

“Money, books, postage-stamps, food, tobacco, clothes, etc., should not be sent to prisoners for their use in prison, as nothing is allowed to be received at the prison for that purpose.

“Persons attempting to clandestinely communicate with, or to introduce any article to or for prisoners, are liable to fine or imprisonment, and any prisoner concerned in such practises is liable to be severely punished.

“Prisoners’ friends are sometimes applied to by unauthorized persons to send money, etc., to them privately, under pretense that they can apply it for the benefit of the prisoners, and under such fraudulent pretense such persons endeavor to obtain money for themselves. Any letter containing such an application received by the friends of a prisoner should be at once forwarded by them to the governor.

“Prisoners are allowed to receive visits from their friends, according to rules, at intervals which depend on their stage.

“When visits are due to prisoners notification will be sent to the friends whom they desire to visit them.”

While in Woking Prison, under the privilege of these rules, I wrote the following letter to the late Miss Mary A. Dodge (“Gail Hamilton”)—she who was my most eloquent and steadfast champion in America:

P 29, June 24, 1892.

Dear Miss Dodge:

I feel that I owe you such a debt of gratitude for the truly noble, beautiful, and womanly manner in which you have used that glorious gift of God—your genius—in the cause of a helpless and sorely afflicted sister, whose claim to your compassion was but that of a common humanity and nationality, that I feel I must send you a few lines, if only to disabuse your mind of any lingering doubts of my gratitude that my silence may have caused to arise. My dear mother has, I believe, explained to you the almost insurmountable difficulty I find in writing to friends abroad, with only[140] one letter every two months at my disposal, and which I do not feel justified in depriving her of. I can, therefore, only express through her from time to time my heartfelt thanks for all that has been and is still being done in my behalf. I utterly despair, however, of finding words that shall convey to you even the faintest idea of the fulness of a heart completely overwhelmed by the sympathy, kindness, and generosity of my friends. My feelings of love, however, and admiration for you and them is simply beyond all power of expression.

The world may and does bemoan the gradual extinction in this generation of those finer and nobler traits of character which our forefathers so beautifully exemplified; lays at the door of a higher civilization the terrible increase of selfishness, pride, and indifference to all the higher duties of Christianity. But, I ask, where can a grander exception be found to such apparent degeneration than that displayed by the conduct of those truly noble men and women, who, without a thought of self or of the trouble involved, have stood forth to[141] plead the cause of their countrywoman? Could man do more than he is doing? Could woman do more for her nearest and dearest than the ladies of America are doing for me? No! a thousand times, no!

Some day, my health and purse permitting, I shall hope to tell them face to face, if mere words can tell, how greatly their faithful, unwearying efforts, their undaunted energy, their sympathy and kindness and generosity have helped me to rise above the depressing influences of the injustice I am suffering under, to endure patiently, to bear bravely the hardships of this life, and to feel through all that the hope and comfort afforded me by their help is but a beautiful example of the way in which God answers the prayers of his people.

I would now fain beg of you, dear friend, to express my deepest and most heartfelt gratitude to President Harrison, Mr. Blaine, and the other members of the Cabinet. Also to all the distinguished gentlemen who so generously attached their signatures to the splendid petition sent lately from Washington to the Hon. Henry Matthews,[142] Secretary of State, London, and to assure them of my great appreciation of the honor and justice they have done me in thus espousing my cause. Oh, how wretchedly I have expressed what I really feel and would like to say! But you, too, have a woman’s heart, and you can therefore realize the feelings I find it so hard to express. It would be a still more hopeless task to try to tell you what I think of you—noblest and truest of women; that must wait until we meet. Until that glad day, believe me,

Yours gratefully and sincerely,
Florence E. Maybrick.

P.S. My next date for receiving letters is 19th July.

To Miss Dodge,
Washington, D. C., U. S. A.
A Visit from Lord Russell

I was sitting in my cell one day feeling very weak and ill. I was recovering from an attack of influenza, and the cold comfort[143] of my surroundings increased the physical and mental depression which accompanies this complaint. I wondered vaguely why my life was spared, why I was permitted to suffer this terrible injustice, when my sad thoughts were distracted by the sounds of approaching voices. I arose from my seat—which is a compulsory attitude of submission when an authority approaches a prisoner—and stood waiting for I knew not what. Presently I heard the tones of a voice which I can never forget while memory lasts, though that voice is now hushed in death; a voice which, through the darkest days of my life, ever spoke words of trust, comfort, and encouragement. Surely I must be dreaming, I thought, or my mind is growing weak and I am becoming fanciful; for how should this voice reach me within these prison walls? I looked up, startled, and once more thought my mind was wandering, for there stood the noblest, truest friend that woman ever had: the champion of the weak and[144] the oppressed; the brave upholder of justice and law in the face of prejudice and public hostility—Lord Russell of Killowen, Lord Chief Justice of England. He stepped into my cell with a kindly smile on his face, and sat down on my stool, while the governor waited outside. He talked to me for half an hour, and I can never forget the beauty and grandeur of that presence. As he rose to leave he turned toward me, and, seeing unshed tears in my eyes, he took my hand in his, and in his strong, emphatic way said: “Be brave, be strong; I believe you to be an innocent woman. I have done and will continue to do all I can for you.”

It has been denied in England that Lord Russell took any interest in me other than he might in any client he was paid to defend; but the letter which I have already given, written to me at Woking, as well as various statements made by him, and quoted elsewhere, must set that aspersion at rest.