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Authors: Russell Edwards
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(possibly at the expense of John’s employer) and
was living in France, wanted nothing to do with their mother.
Back in London, Annie was living with a sieve-makernamed John Sivvey, a nickname from his trade, but he left her soon after her husband’s death, perhaps because the
money dried up. According to one friend, Annie appeared to be very affected by John’s death, and ‘seemed to have given away all together’.
By the spring of 1888, Annie had begun living at a dosshouse in Dorset Street, Spitalfields, known as Crossingham’s, run by a keeper called Tim Donovan. She began a relationship of sorts
with a man called Edward Stanley, a bricklayer’s mate known as ‘The Pensioner’, and they often spent weekends together at Crossingham’s, their bed paid for by Stanley. He
also sometimes paid for her bed there during the week, but told Donovan to kick her out if she ever came back with another man.
Like most of the other unfortunates, Annie tried to make an honest living selling crochet work and flowers, but it rarely paid enough to keep her, and the pub had the first call on any money she
made. In the summer of 1888, she bumped into her younger brother, Fountain Smith, and asked for money, but he had given her loans before and now cut her off.
At some time in the first days of September, Annie got into a fight with fellow lodger Eliza Cooper; some accounts say it was over the attentions of Edward Stanley, others say it was over a bar
of soap, and the place where the fight took place was variously given as in Crossingham’s itself or the Britannia pub at the corner of Dorset Street and Commercial Street. Whatever the case,
Annie received several bruises to the chest and a black eye. Her health had been poor all year, and she had been in and out of the infirmary; the injuries would not have made her feel any better.
She was clearly unwell when she met a friend, Amelia Palmer, near Christ Church on theevening of 7 September, the night leading up to her death. Annie complained of feeling
ill and said she had been to the infirmary where they had given her some pills and a bottle of medicine; she appeared world-weary, but knew what she had to do, saying, ‘It’s no good my
giving way. I must pull myself together and go out and get some money or I shall have no lodgings’. Amelia Palmer gave her the money for a cup of tea, making her promise not to spend it on
rum.
Later that evening, Annie was seen in the kitchen at Crossingham’s by several people. Some witnesses saw her take out the box of pills which promptly broke and she had to use a scrap of
envelope to keep them in. At about 1.35 a.m., the lodging keeper, Donovan, approached Annie for her bed money, but she had nothing to give.
‘Don’t let the bed, I will be back soon,’ she told him.
‘You can find money for drink, but not for your bed,’ Donovan reproved her.
He watched as she walked up Little Paternoster Row in the direction of Brushfield Street and Spitalfields Market. Annie would never return. The last person to speak to her was the nightwatchman,
and she told him she would not be long, and to make sure ‘Tim [Donovan] keeps my bed for me.’
For the next three-and-a-half hours, there is no information about Annie. It was cold for the time of year, and the streets were wet with rain, an unpleasant night to be out, especially for
someone who was clearly unwell. At 5.30 a.m. a woman was seen talking to a man on the street just a few yards from 29 Hanbury Street, where the body was found, and the witness, Elizabeth Long, was
certain the woman was Annie, although she did not know her. She later testified that the couple were talking loudly but seemed to be getting on, and she heard the man ask ‘Will you?’
and the woman reply ‘Yes.’
Mrs Long described the man as of ‘shabby-genteel’ appearance and said he looked like a ‘foreigner’, a word that was used in the East End as a
euphemism for Jewish. She estimated his
was living in France, wanted nothing to do with their mother.
Back in London, Annie was living with a sieve-makernamed John Sivvey, a nickname from his trade, but he left her soon after her husband’s death, perhaps because the
money dried up. According to one friend, Annie appeared to be very affected by John’s death, and ‘seemed to have given away all together’.
By the spring of 1888, Annie had begun living at a dosshouse in Dorset Street, Spitalfields, known as Crossingham’s, run by a keeper called Tim Donovan. She began a relationship of sorts
with a man called Edward Stanley, a bricklayer’s mate known as ‘The Pensioner’, and they often spent weekends together at Crossingham’s, their bed paid for by Stanley. He
also sometimes paid for her bed there during the week, but told Donovan to kick her out if she ever came back with another man.
Like most of the other unfortunates, Annie tried to make an honest living selling crochet work and flowers, but it rarely paid enough to keep her, and the pub had the first call on any money she
made. In the summer of 1888, she bumped into her younger brother, Fountain Smith, and asked for money, but he had given her loans before and now cut her off.
At some time in the first days of September, Annie got into a fight with fellow lodger Eliza Cooper; some accounts say it was over the attentions of Edward Stanley, others say it was over a bar
of soap, and the place where the fight took place was variously given as in Crossingham’s itself or the Britannia pub at the corner of Dorset Street and Commercial Street. Whatever the case,
Annie received several bruises to the chest and a black eye. Her health had been poor all year, and she had been in and out of the infirmary; the injuries would not have made her feel any better.
She was clearly unwell when she met a friend, Amelia Palmer, near Christ Church on theevening of 7 September, the night leading up to her death. Annie complained of feeling
ill and said she had been to the infirmary where they had given her some pills and a bottle of medicine; she appeared world-weary, but knew what she had to do, saying, ‘It’s no good my
giving way. I must pull myself together and go out and get some money or I shall have no lodgings’. Amelia Palmer gave her the money for a cup of tea, making her promise not to spend it on
rum.
Later that evening, Annie was seen in the kitchen at Crossingham’s by several people. Some witnesses saw her take out the box of pills which promptly broke and she had to use a scrap of
envelope to keep them in. At about 1.35 a.m., the lodging keeper, Donovan, approached Annie for her bed money, but she had nothing to give.
‘Don’t let the bed, I will be back soon,’ she told him.
‘You can find money for drink, but not for your bed,’ Donovan reproved her.
He watched as she walked up Little Paternoster Row in the direction of Brushfield Street and Spitalfields Market. Annie would never return. The last person to speak to her was the nightwatchman,
and she told him she would not be long, and to make sure ‘Tim [Donovan] keeps my bed for me.’
For the next three-and-a-half hours, there is no information about Annie. It was cold for the time of year, and the streets were wet with rain, an unpleasant night to be out, especially for
someone who was clearly unwell. At 5.30 a.m. a woman was seen talking to a man on the street just a few yards from 29 Hanbury Street, where the body was found, and the witness, Elizabeth Long, was
certain the woman was Annie, although she did not know her. She later testified that the couple were talking loudly but seemed to be getting on, and she heard the man ask ‘Will you?’
and the woman reply ‘Yes.’
Mrs Long described the man as of ‘shabby-genteel’ appearance and said he looked like a ‘foreigner’, a word that was used in the East End as a
euphemism for Jewish. She estimated his
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