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The Smith case is mentioned in Dorothy L. Sayers'
mystery, Unnatural Death. The Smith case was dramatised on the
radio series The Black Museum in 1952 under the title of "The
Bath Tub". There was also The Brides in the Bath (2003), a
British TV movie made by Yorkshire Television, starring Martin Kemp as
George Smith and the play Tryst by Karoline Leach, first produced
in New York in 2006, starring Maxwell Caulfield and Amelia Campbell.
This story is the basis for the play The Drowning Girls by Beth Graham,
Charlie Tomlinson, Daniela Vlaskalic.
By David Leafe - DailyMail.co.uk
April 22, 2010
The glow of the policemen's lanterns cast eerie shadows over the
graveyard, as the church clock chimed midnight and the cheaply made
coffin was raised slowly from its resting place.
Inside, was the decomposing body of 38-year-old
Margaret Lofty, a vicar's daughter who had been buried just two months
previously.
This was the first of three excavations requested by
detectives in February 1915. Four days later, the cadaver of 25-year-old
nurse Alice Burnham was removed from her Blackpool grave.
Like Margaret Lofty, she had expired suddenly, as had
33-year-old Bessie Mundy, whose corpse was exhumed in Herne Bay, Kent, a
fortnight later.
All three were at first believed to have drowned
after fainting or having a fit in the bath, but suspicions were aroused
after it was discovered they had been married to the same man, serial
bigamist George Joseph Smith.
His trial later that year, for what became known as
the Brides In The Bath murders, was one of the most sensational of the
20th century. And the public was so fascinated by Smith's crimes that
for many decades an effigy of him stood in Madame Tussauds' Chamber Of
Horrors.
The case would also be hailed as an early triumph for
forensic science but, almost 100 years after the first murder, one
fascinating question still remains unanswered - as a new book, The
Magnificent Spilsbury And The Case Of The Brides In The Bath, by Jane
Robins, reveals.
Exactly how did the Bluebeard Of The Bath dispatch
his victims? All three were fit and healthy women, fully capable of
putting up resistance, and there was no sign they had been poisoned or
drugged. Yet all were apparently drowned, with no evidence of violence
or struggle.
Only one person knew the answer - and that was Smith
himself.
A cold-hearted con-man whose crimes were motivated
purely by financial gain, he was born in the East End of London in 1872
and by the age of nine had been sent to reform school for thieving. He
left at 16 with a talent for exploiting women.
His first and only legal marriage was in 1898, to a
bootmaker named Caroline Thornhill, aged 19. She left him two years
later, after he forced her to steal money from her employers, earning
her three months in prison. But he had no shortage of victims.
Large numbers of young men emigrating to the colonies,
had left British females outnumbering men by more than half a million by
1910. The newspapers were full of stories about women who could not find
husbands.
Such spinsters were perfect prey for Smith, a smooth-talking
spiv with a slim, muscular physique and a penchant for flashy gold rings
and brightly-coloured bow-ties.
He prowled seafronts and parks in his search for
lonely and vulnerable females, mesmerising them with his deep-set grey
eyes.
'When he looked at you, you had the feeling that you
were being magnetised,' recalled one woman, who encountered Smith during
those early years. 'They were little eyes that seemed to rob you of your
will.'
Smith gained a woman's trust by going through a
bigamous marriage ceremony, then absconded with her savings. Those who
lost only their money were fortunate - for soon his crimes would take a
far darker turn.
In the summer of 1910, he was walking in Clifton,
Bristol, when he met Bessie Mundy, a plain but well turned-out young
woman. Her late father was a bank manager and she had inherited from him
£2,500, some £150,000 at today's prices.
Smith introduced himself as Henry Williams, a picture
restorer from London, and persuaded Bessie to marry him a few weeks
later at a register office in Weymouth.
In May 1912, the couple moved to Herne Bay and Smith
asked Bessie to make a will in his favour. Afterwards he visited an
ironmonger and asked the price of a cast-iron bath. He was told that it
cost two pounds.
Two days later, Bessie was sent to the shop with
instructions to haggle for a two shilling discount, unaware that she was
negotiating the price of her own instrument of death. Smith then
persuaded her she was suffering epileptic fits, about which she
remembered nothing afterwards.
In truth, Bessie had no history of fits but on Friday,
July 12, she happily agreed to be examined by their local doctor and
repeat to him the symptoms Smith had described to her.
The following morning, the doctor received a pencil-written
note from Smith. 'Come at once,' it read. 'My wife is dead.'
He arrived to find Bessie on her back in the bath,
her face still partially submerged. Smith claimed this was how he had
found her.
With no signs of anything untoward, the inquest jury
declared Bessie had drowned after suffering a fit, clearing the way for
Smith to inherit her fortune.
Despite his sudden wealth, little was spent on her
funeral. Smith choose the cheapest coffin available and refused to pay
for a private plot, so Bessie had to be buried in a common grave. He
even returned the bath to the ironmonger and secured a refund.
With the murder weapon disposed of, it seemed Smith
had committed the perfect crime. But he had overlooked one thing.
Unbeknown to him, Bessie was holding a bar of soap in her right hand
when she died and the doctor had noted that her fingers remained clamped
tightly around it.
This clue later proved crucial to securing Smith's
conviction, but two more women would die before then.
That December he proposed that they visit Blackpool
on a delayed honeymoon. This seemingly romantic gesture ensured that
they were as far away as possible from the scene of his first murder.
Turning down the first boarding house they tried
because it didn't have a bathroom, Smith found them rooms with widow
Margaret Crossley, then took Alice to the local doctor, claiming that
she was suffering persistent headaches.
On the evening of Friday, December 12, three days
after they arrived in Blackpool, Mrs Crossley noticed small drops of
water seeping through her kitchen ceiling while Alice was having a bath
upstairs.
At that moment, Smith appeared in the kitchen and
struck up a conversation, presumably to give himself an alibi. Shortly
afterwards, he went upstairs and 'discovered' his wife dead in the bath.
Once again, there were no signs of anything suspicious.
The inquest jury decided that Alice had drowned after
fainting.
Alice had been married to Smith just over a month
when she died, but his next victim Margaret Lofty lasted barely 24 hours.
Posing as moneyed land agent John Lloyd, he met her
in Bath the following November and they married on December 18, 1914,
shortly after she had insured her life for £700.
The couple began their brief honeymoon in Highgate,
North London, with Smith taking his new wife to a local doctor on their
wedding night.
Like Alice Burnham, she was said to be suffering
headaches.
The following evening, their landlady Louisa Blatch
was ironing in her kitchen when the sound of splashing came from the
bathroom above. This was followed by the noise of wet hands rubbing
along the side of the bath and then a sigh.
A few minutes later, Mrs Blatch heard strains of the
hymn Nearer My God To Thee being played on the harmonium in the Lloyds'
sitting room. Then the front door slammed, only for John Lloyd, alias
Smith, to knock on it a few minutes later explaining that he had popped
out to buy some tomatoes for his wife's supper but had forgotten his key.
These elaborate efforts to prove he was anywhere but
the bathroom when his wife died were unnecessary.
Margaret's death was recorded as misadventure,
bringing his murderous earnings to £3,700, around £190,000 today.
He might have killed yet more innocent women if Alice
Burnham's father had not read newspaper reports about Margaret Lofty's
death.
Suspicious about the similarities between her demise
and that of his daughter, he alerted the police and Smith was arrested
in February 1915, as he visited his solicitor to discuss Margaret
Lofty's will.
With the Kent police suggesting that the death of
Bessie Mundy might also be linked to the murders, witnesses came forward
to identify Smith - and the grim exhumation of the bodies began.
No evidence was found of foul play, but Home Office
pathologist Bernard Spilsbury was struck by the fact that Bessie Mundy
was still holding on to a bar of soap when she died.
If she really had suffered a faint or a fit, as her
inquest had suggested, her hand would have relaxed and let the soap go.
This suggested that she - and, by implication, the
other women - had died very suddenly, without time to put up a fight.
But the question was: how? The theory Spilsbury
advanced in court was that Smith had pulled their legs sharply out of
the bath, sending their head underwater so fast consciousness was lost
instantly.
Modern science gives this some credibility. The
rushing of water down the throat could put pressure on the vagus, one of
the main nerves in the neck, causing a rapid slowing down of the heart
rate and an instant faint. Yet most people suffering 'vagal inhibition'
do not die, recovering quickly afterwards.
One of the most intriguing theories is that Smith
hypnotised his victims, an idea suggested by George du Maurier's best-selling
novel Trilby, published in 1894.
Featuring the character of Svengali, an evil
hypnotist who mesmerises the heroine into a life of servitude, this was
followed by newspaper reports in 1905 about the activities of American
bigamist George Witzoff.
This real-life Svengali persuaded more than 100 women
to marry him by means of hypnosis - and robbing each of their life
savings.
Might these stories have inspired the evil crimes of
George Smith? And could this explain the extraordinary acquiescence of
his wives in signing over their lives, reporting to doctors their purely
imaginary symptoms and sinking below the bath water at his suggestion?
This seems far-fetched, but it was the view advanced
by Smith's own barrister, Edward Marshall Hall. After his client was
found guilty and sentenced to hang, he wrote of his conviction that
Smith had indeed killed his wives, but not in the way suggested in court.
'I had a long interview with Smith. I was convinced
that he was a hypnotist,' he said. 'Once I accepted this theory, the
whole thing was explained.'
There are problems with this theory. Hypnotists say
it is not possible to persuade a subject to do something that will harm
them. And Bessie Mundy's grip on the soap seems inconsistent with the
idea she had relaxed into a trance.
Others suggest Smith terrified his wives into
accepting their end. But the truth is, it is unlikely that we shall ever
know.
In August 1915, Smith was hanged at Maidstone Prison,
protesting his innocence to the end - and taking with him the secret of
how he killed three innocent women, who were desperate for love but were
met instead with cruel and untimely deaths.