MISS ELAINEOUS VISITS THE JACK THE RIPPER MUSEUM...

I found out about the Jack The Ripper Museum only a couple of weeks ago, whilst searching for something else online.  Open since 2015, somehow its existence had totally passed me by!

It was a horribly inclement day when my cousin and myself visited.  We also took part (maybe against our better judgement) in the Ripper walk, but this was the only day we had available on which to do it.

There were no overground trains at my end, so I had a 20-25 minute walk, through sleet, to the nearest Tube station.  By the time I arrived at Tower Hill, clutching my trusty A-Z and cursing to myself like a sailor, sleet had turned to snow and I had that annoying London problem of trying to find a street which had no name displayed on it.  Later that day, by the time we did our walk, snow had turned to steady rain and the temperature was -1 degree.

But, before we did the walk, we traversed the museum.  Set over five floors, the idea is that you approach your sleuthing with the intention of working out who Jack the Ripper was.  It's hardly a novel idea, but it sounded appealing.  

The first floor is recreated to look like Mitre Square, where Catherine Eddowes, Jack's second victim, was found, by Police Constable Watkins.  It is very atmospheric, but ghoulish moi was a little disappointed by the lack of blood and guts.  Read on and you will see how my opinion changed throughout our tour...

On the wall, you see a replica of the original, miss-spelt, graffiti that was left at the crime scene.

The second floor shows how Jack the Ripper's sitting room may have looked.  Was he a gentleman?  Many think he may have been, although his crimes were far from 'gentle'-abhorrent would be a better way of describing them.  

Here is his make-believe cabinet.

Here is his desk, with books on anatomy and surgery on display.

Here is his array of torturous-looking medical instruments and poisons.

His mantelpiece, with a drawing by Walter Sickert, who was one of the most major Ripper suspects, hanging above.

Here is a close look at some information regarding Sickert- he was always the man I liked  the most for the position of 'guilty'.  Do I still feel the same?  To be frank, I'd have to look into it a lot more.

A lock of Mary Kelly's hair.  She was his final victim, and what a sad little memento this is.  In this room, there are also letters the police received, pertaining to be from the Ripper.

The killer sent a kidney from one of his victims, along with a sinister note... 

The third floor shows a mock-up of the police station.  I especially loved these original handcuffs, notebook and truncheon.  These are the actual items carried by Police Constable Watkins when he found Catherine Eddowes.  History really came alive for me here!

Chief Inspector Abbeline at his desk.  He led the hunt for the Ripper.

There is so much more to see at the museum- words cannot possibly describe everything, so go and see for yourselves.  Between floors, we get newspaper reports and illustrations of the murders along with locations, and comments regarding the social deprivation of the area during that time.  Here are sketches of these sad, unfortunate ladies.

Up we go to the kind of room Jack's poverty stricken victims would have lived in.  Piped through the speakers is a lady singing the actual song Mary Kelly was heard singing on the day of her death.  It's a joyful song and now, with hindsight, hauntingly poignant.  These women had a LIFE before Jack took it from them.

On the landing, we find a very scabby window.

This lady has tried to make her humble abode look pretty.

We go downstairs, passing the ground floor shop, which has many reasonably priced Ripper and London themed gifts, down to the morgue.  The drawers at the back are for holding cadavers. 

Morgue bench.

On the walls are actual autopsy photos of the women, apart from the photograph of Mary Kelly, which is a crime scene image and is horrific.  She's the victim who had the most damage committed to her corpse, as she was killed in her room, as opposed to on the street, and Jack was able to take his time in mutilating her.  The women all died from having their throats slashed, so would have passed away pretty much instantly (thank the lord for small mercies), with the atrocities to their bodies occurring post-mortem.

You start the tour thinking in terms of discovering who the Ripper was- it's a game with all the players- from the cops to the prostitutes, to the suspects and the witnesses- pieces on a chessboard.

But as you progress the sadness hits home and you realise that the victims were actually real PEOPLE.  In particular, they were WOMEN.  They had heartbeats and likes and dislikes; thoughts, feelings and the capacity to love.  And to hate.  Did they hate their lives?  Or did they just hate parts of them?  Or were they (moderately) content?  Maybe in the depths of depression or up one minute and down the next?  Did gin really take away all of their worries, or did the hangover exacerbate them tenfold?

  We will never know, but we do know that the end to their very un-glamorous lives was just about as squalid as it could be. Oh, and I'd seen enough blood and guts for one day.

We went on the Ripper walk, but bailed out at The Ten Bells, ten minutes from the end, as the weather was just hideous- wet underfoot with a persistent downpour falling from the skies, and my cousin was really suffering from jet lag.  But we enjoyed the tour, saw enough to be satisfied, and I'm planning on returning to do the museum and the walk- just this time when the weather's warmer, lighter and better!

MISS ELAINEOUS VISITS DENNIS SEVERS' HOUSE...

I only learned of this Spitalfields tourist attraction recently, when something popped up on Google.  I can't even remember what I was researching, but I thought that visiting this house would be a good idea.

  Here is the outside of the house.  Above the front door is a gas lamp.  Trust me; neither time or tide nor modernity has touched this place.

  It was one of the weirdest and most unnerving experiences of my life.  Here is their blurb:-

'Its creator was Dennis Severs, an artist who used his visitors’ imaginations as his canvas and who lived in the house in much the same way as its original occupants might have done in the early 18th Century. This he did for his own personal enjoyment as well as for the harvest of an atmosphere, which he then employed to provide the visitor with an extraordinary experience. To enter its door is to pass through a frame into a painting, one with a time and life of its own.

'The game is that you interrupt a family of Huguenot silk weavers named Jervis who, though they can still sometimes be heard, seem always to be just out of sight. As you journey off into a silent search through the ten rooms, each lit by fire and candlelight, you receive a number of stimulations to your senses.

'Visitors begin to do what they might if indeed they had travelled through a frame into a painting: use what they sense to piece together the scene they had missed. Thus, and this was Mr Severs’ intention, what you imagine… is his art.

'Be warned, it is a mistake to trivialise or pigeonhole the experience into any of the mothball camps: “heritage”, “local history”, “antiques”, “lifestyle” or “museum”. A visit requires the same style of concentration as does an exhibition of Old Masters.'

Source:- https://www.dennissevershouse.co.uk/

 The tour is conducted in silence, mobile phones must be turned off and photography is not allowed (hence these images of the house are PDFs).

It is open on some evenings and for a limited amount of time on a couple of days.  On a Monday, it is open from 12pm-2pm and, on a drizzly day, I duly rolled up at a couple of minutes to twelve to find a queue had already formed.  They only let ten people in at a time and, as I was number twenty-one in the queue, I had to wait twenty minutes.  It wasn't all that bad- I had my (leopard print!) brolly with me and the time soon vanished.  It costs a tenner to get in and I thought that was reasonable.

We are, firstly, invited into the basement.  Here is the larder, with its shrine to Spitalfields.  Don't be fooled by the light, which has, no doubt been created for the purpose of photography- the house is candlelit throughout and it is REALLY dark in this part.

Here is the kitchen, which was my favourite room of the house.  I'm sure that this room has featured on the TV programme, 'If Walls Could Talk', which was presented by Lucy Worsley.  The fire is real, as are some of the objects.  I can certainly vouch for the wibbly-wobbly jelly, as I had a sneaky poke!

Here is the dining room.  You do have to focus on the detail, as every room abounds with clutter but, you see, it has all been put there for a purpose.

Next we came to a parlour that seemed to be a shrine to Victorian bad taste, which was interesting as the blurb dictates that the house is styled in the manner of the early 18th century.

The view of the little tropical garden is lovely.  Here's a PDF I pulled, featuring the manager of the house, Nick Pedroli.  I don't usually like people in my depictions, but it was the only image I could find!

We venture upwards to the first floor and a much more feminine room, set up for afternoon tea.  Candied fruits are on display in the hallway and you can smell these, adding to the atmosphere.  The sounds of the street are also piped through.  They are very realistic.

Here is the smoking room.  On the wall is a William Hogarth painting and the owner of the house has tried to make the display of the room depict exactly what's going on the picture.  This is very freaky!  I think this is the room that had a strong smell of woodsmoke.

Upstairs to the bedroom, which gives a new meaning to shabby chic... I especially loved the dressing tables dotted around the building, resplendent with feminine requirements  such as jewellery and hairbrushes.  I loved looking into the grainy mirrors, expecting to see... what, exactly?  Was I hoping to be transported back in time?  The beds looked like someone had just got out of them but did we really need to see the chamber pots?! 

Here is the decidedly female side room on this floor.

Up to the lodgers' bedroom, with corners created to look like scenes from more than one Dickens novel.  This room was falling apart and was really bloody cold and creepy.

Side weaver's room.  I stood on a loose floorboard and the bobbin to one side of the weaving gear started sliding upwards.  Talk about (unintentionally ) interactive!

What Dennis Severs was thinking of, I do not know.  He lived from 1948-1999 and lived in this house, as it is displayed to us, for some years.  Why?  Only he could answer that.  I found the whole experience unsettling.  I didn't quite feel like the Jervis family had just left any of the rooms as I entered.  Maybe it was the presence of other tourists?  Maybe it was catching glimpses of my modern-dressed self in the mirror?  But I certainly 'got it.'  And strangely enough, I would visit the house again.  There's something about it that draws you in.

After I left the house, I wandered into Spitalfields Market, around the corner.  But the smell of the many foodstuffs on sale, competing with each other for prominence in the wintry air, made me feel sick so I finished my day with a drink in The Ten Bells, famous for being the pub in which Jack the Ripper's prostitute victims drank.  It is, apparently, mostly unchanged since his day.

A lady came up to me and mentioned that she'd seen me in Dennis Severs' House, and asked what I made of it.  'I found it creepy,' was my answer.  We both agreed that we wouldn't want to live the way they did in those days and are glad that times have moved on.

Mural in the corner depicting Gilbert and George, who live around the corner.

I've read that the toilets are worth noting for their tiled walls, so here's my photographs.

A kind of selfie.  This mirror looks like it was around during Jack's days!!!!

I will return to The Ten Bells soon, as I intend to visit the nearby Jack the Ripper museum, and go on one of their Ripper Tours.

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AMBITIONS by AUDREY HOWARD

AMBITIONS

BY AUDREY HOWARD

THE BLURB:-

They founded an empire together, but at a terrible cost to themselves.

Lacy Hemingway and Rose O'Malley could not have had more different origins- Lacy's full of privilege, as befitted the daughter of Liverpool's richest shipping magnate; Rose's as difficult as only the life of poor Irish immigrants could be.

Their friendship was as powerful as it was unlikely. From the early days of childhood, they faced a sometimes hostile world together. It was their strength that helped them build a business empire that was a model to the world of men they challenged.

But, ultimately, their empire and their friendship were brought to the point of destruction by the love each of them had for the same man.

THE REALITY:-

Wow and waheeey!!!! A tome!!!! And I do love tomes- nowadays writers are supposed to fit into the box of producing a 400 page commercial novel- that and definitely no longer. But in the 1980s, when this novel was published, tomes were not frowned upon. People are not stupid, you know, and do have the intellect and endurance to finish a 669 page novel, and one in small print at that. And, in today's busy world, some of us also make the time to pursue our hobbies, such as reading, as self-love and nurturing is really important- as opposed to life being about 'all work and no play'.

Rant over, now for the story. 'Ambitions' was incredibly well researched, digging into periods of history and lifestyles that I am not an expert on; such at the finer details of the American Civil War, the Crimean War and also the ins and outs of the world of shipping magnates in the 19^th century. Of course, all of this can be lifted from books on those subjects, but the writer has also examined the finer details, such as the turns of phrases/workaday language, fashions and mannerisms used during those times. The world of the characters came alive with clever scenic descriptions of both town and country, and the social codes of the day were well explored. You also get to see the very stark contrast between the world of the rich and the world of the poor, with likeable and loathsome characters on both sides and immense depictions that enlighten every one of your senses. When Rose goes to visit her childhood home, you can almost smell the stench of poverty and taste her wariness of her rancid stepfather. Talking of the latter, it was good to see 'Lancer' McGhee get his just desserts and laugh out loud funny that his nickname came from him having a very large penis- and also quite horrid too... Do read the book and find out why.  The writer has a very good grasp of the English language and I managed to learn some new words, which is always a bonus for me.  I like to broaden my intellect.

The story itself is really enthralling, with so much depth that it's hard not to engross yourself into the core of it. Would I prefer to be Lacy or Rose (our heroines), fighting for credibility in a man's world? Neither. They were successful, but both had real tragedies happen to them in their lives. Here comes a spoiler alert- Lacy, with her illegal backstreet abortion nearly killing her and leaving her unable to have children, and Rose, with her horrible, poverty stricken and dangerous early life.  The latter's enduring love for James stopped her from forming a relationship with any other man. I could, unfortunately, relate to Lacy's teenage feelings with regard to being abandoned both by the father she loved and the man she had fallen in love with. It's difficult when those you look up to and really believe will look after you neglect to do so. Lacy, with the help of Rose, was strong enough to move on. It took me longer, maybe because I didn't have a much-needed 'Rose' in my life, and couldn't confide in my mother.  I did have one gripe, however, and that is that the end of the novel did start to seem predictable, the further you got into the book.

It is pleasing that Audrey Howard is not a young writer- I believe she was 52 when her first novel was published, and has gone on to have a very prolific career, with an impressive back list. This makes me feel a bit guilty for not pressing on with my second novel, but something else always seems to get in the way. At the moment it's flat redecorating/ finding people do to the jobs that require a professional and job hunting (as I do not like my stupid day job). But I plain to save so that I can leave it behind. Then I can devote all of my time to, firstly, redecorating, and secondly, working on my next book. I was never much good at a multitasking lifestyle, me!  And don't get me started on that- I have never met a person who can multitask, despite many people boasting to the contrary.

MARC FISHER ICE PICKS...

Yuk! White stuff...

(Actually, the snow looks rather pretty, but I'm definitely a summer person- it must be something to do with being born in July...)  Incidentally, I've never been skiing and don't see the attraction with winter sports.  Who on earth would want to pay to risk life and limb in sub zero temperatures, exercise AND wear a fat suit to boot?  Not I, that's for sure- gimme a beach and a cocktail!!!!  Anyway, I'm so clumsy I'd probably do a Sonny Bono and wrap myself around a tree.

It means I've had to rethink my footwear as I have to go somewhere this evening and the open-toed affairs I strapped on last night really aren't going to cut the mustard.  Stilettos are good in the snow as they work like ice picks! Here's my Marc Fisher courts, found (brand new and unworn) in a charity shop for £4....

AFTER YOU by JOJO MOYES

AFTER YOU

BY JOJO MOYES

THE BLURB:-

Lou Clark has lots of questions.

Like how is it she's ended up working in an airport bar, watching other people jet off to new places.

Or why the flat she's owned for a year still doesn't feel like home.

Whether her family can ever forgive her for what she did eighteen months ago.

And will she ever get over the love of her life.

What Lou does know for certain is that something has to change.

Then, one night it does.

But does the stranger on her doorstep hold the answers Lou is searching for- or just more questions?

Close the door and life continues: simple, ordered, safe.

Open it and she risks everything.

But Lou once made a promise to live. And if she's going to keep it, she has to invite them in...

THE REALITY:-

I read the predecessor to this book, Me Before You, some three years ago (found it for £1 in a charity shop, before the film was made and it got relaunched) and it brought tears to my eyes, being an incredibly moving piece of work. The main character is Will, who was once a very active, ruthless City boy, until fate cruelly intervened in the shape of a motorcycle accident that left him paralysed from the neck down. In this book, Louisa starts work as his carer, and falls in love with him- but he's already decided that his fate is a humane ending at Dignitas; which he carries out. I haven't seen the film yet, but I would like to.

In this book Louisa is rebuilding her life and I began reading with trepidation, as very few sequels are ever as good as the first novel. But this was a great read! The character of Louisa is certainly not dull, and we have to live through her various mishaps, including her falling off a roof and surviving, finding a new man only for him to get shot and also her putting up with the job from hell. With a good selection of likeable, dislikeable and interesting characters, both old and new, the story moves on at an even pace.

But it was little Lily, the sixteen-year-old who turns up on Louisa's doorstep claiming to be Will's daughter (she's telling the truth) who really grabbed my heart. Proof that money doesn't buy class, she comes from a rich background, but has ended up being bottom of the list of priorities in everyone's world. At war with her mother and stepfather (the latter whom she names both Fuckface and Penisfeatures- that made me guffaw out loud!) she's fallen into all sorts of trouble and finds the door to the family home locked against her.

I can really, really, REALLY (and unfortunately) relate to this character. I, too, was slung out of the family home at the age of sixteen for no real reason other than staying out late with my new boyfriend. Well, I was in love, okay? And, even that age, I knew that you had to take advantage of whatever love you could get and simply go with the flow. That love really didn't last very long (as tends to happen, when you're very young) and I moved back home after struggling with money; having a pretty crappy job, no household implements and no adult advice or support. That was after having a mini-breakdown and developing bulimia. Only a couple of days after moving back home, my parents threatened to call the police to 'get me out' for coming home... (it was either quarter to or quarter past midnight, I can't remember which, but it's certainly not what I'd call) late. I'd been to see a local band and had to wait for my lift home from a friend's dad, and that's just the way it was- the world didn't revolve around my parents. But, seriously, what kind of parents would threaten to do that? Not very good ones, that's for sure. I was never especially close to my mother and my close relationship with my father dried up when I became a teenager. I'm still shocked nowadays when people who've long moved out retain keys to their family home- I could just have seen my parents doing that (sarcastic)...ha!!!!

Personal rant over, my point is that this character Lily really touched me and I could certainly effing well relate to her, and I'm glad she was accepted into her new family; although not quite seamlessly... Parents, do your job properly. This novel tells it like it is, and it's a really dangerous world out there for teenage girls who haven't been looked after correctly. It abounds with predators. Enough said.

This book comes highly recommended from me. Read Me Before You, then read this. It tickles the emotions and the funny bone, has a good but not totally predictable ending and it didn't take me long to finish.

THE MISINTERPRETATION OF TARA JUPP by EVA RICE

THE MISINTERPRETATION OF TARA JUPP

BY EVA RICE

THE BLURB:-

1962, Cornwall. Tara Jupp- vicar's daughter, occasional thief, expert rider and second fiddle to her sister 'the beauty' Lucy- sings at a wedding and is spotted by a record producer.

With the spotlight suddenly, thrillingly, shining on her alone, the roots of Tara's country existence are shaken free and she is propelled to Swinging Sixties London.

Plunged into a dazzling new world of fashion, music and heartache, in a city where skirts are being hitched up as fast as the past is being pulled down, can Tara hold the limelight and hold on to who she really is?

THE REALITY:-

I haven't posted a book review since July, and the reason for this is simple- I've had too much on! It was exactly the same this time last year. As well as work, I also had holiday to take, so I spent a bit of time in Blackpool and seemed to do more sightseeing than reading and chilling. In a week we managed to visit: the Sealife Centre, the Blackpool Dungeons, Madame Tussauds Blackpool, Ripley's Believe It Or Not, the Tower and Ballroom, Blackpool Zoo, the Pleasure Beach, Sandcastle Waterpark, Fleetwood Market, all three piers, the light show projected onto the front of the tower, the shops and also several bars, as well as taking in the wonderful illuminations.  I've also had some fantastic days out in, or within spitting distance of, London, including: Broadstairs, Margate, Ramsgate, Southend, Painshill Park (twice), Hampton Court, Kew Gardens, The Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, The London Aquarium and Madame Tussauds. I've also done a little soul searching and have put in place my exit plan from my current (rotten) job, and my future plans to decorate my flat and enrol on to a Master's degree in creative writing.

But... back to the novel... This came across as a bit of a middle and upper class kind of romp, but you do see poorer unfortunates featured here. It strikes me that the Sixties was all about giving talented people a chance, whatever their background, and that sense that anything was possible. I wish that attitude still existed nowadays, as we seemed more hidebound by class, social status and personal, influential contacts than ever before, with the added gripe of inherited celebrity guaranteeing mediocrity achieving success, whilst talented people lie on the sidelines, wasted. And don't get me started on that!

This book was very interesting, with a variety of fun characters who came across as completely real. Being into art and history, I liked the locations and the big houses which fascinated Raoul and Lucy so. No expense has been spared in creating descriptions which brought these things to life. It was engrossing to see how all the characters developed, and how the scenes 'panned out' and the author is very good at picking out the zeitgeist of the era and making you feel as if you are really living inside the story, and are part 'of the moment' yourself. I also learnt some new writing tricks from this novel, as the writer seems to drop a fact- or point- into the prose from left field, which leaves you hungry to turn the pages, searching for an explanation.

Fact is interwoven into this novel, and we find ourselves at The Rolling Stones' first ever proper gig, at the Marquee, without finding out it was them until later. The tragic Brian Jones takes quite a lead role, as he involves himself with one of our fictional characters, although you don't know it is actually him until the end.

This wasn't so much a novel about Tara, our heroine, as a whole group of people; all of whom having faults and failings as well as pluses. Every positive has a negative, and our more aesthetically gifted characters certainly had their share of issues and drawbacks. With the kind of ending that was unpredictable but quite pleasant, I highly recommend this book and am looking forward to more good reads from this author.

MISS ELAINEOUS VISITS RAMSGATE...

I think, of the three main Thanet seaside towns, that Ramsgate has to be my favourite.  Sure, Margate is larger, and there's more going on, but it's looking so forlorn and run down, with many shops boarded up.  I believe that a lot of that's to do with Westwood Cross, a large shopping centre with easy transport links opening in the centre of Thanet in 2005.  Don't get me started on shopping malls taking away business from town centres.  I'm someone who's not a fan of these large, soulless retail environments, filled with endless chain stores selling generic mass produced tat.  But, looking on the bright side, I can visibly see customer buying habits changing.  As more and more people (myself included) prefer to shop online nowadays, there has popped up a separate contingent who still like to visit shops, physically handle goods and, where clothing is concerned, like to try things on.  These type of customers prefer a more personal service.  From that, I can see smaller, boutique versions of these stores evolving, and the ideal place to situate these would be in the daintier units that tend to be found in High Streets, alongside charming independents.  And therefore shopping malls will gradually either go out of business or will cater only as an outlet for massive sites selling larger (sofas, fridges, office equipment, Cash and Carry orders etc.) items.  Bring it on!

Broadstairs is a town that's very much alive and also oh-so pretty and picturesque, but it seems to consist of only one street.  Sure, if you're a Dickens fan, there's a couple of attractions to grab your attention, but there are only so many times you can visit these.  As a town it strikes me as (dare I say it) a bit pretentious.

This was my first visit to Ramsgate and it sits somewhere between the two in terms of size, amenities and atmosphere.

Although rain was forecast we were lucky as it didn't appear!  I can understand why artists such as J.M.W. Turner chose to paint here as the light coming off the sea is so striking.

Here's a rooftop view of the harbour, taken from the road that sits on top of one section of cliff, but underneath the other.

The harbour arms.

The harbour restaurant at the end.  It looks like a ship!

Despite the overcast day, the sea was a beautiful, greenish colour.

The lighthouse under a moody sky.

Looking back towards The Royal Victoria Pavilion (now a Wetherspoon pub!)

Dean's not a big fan of sand, so here's his idea of 'walking on the beach'....

We then took a wander into town.  Ramsgate has its own Meridian Line, five minutes and 41 seconds in front of Greenwich Mean Time...

We then visited the Ramsgate Tunnels, which consist of an old Victorian disused railway tunnel and a horseshoe-shaped section of Air Raid Protection tunnels, built in 1939 to provide shelter for up to 60,000 people (but in reality, used by less) as the onset of air raids looked inevitable.  Whole families stayed down here, and the history is fascinating- don't leave Ramgate without doing it!  I only took a few photos as the light was dim, my camera battery was going, and the quality of the pictures is not great.

In the entrance section there are a couple of coffins with lids over the face section.  This is so that relatives identifying the deceased could do so without the trauma of seeing their injuries.  Maybe it's quite fitting that we undertook our visit on November 11th.

This is the entrance railway tunnel.

Here is the start of the Air Raid Protection tunnel.

One of the sets of stairs leading out towards the ground- and civilisation!  The top entrance is now blocked off.

Our guide was fantastic, the history soooo interesting and, I repeat:- DON'T LEAVE RAMSGATE WITHOUT VISITING THE TUNNELS!

As this tour lasted and hour and a half, we didn't have much time to do anything else.  I hear that there's a rather nice park with an Italianate garden and a glasshouse tearoom nearby, as well as a couple of museums, so Ramsgate, I will return!