My wife and I are going to London in February for 8 days. I've taken the Jack the Ripper walking tour but she hasn't so we'll probably do that. The Sunday night tour is led by Donald Rumblelow, the acknowledged expert on Jack so it's ripping good! If you're in London I highly recommend it.
I keep a travel journal on most of our trips and if anyone wants to read an excerpt on the Ripper tour I'd be happy to e-mail it along. not sure if its proper to post it but happy to send it to anyone interested.
Since Lizzie and Jack were contempories its too bad they never met. If they struck up a relationship...............well, what sort of children they might have had.
London Trip
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RonRico
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London Trip
Ron
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Allen
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that is scary to even think about. For some reason when I try and picture their offspring, I get an image of that awful little doll from those equally awful "Chucky" movies.I would be interested to hear about the tour. I bet it really is something!"He who cannot put his thoughts on ice should not enter into the head of dispute." - Friedrich Nietzsche
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Kat
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Yes, I'd be interested in hearing about the tour, as well!
Is there any way to get into the Scotland Yard Black Museum nowadays or do you need to know someone?
Last I heard it was by appointment (1986), but I think it's harder now? I would love to see that.
What time of year were you there before?
February is sssooo cccooolllddd brrrrrrr
There are 2 degrees of separation between JtheR suspect and our Lizzie. You can see if Mr. Rumbelow knows this one?
Walter Sickert, Ripper suspect, knew Henry Irving and Ellen Terry and Irving and Sickert hung around the London stage and at the time so did Alfred Hickman who married/was married to Nance O'Neil who was Lizbeth's good friend c.1905.
You can give him this from us!
pleaseclickonpic
Is there any way to get into the Scotland Yard Black Museum nowadays or do you need to know someone?
Last I heard it was by appointment (1986), but I think it's harder now? I would love to see that.
What time of year were you there before?
February is sssooo cccooolllddd brrrrrrr
There are 2 degrees of separation between JtheR suspect and our Lizzie. You can see if Mr. Rumbelow knows this one?
Walter Sickert, Ripper suspect, knew Henry Irving and Ellen Terry and Irving and Sickert hung around the London stage and at the time so did Alfred Hickman who married/was married to Nance O'Neil who was Lizbeth's good friend c.1905.
You can give him this from us!
pleaseclickonpic
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RonRico
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What time of year were you there before?
February is sssooo cccooolllddd brrrrrrr
There are 2 degrees of separation between JtheR suspect and our Lizzie. You can see if Mr. Rumbelow knows this one?
Actually we've been to England in almost every season and believe me Feb. will be milder than Feb. in Boston.
That 2 degrees thing is absolutely fascinating. Thanks for posting it.
Ron
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RonRico
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Here's an excerpt from my travel journal from that trip. To be honest I hadn't read it for a while. I rememberit as being a lot more interesting than it is (LOL) but here it is:
On our return to central London one of those unexpected, little things happened that, for me, make travel to England worthwhile. After leaving Hampstead Station our train suddenly stopped in one of the pitch dark tunnels leading back to the city. It had obviously lost all power and we sat waiting in our seats a minute or two wondering what was wrong. Our fellow passengers, mostly local Brits heading into town for a day of shopping or whatever, seemed totally unconcerned. They continued their conversations as if nothing was out of the ordinary. We knew that we had little to fear but being stuck in a dark tunnel in a foreign country is different somehow from being in the same situation at home. I don't know why. It just is.
After a few minutes a very dignified, very British voice came over the train's intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen. We are about to perform an emergency maneuver that may result in a sudden and violent jolt. Please remain in your seats and rest assured that we have matters well in hand."
In a moment we were suddenly and violently jolted and in another moment we were on our way again as if nothing had happened. I'm not certain why I told this story. Maybe it was the very "Britishness" of the incident. I don't know. I remember thinking at the time: "God, I love this place."
By the time we returned to Russell Square in the late afternoon it had begun to rain. We retired to our room for a much needed rest after such a full day of walking.
Our plan was to take the Jack the Ripper Walk. I knew without Joan having to tell me that I'd be doing this one alone. She was exhausted and needed a night of rest. By now the rain was coming down quite hard. But not hard enough to stop me from this walk. I'd been wanting to take this particular walk for a long time.
The Sunday evening "Jack" walk is led by none other than Donald Rumbelow the acknowledged expert on the subject of "Saucy Jack" and no amount of rain was going to stop me. Oh, look, lightning. And, my, it is getting foggy. No matter. Off I go.
Naturally, I decided to walk to the Tower Hill Station where the tour meets. I hadn't eaten
yet but felt certain I'd pass a pub along the way. I didn't. The City is actually somewhat deserted on a Sunday night. All the bankers and brokers were already home in their dry, warm abodes. But not me. I'm walking along The Victoria Embankment in a severe thunderstorm on a collision course with "old leather apron."
To top it off I began to get hungry. A drink wouldn't be bad either. Still no pubs to be found. I'd walked this way before. It never seemed so dark and never this wet. Luckily my raincoat was keeping my upper body dry but my feet were wet. Even my waterproof Rockports were soaked.
Suddenly a car pulled up along side on the deserted road. Now what? Peering through the rain and fog I could see the outline of a ........BLACK LONDON TAXI. Out of the window the smiling face of the driver beamed out at me. "Need a lift?"
In seconds I was in the safety of the cab's back seat. The driver understood my predicament with little help from me. I was whisked down the street to a pub (the only one open apparently) almost across from the Tower Hill station. Seeing me safely to the pub's door he made sure I knew exactly where I was and where the entrance to the station was. Grateful, I tipped lavishly.
This pub might not be one I would have chosen under differing circumstances. It was one of a chain of pubs. But tonight it was welcoming. Roast lamb, a Guinness and a view of Tower Bridge. I'm all right now. And no need to hurry. Surely the walk would be canceled. Who would go on a Jack the Ripper Walk on a night like this?
When I got to the tube stop I found out. There were already nearly thirty people who were as "mad" as I waiting for Donald. We ended up as a group of 35. Small I found out from our host. On some walks he draws 250.
The walk was memorable. Not just because of Donald either. Strolling through Whitechapel on a stormy, foggy, dreary night in search of the world's most famous murderer. What could be better?
Donald led his intrepid group onward through the rain. Down narrow alleyways that have changed little since Jack did his handiwork here over a century ago. Prostitutes and winos still frequent the dark doorways of St. Botolphs Street. The homeless still find shelter in the same mission that offered refuge to Jack's victims. The Ten Bells Pub is the same as it was then although the clientele has changed considerably. Mostly tourists (business is good) who gawk at the pictures and clippings over a pint. Some expound on their pet theory. Someone always disputes it as "highly unlikely." And everyone asks everyone else the same questions: "What's the attraction? Why are you here?" And no one ever has a good answer.
I liked the walk very much. I would go again if the chance arises. Back home I'm the envy of my friends. "Jack the Ripper!" I tell a friend in a Boston bar, pointing at my foot. "That shoe stepped on a cobblestone that was trod upon by Jack the Ripper!" He just stared at my foot and shook his head. I wonder what he was really thinking?
On our return to central London one of those unexpected, little things happened that, for me, make travel to England worthwhile. After leaving Hampstead Station our train suddenly stopped in one of the pitch dark tunnels leading back to the city. It had obviously lost all power and we sat waiting in our seats a minute or two wondering what was wrong. Our fellow passengers, mostly local Brits heading into town for a day of shopping or whatever, seemed totally unconcerned. They continued their conversations as if nothing was out of the ordinary. We knew that we had little to fear but being stuck in a dark tunnel in a foreign country is different somehow from being in the same situation at home. I don't know why. It just is.
After a few minutes a very dignified, very British voice came over the train's intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen. We are about to perform an emergency maneuver that may result in a sudden and violent jolt. Please remain in your seats and rest assured that we have matters well in hand."
In a moment we were suddenly and violently jolted and in another moment we were on our way again as if nothing had happened. I'm not certain why I told this story. Maybe it was the very "Britishness" of the incident. I don't know. I remember thinking at the time: "God, I love this place."
By the time we returned to Russell Square in the late afternoon it had begun to rain. We retired to our room for a much needed rest after such a full day of walking.
Our plan was to take the Jack the Ripper Walk. I knew without Joan having to tell me that I'd be doing this one alone. She was exhausted and needed a night of rest. By now the rain was coming down quite hard. But not hard enough to stop me from this walk. I'd been wanting to take this particular walk for a long time.
The Sunday evening "Jack" walk is led by none other than Donald Rumbelow the acknowledged expert on the subject of "Saucy Jack" and no amount of rain was going to stop me. Oh, look, lightning. And, my, it is getting foggy. No matter. Off I go.
Naturally, I decided to walk to the Tower Hill Station where the tour meets. I hadn't eaten
yet but felt certain I'd pass a pub along the way. I didn't. The City is actually somewhat deserted on a Sunday night. All the bankers and brokers were already home in their dry, warm abodes. But not me. I'm walking along The Victoria Embankment in a severe thunderstorm on a collision course with "old leather apron."
To top it off I began to get hungry. A drink wouldn't be bad either. Still no pubs to be found. I'd walked this way before. It never seemed so dark and never this wet. Luckily my raincoat was keeping my upper body dry but my feet were wet. Even my waterproof Rockports were soaked.
Suddenly a car pulled up along side on the deserted road. Now what? Peering through the rain and fog I could see the outline of a ........BLACK LONDON TAXI. Out of the window the smiling face of the driver beamed out at me. "Need a lift?"
In seconds I was in the safety of the cab's back seat. The driver understood my predicament with little help from me. I was whisked down the street to a pub (the only one open apparently) almost across from the Tower Hill station. Seeing me safely to the pub's door he made sure I knew exactly where I was and where the entrance to the station was. Grateful, I tipped lavishly.
This pub might not be one I would have chosen under differing circumstances. It was one of a chain of pubs. But tonight it was welcoming. Roast lamb, a Guinness and a view of Tower Bridge. I'm all right now. And no need to hurry. Surely the walk would be canceled. Who would go on a Jack the Ripper Walk on a night like this?
When I got to the tube stop I found out. There were already nearly thirty people who were as "mad" as I waiting for Donald. We ended up as a group of 35. Small I found out from our host. On some walks he draws 250.
The walk was memorable. Not just because of Donald either. Strolling through Whitechapel on a stormy, foggy, dreary night in search of the world's most famous murderer. What could be better?
Donald led his intrepid group onward through the rain. Down narrow alleyways that have changed little since Jack did his handiwork here over a century ago. Prostitutes and winos still frequent the dark doorways of St. Botolphs Street. The homeless still find shelter in the same mission that offered refuge to Jack's victims. The Ten Bells Pub is the same as it was then although the clientele has changed considerably. Mostly tourists (business is good) who gawk at the pictures and clippings over a pint. Some expound on their pet theory. Someone always disputes it as "highly unlikely." And everyone asks everyone else the same questions: "What's the attraction? Why are you here?" And no one ever has a good answer.
I liked the walk very much. I would go again if the chance arises. Back home I'm the envy of my friends. "Jack the Ripper!" I tell a friend in a Boston bar, pointing at my foot. "That shoe stepped on a cobblestone that was trod upon by Jack the Ripper!" He just stared at my foot and shook his head. I wonder what he was really thinking?
Ron
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Audrey
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RonRico @ Sat Dec 18, 2004 8:55 pm wrote:What time of year were you there before?
February is sssooo cccooolllddd brrrrrrr
There are 2 degrees of separation between JtheR suspect and our Lizzie. You can see if Mr. Rumbelow knows this one?
Actually we've been to England in almost every season and believe me Feb. will be milder than Feb. in Boston.
That 2 degrees thing is absolutely fascinating. Thanks for posting it.
Boston? Mon Dieu!
My husband and I met in Boston.... Both of us in college. We lived in Cambridge. I miss Boston.
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Kat
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Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou for the diary entry from your JackThe R excursion!
That is so cool!
When we were in London my sister and I had to promise our girlfriend we wouldn't do the Jack walk or take her anywhere we knew was haunted, and so we abided by that rule.
The closest thing to scary she would do was Madame Toussaud's (sp.) Wax Museum and the Ripper basement display.
I loved your story. I wouldn't mind the rain and cold for an adventure like that!
I'm going to do it now!
Oh, I guess I need a passport!
That is so cool!
When we were in London my sister and I had to promise our girlfriend we wouldn't do the Jack walk or take her anywhere we knew was haunted, and so we abided by that rule.
The closest thing to scary she would do was Madame Toussaud's (sp.) Wax Museum and the Ripper basement display.
I loved your story. I wouldn't mind the rain and cold for an adventure like that!
I'm going to do it now!
Oh, I guess I need a passport!
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RonRico
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Actually, we love Paris. On our trip in 2001 (1 month after the 11 Sept attacks) we went to London and then took the Chunnel to Paris. A wonderful trip. The day we went to Paris was my birthday. I awoke in London that day and went to sleep in Paris! I'd call that a good birthday.Audrey @ Sat Dec 18, 2004 1:54 am wrote: Why doesn't anyone ever go to Paris?
LOL...
oh.... my aine country!
BTW, we have always found the French to be a wonderful people, people who know how to live life. But in the wake of the terror attacks they were even more wonderful to us. Our hotel sent flowers to our room and many people stopped us in the streets to offer good wishes and hugs. Shops and restaurants had signs in the windows reading "Now we are all Americans!"
It does seem that we squandered all that goodwill in the last few years.
Ron
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RonRico
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I'm glad you enjoyed it. If you decide to go another place you might enjoy is Highgate Cemetery. Its like stepping into a Charles Addams cartoon.Kat @ Sun Dec 19, 2004 3:01 am wrote:Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou for the diary entry from your JackThe R excursion!
I loved your story. I wouldn't mind the rain and cold for an adventure like that!
I'm going to do it now!
Oh, I guess I need a passport!
If you or anyone needs help on visiting London feel free to ask me. I might be able to offer some adivce on lodging/restaurant/what to do etc.
I like to travel anywhere but London is my spiritual home.
Ron