On This Day in 1901 – Marcel Faugeron at Newgate Prison, Henry Pierrepoint’s First Hanging.


 

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Henry Pierrepoint.

Hangings weren’t unusual at London’s Newgate Prison. In Fact, in 1901 a British prisoner was hanged every few weeks on average. The execution of French Army deserter and murderer Maurice Faugeron, however, was a singular event in British penal history. It was the first time the name Pierrepoint drew attention

Not Albert, nor Albert’s uncle Thomas, but Albert’s father Henry. Henry would assist then-chief executioner James Billington at 8am when Faugeron paid his debt to society. A few years later Thomas joined the elite yet shadowy world of England’s executioners. Many years later Thomas, Albert joined what he called his ‘craft,’ but Henry would be the first. Faugeron would be the very first of what the Pierrepoints came to call their ‘customers.’ From 1901 until 1956 there would be hundreds more.

Between 1901 and 1956 these three men would officiate at 836 executions over 55 years. Murderers, traitors, Nazis, serial killers, spies and mass-murderers would meet their end at the hands of the Pierrepoint clan and Marcel Faugeron, though he didn’t know it, would be the first of their number.

Faugeron had been convicted of murdering watch-maker Hermann Jung, a member of the Swiss Benevolent Society and known to have lent money to Faugeron. It was also claimed that many of Jung’s associates were anarchists and subversives and that Faugeron was one of them. Faugeron himself claimed self-defence, alleging that Jung had threatened him and tried to force him to assault Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain.

Jung’s wife identified Faugeron at his trial. Having first heard the two men arguing she then saw Faugeron, who she’d met several times, fleeing the scene of the crime. It was also Matilda Jung who found her husband dead, stabbed several times. Brought before Mr. Justice Bigham, Faugeron was swiftly convicted and condemned. Donning his Black Cap, Bigham recited the death sentence in French for the non-English-speaking Faugeron.

Bigham, as was the custom, finished reciting the death sentence with the words: “And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul.”

Faugeron responded defiantly in his native tongue:

“I hope so. If that is what Justice is in this country I hope I shall have better Justice in the next world!”

His defiance did him no good. The authorities had little time for murderers, especially those suspected of having the wrong political leanings. As was entirely expected, Faugeron’s appeal was denied and the Home Secretary didn’t issue him a reprieve. Lodged in the condemned cell at Newgate Prison, Faugeron awaited 8am on November 19, 1901. Chief executioner James Billington would push the lever, Henry Pierrepoint would inaugurate the now-infamous family tradition.

Henry had always had a dark interest in executions and was keen to become an executioner. At A time when most people were born, lived, worked and died without ever leaving their hometown, the chance to travel the country was incredibly attractive. His travel expenses would be covered and so would his accommodation. The chance to supplement his income with semi-regular fees also proved too much for him to resist.

Arriving at Newgate the day before, Billington and Pierrepoint prepared and tested the gallows. The rope held a sandbag filled with sand weighing the same as Faugeron. It was left to hang overnight to remove any stretch. The drop was precisely calculated for Faugeron’s weight and build. Drop him the right distance and his neck would break instantly. Drop him too far and he’d be decapitated. Drop him too short and he could strangle for up thirty minutes before finally dying. Nothing was to be left to chance. Everything had to go perfectly. It couldn’t have eased Pierrepoint’s nerves, let alone Faugeron’s.

Though it was Henry’s first execution Newgate wasn’t unfamiliar to him, having completed his training there earlier that year. As senior hangman Billington would occupy Newgate’s ‘Hangman’s Room.’ With the initials of previous hangmen, some long dead, carved into the wooden wall timbers, Billington was comfortable. Pierrepoint, who as a mere assistant slept in the second condemned cell next door to Faugeron, had a far more uncomfortable time.

The door between Faugeron’s cell and Pierrepoint’s had a spyhole and, peering through it, Pierrepoint saw something very unsettling. The neighbouring Church of St. Sepulchre’s clock chimed every hour on the hour. Several times Pierrepoint looked silently through the spyhole into the neighbouring cell. With every hour Faugeron, chain-smoking through his last night, gestured to the two warders on condemned cell duty.

As the clock chimed the hour Faugeron pointed skywards, counting up to eight with his fingers. Despite not speaking English his meaning was perfectly clear to his guards and, unknown to him, his debutant executioner watching silently only feet away. At Newgate executions were always carried out at eight in the morning. Marcel Faugeron knew it and so did Henry Pierrepoint. It would be a first for both of them. Billington, a highly experienced executioner, probably slept better than both of them.

At 7am the final preparations began. Faugeron was given a hearty breakfast and allowed a final walk outdoors in the November dawn. While Faugeron was distracted Billington and Pierrepoint reset the trapdoors and prepared the rope, ensuring that the drop would be exact when Billington pushed the lever. The end, when it came, was precise, swift and clinical, but not brutal.

Just before eight the execution team assembled outside the condemned cell. Billington, Pierrepoint, Prison Governor Millman, Newgate’s resident doctor Dr, Scott, the Under-sheriff of London Kymaston Metcalfe and several warders watched Millman, awaiting the sound of St. Sepulchre’s clock and Millman’s silent signal. As the clock began to chime the cell door was opened.

Faugeron, nervous but entirely in control, had his arms strapped behind his back. Escorted by two warders, one on each side, he began his brief final walk to the execution shed. As he reached the shed its doors swung open, revealing for the first time where he was to die. Placed on the exact centre of the trapdoors, Faugeron’s last sight was of Billington drawing the white hood (traditionally called the ‘cap’) over his head. His last sensations were of Pierrepoint bobbing down behind him and drawing a leather strap around his legs and feeling Billington’s noose drawing snugly around his neck. The second Billington saw all was ready he immediately pushed the lever.

Marcel Faugeron was dead.

Dr. Scott immediately felt for a pulse. Not Faugeron’s, but Pierrepoint’s. He listened for a few seconds then, satisfied that Pierrepoint’s nerves weren’t too rattled, said simply:

“You’ll do.”

It was almost Newgate’s last hanging. Already slated for demolition, Newgate’s gallows doors dropped for the last time on May 6, 1902, after which the gallows beam was removed and re-installed at Pentonville. It later hanged Doctor Crippen and numerous others. Woolfe was the last of 1169 people to be executed at Newgate.

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John Ellis.

Pierrepoint was, by his own admission, remarkably unruffled now that the job was safely done. The first of his 105 executions had gone according to plan. He’d been nervous during Faugeron’s final hours, but that was yesterday. Until the execution of Frederick Foreman at Chelmsford Prison on July 14, 1910 Henry Pierrepoint would officiate at 105 hangings, but at Chelmsford his career ended after a brawl with assistant (and later chief) executioner John Ellis. For arriving drunk and assaulting Ellis the Prison Commissioners removed him from the official List. Ellis, later to become chief executioner himself, earned Henry’s lasting enmity as a result. When Ellis took his own life in 1931 Henry’s son Albert recalled him saying:

“He should have done it years ago. It was impossible to work with him!”

Before his removal Henry brought brother Thomas into what the Pierrepoints called their ‘craft.’ Tom would be involved in 296 executions. His first was assisting Henry when they hanged Harold Walters at Wakefield Prison on April 10, 1906, his last that of John Caldwell who he hanged for murdering retired Detective Sergeant James Straiton at Barlinnie Prison on August 10, 1946.

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Uncle Tom and ‘Our Albert.’

The most famous Pierrepoint was Albert. Albert debuted at Mountjoy Prison in Dublin on December 23, 1932, assisting his Uncle Tom in hanging murderer Patrick McDermott. Albert and his Uncle Tom would perform hundreds of hangings together. McDermott would be the first of Albert’s 435 executions ending with Norman Green on July 27, 1955. Albert hanged some of the 20th century’s most notorious criminals including over 200 Nazi war criminals, ‘Acid Bath Murderer’ John George Haigh, John Christie of 10 RIllington Place, Ruth Ellis (britain’s last woman to hang) and Michael Manning (Ireland’s last execution). He resigned early in 1956 in a dispute over fees.

Henry’s first boss James Billington died shortly after executing Faugeron. His final execution involved hanging a personal friend, Irishman Patrick McKenna at Strangeways Prison on December 3, 1901. It was only Henry’s second execution, but also his first time pushing the lever. This time Billington would be assisting him. Already seriously ill with bronchitis, Billington managed to do the job but, as he was leaving, he remarked to Pierrepoint;

“I wish I’d never have come.”

James Bilington died on December 13, only 10 days later.

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Newgate Prison: Ask not for whom the Bell tolls…


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Now here’s a real criminal curiosity, the infamous Execution Bell from London’s notorious Newgate Prison. Accounts of executions, themselves a grim British tradition until the 1960’s, often relate stories of a black flag being raised and a prison bell tolling to announce a prisoner’s death. These are true, at least after public executions ended with the Capital Punishment (Amendment) Act of 1868.

Before Newgate acquired its own full-sized bell, the tradition was altogether more chilling and, many would say, unnecessarily cruel. It involved the employment of Newgate’s Execution Bell and its Bellman. A local merchant, one Robert Dove, established the tradition in 1604, donating the then-considerable sum of £40 to ensure the practice continued. Dove, a devout Christian, hoped it would encourage repentance among the condemned. To modern eyes it seems unspeakably cruel.

Before Newgate had its own prison bell the neighbouring Church of St. Sepulchre would toll its bell on every execution day, a sound even those not condemned learned to dread. Until Newgate acquired its own bell, its bellman would wait until just after midnight and, withe prisoner’s death imminent, would pace up and down outside the Condemned Hold reciting a verse while clanging the handbell.

The Bellman’s verse, recited loudly three times (in case anyone actually needed reminding of their impending execution), was this:

“All you that in the Condemned Hold do lie,

prepare you, for tomorrow you will die.

Watch all, and pray, the hour is drawing near,

That you before the Almighty must appear.

Examine well yourselves, in time repent,

that you may not to Eternal flames be sent.

And when St. Sepulchre’s bell tomorrow tolls,

the Lord have mercy on your souls…”

 

Possibly not the best cure for pre-hanging insomnia.

To give this ghastly ritual some context, it wasn’t intended as an act of sadism or cruelty. Just the opposite, in fact. Religion at the time dominated people’s lives to a much greater extent than it does today. Dove, Newgate’s officials and the Bellman (probably not the most popular man on Newgate’s staff) would have seen it as saving their souls, their lives already forfeit for their crimes.

It’s at best debatable whether it actually benefited the condemned all that much. Those who were already repentant didn’t need asking. Those who were unrepentant didn’t care. Everybody else, condemned to hang or not, probably didn’t appreciate the Bellman and his traditional early-morning alarm call.

Eventually this well-meaning but appalling tradition was ceased. In 1783 executions at Tyburn were ceased and Newgate acquired its own bell. From 1783 until 1868 hangings would be performed, still in public, outside Newgate Prison itself. After Michael Barratt was hanged in 1868 executions were moved inside prisons nationwide.

For decades there would still be the traditional hoisting of the black flag and tolling of the prison bell, but Newgate’s Bellman had had his day. Eventually the flag and bell ceased, replaced by a prison officer placing an official notice on a prison gate to certify a prisoner had indeed been hanged. No longer would trembling prisoners sit in filthy, dark, grimy cells, illuminated by candlelight and dim lanterns, hearing the dreaded Bellman approach. They wouldn’t hear his heavy doom-laden tread crunch his way over the thousands of lice and bugs infesting the prison. Especially pleasing, they wouldn’t hear him repeatedly reciting his traditional verse.

Newgate was finally closed and demolished at the turn of the 20th century, making room to expand the neighbouring Old Bailey (probably the world’s most famous courthouse) Its gallows equipment went to Pentonville Prison in north London where it hanged many more prisoners including Doctor Crippen.

Put yourself in a condemned prisoner’s place, just for a moment. Imagine the gloom of your cell, the stench and dirt, the fear and realisation of impending death. Consider what it would be like to lie manacled in your cell hearing the Bellman’s feet, the clanging of his bell and (in convoluted fashion) him saying;

“Ask not for whom my bell tolls…”

“It tolls for YOU…”

 

Sleep well.

 

 

 

Watching the detectives: The arrest of the inappropriately named Daniel Good.

With Good safely in his grave, the Metropolitan Police had to reconsider having only uniformed officers in their ranks. Had some officers been working out of uniform, they reasoned, they might have caught him far sooner. With that in mind a permanent cadre of non-uniformed officers. the Detective Department, was set up in August, 1842. It later became the Criminal Investigation Department.


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Daniel Good is probably an unfamiliar name, hanged as he was back in 1842. But the result of his crime if still familiar the world over. Good’s crime was unexceptional, the brutal murder and partial dismemberment of a woman he’d been living with. Horrific, certainly, but unfortunately not unusual.

His crime, committed on April 7, 1842, was discovered by accident. A uniformed officer of London’s Metropolitan Police went to arrest Good after he was seen stealing a pair of trousers from a pawnbroker in Putney. While the officer was busy discovering the victim’s corpse (and probably stunned by its having crudely dismembered) Good made his escape. A manhunt immediately began, nine divisions of officers joining the search.

With no plainclothes officers then in existence, the Met had a serious problem even with nine divisions of officers looking for him. Good, having committed a particularly brutal murder, was also facing a mandatory death sentence. If caught, he would almost certainly hang. But, uniformed officers being highly visible men, Good easily spotted them and slipped the net. Having successfully escaped London itself, Good may well have thought he was home free. As it turned out he couldn’t have been more wrong.

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Having found work in Tonbridge as a labourer, Good remained unaware that one of his new colleagues, one Thomas Rose, was a  former Metropolitan Police officer. Now off the force, Rose wasn’t in uniform and Good, looking for uniformed officers instead of anyone in plain clothes, was very much in harm’s way. Like many former police officers Rose kept a strong interest in crime and criminals. It wasn’t long before Rose recognised Good and alerted his chief pursuers Inspector Nicholas Pearce and Sergeant Stephen Thornton.

On April 25, 1842 Daniel Good was arrested. Once convicted, he was condemned to die. On May 23, 1842, only a month after his arrest, he ascended the ‘New Drop’ outside London’s notorious Newgate Prison to keep his date with the hangman. Executioner WIlliam Calcraft performed his grim duties with, unusually for him, speed and efficiency.

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After being left to hang for the traditional hour to ensure his death, Good was subjected to a rather creepy, but not unusual indignity; having his death mask made for him. This wasn’t unusual at the time, executed prisoners were often subjected to it. A mould was made of his face and a plaster bust made of his head. Good’s death mask now resides in Scotland Yard’s legendary ‘Black Museum,’ a place inspiring a 1950’s radio serial narrated by Orson Welles who famously called it a ‘mausoleum of murder.’

With Good safely in his grave, the Metropolitan Police had to reconsider having only uniformed officers in their ranks. Had some officers been working out of uniform, they reasoned, they might have caught him far sooner. With that in mind a permanent cadre of non-uniformed officers. the Detective Department, was set up in August, 1842. It later became the Criminal Investigation Department.

The Detective Department were the beginnings of Scotland Yard’s now-legendary detectives. In time, their reputation grew and their remit extended. Not only do they cover all crime within London, they are still regularly called in by local forces to assist in especially difficult cases.

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All local police forces today also have their own CID branches, following the Met’s example. Some of them (Frederick Wensley, Fred Cherrill, Jack Capstick, Robert Fabian, Leonard Burt, Ernest Millen, Jack Slipper and ‘Nipper’ Read among others) became celebrities, legendary in their own time.

Daniel Good obviously wasn’t there to appreciate his unwilling place in criminal history. The Yard’s detectives having grown to achieve legendary status, many generations of incarcerated or executed criminals won’t have appreciated it much either.