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Bristol born Amelia Dyer – one of the most evil women who ever lived!


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Amelia Elizabeth Dyer née Hobley (1838 – June 10, 1896) was the most prolific baby farm murderer of Victorian England. She was tried and hanged for one murder, but there is little doubt she was responsible for many more similar deaths—possibly 400 or more–over a period of perhaps twenty years.

Unlike many of her generation, Amelia Dyer was not the product of grinding poverty. She was born the youngest of five (with three brothers, Thomas, James and William, and a sister, Ann) in the small village of Pyle Marsh, just to the East of Bristol (now part of Bristol’s urban sprawl known as Pile Marsh), the daughter of a master shoemaker, Samuel Hobley, and Sarah Hobley née Weymouth.

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She learned to read and write and developed a love of literature and poetry. However, her somewhat privileged childhood was marred by the mental illness of her mother, caused by typhus. Amelia witnessed her mother’s violent fits and was obliged to care for her until she died raving in 1848. Researchers would later comment on the effect this had on Amelia, and also what it would teach Amelia about the signs exhibited by those who appear to lose their mind through illness.

After her mother’s death Amelia lived with an aunt in Bristol for a while, before serving an apprenticeship with a corset maker. Her father died in 1859, her eldest brother Thomas inheriting the family shoe business. In 1861, at the age of 24, Amelia became permanently estranged from at least one of her brothers, James, and moved into lodgings in Trinity Street, St Philips, Bristol BS2.

There she married George Thomas. George was 59 and they both lied about their ages on the marriage certificate to reduce the age gap. George deducted 11 years from his age and Amelia added 6 years to her age—many sources later reported this age as fact, causing much confusion.

The advertisement in the "Miscellaneous" column of the Bristol Times & Mirror newspaper was poignant.

"Wanted," it read, "respectable woman to take young child."

It was a sadly common request in Victorian Britain, where life was particularly hard for unmarried mothers.

The ad had been placed by 25-year-old Evelina Marmon, who two months earlier, in January 1896, had given birth in a boarding house in Cheltenham to a little girl she named Doris.

Evelina was a God-fearing farmer’s daughter who had gone astray, left the farm for city life and resorted to work as a barmaid in the saloon of the Plough Hotel, an old coaching inn.

With her blonde hair, busty figure and quick wit, she was popular with its male customers – though which one of them made her pregnant has gone unrecorded.

And now she was deserted, with a baby she loved but knew she could not bring up on her own.
She would have to find a foster home for little Doris – to have her "adopted out", in the language of the time – go back to work and hope in time to be able to reclaim her child.

Quite by chance, next to her own ad, was another: "Married couple with no family would adopt healthy child, nice country home. Terms, £10."

It seemed the answer to her prayers, and she quickly contacted the name at the bottom, a Mrs Harding.

From Oxford Road in Reading, Mrs Harding replied in ecstatic terms.

"I should be glad to have a dear little baby girl, one I could bring up and call my own."

She described her situation. "We are plain, homely people, in fairly good circumstances. I don’t want a child for money’s sake, but for company and home comfort.

"Myself and my husband are dearly fond of children. I have no child of my own. A child with me will have a good home and a mother’s love."

Mrs Harding sounded every bit the respectable, caring woman that Evelina hoped to find for Doris and she wrote at once begging her not to consider anyone else until they had met.

The reply came back: "Rest assured I will do my duty by that dear child. I will be a mother, as far as lies in my power.

"It is just lovely here, healthy and pleasant. There is an orchard opposite our front door." Evelina could visit whenever she wished.

The only issue between them was that Evelina really wanted to pay a weekly fee for her daughter to be looked after whereas Mrs Harding preferred – indeed, insisted on – a full adoption and a one-off payment in advance of £10, for which "I will take her entirely, and she shall be of no further expense to you".

Reluctantly, the desperate mother agreed, and a week later Mrs Harding, clutching "a good warm shawl to wrap round baby in the train for it is bitter cold", arrived in Cheltenham.

Evelina was surprised to discover that the woman she had been corresponding with was more elderly than she had expected and thick-set beneath her long cape. But she seemed affectionate as she swaddled little Doris in the shawl.

Evelina handed over a cardboard box of clothes she had packed – nappies, chemises, petticoats, frocks, nightgowns and a powder box – and the £10, and received in return a signed receipt.
She accompanied Mrs Harding to Cheltenham station and then on to Gloucester, where she stood weeping amid the choking steam on the platform as the 5.20pm train took her little girl away. She returned to her lodgings a broken woman.

A few days later, she had a letter from Mrs Harding saying all was well. Evelina wrote back straight away. She never received a reply.

Evelina and little Doris Marmon had fallen victim to one of the murkiest of all the many social evils in Britain just over a century ago – the "baby farmers".

Infant mortality was high and children’s lives were cheap. Many families in straitened circumstances were happy to dispose of an infant to a new home and not ask too many questions about where and to whom it was going.

Some, like Evelina, had every intention of retrieving their youngsters.

Others were just glad to see the back of them – one less mouth to feed, one less burden in the struggle to survive.

They were prey to the unscrupulous, the immoral and the murderous, and none was quite as chillingly evil as the "caring woman" to whom Doris had just been entrusted.

At £10 a pop, a career in baby farming was not to be sniffed at in the 19th century. Considered to be a nice little earner, Amelia Dyer got in on the act and became a refuge for unwanted babies or unmarried mums who couldn't cope with the scandal or afford to hold onto their children.

Problem was she couldn't be doing with actually looking after the children. No, she had far less honourable motives than helping people on her mind – she just wanted to pocket the money.

According to evidence held by Thames Valley Police plus reports, Dyer may have murdered as many as 50 babies. And those children would have amassed our dastardly Dyer around £500, which was a fortune in those days. But sometimes she struck even luckier if people were desperate to hush up the incident.

If the families in question had money, you were talking £50, even £80 a time. Doesn't sound much today, until you hear that the purchasing power of that £80 could have bagged you a small city car in today's terms.

Not bad thought our baby killer…for next to no work. For Dyer would throttle them, then dump the bodies and run: literally. She wouldn't hang around in one place long and had a number of aliases and addresses to foil the law.

Annoyingly, the baby farmer was had up for manslaughter at one point, but six months of hard labour sadly didn't deter her and some say her murder spree spanned as much as 20 years.

Thankfully, she was never able to enjoy all her spoils – for the evil Dyer had a calling card that was ultimately to give her away. She would strangle the children with white tape. But it was wrapping paper that led the police to her doorstep. A parcelled baby's body was hoiked out of the Thames and a 19th-century forensics team (yep, you read right) from the Reading police force identified an address faintly written on the paper. That address took them straight to Dyer and there they found the tell-tale thread, coupled with the stench of death.

It only took the body of just one baby to have her sent down for murder. If that case had failed there were another six in reserve (after they trawled the Thames and found more). If the police had needed it they could probably have found another six to boot.

But one was enough. Dyer was strung up for her evil child-killing ways, aged 57.

On May 22, 1896, Amelia Dyer appeared at the Old Bailey and pleaded guilty to one murder, that of Doris Marmon. Her family and associates testified at her trial that they had been growing suspicious and uneasy about her activities, and it emerged that Dyer had narrowly escaped discovery on several occasions. Evidence from a man who had seen and spoken to Dyer when she had disposed of the two bodies at Caversham Lock also proved significant. Her daughter had given graphic evidence that ensured Amelia Dyer’s conviction.

The only defence Dyer offered was insanity: she had been twice committed to asylums in Bristol. However, the prosecution argued successfully that her exhibitions of mental instability had been a ploy to avoid suspicion; both committals were said to have coincided with times when Dyer was concerned her crimes might have been exposed.

It took the jury only four and a half minutes to find her guilty. In her 3 weeks in the condemned cell, she filled five exercise books with her "last true and only confession". Visited the night before her execution by the chaplain and asked if she had anything to confess, she offered him her exercise books, saying, "isn’t this enough?" Curiously she was to appear as a witness in Polly’s trial for murder, set for a week after her own execution date. However it was ruled that Amelia was already legally dead once sentenced and that therefore her evidence would be inadmissible. Thus her execution was not delayed. On the eve of her execution Amelia heard that the charges against Polly had been dropped.

She was hanged by James Billington at Newgate Prison on Wednesday, June 10, 1896. Asked on the scaffold if she had anything to say, she said "I have nothing to say", just before being dropped at 9am precisely.

Unfortunately, not a few baby farmers took the cash and murdered the babies. The most notorious and prolific was Dyer. She was a trained nurse from Bristol who managed to continue her foul deeds by staying on the move, changing her name and other slippery tactics. Her orbit was the south west, in an area encompassing Somerset, Berkshire, Gloucestershire and Bristol. Her only connection to London was her trial and death. But London did have its own baby farm murderers, who included: Margaret Waters, convicted in 1870 of murdering five children in the Brixton area; Anna Chard-Williams of Barnes, the last woman to be hanged at Newgate, in 1899; partners in crime Annie Walters and Amelia Sach – the "Finchley Baby Farmers" – who were the first prisoners to be executed at the new Holloway Prison in 1903.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ub4ucjo9wmw

James Billington of Farnworth near Bolton in Lancashire (1847-1901).

Period on Home Office List – 1884-1901.

James Billington had a life long fascination with hanging and had unsuccessfully applied for Marwood’s post but managed to secure the Yorkshire hangman’s position. Like Henry Pierrepoint he was to found a dynasty of hangmen. James ran a barber shop in Farnworth when not engaged in executions. He executed 141 men and five women in England and Wales, at least one man in Ireland and three men in Scotland.

James’ first execution was at Armley Gaol in Leeds on the 26th of August 1884, when he hanged Joseph Laycock, a Sheffield hawker, for the murder of his wife and four children. Laycock was to have said just before being hanged, "You will not hurt me?" to which James Billington replied, "No, thaal nivver feel it, for thaal be out of existence i’ two minutes."

This execution was judged to be successful and he carried out a further seven hangings at Armley and one at York Castle before succeeding Berry as the executioner for London and the Home Counties in 1892 and then effectively working nationwide. His first commission outside Yorkshire was at Shepton Mallet on the 15th December 1891 where he hanged Henry Dainton for the murder of his wife at Bath

James Billington hanged 24 men and three women at Newgate prison, including Henry Fowler and Albert Milsom on the 9th of June 1896 for beating to death 79 year old widower Henry Smith.
Perhaps his most interesting execution was that of the poisoner, Dr. Thomas Neil Cream, on the 15th of November 1892, again at Newgate. Cream waited till the very last moment as he felt the mechanism under the trap begin to move, to utter the words, "I am Jack the…." It is highly unlikely that Cream could have been Jack the Ripper but it certainly caused a stir at the time.

He hanged Amelia Dyer at Newgate for the murder of four month old Doris Marmon, a baby who had been entrusted to her care, having received £10 to look after her. This particular form of murder was known as "Baby Farming" and it is thought that Dyer had murdered at least six other babies for money. Each baby had been strangled with white tape. As Mrs. Dyer said, that was how you could tell it was one of hers. At 57, she was the oldest woman to go to the gallows since 1843.

The last female hanging of the 19th century was that of Mary Ann Ansell at St. Albans prison on the 19th of July 1899. She was executed for the poisoning of her sister.

James Billington conducted Britain's first hanging of the 20th century, that of 33 year old Louise Masset at Newgate on the 9th of January 1900 for the murder of her illegitimate son. In all James Billington carried out 146 executions on England and Wales, including five women. His last job was at Strangeways prison in Manchester on December 3rd, 1901 the hanging of Patrick M’Kenna, who was to die for murdering his wife. James Billington died of severe bronchitis on the 13th of December 1901 and was succeeded by his two sons, William and John.

I should delete all of these


Image by stars alive
decided to give this a shot. saw something online about writing a list of 100 things you love about your boyfriend to show yourself and him how much you appreciate him.

this is on my bathroom door. i bet my parents really love this. haha.

Je voulus tout avoir


Image by Julie70
I have still in me some of that daring young girl
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That is me at 5. That was the time when, perhaps the last time in my life, I felt everything belongs to me. Happy with the life around me and no "soucies", worries.

It was taken in a tiny place, forest village, in a corner of the Carpathians Mountains, where lived my grand-parents from the side of my father, and him, until he had to go to school. It is called "Comandau or Komando" because before that place was lived by "people" (now 200 families), it was used by military to train recruits.

Towards 1890, an older jew went there and fell for the place, it is surounded by huge trees, on the top of the mountains, he decided to make a sawmill there, so the cut trees do not go away too cheap and only others profit from it.

He did bring workers and build them houses, not only caban comon for everyone. He wanted them to come with their familly and remain. At that time, not many had education, but he did bring also a school teachear and build a place where the children were taken care and given the first four classes, all together.

He encouraged others to come by also, so my grand-father came, young married, and opened a tiny shop. He did the assorted cooked pork meats together with his wife, they prepared everything and sold to the workers in the factory.

He had to go down by foot, because the place is 500 meters higher than the small "town" bellow. At that time, there was no road, no cars, no train. Slowly, a road (not asphalted even today) was build. And later, lot later, a train to transport the finished products, and seldom taken even some people.

With time, the sawmill was taken away from the original owner and fondator of the "village" and the bank whom he owned money sold it to another, who build a house with two stiries called even today "the castle". Of course, todays, normal houses are lot bigger and nicer looking, but not at that place.

My grand-father, Adolph, worked a lot, but then someone other came who sold directly for the workers and taken the money only the end of month when they were paid, and slowly pushed every other aside. By that time, Adolph was tired and ill, and almost could not walk. As much as I remember, he sit down (the time this photo was taken by me) looking. My grand mother took care of everything. And her daughter. Girls were not suposed to learn, so only my father, (the eldest son) was send, with great effort from them to internat.

I will not tell here all the story. But this was taken in 1940. Then the war arrived near us. We went to live in Cluj, Transylvania, then Hungary. And my father had taken his parents to live near us. In 1944 spring, the german SS come and decided to "clean" Hungary from its jews.

We hid, went away, my grand parents stay and my father believed no one in the big new city knows they were jews. But one neighbour knew and needed a flat for her youngly married daughter. So they ended up being taken. Adolph died on the train, in the animal wagon and as soon as they arrived in Auschwith, my grand mother, aount, young cousin my age too.

For years, I felt that if they would have left them alone, in their tiny place, they would lived, the people would hide them. Last year I went, after 60 years back there. Found the wonderfull familly whose name we had taken while hidding, they had given my father their own papers. They told me not one jew lives any more there, and that all were taken one morning and no one dared to tell them before, they were in danger. "My father was afraid to tell them, but gave them bred."

"They found even the children send to a school, far away" told me one of the woman I met there. And she did not seem to regret it. I asked. She answered : "that was the children of the owner who brought soldiers when the workers striked, the one who build himself a caste here." (the two story house) Even today, she did not have water in her house, and was writing the story of the village.

From that time one, I am happy my grand-parents did not remain there. They did not have to walk down the mountain, by foot, old, and ill. They were taken from the city.

And after I went to the scool, the mischief was a little bit taken out of me by my first teacher who liked to beet children and then, after the war by the realisation of what happened. So, here is the story that come out of me looking and that happy picture.

When my (first) husband had seen it, he told me: "I’ll marry you so you make me children like this one."

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