Truth is stranger than fiction,
the old adage goes. British author and historian Angela Buckley’s biography of Victorian detective
Jerome Caminada, The Real Sherlock Holmes,
is one of those real-life stories that help prove the aptness of the saying. Celebrated
as “Manchester’s Sherlock Holmes,” Caminada like his fictional counterpart was
a master of disguises, a sifter of the meaning of small details, a pioneer in
the nascent art of deduction, and a man with an astonishing memory for
criminals and crime. Born into an Irish-Italian family beset by tragedy,
Caminada might have been considered successful merely to survive. Instead, he triumphed,
moving from his first police job—as a 24-year-old copper walking a Manchester
beat—to a career as a detective of national renown and unparalleled
effectiveness. Buckley captures his exploits with accuracy and vigor, but she
also does more. The Real Sherlock Holmes (Pen and Sword, 2014) is
also a moving portrayal of a city beset by unimaginable hardship and a compelling
journey through the colorful landscape of Victorian crime. Originally a
specialist in modern languages, Buckley is a noted expert in family history and
genealogy, a contributor to and guest blogger at publications including the Sunday Express and the Strand Magazine, and an author who
writes regularly about the history of Manchester, where she was born. The
author’s blog illuminates fascinating aspects of 19th century crime and
criminology; you can also find out more about her life and work on her website, Facebook Page,
and Twitter feed.
It’s our pleasure to speak to Angela Buckley about Manchester, murder, and a
man of distinction. —SF
So19: Let’s start in Manchester, the city of
Jerome Caminada’s life and work. You note that in the 1840s, the decade of his
birth, “Manchester was one of the poorest and most dangerous places in
Britain.” By way of background, especially for our American readers, could you
talk a bit about why poverty, social conditions and crime were so especially intractable
there?
AB: Before the Industrial Revolution, Manchester was a medium-sized
market town. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, trade and
manufacturing had increased so much that it was changed beyond all expectation.
Thousands of workers, from within the UK and from overseas, poured into
Manchester to work in the many factories and mills. The city’s population trebled
in the early decades of the century, reaching 242,000 in 1841. Accommodation
for the never-ending flood of migrants was a problem and they were forced to
live in rows of cramped tenement houses at the center of the city. There was
little ventilation between the properties, no running water or other facilities,
and the streets were filthy. In one street there were 340 inhabitants to one
outside privy.
Even though the living conditions
were dreadful, rents were so high that many individuals were forced to turn to
crime to “supplement” their income. Mostly it was petty theft of food and
clothing, but there were also swindlers, forgers, illegal beer-sellers and
prostitutes. Many people lived hand-to-mouth and crime was an integral part of
their daily struggle for survival.
So19: Caminada’s youth was filled with tragedy,
but Caminada was able not just to survive but also to prosper. What qualities
do you think helped him rise above so much early pain? How do you think his
early experiences helped shape or influence his police work?
AB: Jerome Caminada was fortunate to survive childhood. The infant
mortality rate was very high and, as a young adult, his first job in an
ironworks, as a brass fitter, would have been backbreaking labour in almost
unbearable conditions. His decision to join the police force provided welcome
relief from such toil. On a more personal level, Caminada had a deep religious
faith; he was a Roman Catholic and attended church regularly throughout his
life. His vocation to improve his city and the lives of others stems from his
sense of devotion.
As a police officer, Caminada was
never judgmental and he always tried to understand the reasons why individuals
were tempted to break the law. As a child, he had experienced the most desperate
poverty and, although he later became wealthy, the memories of his early
hardship never left him—he often raised funds for victims of crime and for the
rehabilitation of offenders. He was known to be a fair man, with a genuine
compassion for others, which he retained throughout his long career.
So19: Am I correct in recalling from your pages
that when Caminada began walking a beat in the late 1860s, the Manchester
police had been operating as a unified, citywide force for less than thirty
years?
AB: That’s right. The Manchester City police force was established
in 1842, a decade after the Metropolitan police in London. Before that,
parishes and boroughs were responsible for their own policing, which was
inconsistent and ineffective. Caminada joined the force at a fascinating period
in its history, with the gradual formalization of policing practices,
communication and forensic techniques. During his thirty-year career he would
have seen, and contributed to, unprecedented developments, which led to a better-organized
police force, a higher conviction rate and a significant reduction in crime.
So19: I was fascinated by the staggering range of
swindles and scams being perpetrated on the city’s citizens, and also often
amused by the quirky names for crimes and criminals. Did Caminada’s own book
explain all of the arcane criminal terminology, or did you research it using
other sources as well?
AB: Caminada records the names and activities of the local
criminals in his memoirs, and he explains some of the scams. But I had to
research the subject further to enable me to understand the environment well
enough to paint a good picture for readers. There are many detailed and
evocative accounts in the contemporary press—journalists often reported
firsthand from the dens of thieves and ne’er-do-wells. There are also accounts
written by social commentators, such as Friedrich Engels, who spent time
exploring the Manchester about the same time as Caminada’s birth.
So19: Unlike modern counterparts (at least those
who work in major cities), Caminada investigated a huge range of criminals and
crimes: forgery, quack medicine, fraudulent charities, gambling crimes and
swindles, gang warfare, lonely-hearts and relationship frauds, problematic
“beerhouses,” and of course suspicious deaths. His work investigating threats
from the Fenians even involved what we would today call anti-terrorism work. Yet
he seemed able to maintain a remarkably comprehensive mental picture of it all.
AB: Like many Victorian detectives, Caminada kept press cuttings
and notes of his cases. By the time he came to write his memoirs, just before
he retired, he would have had quite a collection. I also noticed that in some
parts of his memoirs, he had copied sections directly from newspaper reports
that I had also read, and that had been published some years before. He also
had an exceptional memory, especially for names and faces, which he relied upon
not only to solve cases but also to pen his recollections.
So19: One of the many things that makes Caminada
feel Holmesian, so to speak, is the colorful nature of some of his exploits. My
favorite of the stories you relate, though it’s hard to choose just one, is
probably the time he had a fake piano crate constructed (with strategic
eyeholes, of course) so that he could discover who was stealing sheet music
from a concert venue…realized that he needed help getting out of his hiding
place after everyone had left…and terrified the poor fellow who had come to
turn off the gas lamps by demanding help. But there are many other dramatic
moments. Crouching for surveillance in long grass or coal cellars, donning a
variety of disguises (some so good they fooled his colleagues), passing himself
off to quack doctors as a heart-disease sufferer: all of this does feel like
the wilder moments of the Holmes Canon.
AB: I love the piano story too! Like Holmes, Caminada used
unorthodox methods to capture suspects and solve crimes. On another occasion,
when he was tracking Fenians, he lifted the imprint of an address in Paris from
a blotting pad, which is just the kind of trick Sherlock would have used.
Victorian detectives used disguise quite regularly in their work. As it was an
era when your dress denoted your occupation and station in life, this was an
effective method of surveillance, of which Jerome Caminada was a particularly
skilled practitioner. Formal crime investigation methods weren’t established
until the twentieth century, so early detectives like Caminada, to an extent,
operated by trial and error. Caminada was one of the most outstanding law
enforcers—he was ingenious, inventive and would go to any lengths to capture
criminals.
So19: Could you talk a bit about the so-called
Manchester Cab Mystery, clearly one high point of Caminada’s career? Why was
the crime, and his work on it, notable?
AB: In 1889, the Victorian general public were anxious about their
safety, especially following the recent murders in the East End of London
attributed to Jack the Ripper. So when a respectable businessman was murdered
in a cab on a night out in Manchester, there was great pressure on the police to
arrest the perpetrator and ensure the citizens’ ongoing safety. The chief
constable placed this puzzling mystery in the capable hands of Detective
Caminada.
In the manner of Sherlock Holmes,
Caminada deduced that the victim, John Fletcher, had been poisoned and he
linked the drug, chloral hydrate, to illegal prizefighting. He then used his
network of informants to identify and locate his prime suspect. This was one of
Caminada’s most notable achievements: he proved that the victim had been murdered,
found the killer and brought him to justice in the record time of just three
weeks, which was fast even by Victorian standards. It became his signature case
and earned him the reputation as Manchester’s Sherlock Holmes.
So19: The vision of
childhood—its nature, its rights—during Caminada’s period is so different from
that of today. There has really been a sea change in popular attitudes.
AB: A typical Victorian childhood ended much earlier than today. Children
from lower class families would have been working at the age of eight and nine,
maybe even younger, in factories and mines, or as chimney sweeps and street
sellers. The Factory Act of 1833 began to impose some regulations on child labour,
introducing a minimum age of nine and reducing their hours. Many children,
however, continued working, especially if they were their families’ main
breadwinners. In terms of crimes against children, in 1875 the age of consent
was raised from 12 to 13 in the UK, and then to 16 in 1885.
As children became entitled to
more hours of schooling and more regulations on child labour were introduced
towards the end of the nineteenth century, they were finally able to take
advantage of their childhood, which eventually led to the lifestyles that most
children enjoy here today.
So19: Caminada wrote an
autobiography, Twenty-Five Years of
Detective Life, the two volumes of which were published around the turn of
the twentieth century. How useful, and/or candid, was it? Was there anything
omitted that you wish it had discussed, narrated or revealed?
AB: Jerome Caminada’s memoirs appear to be a relatively accurate
account of his cases, insofar as I’ve been able to verify the facts. Apart from
his unusual cases and investigative methods, he shares his opinions on many
subjects close to his heart, such as penal reform and the nature of
criminality, which gives a fascinating glimpse into his experience of life in
nineteenth-century Manchester. However, there are significant omissions, such
as an infamous cross-dressing ball, which he presumably chose not to share with
his readers because of the shocking nature of the event at that time. (I would
have loved to know his thoughts on it, though.) I would also have liked a much
longer and more detailed account of his clandestine missions for the Home
Office but, at the time of his writing, it was probably still a very sensitive
and secret topic of information.
So19: Before we close, tell us what you’re working on now.
AB: I’ve now crossed over to the other side of the law and I’m
working on a book about the notorious Victorian baby farmer, Amelia Dyer. She adopted
babies for money, strangled them and then dumped their bodies in the Thames,
very close to where I live. It’s a very dark subject but an intriguing story of
murder, madness and mystery, within the context of the challenges for women and
young children in Victorian England.
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| Deansgate, Manchester |