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Summer is here and as we try to destress from another annus horribilis …let us play a game. This is one of the mental games we play in a way to understand a discipline shrouded in mystery and speculation. You will need no pen, nor paper, just your imagination and a few minutes.
Clear you mind, isolate your thoughts and give yourself 5 minutes of time to complete. It is all about your imagination.
Think of a criminal. Try to think of their face first. What do they look like? Imagine their face, their eyes, the nose and the cheekbones. Hair colour and style. How’s the neck, the body type, the hands, the legs. Can you tell their gender, age and their race? Any other features? What are they wearing?
Now try to keep that image in your mind. You have conjured your criminal and you ought to give them a crime. What crime has this person committed? Was it their first crime or have they done the same crime before? What made them do the crime(s) they did?
How do you feel about them? What do you wish to be done about them? What is your solution to your imaginary villain? Do you think there are others like them, or was this the one that once removed from your imagination will become unable to generate more images?
Our mind is truly wonderous. It can conjure all sorts of images and for those of you, who, managed to engage and to get through the questions and to develop your criminal, well done.
This approach was used when investigators tried to help people to recall events following a crime, usually involving violence. The questions are reasonable, and it allowed you, at least those who tried, to form an image and a backstory. This approach was later discredited, purely because it allowed our stereotypes and prejudices to come to the surface. You see this game is not about crime; it is about your perception of crime. It is not about those who do crime, it is simply about you.
Bring back to mind your criminal. Your details and characteristics are the projections that you make on what you think about the other, the criminal. For example, did you think of yourself when asked to imagine a criminal? What you don’t think you are a criminal? Ah, you are one of those who think they have never committed a crime. Ever! Are you sure? Not even drinking in the park in your teen years, or a little bit of speeding away from speed cameras?
Still you do not consider yourself as a criminal, but as a person. Which is why criminality takes such a hold of people’s imagination. Criminals are always other people. Crime is something unthinkable. Our representation of crime is to evoke our fears and insecurities, as when we were kids entering a dark room. The mind is truly wonderous, but it can also make us imagine the most horrible things. Not that horrible things do not happen, but the mind reinforces what it hears, what is sees and what it experiences. If any of you have experienced crime before, the face of the person who victimised you may become traumatically etched in your consciousness. Part of that trauma will become fear; it is interesting to note that similar fear is experienced from those who have never been victims of crime.
Previously, I mentioned investigative processes. Our fear of crime and our desire to control crime has generated a number of approaches in crime investigation that have tried to unmask the criminal. Unfortunately, many of those were based on imagination rather than fact. Why? Because of how we feel about crime. Crime causes harm and pain and invokes a lot of our emotions. Those emotions when tapped by investigators blind us and release our darker stereotypes about the others!
As a twenty-first century cis woman, I cannot directly identify with the people detailed below. However, I feel it important to mark LGBT+ History Month, recognising that so much history has been lost. This is detrimental to society’s understanding and hides the contribution that so many individuals have made to British and indeed, world history. What follows was the basis of a lecture I first delivered in the module CRI1006 True Crimes and Other Fictions but its roots are little longer
Some years ago I bought a very dear friend tickets for us to go and see a play in London (after almost a year of lockdowns, it seems very strange to write about the theatre).. I’d read a review of the play in The Guardian and both the production and the setting sounded very interesting. As a fan of Oscar Wilde’s writing, particularly The Ballad of Reading Gaol and De Profundis (both particularly suited to criminological tastes) and a long held fascination with Polari, the play sounded appealing. Nothing particularly unusual on the surface, but the experience, the play and the actors we watched that evening, were extraordinary. The play is entitled Fanny and Stella: The SHOCKING True Story and the theatre, Above the Stag in Vauxhall, London. Self-described as The UK’s LGBTQIA+ theatre, Above the Stag is often described as an intimate setting. Little did we know how intimate the setting would be. It’s a beautiful, tiny space, where the actors are close enough to just reach out and touch. All of the action (and the singing) happen right before your eyes. Believe me, with songs like Sodomy on the Strand and Where Has My Fanny Gone there is plenty to enjoy. If you ever get the opportunity to go to this theatre, for this play, or any other, grab the opportunity.
So who were Fanny and Stella? Christened Frederick Park (1848-1881) and Ernest Boulton (1848-1901), their early lives are largely undocumented beyond the very basics. Park’s father was a judge, Boulton, the son of a stockbroker. As perhaps was usual for the time, both sons followed their respective fathers into similar trades, Park training as an articled clerk, Boulton, working as a trainee bank clerk. In addition, both were employed to act within music halls and theatres. So far nothing extraordinary….
But on the 29 April 1870 as Fanny and Stella left the Strand Theatre they were accosted by undercover police officers;
‘“I’m a police officer from Bow Street […] and I have every reason to believe that you are men in female attire and you will have to come to Bow Street with me now”’(no reference, cited in McKenna, 2013: 7)
Upon arrest, both Fanny and Stella told the police officers that they were men and at the police station they provided their full names and addresses. They were then stripped naked, making it obvious to the onlooking officers that both Fanny and Stella were (physically typical) males. By now, the police had all the evidence they needed to support the claims made at the point of arrest. However, they were not satisfied and proceeded to submit the men to a physically violent examination designed to identify if the men had engaged in anal sex. This was in order to charge both Fanny and Stella with the offence of buggery (also known as sodomy). The charges when they came, were as follows:
‘they did with each and one another feloniously commit the abominable crime of buggery’
‘they did unlawfully conspire together , and with divers other persons, feloniously, to commit the said crimes’
‘they did unlawfully conspire together , and with divers other persons, to induce and incite other persons, feloniously, to commit the said crimes’
‘they being men, did unlawfully conspire together, and with divers others, to disguise themselves as women and to frequent places of public resort, so disguised, and to thereby openly and scandalously outrage public decency and corrupt public morals’Trial transcript cited in McKenna (2013: 35)
It is worth noting that until 1861 the penalty for being found guilty of buggery was death. After 1861 the penalty changed to penal servitude with hard labour for life.
You’ll be delighted to know, I am not going to give any spoilers, you need to read the book or even better, see the play. But I think it is important to consider the many complex facets of telling stories from the past, including public/private lives, the ethics of writing about the dead, the importance of doing justice to the narrative, whilst also shining a light on to hidden communities, social histories and “ordinary” people. Fanny and Stella’s lives were firmly set in the 19th century, a time when photography was a very expensive and stylised art, when social media was not even a twinkle in the eye. Thus their lives, like so many others throughout history, were primarily expected to be private, notwithstanding their theatrical performances. Furthermore, sexual activity, even today, is generally a private matter and there (thankfully) seems to be no evidence of a Victorian equivalent of the “dick pic”! Sexual activity, sexual thoughts, sexuality and so on are generally private and even when shared, kept between a select group of people.
This means that authors working on historical sexual cases, such as that of Fanny and Stella, are left with very partial evidence. Furthermore, the evidence which exists is institutionally acquired, that is we only know their story through the ignominy of their criminal justice records. We know nothing of their private thoughts, we have no idea of their sexual preferences or fantasies. Certainly, the term ‘homosexual’ did not emerge until the late 1860s in Germany, so it is unlikely they would have used that language to describe themselves. Likewise, the terms transvestite, transsexual and transgender did not appear until 1910s, 1940s and 1960s respectively so Fanny and Stella could not use any of these as descriptors. Despite the blue plaque above, we have no evidence to suggest that they ever described themselves as ‘cross-dressers’ In short, we have no idea how either Fanny or Stella perceived of themselves or how they constructed their individual life stories. Instead, authors such as Neil McKenna, close the gaps in order to create a seamless narrative.
McKenna calls upon an excellent range of different archival material for his book (upon which the play is based). These include:
- National Archives in Kew
- British Library/British Newspaper Library, London
- Metropolitan Police Service Archive, London
- Wellcome Institute, London
- Parliamentary Archives, London
- Libraries of the Royal Colleges of Surgeons, London and Edinburgh
- National Archives of Scotland
Nevertheless, these archives do not contain the level of personal detail, required to tell a fascinating story. Instead the author draws upon his own knowledge and understanding to bring these characters to life. Of course, no author writes in a vacuum and we all have a standpoint which impacts on the way in which we understand the world. So whilst, we know the institutional version of some part of Fanny and Stella’s life, we can never know their inner most thoughts or how they thought of themselves and each other. Any decision to include content which is not supported by evidence is fraught with difficulty and runs the risk of exaggeration or misinterpretation. A constant reminder that the two at the centre of the case are dead and justice needs to be done to a narrative where there is no right of response.
It is clear that both the book and the play contain elements that we cannot be certain are reflective of Fanny and Stella’s lives or the world they moved in. The alternative is to allow their story to be left unknown or only told through police and court records. Both would be a huge shame. As long as we remember that their story is one of fragile human beings, with many strengths and frailties, narratives such as this allow us a brief glimpse into a hidden community and two, not so ordinary people. But we also need to bear in mind that in this case, as with Oscar Wilde, the focus is on the flamboyantly illicit and tells us little about the lived experience of some many others whose voices and experiences are lost in time..
McKenna, Neil, (2013), Fanny and Stella: The Young Men Who Shocked Victorian England, (London: Faber and Faber Ltd.) Norton, Rictor, (2005), ‘Recovering Gay History from the Old Bailey,’ The London Journal, 30, 1: 39-54 Old Bailey Online, (2003-2018), ‘The Proceedings of the Old Bailey,’ The Old Baily Online, [online]. Available from: https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/ [Last accessed 25 February 2021]
I’m sure many of you are aware of the Dirty John series two, Betty Broderick. Although it has not had as much coverage as I’d have hoped. Now true crime documentaries are not always the best way to find out the truth, after delving deep into the history of this case, I found it does represent it well. If you haven’t given it a watch, I would definitely recommend it and would love to know your thoughts on the case.
Betty was married to Daniel Broderick, having 4 children and helping him become a doctor and then through law school. Of course, it all ended in 1989 when Betty had finally had enough of the torturous years with her husband’s affair with Linda Kolkena, killing them both. Not that I am condoning what she did at all, it was wrong for her to end his and Linda’s life. Although I do understand why she did do it and believe others in her situation could be led to this end too. After she kept them afloat with money while he went through law school, having his children and being the perfect housewife, he decided she was too old and needed a young wife to suit his new high class life-style.
This is not to say that Daniel was the sole person to blame, Betty was in the wrong too. However, taking a woman’s children away from her and brainwashing them tipped her over the edge, as it would do with many women. Betty brought the children up alone, with Daniel always too busy with his company to care about them. It seems Daniel did love Betty to begin with, but to me, it seems it became easy and stayed with her to do everything for him.
Daniel began socialising with his new girlfriend, rubbing his success in Betty’s face. This really does make me sad for Betty, she had no money because all her time was invested in her husband’s career. When it came to the divorce, it became a game for Daniel, trying to leave her with next to nothing and only supervised visits with her own children. He really did drive her to the point of destruction.
This woman is now 72 and has been in prison since 1989. I may be too generous, but I believe that this woman should be let to live her final years as a free woman. Free from having to fight for her children, fight for money to live and fight for her sanity. Daniel took all these away from her. And, although he did not get to live, Betty merely existed in the years of their divorce. She lost her spark and became depressed.
What do you believe?
For most of my life, I have been an avid reader of all types of books. As my family will confirm, from childhood, I was never without a book. As an adult, I have regularly selected coats with large pockets and bags purely on the basis that they can hold a book. As many students will attest, my answer to most academic questions is “read, read and read some more”. Despite the growth of the internet and other media, which as @drkukustr8talk has noted recently, diverts and subverts our attention and concentration, reading remains my first and truest love.
This, my third ‘Love Letter’, focuses on my favourite author, above all others, Agatha Christie. I have previously dedicated ‘Love Letters’ to poetry, and art. Both of these forms took a long time for me to develop my understanding of and my love for. This ‘Love Letter’ is slightly different.
I first discovered Christie’s novels when I was about 12, since then they have formed a regular backdrop to my life. They act as a comfort blanket when I am tired, stressed, sad or away from home. I have read and reread everything she wrote and know the stories inside and out. Despite my decades of adoration, it remains challenging to know exactly what it is that appeals to me so much about Christie’s novels.
Perhaps it is the symmetry, the fact that for Christie every crime has a solution. Conceivably, given my pacifist tendencies, it could be the absence of explicit violence within her books. Maybe it’s Christie use of stereotypical characters, who turn out to be anything but. You don’t have to look very far to find the oh-so suspicious foreigner, who turns out to be a caring father (Dr Jacob Tanois) or the shell-shocked former military man trained in violence, who metamorphosises into a rather lonely man, who suffers from epilepsy (Alexander Cust). In all these cases, and many others, Christie plays with the reader’s prejudices, whatever they might be, and with deft sleight of hand, reveals that bias as unfounded.
To be honest, until relatively recently, I did not think much about the above, reading Christie was so much part of my life, that I took it very much for granted. All that changed in 2017, when I spotted a ‘Call for Chapters’
It seemed too good an opportunity to miss, after all I had spent a lifetime reading Christie, not to mention more than a decade studying war and crime. After all, what did I have to lose? I submitted an abstract, with no real expectation that someone who had never studied fiction academically, would be accepted for the volume. After all, who would expect a criminologist to be interested in the fictional writing of a woman who had died over 40 years ago? What could criminology learn from the “golden age” of “whodunnit” fiction?
Much to my surprise the abstract was accepted and I was invited to contribute a chapter. The writing came surprisingly easy, one of very few pieces of writing that I have ever done without angst. Once I got over the hurdle of forcing myself to send my writing to strangers (thank you @manosdaskalou for the positive reassurance and gentle coercion!) , what followed was a thoroughly pleasant experience. From the guidance of the volume’s editors , Drs J. C. Bernthal and Rebecca Mills, to the support from many colleagues, not mention the patience of Michelle (Academic Librarian) who restrained from strangling me whilst trying to teach me the complexities of MLA. Each of these people gave me confidence that I had something different to say, that my thinking and writing was good enough.
Last week, my copy of the book arrived. It was very strange to see my chapter in print, complete with my name and a brief biography. Even more surreal was to read the editors’ introduction and to see my work described therein, with its contribution to the volume identified. I doubt many people will ever read my chapter, it is published in a very expensive academic book destined for academics and libraries. Nevertheless, I have left the tiniest of marks in academic literature and perhaps more importantly, publicly acknowledged my love for the writing of Agatha Christie.
The finished article:
Bowles, Paula, (2020), ‘Christie’s Wartime Hero: Peacetime Killer’ in Rebecca Mills and J. C. Bernthal, Agatha Christie Goes to War, (Abingdon: Routledge): 28-45