Remembering Edith Thompson

9 January 2013

University College London

 

Pearson Building Lecture Theatre, 6-8pm

 

INVITATION

Dear friends,

You are warmly invited to join us at UCL for an occasion to remember Edith Thompson on the 90^th anniversary of her death. In the past we have gathered for a memorial service at St Barnabas in Manor Park at 8.30am, for the service to coincide with the hour of her death at 9am on 9 January 1923. I propose to continue this tradition for future anniversaries. But after the last service some of us felt that we should hold the 90^th anniversary ceremony at a more sociable time and in the centre of town. More people would be able to attend that way, and this major anniversary would also seem to be an appropriate time to take stock.

The evening will be introduced by René Weis. He will be followed by the Reverend Matthew Duckett, formerly both of UCL and of Edith Thompson’s church of St Barnabas in Manor Park. René Weis will then speak about Edith Thompson and the other people engulfed by the tragedy. The address will include a slideshow of pictures from Edith Thompson’s life and an excerpted recording of her sister Avis Graydon talking about her memory of these events. René Weis will talk too about the grave at Brookwood, the expiring lease of her parents’ grave in the City of London Cemetery, the proposed Edith and Avis Graydon essay prize in the sisters’ old school at Kensington Avenue Manor Park, and other related issues that have arisen in the course of 2012.

The event will conclude at 8pm.

Poems for Edith Thompson

9 January 2013

Readers:

Matthew Duckett: ‘We Are The Just’

Jean Sykes: ‘The Trysting Tree’

René Weis: ‘Fear no More’

Fiona Bywaters: ‘Visions of the Daughters of Albion’

 

WE ARE THE JUST

It did not happen
It is not happening
It cannot have happened
We are the just

In the straight (and narrow)
stairs, a boa of dust.
“People like us.
To think …!”

A universe
in pulp
and laque japonais.

But across the water
death has been tied up
with his undoing. Eastward
Ho! Oh no …!
Too easily broken.

Of course it did not happen.
Such things do not happen
It never should have happened
We are the just

“Compose yourself. Confess,
Woman. Unburden
your soul.”

Dance of dust motes
along a shaft of sun.
Oh Daddy, Daddy!
Teach me that one!

No, not that,
Girl. Daughter.
CLYTEMNESTRA!

Extraordinary,
the pull of the red stuff.
Just a drop.
And ne’er a camera
not to lie.

It is the season to be jolly!
Prospect of brandy
in a gentleman’s veins,
pop of a barrel
from the bench, what?

Pourriture,
I think,
in a bowl.

How were they to know?
The gas, the incendiary
on her old school,
it did happen.

Such things must not
Be allowed
To happen
We are the just

I am a soul,
my seat
is the top of the spine.

Oh, Bird, Bird! She cannot
fly …

Because THEY are the just
I know it will not happen
Happen it can
Not

Knot, knot,
who’s there?
Peep-bo!

Her body swings
into the air.

Dentelles, Broderies, Peau de soie.
Her favourite scent,
you know.

Well if you must, kiss her.
Only on the forehead, mind.
She sleeps in flowers.
Beautiful.

Animal! Murderess!

The glass
remains breathless.

It shall not
Happen again
Court, rise!
We are the just

© James Ramsay, 9 January 2013

(read by Matthew Duckett)

THE TRYSTING TREE

Hold my hand and I’ll hold yours
And we’ll go dancing to the shores
Of sunlit lands where happy grows
The Trysting tree, beneath which flows
The sunbeam stream where fairies bathe
And ships with sails of breezes take
Cargoes of cares to the secret cave
Where the wisest fairy works to make
Them into new and shining joys
And all the tears of  girls and boys
Are made into a necklace for
The loveliest Queen of all that shore.

Beneath the Trysting tree we’ll tell
Our dreams into a singing shell
And read the stories of the flowers
As page on page we turn the hours.
We’ll talk as brightly as singing birds
Of things untaught in any school
In a laugh of language gemmed with words
Shaped newly with our twist tongue tool.
We’ll eat our fill of fairy food
And drink the wine no grownup could.
Then on a magic spell we’ll ride
And see all from the other side.

Whenever you’re sad remember we
Can meet beneath the Trysting tree.
Just call my name, you know it well,
It has the sound that none can spell,
And we’ll romp again through magic fields
And from our purses, stuffed with stars,
We’ll pay for all that dreaming builds,
Those castles in the sky and cars
Drawn swiftly by a lightning streak;
Who knows, perhaps we’ll even speak
To that loveliest Queen who proudly wears
The necklace made from pearls of tears.

© Harry Haines

(read by Jean Sykes)

‘FEAR NO MORE’

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun;
Nor the furious winter’s rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.

Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dread thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan;
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

William Shakespeare, Cymbeline

(read by René Weis)

‘VISIONS OF THE DAUGHTERS OF ALBION’

With what sense does the parson claim the labour of the farmer?
What are his nets and gins and traps; and how does he surround him
With cold floods of abstraction, and with forests of solitude,
To build him castles and high spires, where kings and priests may dwell;
Till she who burns with youth, and knows no fixèd lot, is bound
In spells of law to one she loathes? And must she drag the chain
Of life in weary lust? Must chilling, murderous thoughts obscure
The clear heaven of her eternal spring; to bear the wintry rage
Of a harsh terror, driv’n to madness, bound to hold a rod
Over her shrinking shoulders all the day, and all the night
To turn the wheel of false desire, and longings that wake her womb
To the abhorrèd birth of cherubs in the human form,
That live a pestilence and die a meteor, and are no more;
Till the child dwell with one he hates, and do the deed he loathes,
And the impure scourge force his seed into its unripe birth,
Ere yet his eyelids can behold the arrows of the day?

William Blake

(read by Fiona Bywaters)

EPIPHANY 2 – THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST   2013   

ST MICHAEL’S, THEYDON MOUNT

The Reverend Barry Arscott

I love the season of Epiphany; there always seems to be something magical and mystical about it – especially that story of the Magi, or Wise Men, visiting the baby Jesus in Bethlehem, which was the reading for last Sunday and started the season off. In the old Prayer Book lectionary, Epiphany had the sub-title, ‘The Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles’. The Wise Men, of course, came from the Far East and travelled for miles over sometimes hostile country to follow the star and their dream. It was a tremendous undertaking and must have taken many months if not years. What gave them their determination, I wonder? What this season of Epiphany makes abundantly clear to a somewhat insular and inward looking church is that Jesus Christ came for the whole world, that Christianity is a worldwide religion for all people, whatever nationality, race, culture, or sex; that we are members of a church that is worldwide and all-inclusive, that God’s Kingdom and his values are for all peoples, his Gospel, good news for all. The story of the Wise Men visiting Jesus and offering their gifts is also a reminder to us that there is much we can learn from people of other faiths and cultures and anyone searching for the truth about our God. Epiphany is saying to us that the Christian gospel and our Christian practice can never be confined to my local church, either the building or the community; it has a worldwide context. Always we are called to look beyond ourselves to the wider world community of which we are part.

Last Sunday, I worshipped as I often do, at St. Martin-in-the-Fields. The new Vicar, Sam Wells, in my opinion, is an excellent preacher who always seems to be able to see the Gospel stories in a fresh way. He made a point about the Wise Men that was a new thought for me; I pass it on to you. He reminded us that they were prepared to change direction when they found they were going the wrong way. They thought they would find the one they were seeking in Jerusalem; it was after all the capital and most important city. But no; they were to go on to Bethlehem. Then, after they had seen the baby Jesus, and worshipped him, offering their gifts, instead of going back to King Herod as requested, they went back home a different way. Sam Wells’ point was that wise men are prepared to change course when they know they are wrong. He recalled how he had heard a well-known politician interviewed on the radio some time ago who was criticised by the interviewer for being completely opposed to Britain’s entry to the European Community and then later becoming a European Commissioner. How could he go back on what he had said? he was asked. The politician replied: ‘When I realise I’ve made a mistake, I change my mind; what do you do?’ That was a rare thing for a politician to admit, but how wise. For those of us who hate to admit ever being wrong, those wise men give a salutary lesson.

Changing direction has a lot to do with the theme of today’s readings. The Gospel tells how John the Baptist went around the wilderness proclaiming a baptism of repentance. John, this strangely dressed. fearless preacher, challenged the people who had grown so distant to God and his ways, to turn back to Him, give up their former way of life, repent and as a symbol of them taking up new life with God, be Baptised, cleansed in the water of the Jordan. They needed to admit they were wrong and change the direction of their lives. Hope rises among the crowd when they see John; is this the promised Messiah for whom they had been waiting for so long? No, says John, but he is coming – very soon. ‘One more powerful than I .. . . I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals.’  What an impressive character John is. Here he is, with the crowd in the palm of his hand; but instead of taking advantage of that power, he directs the people away from himself to Jesus for whom he saw himself only as a humble servant.

Onto the scene comes Jesus wanting to be baptised by John, wanting to identify fully with the people and be part of John’s movement.

Right from the very beginning of the Christian church, Baptism has been the initiation rite; it has been seen as a new beginning. Converts to Christianity were challenged to give up their former way of life and start afresh in a new direction following the way of Christ; in Paul’s words, they were to put off the old self and put on the new, like changing out of your old clothes and putting on new fresh clothes. Baptism is very much a ceremony of hope; it reminds us that we can start again; when we’ve done wrong, we can change direction; we can put our old way of living away and start all over again; live a fresh new life in Christ. There is our hope; we can change.

Sadly though, not everyone has the opportunity or the desire or courage to admit being wrong and change direction. I was thinking about this at a meeting I went to last Wednesday.

Last Wednesday, 9^th Jan. was the 90^th anniversary of the hanging of Edith Thompson. Edith and her young lover Freddie Bywaters were both condemned and hanged at that time for the murder of her husband Percy. In the last few years there has been a memorial service on the 9^th. Jan. to remember the people involved.

The Bywaters/Thompson trials were notorious in the 1920’s and my interest in the story was stimulated by a researcher into the case who wanted to see the Marriage Registers of my church in Manor Park where Percy and Edith were married in 1916. That researcher, who has become a good friend, wrote a fascinating book on the case, called Criminal Justice.

Edith’s family, the Graydons, lived in a road in my parish at that time; she went to the school where I later was a pupil; my father, brought up in Manor Park would have been a contemporary and must have known about the case.

Briefly, the story is that after a few years of marriage, Edith took up with a young man who became her lover, Freddie Bywaters; Freddy, who was getting on for ten years her junior was an exciting contrast to her rather staid husband, and evidently a very likeable popular young man. Edith, who held down a good job at a milliner’s and earned far more than her husband, was a very modern, liberated lady for her day. Briefly, Percy and Edith were coming home from a West End theatre one evening, when Freddie, appeared in front of them, got into an argument with Percy, and in the process, stabbed him with a knife, killed him and ran off. Edith, evidently cried out, cradled Percy in her arms until the police came, but didn’t name Freddy though she must have seen him. Both Freddie and Edith were arrested, tried, and condemned to death. Freddy was guilty of murder, but as far as Edith is concerned, most people who have looked at the case believe that she was innocent, that an injustice had been done and that she was wrongly hanged. Even at the time, there was public support for Edith and over a million signatures to a petition calling for a reprieve. Why was she condemned then? She was a married woman who had an affair with a younger man – frowned upon in the twenties. The cynic in me wonders if it were a married man who had had an affair with a younger woman, the verdict would be the same. In other words, Edith was probably hanged for adultery rather than murder.

To my mind, the incident raises lots of moral issues. Some people might think; this happened ninety years ago, why bother about it now? But an injustice is an injustice; distance in years doesn’t in any way diminish the injustice, nor should it diminish efforts to redress it. Some talk about ‘the moral climate of the day’. That may be a factor, but again, that shouldn’t be used to justify injustice. Edith was condemned because of the prejudices of the lawyers and the jury; it’s a challenge to us not to let personal prejudices, beliefs, feelings, or the moral climate, cloud our judgement. The other thing that worries me is that when we discover that someone has done something wrong or criminal, we write them off completely, we forget the good in their lives. I know two colleagues, both priests, both of whom have done wrong and one of whom is currently in prison. Now we can’t condone the wrong, but it worries me that some people dismiss them as criminal and forget that they were once very good priests who helped so many people. Edith and Freddie were not all bad; there were people who saw much in them to love. The final point about the Bywaters/Thompson story I want to make, is the iniquitous practice of capital punishment. Thankfully, we no longer have the practice in this country, (though we mustn’t be too complacent; there are many who would like to have it back); remember, too, that there are a good number of people waiting on death row in some states of America and elsewhere.

Apart from the fact that there have been so many hanged who have since been proved to be innocent, capital punishment takes away any chance there may have been of reformation or reparation. All three in that murder case, Percy, Edith, and Freddie had that chance taken away from them. Everyone should have the chance to admit they are wrong and change direction; which brings us back to those Wise Men. The Wise Men followed a star, (it was their satnav if you like}; but when they went wrong, they were prepared to change direction.    As Christians, we are on a similar journey to those wise men. Our journey began when we were baptised all those years ago; like the Wise Men we seek the truth, the truth about God, but from time to time we go wrong, our satnav (as mine seems to do sometimes) leads us astray. The important thing to remember is this: when we take the wrong turning, it’s better to admit we are wrong and change direction. That way, hopefully, we won’t miss the target, which is life, in all its abundance, with God.