Discovering A Murder Part 2
A Trip to the Archives
The prohibitive cost of a digital copy of documents from The National Archives had left my project on the unsolved murder of five year old William Starchfield hanging in the balance. I knew that the only way I could be sure that I had all the information I needed and that it would accurately convey the police investigation, the evidence that it found, and include all of the available witness statements, was to lay my hands on a copy of all the documents available. A family discussion ensued and it was decided that it would probably be cheaper to drive to London, stay for the weekend and photograph the files ourselves.1 I was highly sceptical, but with a little persuasion from my daughter and her partner, and not a little trepidation, a date was agreed and a hotel booked. There was just the small matter of applying for a reader’s ticket and requesting the documents we wanted to look at. All three of us would need to do this if we were to be granted access to the archives. On the day we set off only two of us had been sent a confirmation email. I hadn’t received mine and was terrified they wouldn’t let me in, but an online chat with someone from the archives assured me my visit had been confirmed.
The only other time I had been to the capital was on a school trip when I was ten or eleven. My enduring memory of that trip was having my purse pick-pocketed and losing the five pounds spending money I’d diligently saved up for several weeks prior. I was devastated, while my classmates were buying souvenirs to take back to their parents, I couldn’t even purchase a postcard. I was determined that this time my bag would be in sight and very securely zipped up at all times. I was convinced that London would be too busy, too big and too confusing for me. I just didn’t understand how this city worked and that was scary.
As we drove into the city I perched nervously on the edge of my seat and glanced around at the enormous buildings. Then I glimpsed the river and fear was replaced with awe. I’m glad I wasn’t the one driving, following a sat nav through multi-lane traffic is best left to practitioners of transportational magical arts, but we found a place to park, and in next to no time, we were on our way to The Rossetti Exhibition at Tate Britain. Later, we found our private parking space outside someone’s home and walked to our hotel in Nevern Square.
You’ll notice in my ‘About Me’ I mention my penchant for cemeteries. Brompton Cemetery, one of the big seven, was on our route and it’s only because the gate was padlocked by the time we got there that I didn’t disappear into its alluring environs. In the planning stages of the trip, my daughter had asked if there was anything else I wanted to do while we were there, the answer, ‘So many things’, but top of the list was a visit to Highgate Cemetery, the fulfilment of an almost lifetime’s ambition. But that was reserved for our final day, now we needed to dump our things and go for our evening meal.
It was decided we’d head to Camden Road and The World’s End pub which I’ve recently discovered, thanks to Amy of Hell-Broth, may stand on the site of the ‘Witch Queen’, or Old Mother Redcap’s 17th Century cottage.
There was a little bit of a mix up with tickets for the tube, but a very nice member of staff sorted the problem and from then on travelling around became a little less mystifying. You would think that in a Great Big City like London getting from A to B would be chaos, but (and my experience is limited, of course) it was easy, quick and highly efficient, though what else would you expect from something built by Wombles?2 The journey was made all the more exciting when I realised that this was probably the route of the train on which Willie’s body was found, with some minor changes.
After breakfast the following morning, it was off to The National Archives, identity documents in hand, not really knowing what to expect. On first impressions, the building was smaller than I thought it would be, or so it seemed from the outside. We were shown where to leave our bags and coats by a security guard - you can’t take these into the archives - and then to a desk where we presented our id, had our photos taken and were given our reader’s cards. And then on to collect our documents. My son-in-law (and practitioner of transportational magical arts), who’d chosen several medieval documents to view, was whisked off to a special room where he would be watched by an eagle eyed security guard, whilst my daughter and I went to a desk with a camera stand, where we immediately annoyed a woman at the adjacent desk just by being there. She clearly expected not only complete silence (no one said it was a silent area and we were whispering as we set up our things), but wanted the whole of her own desk and mine too.
The woman left in disgust when we told her we’d pre-booked the desk and had been told we were welcome to work together.
As my daughter methodically photographed each page, I tentatively looked through the files. So, would we find the missing statements? With over five hundred pages to work through what else could they be?
I slowly turned each page and couldn’t help smiling with excitement and relief. The names on the statements leapt out at me, names I had been hoping for, and more besides. Within a few hours we photographed every scrap of paper connected to Willie’s murder - a total of 945 items held in four different files.
Is the answer to who murdered Willie in these documents? Surely they will tell us something. Did Detective Chief Inspector Gough and his team overlook some vital clue hiding amongst all that paperwork?
So now the real hard work begins, working through each day’s evidence, transcribing the statements and articles, and noting all the important facts that might give us an accurate picture of the events of Thursday 8th January 1914, hoping for a glimpse into the past and the lives of Willie and those who knew, loved, and possibly murdered him. As Gough states, a murder with
‘the absence of ascertainable motive [...] is of all, the most difficult of solution’.3
Perhaps the luxury of time and hindsight might afford us a little more clarity.
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It wasn’t, but it was so worth it.
For those who don’t know, The Wombles are elusive, furry creatures native to Wimbledon Common. They also had a hit in the 70s that began ‘Underground, overground, wombling free…’
Detective Chief Inspector William Gough, From Kew Observatory to Scotland Yard, 1927, p.240.
What a memorable trip for you! Looking forward to the next post. 😊