Capital punishment was effectively abolished in this country nearly forty years ago. Before that, people from all walks of life were hanged for all manner of reasons, often in cases that we, today, would consider unjust, as in a ‘crime of passion’, say. But if there was ever going to be justice in hanging anybody, then the case of George Joseph Smith, the infamous ‘brides in the bath’ killer who murdered three women, would surely be top of the list or thereabouts.

Smith was born at Bethnal Green in 1872. He was a cold, heartless man who apparently loved a woman called Edith Pegler. His love for her, if it existed, paled against his love of money. But if he was lazy, and would not work hard to earn money, he did possess a special quality that enabled him to get it, for George Smith had a way with the ladies.

It wasn’t that he was handsome. He sported a bushy ginger moustache, and, it was said, possessed an arrogance that irritated all men he encountered. Whilst the father of one of his ‘brides’ described Smith’s eyes as ‘looking like a mad dog’s’, a woman whom he bigamously married and, luckily for her, survived his murderous ways, said, ‘The power lay in his eyes’. But Smith had something else going for him in his quest to capture women in his treacherous web of deceit: the fact that there were plenty available.

Smith was a product of the late Victorian period, when successful men made lots of money and whose daughters were wealthy and possessed everything they wanted – except, sometimes, a husband. An available man with power in his eyes was just what they needed, a man like George Smith, in fact. But before he launched his ‘career’ on their ilk, and having served time for stealing and receiving stolen property, he first married Caroline Thornhill.

She was eighteen, and might have thought she was marrying a prosperous businessman called George Love who owned a bread shop. Sadly, when he went bankrupt, he set his wife to work as a maidservant, prompting her to steal her employers’ jewellery and silver along the way. They lived and worked in London, then moved to Brighton and Eastbourne to fleece the rich. All went well for them until the day Caroline, at her husband’s behest, tried to pawn some pilfered jewellery and was arrested when the suspicious pawnbroker called the police. She went to prison for a year, whilst Love – or Smith – simply disappeared.

Caroline had her revenge. When she was released she saw Smith, her lawful husband, by chance one day and called the police. She testified against him and he was sentenced to two years. He may have sought revenge in return, but he never got the chance, for his wife migrated to Canada. They remained married nonetheless.

Smith then went on to bigamously marry a string of women, always for money. He would either persuade them to hand their money over to him, usually saying it was for a business venture, or insure their lives. Once he had what he wanted, he would simply disappear, leaving victims with broken hearts and empty bank accounts, or, in three cases, dead.

In August, 1910, Smith, then 38, married Bessie Mundy, a woman in her mid-thirties. Smith, calling himself Henry Williams, married her for the sum of £2,500 she inherited from her father upon his death. But Smith was unable to get his hands on the money, as it had been placed into the hands of trustees. He persuaded her to hand over £150 in cash, then left her, accusing her of infecting him with venereal disease! He broke her heart, but he just couldn’t get the thought of the £2,500 from his mind!

And so, eighteen months later, when Bessie was walking in the popular seaside resort of Weston-super-Mare and chanced to see her ‘husband’, she readily forgave him and believed his explanation that having contracted V.D., as he thought, he considered it best to leave rather than pass it on to her. He had since searched for her everywhere, he said, and now he sought reconciliation.

Delighted to have her husband back, Bessie took him back to her lodgings. Then the pair left, and at Williams’s – Smith’s – suggestion, they drew up mutual wills, whereby each would benefit in the event of the other’s death. This meant Smith would inherit the coveted £2,500, whilst his wife would get nothing, for her husband had nothing to leave. From this point on Bessie Mundy was in mortal danger, and less than a week later she was dead, drowned in her bath.

Smith, alias Williams, had travelled to Herne Bay in Kent, with Bessie. He there set himself up as an art dealer, and even had a brass plate mounted to the wall. He also bought a new bath for their new home, which Bessie helped him choose. Then he took her to see a doctor, explaining that his wife was having fits, but in reality he was laying the foundations for what would follow: that the good doctor would not be surprised if Mrs Williams should happen to drown whilst having a fit in her bath.

Sure enough, the doctor received a note from Smith, stating that his wife had died in the bath and could he attend at once. When he got there he found her naked, still lying in the water, face up. Her husband said he had popped out to buy food, and when he returned he found her dead. She was buried in a pauper’s grave, and Smith collected the £2,500.

Just over a year later, in November, 1913, Smith married Alice Burnham, 25, a nurse. Soon after he persuaded her to make her will, in his favour, of course. They went to Blackpool on their honeymoon and found accommodation, with a bathroom, at a Mrs Crossley’s. As before, Smith’s ‘wife’ had cause to see a doctor, and one morning, having popped out to buy some eggs, Smith returned to find his wife dead in the bath, having first ensured the landlady was aware of his visit to the shop. The doctor was called, but found nothing suspicious. Another pauper’s burial followed, and this time Smith inherited £600.

In December, 1914, after more marriages and relief of his ‘wives’ ’ savings, Smith, this time posing as an estate agent called John Lloyd, married his third murder victim, Margaret Lofty, at Bath, an appropriately-named town, you might think. Margaret would be dead the very next day. Bride and groom travelled to London and lodged in rooms at Highgate. The landlady would testify that she heard the sound of splashing upstairs, followed by a sigh, followed by loud music coming from the sitting room. There she discovered Mr Lloyd playing a hymn on the organ, designed to make his landlady believe he had been there all the time.

He left the house then, returning soon after saying he bought some tomatoes for his wife’s supper. He rang the bell for admittance, even though he had a key. Upstairs, he ‘discovered’ the drowned body of his wife. Again, the pauper’s funeral; again Smith sought to cash in, this time by claiming an insurance policy, but was delayed owing to the inquest being adjourned through a witness being ill.

Smith had married many women and murdered three. But with the murder of Margaret Lofty his number was up. He wasn’t careless. He was unlucky. His demise came down to a story in the ‘News of the World’.

Strange deaths at seaside resorts were of interest only to the local press, and were read about by local people. But a bride drowning in her bath in London featured in a national newspaper, and was read about all over the country by readers like Charles Burnham, Alice Burnham’s father, and William Haynes, in Blackpool, who lived near to Mrs Crossley’s boarding house, where Alice was murdered. The husbands involved had different names, but in each case were newly married, and in each case had ‘discovered’ their wives dead in the bath.

Letters were written, and it was only a matter of time before Scotland Yard was alerted. On 1st February, 1915, George Joseph Smith felt a tug on his sleeve, just as he was leaving a solicitor’s office having sorted out his late wife’s will (to collect the insurance). It was detective inspector Neil, who said he was arresting him for making a false entry on a marriage certificate. Is that all? Smith must have thought. But he was being arrested on a technicality, as all three deaths were ‘accidental’. A murder charge would follow.

Yes, only one, even though all three women were surely murdered. And, let it be said, the trial of George Smith was flawed, because evidence from all three deaths was allowed, even though the murder of Margaret Lofty alone was put to Smith. Why didn’t the prosecution proceed with all three? Perhaps the reason is a simple one, and is the same as in many other cases then – that you can only hang a man once, so one conviction is enough.

Whatever, the circumstances surrounding the three deaths did not make for a strong case against Smith. Where was the evidence? None of the bodies had any marks of violence, and Smith had first consulted doctors, showing illness on the part of his wives. The prosecution would rely on the eminent pathologist, Dr Bernard Spilsbury, to prove their case and, to some extent, the remarkable fact that in three consecutive cases, a newly-married wife to the same man, twice using false names, had ended abruptly in death when taking a bath, leaving the bathroom door unlocked.

Taking a bath in those days was not quite the same experience as today. First, it was not uncommon for baths not to be fitted with taps; they were filled with water from enamel buckets. And second, and significant in the deaths of Smith’s three ‘wives’, they were short and narrow, tapering to not much more than twelve inches at the ‘feet’ end. So, having had the three deceased women exhumed, and ruled out suicide in any of their deaths, Spilsbury produced a theory which the police decided was enough to charge Smith with murder – a means of drowning someone in a bathtub whereby the victim would drown without a struggle.

Spilsbury’s theory was that Smith, the loving husband, would approach his new wife as she reclined in the bath. She would suspect nothing of his evil intention as he stooped over the bath and deftly slid an arm under her knees, or grabbed her ankles, and quickly lifted her legs, possibly giving her head a gentle push down with his free hand. She, taken by surprise, would at once be submerged, with water surging up her nose and into her mouth, choking her. It would then be a simple matter of holding her in position for a minute or so, with drowning the inevitable consequence. There would be no chance of gripping the sides of the bath, whose narrow confines allowed no room for manoeuvre. Smith would then ‘find’ his wife later, and be suitably shocked.

Caroline, who was still Smith’s lawful wife, turned up to witness events at the trial, gratified, no doubt, that such a wicked man was getting his just desserts. Smith was confident of acquittal, although he lost his temper at one point, telling the court, during police evidence, that he had not committed murder and could not be sentenced to death. Then came the testimony of Dr Spilsbury. The bath used for the murder of Alice Burnham was produced, and the pathologist prepared to demonstrate how, in his view, Smith had drowned his ‘brides’.

Except there was a problem, for a young woman model wearing a bathing costume was hardly appropriate in an English court of law. So the jury were taken to a private room where the bath was filled with water and the willing woman duly stepped in and reclined, as one does when taking a bath. Dr Spilsbury promptly raised her legs, and the water rushed up her nose and into her mouth. It was so effective she had to be revived by artificial resuscitation. And she was expecting it!

Smith scornfully interrupted the judge during summing up, declaring his innocence. ‘I am not a murderer,’ he said. But he was doomed. It took the jury little more than twenty minutes to find him guilty. With confidence visibly draining from his face, he was led away under sentence of death. It seems even then he thought the appeal court would overturn the verdict through lack of evidence, and never mind Dr Spilsbury’s theory. It did not, and Smith, distraught, was returned to his cell to await his fate.

On the morning of his execution, George Joseph Smith was a wreck. With death staring him in the face, he was led quickly – and shakily – to the scaffold and positioned onto the trapdoor where the hood was placed over his head. As hangman Ellis placed the noose around his neck, Smith cried out loudly, ‘I’m innocent!’ A moment later a cruel, calculating man, who had deceived for gain, and murdered three innocents with his bare hands, was dispatched.

See Also:
Miss Sarah Faulkner
George Smith's Background