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Journalists and Police Detectives in Victorian and Edwardian England: an Uneasy Reciprocal Relationship.

Detectives are sometimes likened to historians and vice versa. (1) On closer examination, the resemblance between detectives and journalists is no less noticeable. The latter likeness, specifically between police detectives and journalists who wrote for newspapers on crime and policing, was particularly striking during the Victorian and Edwardian periods. Interestingly, the two occupations were not only similar, but also evolved in parallel. More importantly, in the process they developed links and interdependencies that helped them perform their respective duties. However, while contacts between them were mutually beneficial, they were also marked by tension and conflict. This duality of interdependence and conflict continued to characterise relations between journalists and detectives (and the police generally) after the First World War, but this topic has been investigated. (2) The present paper proposes to reveal the complex relations that unfolded between them during their formative period in the second half of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Such research has not yet been undertaken, although these relations were distinctive of the period and, furthermore, vital to the development of both occupations. An analysis of the special relationship between them thus sheds light on hitherto unexplored but significant aspects of the worlds of policing as well as of journalism. Moreover, their relationship played a major role in determining the material about law enforcement that reached the public through the press. The circumstances under which this material was moulded constitute another important topic of this article.

The article concerns the relationships between journalists and detectives in all of England, but with strong emphasis on London where the links were far more intensive and consequential. London was the media centre of the country. Either because Scotland Yard was located in London or because the Yard constituted a kind of a national detective organisation, providing services to localities other than the metropolis, and dealing mainly with serious crime, it became a focus of interest for media people and an object of widespread coverage, considerably more than any other detective department in the country. While some local crime and law enforcement managed to draw the attention of the national channels of communication, the flow of news items and articles about crime and detection from London outwards was substantial. (3) London detectives thus enjoyed media exposure throughout the country. In fact, to many people, Scotland Yard detectives represented the English detective. Thus, to understand the basic characteristics of the links between police detectives and pressmen, focus should be laid on London with occas3ional references to the provinces. It should also be noted that since police detectives were part and parcel of the police organisation as a whole, and affected by developments there, mention will be made of these facets when relevant.

To a great extent, the activity of Victorian and Edwardian detectives and journalists was similar and, increasingly, they were expected to do similar things. The essence of their work relied on investigation--on the act of probing and exposing. Indeed, journalists often called themselves "investigators". (4) In their professional capacity, both developed the skills of taking evidence, interviewing witnesses and, on the basis of scattered pieces of information, constructing a narrative, often explaining a burning or puzzling issue. Their professional status depended on their ability to perform these tasks repeatedly and successfully. The limited use during that period of scientific means in investigations meant that stress was put on individual merit. Accordingly, both detectives and journalists were expected to possess a distinctive mix of qualities to fulfill their jobs adequately--determination, persistence, an inquisitive and analytical mind, and sharp observation. Moreover, although journalists worked for private organisations, they increasingly claimed to advance the public interest, just as police detectives did. (5) Neither group had formal professional training, acquiring their skills on the job.

So overlapping were the two occupations that at times they exchanged roles and crossed into each other's domain. As part of their vocational culture detectives would naturally wear a disguise when they wanted to hide their identity; journalists often did the same while searching for information. (6) Each party would on occasion pass itself off as the other. (7) The similarities between detectives and journalists did not escape the eyes of perceptive contemporaties. The journalist J. Hall Richardson actually described his 45 years of reporting about crime as "press-detective work" (8) In 1905, the London Magazine published an article entitled "Newspapers as Detectives", in which stories of pressmen acting as crime fighters abounded. (9)

The Evolution of Both Occupations

The two occupations were not merely alike, but also evolved in parallel. Each had existed before the nineteenth century, but for both the 1840s constituted a turning point. In contrast to later centuries, the predominant ideology of criminal justice in the eighteenth century did not demand the capture of every violator of the law, and therefore no systematic arrangements were made towards this end. The discretionary use of a harsh penal code was meant to deter potential law breakers. Parish constables, patrolmen and local magistrates undertook some detection tasks, but the role of pursuing and prosecuting criminals (or returning stolen goods) was left largely to the initiative of private individuals, who often hired thieftakers to do the job for them. (10) Britain's first police detectives--the Bow Street Runners--appeared in the streets of London in the mid-eighteenth century, but they were a very small force and combined official and private work.

With the expansion of public policing in London in the latter eighteenth century, more detectives were attached to the newly created police offices, and other changes were introduced in the period that made the capture of criminals more effective." (11) The Metropolitan Police of London, created in 1829 as the first modern police force in the country, used policemen in plain clothes to pursue offenders and spy on political dissidents, yet only in 1842 did it establish a detective department specializing in stamping out crime. Detective departments emerged only gradually in other forces.

As for journalism, most of the adult population in London at the end of the eighteenth century had, as Peter King has estimated, "some significant exposure to newspaper-transmitted news on a very regular basis." (12) Journalism as a profession was beginning to develop even earlier. (13) However, journalists during the eighteenth century did not operate in the role that evolved later of "professional processor[s] of information" who "tell the truth only". (14) From approximately the mid-nineteenth century, journalism was viewed increasingly as a profession. (15) The language of journalists was systematised, and a more clearly defined occupational identity for newspaper reporting emerged. (16)

Both occupations grew considerably during the Victorian period. Although throughout the century detectives formed only a fraction of the total number of policemen and of each individual police force, and their size in toto was never large, their growth rate was steady. When it was first established in 1842, the detective body of the Metropolitan Police of London, the largest of all the forces by far, consisted of eight detectives, but at the end of the 1860s it numbered over 200 (out of about 9000 officers), rising to about 600 at the turn of the century (out of over 15,000 officers). (17) Detective departments gradually appeared in the provinces, especially in the big cities, so that the number of detectives in the country was consistently augmented.

The press, too, experienced a substantial expansion in the latter half of the nineteenth century. (18) Technological advances in printing, the abolition of various duties on knowledge in the course of the 1850s and 1860s and a drop in the costs of paper and newspaper production gave rise to the mass-produced commercial press. (19) Another leap forward occurred at the end of the century with the appearance of the half penny newspapers. The periodical press, too, witnessed impressive growth and for similar reasons. (20) Yet this proliferation would not have occurred if not for improved communications, a rise in the standard of living of large segments of the population, rising literacy, and the spread of leisure activities. All these augmented the readership pool, boosted the press industry and multiplied sales.

Both detectives and journalists struggled hard during the nineteenth century to secure recognition and respectability. (21) The detectives of the pre- and immediate post-1842 period may have earned praise from some commentators, but on the whole they suffered from a censorious public discourse. In a similar fashion, attitudes to press reporting during the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries reflected a mix of cynicism and an awareness that it was informative, useful and powerful, (22) though in general, "before 1840 the reputation of the press was low ... [and] journalists themselves were regarded as hacks or as demagogues." (23) Journalism at its lowest levels was particularly discredited. (24) Court reporters were described in mid-century as "poor despised journalists" who were "not admitted into 'society'. (25) By the end of the nineteenth century, however, both vocations had gained considerably in credibility and status, (26) although both groups felt that much remained to be attained in this area. (27)

In one important respect there was a clear difference between the two vocations. Men of the press came from varied backgrounds. While many reporters were born to the lower middle class and had little education, those who wrote for quality periodicals were not necessarily full-time journalists, but could be university men or middle class writers of other kinds. (28) By contrast, detectives, who were almost invariably recruited from the uniformed rank and file, (29) came exclusively from the lower rungs of the social ladder. Empirical evidence shows unequivocally that the majority originated from the working class and only a minority from the lower middle class, a significant portion coming from the least skilled sectors of the population. (30) It was very rare for detectives to descend from higher classes. Nonetheless, despite the different backgrounds of the detectives and the pressmen, representatives of the two vocations established close relations, for the links between them were potentially highly advantageous to both.

Mutual Dependence

Evolving side by side, the two occupations developed a certain reciprocity and even interdependence. The most conspicuous dependence was that of journalists who reported about crime on policemen engaged in the struggle against crime. Although reporters could seek out material on crime from varied sources, the cooperation of the police was indispensable. While the press incorporated a diversity of journals, with different emphases and political orientations, all addressed the issue of crime and crime control. As part of their mandate to acquaint the public with recent events, newspapers were obliged to report about crimes and trials, yet the coverage of these topics was propelled by a far stronger drive than the obligation Co disseminate news. It was driven by the immense interest of the public in the criminal justice system, and the desire of the press to enjoy a commercial edge. (31) The periodical press, focusing on opinion rather than news, was also preoccupied with various aspects of this subject. Writing in detail and depth about crime and punishment, contributors to periodicals had to be in touch with sources that would supply them with knowledge and insights, albeit less urgently than newsmen who were dependant on speedy and regular access to crime news.

For their part, detectives badly needed positive exposure in the press. (32) Police forces had been established against a background of widespread opposition, which lingered for a long period. (33) Partly the objection was directed at uniformed policing, associated with the military and the use of force against civilian populations. Yet, apparently, fears of policemen in civilian clothes prying about unsuspectedly on the behalf of the central government were as strong, if not stronger. (34) Moreover, obliged to come in contact with criminals and persons living on the borders of the underworld in order to tackle law breaking, detectives were suspected of shady dealings and even of dabbling in illegal activities. (35) Mainly because of such deep-seated objections to plain-clothes policemen, no detective department was organised in the Metropolitan Police force when it was first formed. Even after detective departments appeared in the big cities, they remained very small and their members were closely watched to see if they conducted themselves as anticipated. To gain legitimacy and credibility in an age when public opinion increasingly played a role in the political arena and public servants vigorously sought public support, improving the image of plainclothes officers was a recognised necessity. The power of the press to influence, if not mould, opinion, had the potential to help dispel distrust of detectives, especially since most of the public had no direct contact with them and formed their opinions about detectives largely on the basis of information given in the press.

Strengthening the status of detectives and promoting confidence in them had a practical angle as well, as crime fighters widely believed that the successful detection of crime depended to a great extent on information supplied by the public. (36) Time and again they emphasised the contribution of informants, neighbours and bystanders to the discovery of the culprit. (37) The press was both a key actor in projecting the image that would incline people to assist the police, and an arena for publicizing police appeals for information.

In light of these interdependencies, how did relations evolve between official criminal investigators and agents of the press? What were the points of contact between them and how did these manifest themselves ? How did they regard each other and what was the nature of the give-and-take? Did they indeed benefit each other and met each other's expectations? Finally, how can the changes in their relations be explained?

Give-and-Take in Practice

Only sparse evidence exists about the negotiations between the police and journalists that led to coverage of police detection. Yet much can be gathered from the journalistic texts themselves. These point to all manner of connections and contacts between the two parties. Relations developed haphazardly and were unstructured. No set procedures regarding the transmission of information from policemen to journalists, and no routine system of briefing or press officers existed in the period under review. The evidence shows, however, that these links gradually became more intensive, albeit not always congenial, as will be discussed below.

Required to be in the proximity of law enforcers who would feed them information, insights and good stories, journalists gradually developed a wide range of contacts with detectives. Some links were occasional and ad hoc, while others were long-standing. A small number of top journalists enjoyed social connections with leading politicians and senior officials, including those working for the police, whom they met in gentlemen's clubs and other social venues and could tap for information. (38) However, the most fertile interaction was between journalists and reporters and officers lower down the hierarchical scale, who were more likely to serve as sources of updates and saucy information. As a perceptive journalist, Charles Dickens was quick to understand the need to maintain contacts with detectives from local stations all the way up to the highest echelons. His easy access to the company of detectives in the formative days of the founding of the detective department in London is well known. As editor of Household Words, established in the early 1850s, he hosted crime fighters employed in the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police and listened to their stories of crime and criminals, which they were only too happy to divulge. His impressions were published in two articles in Household Words, entitled "A Detective Police Party". (39) However, this meeting was only the beginning of a very special relationship with crime fighters of all sorts, whether in London or elsewhere (see below). As a result, detectives populated both his fictional and non-fictional writings. George R. Sims, another famous author and journalist who reported extensively about crime, tells in his memoirs about the cooperation he gained from, and the regular contacts he had with, both the rank and file and officials of the Metropolitan Police. (40)

A considerable transfer of knowledge took place behind the scenes. (41) While detectives knew whom to approach and tip off regarding information they wanted published, journalists knew whom to seek out for on- or off-the-record commentary. In their pursuit of news, men of the press relied as well on "the gossip of a police subordinate" and became innovative in loosening his tongue. (42) In their efforts to gain information denied them by the detective in charge of a case, they sometimes plied detectives "with drink". (43) "Money bribes" were also utilized. Retired detectives and police officials were another fertile source. (44) Consequently, journalists and reporters had inside information about the goings on in detective departments. They were aware of internal conflicts and proposed changes, had access to certain formal reports and documents, and were cognizant of the feelings of the police rank and file. They could even offer recommendations for reforms and take sides on controversial issues. There was a strong undercurrent of favouritism in these relationships. In the course of negotiations, close contacts and even amicable relations sometimes developed between detectives and journalists, (45) which in all likelihood quickened the flow of information and facilitated access to data, exclusive news and even to material considered confidential. (46) The privileges enjoyed were an integral part of the culture of exchange that developed between journalists and the police. Both official and unofficial sources of knowledge presumably passed on information more willingly to journalists who were effective spokesmen for police interests and inculcated a positive image of the police in the public mind.

Detectives also consented to offer their services to journalists in areas considered unconventional. From early on they were sympathetic to requests by local and foreign journalists seeking to experience at first hand what it meant to work as a detective agent. Again, Dickens was one of the first journalists to be granted such privilege. Not satisfied only with interviews, and imbued with a deep liking for detectives, he arranged to be taken on their routine tours. One result of his explorations appeared in Household Words in June 1851 in an article entitled "On Duty with Inspector Field". (47)

Curiously, aside from providing journalists with the opportunity to observe detective work in action, individual detectives would escort members of the press on investigative visits to poverty-stricken areas, notably in the capital city, thus boosting the new vogue among journalists and men of letters to explore lower-class life. In mid-century, the journalist Henry Mayhew and his assistants roamed the streets of London in the company of detectives, as did George R. Sims and many other journalists thereafter. The practice of "letting the police serve as guides to slumming parties" became so widespread in the second half of the nineteenth century, that "the police were practically keeping certain places open in order to have something ready and handy to show to strangers," as revealed by Sir Edward Bradford, commissioner of the Metropolitan Police (1890-1903), to Josiah Flynt, an American journalist on a visit to London, who had requested such a tour at the beginning of the twentieth century. (48)

Some of these journalists aspired not only to reveal the life style of the labouring classes to curious readers, but to raise public consciousness and induce reform. Unlike Dickens--one of the pioneers of this trend--the interest was not in detectives per se, but in their services. In the belief that knowledge is power, and that in order to understand the world and even improve it they needed to gain knowledge on how the poor live from various sources, (49) these journalists viewed detectives as a means to an end. The assumption was that an acquaintance with the poor inevitably entailed some contact with crime. Detectives had the know-how to provide an insider's view of the margins of society. Escorted by police agents, journalists were able to observe potential law breaking venues directly, including pubs, gambling sites, public lodgings, poorhouses, thieves' dens and mean streets where the "dangerous classes" lived and spent their time. With the aid of detectives they learnt where to go, what to watch and how to see things in ways others could not. Together they examined homes, alleyways and thoroughfares, and penetrated the lives of the poor and desperate in the slums. While conversing, detectives imparted knowledge exclusive to them, which journalists could in turn convey to their readers. Moreover, although detectives were not in uniform, they were recognised in the poor neighbourhoods as members of the forces of law and order, thereby providing protection and a sense of security to the investigative journalists.

In return, the press offered detectives services vital to the success of their work. Writing during the mid-Victorian period, when the image of detectives still bore the imprint of anxieties about secret methods of detecting crime and preventing disorder, these journalists-cum-writers helped counterbalance the negative impressions projected by certain journalistic texts. Some newspapers and periodicals still questioned the validity of undercover policing and objected to the interference of men without uniform in public meetings and radical activity, but a significant body of the press now accepted the necessity of detective work. (50) The investigative journalists bolstered this trend with recurrent references to the detectives who accompanied them as an indispensable element in the machinery of law enforcement.

The narrative style employed by the social explorers, which highlighted the similarities between detectives and journalists, benefited both parties by confirming their respective professional credentials. Both appeared as working in the service of society, seeking to impose order on what they witnessed. Instrumental in exposing the social conditions under which the urban poor lived, both implicitly promoted reform thinking and social change. In their tours of London, they joined forces to enhance each other's status. Detectives helped improve the journalists' performance by providing them with the wherewithal to develop a new style of representational rhetoric based on close scrutiny of the social scene, and the journalists cultivated a more nuanced appreciation of the role of detectives in the public arena.

Journalists helped the police in other ways, too. Though less often than during the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, (51) the police occasionally utilized the press to publish portraits of wanted criminals and place advertisements requesting information, with illustrations and detailed descriptions for readers to identify and report. (52) In addition, more and more journals, whether daily or periodical, projected the police and their detectives in a positive light, and not only in the context of social exploration. (53)

Newspaper accounts charting the progress of investigations, whatever their results, were themselves testimonies to the relentless war detectives were waging against law breakers.

This press response to the police took a turn for the worse in the late 1870s, with revelations of collusion between senior detectives at Scotland Yard and confidence tricksters, involving the taking of bribes. (54) The failure of Scotland Yard "to cope with the dynamite outrages" of Fenians in the first half of the 1880s, (55) and at the end of the decade to solve the murders by the infamous and anonymous Jack the Ripper, (56) did not bolster the image of the London police, including detectives. Other bungled investigations and police mishandling of challenges to the public peace between 1885 and 1888 also gave the organisation a bad press, (57) although conservative papers tended to rush to the defense of the forces of law and order and attribute the failures to the liberal laws and tolerant public opinion in England. (58) However, towards the end of the century, journalists of various kinds gradually changed the tone and emphasized more insistently the positive qualities of detective departments, adopting an approach of "alternate blaming and praising," of lashing out at detectives when they failed to crack a criminal case and praising them when successful. (59) This was the stance that typified the press in later decades.

The press could be valuable not only to the institution of detection but also to individual detectives. Early on, journalists showed curiosity about detectives and began publishing their profiles. (60) Such interest only grew in time. Heads of police and top-ranking officials were natural subjects for journalistic interviews and reportage. (61) As the journalistic interview format took firmer root in the last two decades of the century, these personalities benefited more extensively from the advantages of exposure, which allowed them not only to convey a personal message but also to represent the institution in a good light.

Significantly, detectives lower down the hieratchy also gained personal publicity. Ever since the appearance of police detectives, they were accorded a permanent place in the press as witnesses in court proceedings that were covered routinely. Although the defendant and representatives of the legal system--the judge, the prosecutor and the defense council or solicitor--took prime stage in court, the detective was occasionally an integral component of the courtroom scene, sometimes identified by name, and his statements were quoted, paraphrased or more often summarised. (62) Detective Andrew Lansdowne, in his memoirs, demonstrated that detectives knew how to conduct themselves in court and what to say. (63) Not infrequently, their testimonies revealed them to be enterprising and resolute men whose skills were instrumental in bringing the accused to trial. (64) According to the author of the article "Our Police System", describing the Metropolitan Police in the early 1870s, detectives who managed to get their names in the papers received "the lion's share not only of public applause, but of any substantial reward the case may bring." (65) It certainly paid to be a favourite of the press.

Detectives also acquired fame while conducting investigations. Their name was likely to appear in print when pursuing scandalous offenders and in dramatic tales of their capture. (66) Detectives were also increasingly identified and described as colourful and imposing characters in impressionistic journalistic pieces about life in London's slums or in its prisons, and about the daily routine of patrolmen, which usually appeared in the literary periodicals. (67) Inevitably, detectives enjoyed the spotlight so long as the reports were favourable. For some detectives, coverage in the local and even the national press was not a one-time occasion but occurred repeatedly. As a consequence, they became well known as stars or heroes, at least in their local communities. Some, principally those working in the central office at Scotland Yard, turned into national celebrities, an achievement that was rare in occupations whose workforce came from working-class backgrounds.

This celebrity status spurred interest by the press in their life stories. Keen to write up native sons, local papers devoted space to the occupational histories of local detectives, ostensibly at milestones in their career, such as promotion, retirement or special recognition. (68) Occasionally, national papers did likewise. (69) The narratives were consistently laudatory. It is true that the higher the rank, the greater chance a detective had of obtaining a column or more of coverage, hut detectives at the lower rungs of the police hierarchy could also figure prominently in newspapers.

While not all detectives may have hungered for the limelight, many conveyed a distinct desire to reveal their exploits to the world and were disappointed when the cases to which they were assigned were not reported in the press. In fact, detectives tended to be notorious self-publicists, going back to the days of the Bow Street Runners, who were competent at press manipulation. (70) A City Press representative recounted how a detective inspector pleaded to have him hear stories of the cases he had handled successfully. (71) Keen to know what was written about them and generally about their department, detectives avidly read all communications about the police in the press. (72) Some detectives appeared in print so often that they adopted the celebrities' habit of collecting newspaper clippings about themselves. (73) Senior officers did not necessarily approve of the publicity accorded to their subordinates. Edward Henry, when assistant commissioner of the Metropolitan Police responsible for the [C]riminal [[Investigation [D]epartment (1901-3), cautioned an American journalist who wanted to become personally acquainted with detectives in the central office not to mention their names. (74) "We are very hard on men whom we suspect of looking for notoriety", he said, "and we do not like to see their names in the papers when they can be kept out. We are not seeking any advertisement whatsoever." (75) His attitude was probably shared by only a few members of the rank and file.

The Policy of Reticence

Notwithstanding the mutual dependence between journalists and detectives, their interaction was also characterized by conflict of interests and mutual suspicion. Often, they did not meet each other's expectations. Tensions derived mostly from the manner in which the police authorities released information about the progress of investigations. If the police were generous in supplying material lauding detectives, they were much less forthcoming in their response to requests for information about investigations, especially when the identity of the culprit was not known. To a large extent, the openness and quality of the negotiations depended on the standpoint of the senior level in each force and the personal relations that developed between the reporters and the police officers. (76) Still, Scotland Yard, the force with the most complex and precarious position vis-a-vis public opinion, was notorious for its reluctance to share the results of ongoing investigations with journalists. Contemporary evidence shows that the City and the provincial police were on friendlier terms with the press. (77) Generally, if reporters made an inquiry at Scotland Yard, they were often "fobbed off with the kind of 'cock-and-bull' story which was dealt out to too inquisitive little children." (78) Yet, other police forces also denied information to the press when they did not want it published. (79) This was a conscious and widely accepted practice--called "the policy of reticence" by both detectives and journalists (80)

Such an off-handed approach to journalists was seen in sneering remarks about them in the memoir by Robert Anderson, assistant commissioner responsible for the CID (1888-1901), and manifested most explicitly during the Ripper investigations. (81) Surely, information about continuing criminal investigations could not be barred totally. Police employees talked to members of the press about cases and sent releases to news agencies, (82) but they tried to do it meagerly and only to the extent that it suited their interests. In the Ripper case, in particular, Scotland Yard was unwilling to divulge details to journalists, or let them interview suspects and detainees. (83) As a reporter for the popular evening paper the Star complained bitterly following the second Whitechapel murder, "not only have their superiors grossly mismanaged and neglected their duties, but they have encouraged their subordinates to treat the newspapers in a manner to which no other press in the world but that of Russia and Germany would submit." (84) According to two contemporary writers, one of them a journalist, "the detectives refused information even to the accredited representatives of London papers." (85) Because of the horrific nature of the case, and the striking lack of success in finding the perpetrator, the response of the police may have been particularly severe, but the policy of reticence was by no means new, nor did it disappear thereafter.

What were the grounds for such a policy?

Because of rules within the civil service of limiting communication with the press, the sparing release of information was characteristic of many official functionaries in the Victorian period. Yet, police officers had more specific reasons to withhold information from the probing eyes of the press. Much like the admiralty and the army, the police, and above all their detective branches, operated in a culture of secrecy which complicated relations with industrious journalists and reporters. In the case of crime investigations, specifically, the disclosure of details of certain cases was of necessity rendered confidential in the sense that disclosure could jeopardize the progress or results of an inquiry and enable criminals "to evade justice more easily." (86) Indeed, several prominent police officers alleged that in certain incidents "the premature or injudicious disclosure of facts obtained in the progress of investigation has led to the escape of criminals." (87) Significantly, Howard Vincent, first Director of the CID (1878-1884), instructed his officers not to "give any information whatever to gentlemen connected with the press, relative to matters within police knowledge, or relative to duties to be performed or orders received, or communicate in any manner, either directly or indirectly, with editors or reporters of newspapers ... without express and special authority." (88) His motivation was most likely to monitor the information flowing from officers to the press, knowing too well the tendency of detectives to call attention to their exploits and concerned as he was that "the slightest deviation from this rule may ... defeat the endeavour of superior officers to advance the welfare of the public service."

The attitude of the police to journalists was also rooted in more prosaic reasons. Their sensitivity to press criticism, and the crucial importance of good publicity, have been noted. Though they defended their position regarding secrecy with rhetoric about the public good, asserting that public safety demanded that particulars not be released, or that "public distrust of the police force" must not be aroused, (89) their selective release of information was also a function of their desire to hide data harmful to their own reputation or to that of the police as a whole. A major problem was that certain methods used by the police to obtain evidence sufficient for conviction were unsavoury and likely to prompt scathing press responses. (90) Another acute problem for the police was handling the coverage of failures in the conduct of investigations. Understandably, detectives disliked press reports that emphasised their inability to stop crime and catch criminals, or exhortations to take mote vigorous action and improve their performance. (91)

Moreover, the detectives' suspicion of journalists masked deeper and more complex sensibilities related to professional pride and the protection of occupational status. In effect, underlying the detectives' withholding of news stories was an undercurrent of competition. On the surface, journalists and detectives were preoccupied with their separate vocational tasks, however much they needed each other. In reality, they were sometimes locked in a form of latent strife that generated bitterness on both sides. Each occupation was meant to reconstruct crimes, but with the expectation that detectives led the investigations and were the experts in cracking cases, whereas journalists reported about them. Yet some journalists, forced to cope with the policy of reticence, and tending to assume that the reconstruction of a crime was made primarily by piecing information together, insinuated they themselves could crack the cases if they had the data. Some journalists actually assumed the role of detective and conducted their own investigations, a practice that reached new heights during the Ripper murders. (92) All this was an obvious affront to many detectives. If they could barely stomach the journalists' habit of reminding their readers that "The Press is the detectives' best friend'" and "of inestimable value" in the solution of crimes, (93) the recommendations and advice offered by newspapermen in print in the course of investigations were overtly disturbing. Most infuriating was the self-aggrandizement of some journalists as better at detective work than professional detectives. (94) The entire article "Newspapers as Detectives" (95) was meant to show the various ways in which the press could be useful to crime fighters.

Given all this, it is not surprising that the denial of access to information, even to journalists who usually enjoyed police cooperation, was the outcome of a punitive attitude on the part of the police. Detectives were used to being attacked in the press, yet the harsh criticism voiced by many newspapers and periodicals during the late 1870s and 1880s made policemen more edgy in their relations with the press, and heightened feelings of animosity. The annoyance to the police caused by the press was well-known, echoed in fictional works in England and abroad. In the prologue to Cleek of Scotland Yard, a detective novel published in England and in the US on the eve of the First World War, Superintendent Maverick Narkom of Scotland Yard expresses exasperation by "the sneers of carping critics and the pin pricks of overzealous reporters, who seemed to think that the Yard was to blame" if every evildoer was not immediately caught, ignoring past "brilliant successes". (96) He would have "given his head "to "make those newspaper fellows eat their words."

Quite a few journalists had been victims of such punitive treatment. George R. Sims temporarily lost the friendly rapport he had with Scotland Yard when he took up the case of Adolph Beck (released in 1904 after being wrongly convicted on the basis of mistaken identity) in the Daily Mail. (97) As he recalled: "For a little time, but only for a little time, Scotland Yard ceased to smile upon me. Certain statements that I made were regarded as reflecting upon the Yard methods." Possibly, too, detectives had not forgotten his vocal criticism during the Ripper days. (98) However, mutual dependence, and perhaps Sim's long friendship with a host of police detectives, outweighed these resentments and "the hatchet was buried, the pipe of peace was smoked, and we once more 'spoke as we passed by'. (99) Other Daily Mail journalists experienced a similar loss of goodwill on the part of the police a few years later, when the paper "dared to make certain pertinent remarks about the Scotland Yard sleuths and their methods in regard to the Crippen case." (100) Personal feelings of police officers towards journalists also played a part in adopting a penal sanction. A small-town correspondent was boycotted by local police over a long period of time after he had published details about an offence committed "by a young man respectably connected," against the chief constable's wishes. (101) According to the testimony of another reporter who had been a victim of the policy of reticence, "playing off one paper against the other--by supplying one with news and withholding it from the other, because the reporter of the other determines to report police cases impartially" helped the police "teach the Press 'to know its place'." (102)

This policy, apparently, was quite effective. When the editor of a local weekly was reprimanded by the local chief constable for disclosing statements about the police made at a meeting of the local authorities, he learnt that his perception that this constituted an "impertinent interference with my duty" was not widely shared, but quite the opposite. (103) The proprietor of the paper even called him to admonish him that "it was not expedient there should be any rupture in the present good relations existing between the proprietor and the chief constable," fearing above all to lose the county advertisements. To the editor's surprise, the local press went along with this attitude and refrained from criticizing the police.

This pattern of grudging and partial cooperation with journalists played a continuing part in negotiations between the press and the police. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, however, following the example of other governmental departments, the police developed a more acute awareness of the power of the press and a determination to be more cautious and forthcoming towards its agents.

No doubt the general climate in the country was an important factor in this realization. The expansion of the electorate during the closing decades of the century, and in parallel the notion of the obligation of officials to work towards the public good, made the appeal to public opinion ever more essential. Progressively, officials in various departments of state were prompted to provide journalists with material about the activities and policies of their offices on a regular basis and to establish systematic channels for a smoother flow of information. (104) All this induced the police towards greater attentiveness to the demands of the press, although it lagged somewhat behind other governmental bodies. This change of attitude in the Metropolitan Police could also have stemmed from a change of personnel at the top. In 1903, Commissioner Edward Bradford, who in 1897 issued an order prohibiting the giving of information to the press under any circumstances, (105) and who tried to put a stop to the practice of police detectives of escorting journalists on their social explorations, (106) was replaced by Commissioner Edward Henry who, along with Assistant Commissioner and head of the CID, Melville L. Macnaghten (1903-1913), formed a team that favoured a more open approach to journalists. (107)

The Response of Journalists

Possibly no less important in the emergence of a spirit of greater collaboration was the contribution of the journalists. Directly or indirectly, they as a body played a meaningful role in altering police perceptions, even if at times inadvertently. Growing public interest in journalists as individuals, and the rising prestige of journalism as a profession towards the end of the century (though social attitudes to the press remained ambivalent) probably carried some weight. (108) In addition, although officers of the law had long understood the value of positive publicity in newspapers, a half-century of interaction made its ramifications considerably clearer. (109) Moreover, although detectives disliked the tacit competition and haughty tone of some journalists when reporting about criminal investigations, they could not avoid appreciating the other services the press provided. Though sometimes grudgingly, detectives admitted that information published in newspapers was in certain cases essential to the resolution of a crime. (110) Melville Macnaghten, whose attitude to the press was generally easy going, unhesitatingly affirmed: "At certain times pressmen did hamper one, but in nine cases out of ten they have been of the greatest use to me, and on occasions rendered yeoman service in the successful investigation of crime" by reaching hundreds of thousands of readers. (111)

Journalists did not necessarily seek any advantage in publicizing the exploits and achievements of individual detectives. However, it stands to reason that detectives craving publicity were likely to be better disposed to requests by inquisitive reporters, and that this publicity generated a friendlier disposition among detectives in their dealings with the press.

Journalists also played a more active and conscious role in bringing about change in their relationship with defectives. They challenged the poor treatment they received at the hands of Scotland Yard on the pages of their newspapers, reprimanding the Yard for withholding information. (112) Journalist J. Hall Richardson used the book Police.!, which he wrote in the late 1880s jointly with a former police officer, to draw attention to the "brusque impertinence" frequently shown by police officers to journalists. (113) Although the authors did not fully endorse the views expressed in an article in a leading newspaper on the subject, they quoted extensively from it in their book, including the accusation that "the less the police have to communicate the more desirous they are to enshroud their ignorance in mystery." (114) Another quoted passage intimated that the police were ungrateful to the press for rendering "substantial assistance" to the cause of justice "by affording publicity to the most intimate details of crime," and accused them of jealousy. Condemning the policy of reticence as "a stupid dog-in-the-manger one," the article charged that "it suits official uppishness and the pride of police subordinates dressed in a little brief authority to snub and to thwart the representatives of the press, and to be either sulkily silent or barrenly communicative." Some journalists, while conceding that the police had a right to keep information to themselves, objected to the placing of obstacles in the way of the press in pursuing their own independent inquiries. (115) Others proposed taking an example from the chief of the detective police in Paris in telling reporters "all that they would inevitably discover if they set to work making inquiries o( less discreet subordinates," without revealing anything that might be of use to criminals. (116)

In these remonstrances, the journalists, much like police spokesmen, often claimed to represent the public good, contending that by their actions the police deprived the public of useful information, and that "every report of a crime made to the police should be at the service of reporters." (117) They assured the authorities repeatedly that "treating authorized pressmen with uniform courtesy" would be "greatly to their advantage," pointing to examples in which the "minute chronicling of the incidents sutrounding a crime has .. . tended directly to the discovery of the criminal." (118) Moreover, such collaboration would enable them to introduce "little fictions" which they "desired should reach the criminal's ears and delude him into the belief that the police were possessed of a false clue, or were looking for him in the wrong direction." (119) Sometimes journalists insinuated that the police would pay a price if they did not adopt this policy of give and take. (120) Certain reporters even threatened officials out and out that it would be worse for the department if it did not provide them with full details of a case. (121)

Apparently, however, this pressure was insufficient, for journalists continually searched for more effective means of dealing with the unhelpful attitude of the police, which increasingly hampered their work. Throughout the century, newspapers derived much of their information about crime from court proceedings, where details of cases, from the perpetration of the crime to its punishment, were unfolded. In this they were not dependant on police cooperation and could gain information about the process of an investigation by the presence of their representatives in court. However, towards the end at the century, the growth and commercialisation of the newspaper industry generated a growing demand for a broader range of material about crime, and the expansion of detective departments in the big cities made their work an attractive subject sought after by representatives of the press. To be topical, newspapers were increasingly required to teport about the progress of investigations before their results reached the courts, making them ever more dependent on police sources. In addition, growing emphasis on news rather than opinion and commentary in the last two decades of the century, which heightened the role of news reporters, put greater urgency on them to have easier access to information. (122) Newspapers still relied heavily on the courts for material even at the end of the century, but the pressure to publish news on the progress of inquiries prompted them to make greater demands on detectives.

A persistent solution to the lack of cooperation from the police was for journalists to help themselves by playing the role of detectives. In their search for clues and leads that would help them write a story, they interviewed witnesses, bystanders and anybody who could provide details; followed detectives at work, used informers and speculated about suspects. Reporters would go without sleep all night, just like detectives, waiting for a suspect to appear, and would employ the services of private detectives for investigative purposes. (123) So intensive was the involvement of journalists in actual detection during the serial killings attributed to Jack the Ripper at the end of 1888, that some of them were mistaken for the Ripper himself. (124)

Although detectives frowned on such activities and on published material focusing on the investigative role of journalists, (125) this kind of journalistic pressure apparently worked. In his memoirs Macnaghten disclosed how annoyed police leadership was with journalists-cum-detectives and described the impact their practices had on police calculations. As he observed:
 The old idea used to be that detectives best served the interests of
 justice by keeping journalists at a distance, with the natural result
 that pressmen, being under the necessity of reporting something, used
 to string together unreliable stories, and to set about
 investigations themselves in a manner very maddening and handicapping
 to the detective officers who had the handling of the case. It seemed
 well, therefore, in many cases, to give fully and frankly such
 information as could be used without hesitation, and at the same time
 with profit to the public and to the police. (126)

The presumption of journalists to substitute themselves for detectives and even to attain their heroic stature was powerful enough to convince certain persons to be more accommodating. Indeed, in an interview in the Daily Mail upon his retirement from the police after 24 years of service, Sir Melville was accorded credit for breaking "down the barrier of secrecy between the police and the Press." (127) In fact, the various challenges by journalists brought results also with a more implacable police manager, Robert Anderson, Macnaghten's predecessor, who admitted in his memoirs that his change of attitude to journalists stemmed from a cold calculation of how best to serve police interests:
 I ought to have snubbed all pressmen and bad them "chucked out",
 treating them in fact as the Cabinet Ministers have treated the
 suffragettes. And they would naturally have declared war upon me, to
 the detriment of my work, whereas I had not a single enemy among the
 journalists of London. (128)

Evidently, even with strong reservations about contacts with the press became more conciliatory.

However, the changes in. the attitude of the police towards the press, such as they were, did not meet the expectations of all journalists. Many continued to complain of police practices and viewed them as still lagging significantly behind those customary in France and the US. (129) In 1910, the Penny Illustrated Paper criticized "the extraordinary attitude of the London police towards the Press," accusing the CID of raising a "stone wall34" when journalists demanded news updates. (130) Moreover, journalists were not satisfied merely with improved communication and atmosphere, hut fought to be accepted as a permanent professional presence in police territory as distinct from ordinary citizens. They aimed at creating fixed standards of negotiations anchored in uncontested privileges, independent of the random good will of officers.

The journalists' ongoing campaign gained support from an unexpected quarter--William McAdoo, a former New York City police commissioner, who considered the more forthcoming approach of the London police in 1909 still a far cry from the situation in his own city. Baffled by the nature of interaction between the police and the world of journalism in England, he shared his surprise with the readers of an American magazine that no newspapetman was present in the anterooms at the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police and, worse still, that none was permitted in the building. (131) Similarly, he could not understand why "when the department has any information to communicate to the press, it does so in the most formal manner and in writing." In his opinion, the police could avail themselves of the press more effectively. Significantly, he did not find a single interview with a police official in any of the London newspapers "during the investigation of three sensational and mysterious crimes," and was "more than astonished that the police admitted repeatedly that they had no clue whatever" about the perpetration of a murder "which startled and horrified the whole kingdom." He could not think of "any New York official, commissioner or other, making such an acknowledgement!" On the whole, he found the press coverage of the police in New York to be much more extensive than in London, where "the internal workings of the machinery are not exposed to public view", and "millions of people may live ... [there] all their lives and never know the name of a commissioner so far as the newspapers are concerned." (132) As a result, he surmised, "the police are not held to the same direct accounting as in New York." Clearly, in his view, the police in London neither provided services to the press in a satisfactory way nor learnt how to utilize what the press could offer. (133)

In their struggle to institutionalize relations with the police, journalists also tried lobbying tactics. During the period when Charles Warren was commissioner of the Metropolitan Police (1886-88), the National Association of Journalists attempted to win official recognition of reporters and some protection from the police "during periods of popular excitement," but Commissioner Warren "returned a dry curt answer that he saw no reason for interference with the existing relations between the Press and the police." (134) During the period of his successor, James Monro (1888-1890), known to be more moderate, steps were taken to make him aware of the views of journalists, especially their desire for a permanent pass "to be used at public functions, street parades, fires, and all occasions when the ordinary public is debarred from free locomotion, and the reporter has difficulty in persuading zealous constables that he has a title to be considered a privileged person," but to no avail. (135)

Journalists' attempts to gain special prerogatives and status continued in the twentieth century. In 1910, the Central London branch of the National Union of Journalists communicated with police officials and journalistic associations abroad to find out what system prevailed there. (136) Individual newspapers, too, joined these efforts. To advance the cause, the Penny Illustrated Paper sent a journalist to Superintendent Frank Froest, considered by the paper "the power behind the throne at Scotland Yard ... in all matters concerning the Criminal Investigation Department," to ask why journalists did not get renewable passes, as was the practice throughout America. The paper further inquired:
 If, because of the peculiarity of the police system throughout
 London, it is thought advisable nor to let the Press into the police
 stations to examine charge-sheets, why not adopt the system in vogue
 in Paris, where the Press people are granted identification cards,
 are not moved on by the police, and have come to a semiofficial
 understanding with the police commissaries. (137)

According to the anonymous author of the article in question, the problem was unique to London, as the provincial police had reached a semi-official understanding with the press whereby reporters were tolerated, allowed to see charge-sheets and given "correct and reliable news." Froest, retorting in a manner typical of the London police, asserted that the Metropolitan force was a governmental, not merely a municipal, organisation and that all information received or gathered by them became governmental information. Divulging this material constituted "a very serious breach of the Official Secrets Act." The author of the article dismissed such arguments, contending that the reluctance of the police to agree to requests by journalists stemmed from their fear that this might "disturb the reputations for detective prowess held by a few members of the Force." The supposedly "brilliant arrests" made by London's detectives, he scoffed, were usually no more than the result of information provided by narks or informers.


As late as the eve of the First World War, no special facilities or personnel existed in the Metropolitan Police to deal with journalists, nor was there a formal agreement on the issue. Only in 1919 did Scotland Yard establish a press office, and this was not due to police recognition of the public's right to information but "largely because of fears about unauthorised leaks produced by reporters bribing officers." (138) Policemen continued to be unflattering in their references to journalists and reluctant to release information about the status of investigations. Members of the press, for their part, continued to campaign for special privileges and greater accessibility to information despite discouragement by the police. (139) The perception of a conflict of values and interests between the two occupations remained evident. The tension, on the one hand, between the increasingly popular ideal of freedom of information along with the natural disposition of the press to publish eye-catching material, and on the other hand the desire of the police authorities for confidentiality on certain issues appeared un-resolvable. An additional aggravating element was the underlying competition between the two sides.

Nonetheless, contact had changed things. Journalists and detectives in the formative period of both occupations became familiarized with the priorities of the other side and the demands placed upon it. Both learnt to accommodate each other and use the benefits they were able to exact from the other more effectively, albeit with underlying misgivings and not entirely to the satisfaction of either journalists or police officers. From the perspective of people like the American law enforcer William McAdoo, the Metropolitan police did not know how to market themselves using the press. Indeed, they avoided a proactive approach and were generally satisfied with managing the flow of information by keeping back harmful material and rewarding journalists who supported the police cause. Yet, in time they assigned greater importance to their relationship with the press. The pressures exerted by each side on the other, whether consciously or not, yielded a more compromising atmosphere. Each side held that its stance stemmed from professional values and principles. Yet each was also driven by pragmatic considerations. Police officers understood that it was preferable to release some information than to let journalists discover it by themselves or, worse still, invent it. In parallel, journalists came to recognise the benefits in avoiding antagonizing detectives and other policemen. Despite their reluctance to reveal information on certain occasions, on others detectives were as keen as journalists to make information available to the public; they also continued to guide journalists in their forays "into the under-world of London."140 Critical comments in the press about detectives notwithstanding, journalists were instrumental in ending the public's opposition to the existence of plain clothes officers, and later in entrenching a positive image of them as protectors of society and of the empire. It may be assumed that this shift in perception had increasingly the effect of encouraging the public to come to the aid of police detectives when the need arose, even if parts of the working classes remained suspicious of, and even hostile to, the forces of law and order throughout the period, and were often uncooperative.

To all appearances, despite an abiding element of distrust, detectives and journalists benefited from a tacit give and take that developed between them. Roth fields, emerging as professions (or, at least, as a skilled occupation in the case of detectives) in the second half of the nineteenth century, relied on this reciprocity. It helped confirm them as essential to society, designating for them a public role as law enforcers and fighters for the public good. The upshot of all this was that by the end of the Edwardian period both detectives and journalists had become figures of authority in society and attained the stature of cultural icons.

Department of History Haifa 31905 Israel


(1.) See, for example, the collection of articles in Robin W. Winks (ed.), The Historian as Detective (New York, 1968).

(2.) For police-press relationships in London between 19l9 and the late 1970s, see Steve Chibnall, "The Metropolitan Police and the News Media," in Simon Holdaway (ed.), The British Police (London, 1979).

(3.) Lacy Brown, Victorian News and Newspapers (Oxford, 1985), 192.

(4.) See, for example, Jack London, The People of the Abyss, introduction by Jack Lindsay (London, 1977- First published 1903), 40.

(5.) For journalists, see Richard V. Ericson, Patricia M. Baranck and Janet B.L. Chan, Negotiating (Control: A Study of News Sources (Toronto, 1989), 92. Also see the reaction of the Daily News (29 March 1900) to the trial of the editor of Birmingham Daily Argus for insulting the Lord Chief Justice of England, declaring that "the Press has no reason for existence except to represent the public, and any restriction on the right of comment in newspapers upon servants of the State ... is in itself bad" (quoted in The Journalist, 7 April 1900, 109). For detectives, see Report of the Departmental Commission appointed by the Secretary of State for the Home Department to inquire into the State, Discipline, and Organisation of the Detective Force of the Metropolitan Police, 1878, 135, National Archives, H045/9442/66692.

(6.) James Greenwood, The Seven Curses of London, Introduction by Jeffrey Richards (Oxford, 1981. First published 1869), vi.

(7.) Reynolds's Newspaper, 17 February 1895, 5; J. Hall Richardson, From the City to Fleet Street (London, 1927), 81, 251.

(8.) Richardson, 3.

(9.) Charles J. Tibbits, "Newspapers as Detectives," London Magazine, 13 (October 1904V- 278-83.

(10.) ClivcEmsley, Crime and Society in England, J 750-1900 (London, 1987), 138-42.

(11.) Elaine A. Reynolds, Be/ore the Bobbies (Stanford, 1998), 85.

(12.) Peter King, "Newspaper Reporting and Attitudes to Crime and Justice in Late-Eighteenth- and Early-Nineteenth-Century, London," (Continuity and Change, 22 (2007): 74".

(13.) Michael Hams, London Newspapers in the Age of Walpole (Cranbury, NJ, 1987), 99.

(14.) Anthony Smith, "The Long Road to Objectivity and Back Again: The Kinds of Truth We Get in Journalism," in George Boyce, James Curran and Pauling Wingato (eds.), Newspaper History from the Seventeenth Century to the Present Day (London, 1978), 158.

(15.) Lloyd Davis, "Journalism and Victorian Fiction," in Barbara Garlick and Margaret Harris (eds.), Victorian journalism: Exotic and Domestic (St Lucia, Queensland, 1998), 202.

(16.) Aled Jones, Powers of the Press (Aldershot, Hants, 1996), 122.

(17.) The figures are taken from police reports presented annually to the House of Commons.

(18.) In his Industry and Empire (London, 1968, 1.30), E.J. Hobsbawm quotes the figure of 2,148 "authors, editors, and journalists" for 1871, hut probably the number was higher, as few practitioners of higher journalism who wrote for the quality press of educated opinion were3 likely to be included (Christopher Kent, "Higher Journalism and the Mid-Victorian Clerisy," Victorian Studies 13 [December 1969]: 197). The figure of 14,000 is given for the pre-First World War period.

(19.) For crime reporting in the period, see Steve Chibnall, "Chronicles of the Gallows: The Social History of Crime Reporting," in Harry Christian (ed.), The Sociology of Jour nalism and the Press (The Sociological Review Monograph 29, October 1980), 204-5.

(20.) David Reed, The Popular Magazine in Britain and the United States 1880-1960 (Tocanto, 1997).99.

(21.) On detectives, see Haia Shpayer-Makov, "Explaining the Rise and Success of Detective Memoirs in Britain," in Clive Emsley and Hata Shpayer-Makov (eds.), Police Detectives in History, 1750-1950 (Aldershot, 2006), 117-51. On journalists, see Kent, 183.

(22.) King, 10.3; Hannah Barker, Newspapers, Politics, and Public Opinion in Late Eighteenth Century England (Oxford, 1998), 2.

(23.) George Boyce, "The Fourth Estate: The reappraisal of a concept," in Boyce et al., 10. Also see A. Aspinall, "The Social Status of Journalists at the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century," Review of English Studies, 21, no. 83 (July 1945): 216.

(24.) Kent, 187.

(25.) James Hain Friswell, Houses with the Fronts Off (London, 1854), 81.

(26.) See Modern Journalism. A guide for beginners by a London editor with a preface by George R. Sims (London, 1909), v; "Espionage as a Profession," Spectator, 18 February 1893, 222. In addition to attaining a better status in society, detectives also developed feelings of superiority towards their uniformed colleagues within the police organisation.

(27.) See, for example, "The Status of Working Journalists--How it May be Improved," a paper read in a meeting of the Institute of Journalists of the Manchester District on 21 July 1900 {The Journalist, 28 June 1900, 233).

(28.) Harry Christian, "Journalists' Occupational Ideologies and Press Commercialisa tion," in Christian, 263, 266. For the difference between journalists and reporters, see ibid., 267.

(29.) Police Revkw, 14 September 1894, 437.

(30.) Haia Shpayer-Makov, "Becoming a Police Detective in Victorian and Edwardian London," Policing and Society, 14, no. 3 (2004): 9.

(31.) By the eighteenth century, by far the most significant source of crime reportage was the newspaper (Esther Snell, "Discourses of Criminality in the Eighteenth-Century Press: The Presentation of Crime in The Kentish Post, 1717-1768," Continuity and Change 22, no. 1 (2007): 15,36.

(32.) "The Police of London," Quarterly Review 129 (July 1870): 129.

(33.) Charles Tempest Clarkson and J. Hall Richardson, Police.' (New York, 1984- First published 1889), 62-63, 70-73.

(34.) Thomas P. Macnaught, The Recollections of a Glasgow Detective (London, 1887), 5-6.

(35.) Greenwood, 122-23.

(36.) W.L. Melville Lee, A HisWJ of Police in England (Montclatt, N.J, 1971. First published 19011,329.

(37.) See, for example, Cecil Bishop, From Injormauon Received (London, 1932), 39.

(38.) Brown, 133, 136; Alan J. Lee, The Origins of the Popular Press in England (London, 1976), 101 and note 120; Richardson, 186, 190-92, 212; Melville L. Macnaghten, Dcois of My Years (London, 1914). 20.

(39.) Household Words, 27 July and 10 August 1850, tcspectively.

(40.) George R. Sims, My Life (London, 1917), 322-23.

(41.) Sun, 30 September 1897, 2; Penny Illustrated Pafier, 1 October 1910, 429.

(42.) Clarkson, 282.

(43.) Ibid.

(44.) Sec, for example, Sun, 29 September 1897, 2.

(45.) Ibid., 28 September 1897,2.

(46.) See the reminiscences of the journalist Frederick J. Higginbottom, The Vivid Life (London, 1934), 207.

(47.) "On Duty with Inspector Field," Household Words, 14 June 1851.

(48.) Josiah Flynt, "Police Methods in London," North American Review, clxxvi (March 190.3); 4.37.

(49.) Henry Mayhew, London Ijjboitr out! the London Poor (London, 1967), Introduction to vol. 4 (first published in 1862), xi.

(50.) "Police Detectives," Leisure Hour, 29 October 1857, 695.

(51.) John Styles, "Print and Policing. Crime Advertising in Eighteenth-Century Provincial England," in Douglas Hay and Francis Snyder, Policing and Prosecution in Britain, 1750-1850 (Oxford, 1989), 88.

(52.) Police Guardian, 13 August 1875, 5; Times, 20 July 1877, 12.

(53.) The Police of London," 127-28.

(54.) For details, see George Dilnot, The Trial of the Detectives (New York, 1928).

(55.) Reynolds's Newspaper, 10 February 1895, 5.

(56.) Star, 11 September 1888, 1; Daily Chronicle, 10 September 1888,4.

(57.) Pall Mall Gazette, 12 February 1886, 1-3.

(58.) "The Metropolitan Police," Saturday Review, 3 November 1888, 521.

(59.) Charles Warren, "The Police of the Metropolis," Murray's Magazine, 4 (November 1888): 578-79.

(60.) See an article about Inspector Charles Frederick Field in the Times, 17 September 1853, 11 (taken from the Bath Chronicle).

(61.) See, for example, Flynt, 436 and Alfred Aylmer, "The Detective in Real Life," Windsor Magazine, vol. 1 (1895): 506-8.

(62.) See for example, reports about Jerome Caminada's evidence in court, in Preston Chronicle, 7 June 1873, 7; Manchester Times, 28 October 1876, 5; Birmingham Daily Post, 9 December 1886, 5. Caminada served in the Manchester police, reaching the rank of detective superintendent.

(63.) Andrew Lansdowne, A Life's Reminiscences o\ Scotland Yard (New York, 1984. First published 1890), 141.

(64.) Times. 19 March 1861, 5; 28 August 1868, 10; 9 August 1915,5; 15 September 1913, 2.

(65.) "Our Police System," 698.

(66.) See Police Budget, 13 April 1895, 1, reporting the arrest of Oscar Wilde; Police Budget, 11 May 1895, 8, on the capture of Jabez Balfour.

(67.) See Aylmer, "The Detective in Real Life," 504-6 about Frederick Williamson and William Melville, 505-6. Also see Alfred Aylmer, "Detective Day at Holloway," Windsor Magazine 6 (June 1897): 91-94.

(68.) See East London Observer, 17 December 1887, 6 on the departure of Detective Inspector Frederick Abberline from the H Division in London's East End.

(69.) See the portrait of Chief Inspector Frederick Jarvis, who had just retired from Scotland Yard, in the Sun, 21 September 1897, 2 and of Inspector John Walsh on the same occasion, Times, 15 April 1907, 11.

(70.) Joan Lock, Dreadful Deeds and Awful Murders. Scotland Yard's First Detectives. 1829-1878 (Taunton, 1990), 27.

(71.) Police Review, 10 August 1894, "581.

(72.) "The Police of London," 121. On the interest of the police leadership in press reports, sec R.M. Morris, '"Crime Does Not Pay': Thinking Again About Detectives in the First Century of the Metropolitan Police," in Emsley and Shpayer-Makov, 98.

(73.) Jerome Caminada, 25 Years of Detective Life in Victorian Manchester (Warrington, 1981 First published 1895), vol. 2, 3.

(74.) Flynt, 443-44.

(75.) Ibid, 444.

(76.) The Journalist, 16 November 1888, 6.

(77.) Ciarkson, 283, 286. Also see the Star's reference to the more obliging attitude of the City Police to the representatives of the press, in Martin Fido, The Crimes, Detection and Death of jack the Ripper (New York, 1993), 80.

(78.) H.L. Adam, CJ.D. Behind the Scenes at Scotland Yard (London, 1931), 231.

(79.) The Journalist. 16 November 1888, 6; 23 November 1888, 6.

(80.) Reynolds's Newspaper, 24 March 1895, 5; Tibhits, 278.

(81.) Robert Anderson, The Lighter Side of My Official Life (London, 1910), 201-2.

(82.) The Journalist, 5 Octobet 1888, 2.

(83.) Star, 8 September 1888, 3; 10 September 1888, 3.

(84.) Ibid., 11 September, 1888, 1.

(85.) Ciarkson, 278. The book Police.', which Ciarkson and Richardson wrote together, is indicative of the enterprising collaboration between journalists and police officers (Clatkson was a former police officer).

(86.) The Journalist, 16 November 1888, 6.

(87.) Quoted in AtthutGtiffiths, Mysteries o/Police and Crime (London, 1898), vol. 1, 12.

(88.) C.E. Howard Vincent, A Police Code (London, 1881), 253.

(89.) The Journalist, 16 November 1888, 6; Penny Illustrated Paper, 1 Octobet 1910, 428.

(90.) For articles critical of police methods, see Penny Illustrated Paper, 1 Octobet, 1910, 437; 10 September 1910, 340; 22 Octobet, 1910, 532.

(91.) The Journalist, 16 November 1888, 6.

(92.) Clarkson, 282; Tibbits, 278. Also see L. Petty Curtis, Jt., Jack the Ripper and the London Press (New Haven, 2001), 100-1.

(93.) Star, 10 November 1888, 1; Tibhits, 278.

(94.) Tibhits, 278. In 29 September 1897, 2 a Sun reporter was said to have given a Yard detective "a long statt and a good beating" by locating and intetvicwing a certain man two houts before the detective found him.

(95.) See note 9.

(96.) Thomas W.N. Hanshew, Clcefc of Scotland Yard (New York, 1912), 3-4

(97.) Sims, My Life, 321.

(98.) Sims closely monitored the progress of the investigations of the Rippet murders in articles in the Sunday newspaper the Referee (in the midst of which he was identified by a newsvendour as a suspect, 141), upbraiding the detective force for "lacking in the smartness and variety of resource which the most ordinary detective displays in the shilling shocker" (Quoted in Stewart P. Evans and Keith Skinner, jack the Ripper. Letters from Hell [Stroud, 2001], 11-13).

(99.) Sims, My Life, 321.

(100.) Penny Illustrated Paper, 1 October, 1910, 428. Crippen was a doctor who had poisoned his wife, eloped to Canada with his mistress, and was brought hack for trial by Scotland Yard.

(101.) The journalist, 23 November 1888, 6.

(102.) See ibid., 6 January 1888, 3.

(103.) Ibid., 50 December 1887, 6. For a similar case, see ibid., 6 January 1888, 5.

(104.) Brown, 208-9.

(105.) Sun, 29 September 1897, 2.

(106.) Flynt, 437.

(107.) Daily Mail, 1 June 1913, 7.

(108.) Jones, 120-22, 132; Stephen Koss, The Rise and Fall of the Political Press in Britain (London, 1981), vol. 1, 187,216,254.

(109.) See, for example, Warren, 589.

(110.) Macnaghten, 180; Francis Carlin, Reminiscences of an Ex-Detective, 56, 102-3; Tom Divall, Scoundrels and Scallywags (London, 1929), 226-27 and Fowler Neil, Man-Hunters of Scotland Yard (New York, 193!), 206.

(111.) Macnaghten, 64-65.

(112.) See the Star, 8 September 1888, 3. Also see The journalist, 6 January 1888, 3; 16 November 1888, 6-7 for various critical responses by journalists to their failure to get information.

(113.) Clarkson, 281. See nore 85.

(114.) Ibid., 285.

(115.) Sun, 29 September 1897, 2.

(116.) Tibbirs, 278.

(117.) The Journalist, 16 November 1888,6-7.

(118.) Clarkson, 281-85.

(119.) Tibhits, 278.

(120.) Ibid.

(121.) S.H. Jeyes and F.D. How, The Life of Sir Howard Vincent (London, 1912), 74.

(122.) Lee, The Origins of the Popular Press in England, 121.

(123.) Police Budget, 13 April 1895, 1.

(124.) Curtis, 161-62.

(125.) Reynolds's Newspaper, 12 May 1895, 5.

(126.) Macnaghten, 64.

(127.) Daily Mail, 2 June 1913, 7.

(128.) Anderson, 202.

(129.) Tibbits, 278 and Penny Illustrated Paper, 1 October 1910, 428, respectively.

(130.) Penny illustrated Paper, 1 October 1910, 428.

(131.) William McAdoo, "The London Police from a New York Point of View," Century Magazine, 78, no. 5 (September 1909): 657.

(132.) Ibid., 658.

(133.) For similar differences between Scotland Yard and the New York police in their relations with the media in the late twentieth century, see Philip Schlesingcr and Howard lumber, Reporting Crime (Oxford, 1994), 121-22.

(134.) The Journalist, 4 December 1889, 3.

(135.) Ibid.

(136.) Penny Illustrated Paper, 15 October 1910,499.

(137.) Ibid., 1 October 1910, 428.

(138.) Chibnall, "The Metropolitan Police and the News Media," 136. For the source of this information, see Nevil Macready Annals of an Active Life (London, 1924), vol. 2, 417.

(139.) In the 1930s, Scotland Yard still "viewed with considerable suspicion journalists who wanted to report crime before it reached the courts." Even in the 1960s, when Scotland Yard had public relations officers and berter facilities for pressmen, journalists continued to complain about the condescending attitude of Scotland Yard towards them (leremy Tunstall, Journal at Work [London, 1971], 92, 180).

(140.) Notwithstanding Commissioner Bradford's moves to stop detectives from escorting journalists in their social investigations, Jack London, the American author, was advised by his London friends "to see the police for a guide" when he expressed his intent, in 1903, to explore the East End (London, 11).

By Haia Shpayer-Makov

University of Haifa
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Author:Shpayer-Makov, Haia
Publication:Journal of Social History
Article Type:Report
Geographic Code:4EUUK
Date:Jun 22, 2009
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