Somebody's Husband, Somebody's Son: The Story of the Yorkshire Ripper by Burn Gordon

Author:Burn, Gordon [Burn, Gordon]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780571265046
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2011-06-15T16:00:00+00:00

Living just across the street as she did, Mrs Bowman hadn’t been able to resist watching while the Sutcliffes’ belongings were unloaded and carried up the steep drive. And what she saw – a brand-new Dralon three-piece suite with apple-green and pink reversible cushions; a handsome upright piano, one of many nice old pieces; fitted carpets, a front-loading washer and separate spin-drier – made her wonder how, when the asking price had been more than £15,000 for the house, they could afford it. Her husband was a wool merchant and she worked part-time as a medical secretary and it was still a struggle to meet the payments on a £12,500 mortgage and bring three children up at the same time.

These were thoughts that she shared with her neighbours, who also joined her in speculation about the small black car that turned up outside No. 6 first thing most mornings. When it transpired that it belonged to Mrs Sutcliffe’s mother, a nurse at the nearby Sherrington, the talk then turned to why she should be forever on the young couple’s doorstep. Mrs Bowman volunteered the thought that maybe he had a history of beating his wife up and her mother had come round to make sure she was all right.

From her front lounge, Mrs Bowman also couldn’t help noticing that Mrs Sutcliffe – it would be some time before she came to know her as ‘Sonia’ – retired to bed early with the portable television every night, whether her husband was at home or not.

This kind of inquisitiveness wasn’t all one-way, however. Peter still had a sharp eye for human foibles and, working on cars for hours on the sloping drive at the side of the house, he was able to casually observe his new neighbours. The people next door, whose kitchen window looked straight across a low dividing fence into his, inevitably came in for particularly close scrutiny. He had not only their daily routine but also their mannerisms off to perfection, as Carl discovered one Sunday morning when he was visiting Garden Lane.

Giggling, Peter called Carl over to the kitchen window. ‘He says, “He hasn’t come out yet, they’ve just got up. But watch him: he’ll come out in a minute, he’ll lock door, lock wife and daughter in behind him, an’ he’ll walk round his Volkswagen, have a look at it, rub roof wi’ cuff, then he’ll unlock kitchen door wi’ key again, rub his hands an’ shout: Brrrrrrr! It’s cold this morning, mother! Then he’ll be out later and do it again. Then, between eleven and half-past he’ll be out and give it a right good polishing and waxing, after he’s made sure he’s locked all family in. I bet he does it.” And he did. Exactly as our Pete said.

‘Monday morning he said it would be: Brrrrrrr. Bloody hell. Work again, while he walked round car wi’ wife locked in house. Then when he got home he’d shout: Another day over, mother! Four days left! An’ the same every day until Friday, when he cheered up.

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