Night has fallen on the Writing Porch. Soon it will be October and the mystery will increase. It is inky black this evening. The fog is thick in the air and malice is hovering over the pubs and cobblestone streets.

Annie bemoaned her chosen employment. All she had ever seen of the brighter side of life was the Christmas Pudding on Christmas Day and a bit of baked Goose if she was lucky. She and her husband had three children and one died at the age of 12 while another was disabled. Liquor had become the comfort for her and her husband and soon they were no more a couple. Annie had not wanted to be a woman of the night but all of her visible means of support had dried up.

He was dressed to the nines…he carried himself with the air of importance and professionalism that his station in life afforded. He was more at home on the dark and damp streets than in his brightly lit office.

Catherine and John were together sometimes and at other times they were not. At this time she had to pay the rent. She was glad for the warmth of the jail cell…until she was put back out on the street at 1:00 A:M:.

He had the smile of a winner. His calm and friendly demeanor won the hearts of those he met.

Mary Ann whose friend called Polly. Her ex-husband and she split and he ceased to pay his five shillings child support. William was angry when he heard that Mary Ann was forced to seek additional money on the cold cruel streets of London.

‘Good evening Governor…my you are looking in fine fiddle this evening…,’ said the Bobby. ‘Good evening officer I am out for a stroll and a bit of fresh air,’ said he.

Mary Jane had dark hair. She enjoyed a drink and often more than one. She was asleep when she saw someone standing over her bed.

He loved to whistle. He whistled while he worked.

The haunting sound of a whistle is still heard on the streets of London where the poor live…