Little Ilford gaol’s staff and supervision

Little Ilford gaol, like its contemporaries, operated under a strict regime of regulation and supervision. Every key postholder was held to a high standard of accountability for their actions. The Essex Quarter Sessions, for instance, appointed two or three “Visiting Magistrates” from their ranks, who oversaw the gaol on behalf of the county. They came very much from the privileged end of society, as the brief biographies of two of the more significant of their number – at the end of this article – show.

Visting Magistrates

They were expected to provide quarterly reports on conditions at the establishment and to furnish detailed breakdowns of costs, responsibilities, and staff appointments.

Upon receipt of the Visiting Magistrates' quarterly reports, the Quarter Sessions were obligated to compile annual statements on the gaol's conditions for the Home Secretary. These reports, many of which are archived in the Essex County Records Office, were not kept secret. The Essex Quarter Sessions were open to the press, and summaries of the reports were regularly published in local newspapers, ensuring the gaol's operations were subject to public accountability.

As the ultimate authority, the Quarter Sessions exercised significant control over the gaol's operations. They directly appointed key personnel such as the governor, chaplain, and surgeon and required regular reports from the governor. Their influence extended to the conditions within the gaol, dictating everything from the prisoners' diets to the clothing and bedding they were provided.

The tone was set for Little Ilford gaol just before it opened at the Quarter Sessions in July 1831.

During a discussion on conditions in local prisons. William Pole Wellesley, the wastrel whose profligacy led to the destruction of Wanstead House and local MP, expressed a reasonably liberal view for the time, arguing against the imposition of the harshest conditions. 

Essex magistrate, William Pole Wellesley, the wastrel whose property adjoined Little Ilford gaol, had surprisngly liberal views about prison conditions. Etching from c 1827, a little before gaol contruction was underway. Etching couresy of Greg Roberts.

Pole Wellesley was quickly refuted by RW Hall-Dare, who was to be one of the initial visiting magistrates. The Essex and Herts Mercury of 5 July 1831 could not have been clearer in reporting Hall’s vindictive stance:

I am about in the short term to report on the state of Ilford gaol, which in a week or two will be ready for prisoners … It is the duty of magistrates to keep the prisoners in safe custody. I believe a gaol ought to be a place of suffering, so much so, indeed, as to operate on the mind and body of one in confinement in such a way as to induce him to say: “If ever I get out of this place, they shall never catch me here again” … many who are out of gaol are in a much worse condition than those confined within its wall (Hear). A gaol is intended, as it ought, to be a place of suffering; we should not only be acted upon by a sort of pseudo philanthropy, which may be pleasing to our feelings but would nevertheless operate against the best interest of society.

From the 1840s, the House of Commons published annual statistical surveys on data relating to prisons nationwide (staff numbers and pay, details of prisoners, etc.), and the Essex Quarter Sessions produced fairly detailed summaries on the conditions of the gaols and detention centres under their purview. Visiting magistrates at Little Ilford, certainly in the early days of its existence, often used these reports to provide evidence for them to embark on a race to the bottom for conditions in local gaols.

However, from the 1860s, two more liberal magistrates took on the roles—John Gurney Fry and William Swainson Suart. They were men of financial substance with significant other public service records before becoming visiting magistrates (see brief biographies at the end).

Their contributions to discussions about the gaol and proposals for changes were usually aimed at improving conditions for staff and prisoners rather than being simply cost-cutting and punitive.

Staff

Staff numbers varied a little throughout the history of the gaol, but a typical complement was eight, comprising: a governor (in 1844 paid £150 p.a.), a chaplain – always CofE (£100), a surgeon (medical officer would be a more appropriate term today) (£40), the principal turnkey (£67), assistant turnkey and schoolmaster – this post would report to the chaplain – see later (£52), assistant turnkey and baker (£52), cook and labourer (15s per week, i.e £39 p.a.) and matron (£20p.a.) (source ERO QAGp 15). [Turnkeys were what today we would call wardens].

Initially, only the governor and his family lived on the premises, but additional staff accommodation was built above the brew and bakehouses for wardens in the 1840s. During the 1871 census, staff living within the gaol included the governor, the senior warden, his wife - the assistant matron - and two other prison wardens who were lodgers in the senior warden’s dwelling.

Occasionally, there was no turnkey who could double up as schoolmaster, in which case “the most orderly and competent of the adult prisoners being from time to time employed as a teacher under my (the chaplain’s) supervision” (ERO 1832).

Staff wages varied over the gaol's history, but comparative statistics with other prisons showed that they tended to be on the low side in Little Ilford. William Stringer was the longest-serving governor, occupying the role for almost the last twenty years of the gaol’s existence, but barely saw a doubling of his pay over the period.

Interestingly, on average, there was a ratio of about 7 inmates to one staff member in the gaol, compared to about 30 children to one staff member in the children’s workhouse on Forest Lane later in the century. 

As indicated earlier, the Quarter Sessions and the visiting magistrates tightly defined the staff's working conditions and job descriptions.

The governor

The Governor was required to keep up to 30 different journals and log books about prison life, which were open to regular inspection by visiting magistrates. They included: the governor’s journal, a separate journal/day book for each member of staff, the provision dietary book, a bedding and clothing book, a quarterly account book, a ledger, a cash book and day book, prisoners received and prisoners discharged books, a prisoners’ punishment book, an inventory of books furnished by the chaplain and volumes dedicated to reports written to visiting magistrates, and the Quarter Sessions, as well as correspondence ledgers and a prisoners’ misconduct book.

In the early 1840s, the governor, John Anderson, gave a detailed statement of his daily routine to the Quarter Sessions as part of a bid for a pay rise (ERO QAGp 15). If it was accurate, he was a busy man.

He said his day started by ensuring the turnkeys were in the correct uniform, and the prisoners were unlocked and set to work by them (6 a.m. in the summer, 7 a.m. in winter). He supervised breakfast at 8 a.m. and met with the schoolmaster to review his work at 9 a.m. An hour later, he attended the chapel, supervised the service, and inspected the infirmary, yards, and cells.

During this period, he interviewed prisoners, reported any misconduct or injustices, and saw that any instructions he had previously given relating to this were being executed. He would then attend to anything requiring entry into his various journals and write any of the reports he was responsible for submitting. At about noon, he would discharge any prisoners due for release.

He occasionally attended some of the magistrates courts his gaol served, including visiting the Ilford court once a fortnight when he met up with the local magistrates. He would write “letters to the friends of all prisoners under 21, appraising them of the time they will be discharged from jail, and if any prisoners are taken ill, their friends are written to.”

He was charged with running an economically tight institution, so he proudly stated that “the cost per prisoner, per head, per day on my appointment, including staff and all other expenses was: 1841: 1/7d, 1842 1/4d and 1843 1/3d.”

Other staff

Legislation from 1814 required all gaols to have a chaplain. The relatively well-renumerated postholder usually doubled up as a local vicar with an additional stipend from the parish. He provided a detailed account of his activities in 1845, in which he described performing morning and evening services of the Church of England and preaching every Sunday.

He also performed church services on Christmas Day and Good Friday and was “always prepared to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper to those who wish and be fit to receive the same.”. He claimed to frequently read scriptures to prisoners who came to him at the chapel and to instruct school classes. He provided “a sufficient number of bibles and prayer and other books of a religious and moral character” (ERO Q/SBb 550)

The Assistant Turnkey/schoolmaster reported to the chaplain and would have had a professional relationship with all prisoners – not just those of school age. He would teach religious studies and assist with reading and writing for the illiterate, based on books approved and supplied by the chaplain. Quaker influence, stressing the importance of religious teaching in prisons, is well illustrated by the etching below, showing Elizabeth Fry reading the bible to female prisoners in Newgate.

Elizabeth Fry, reading to prisoners at Newgate, showing imporatnce of religious teaching and education to many prison reformers

Like the chaplain, the surgeon or medical officer doubled up his role in the gaol with a practice outside the prison. He visited the gaol three or four times per week and “oftener, if required.” He was expected to give fairly detailed sickness reports to the Quarter Sessions.

Fewer details survive of the job descriptions of the more junior staff, although the matron—the postholders of which were usually married to another staff member—was in charge of all female prisoners and their cells and yards in gaol, as well as both male and female infirmaries, in the absence of the surgeon.

The tight regime and supervision the gaol experienced and its accountability to so many bodies, including the press, made it appear to be a scandal-free institution throughout its existence.

The life experiences of its two most significant visiting magistrates suggested an open-minded and public-spirited approach to its governance in its latter days, which was very much at variance with some of the corruption associated with many of the guardians who supervised workhouses, locally and beyond.

John Gurney Fry - biography

John Gurney Fry - 1804 - 1871

John Gurney Fry was born on 29 July 1804 in St Mildred’s Court in the City of London, the eldest son of later prisoner reformer Elizabeth Fry and her husband, banker and tea merchant Joseph Fry. When John was four, his father inherited the Plashet estate in East Ham, and John would have spent most of his childhood between there (about two miles from the site of Little Ilford gaol) and the City.

From a young age, he was immersed in the world of penal reform. His mother, Elizabeth, was not the most attentive of parents, and by the time he was nine, she began to dedicate herself to prison reform, particularly with women in mind. This early exposure to penal reform would shape John’s childhood and serve as a catalyst for his later involvement as an Essex magistrate and visitor to Little Ilford gaol.

Aged just nine, he witnessed his mother's remarkable involvement with the plight of women prisoners at London’s Newgate gaol. She established education classes and collected clothing for them. Two years later, she founded the Association for the Reformation of Female Prisoners at Newgate, and the following year—when John was just 14—Elizabeth made history as the first woman to give evidence to a parliamentary committee on prisons. These achievements were a testament to Elizabeth's dedication and a significant influence on John's future path.

When John was 17 (1821), Elizabeth established the London Society for Promoting the Reformation of Female Prisoners, where she campaigned against women being manacled in chains, the public execution of female prisoners, prison ships (hulks), solitary confinement and above all, capital punishment.

At the age of 21, John married his second cousin, Rachel. Their union was not just personal but also a consolidation of their family's social standing. Both were well-connected Quakers, and the witnesses to their marriage included prominent names such as Frys, Barclays, Buxtons, Gurneys, and Pellys. However, John's health was a constant struggle, and his illness marred the ceremony. A witness to the event noted, “It was too much for John. He was not feeling well and kept having to lie down.”

After the wedding, the couple lived in St Mildred’s Court, which was simultaneously the headquarters of the family banking and tea businesses, a family home, and a hostel for unmarried clerks working for the business.

They lived there for over fifteen years, although it was not very conducive to family life. By the time of the 1841 census, they had moved to Little Warley Lodge in Billericay, which they shared with their three children, his brother-in-law and his four children, a governess, and 13 servants. This was a farm, which John sold in 1847. He moved to Hale End in Walthamstow in 1851 with his wife, two unmarried daughters, and just seven servants!

By then, John was already an Essex magistrate and merchant with the East India Company. Having sold the farm, he could devote himself more to charitable and public service duties. Among the roles he undertook over the following twenty years were: Trustee of the City  Orthopedic Hospital (1851), Deputy Lieutenant of Essex (1852),  Chairman of the Metropolitan Free Hospital – Devonshire Square, The City, where “The friendless have immediate attention paid to their ailments” (1852) Vice President of the Agricultural Benevolent Society (1860) – with a brief to alleviate the needs of “decayed farmers, their widows and orphans” and was “a generous subscriber to the Benevolent Asylum for the Insane of the Middle Classes” (Evening Standard 10 Feb 1862).

It is difficult to fully assess John’s impact on Little Ilford gaol, as there is no definitive statement of it, but weaving through reports of his contributions, on the bench, at Quarter Session proceedings and through press reports, he seemed to be a mildly reforming character, who without his mother’s zeal, would appear to have been a force for good for the institution and its inmates.

In the late 1860s, he and Rachel moved from Hale End to Prittlewell near Southend for health reasons. Rachel died at the end of 1871, and John six months later, on 11 June 1872, of Typhoid. The Essex Herald explained the circumstances. Having presided over a meeting of Ilford magistrates on 1 June, he went home to Prittlewell and died ten days later:

His doctors agree in their opinion that his death indirectly resulted from the poisoned air of Ilford Court, and this eldest son of the great philanthropist may be said to have followed his mother’s example and to have been, perhaps indirectly, a martyr for the public benefit, for had he not been so constant an attendant to his magisterial duties, he would in all probability, have lived for many years.

William Swainson Suart - biography

William Swainson Suart was born 30 July 1814 in Liverpool and educated at Royal Military College, Addiscombe. He then received a commission in the East India Company, which effectively ran India on behalf of the British government. He became a cadet in the Royal Bombay Corps of Engineers in 1833 and married Elizabeth Murray in 1849 in that city. 

He was a civil engineer who worked on land reclamation and drainage work. He was promoted to lieutenant in 1842 and transferred to Aden as an engineer in 1847. His wife had their first child there, and he was promoted to captain the following year. He finally retired from the East India Company’s service with the honorary rank of major in November 1857 during the Indian Rebellion (Mutiny).

After his return to England, he was appointed to the Commission of the Peace for Essex on 16 October 1860 and “long acted as chairman of the Committee of Visiting Justices at Ilford Gaol”. By the time of the 1861 census, six months later, he was living in Chigwell with his wife, three children and six servants. A decade later, the family was down to three servants and just two in 1881. He played an active part in the Essex Court of Sessions, particularly in matters relating to the Beconsfield Division (of which Little Ilford Gaol was a part)”.

He was outspoken about the 1877 Prisons Act, which he described as “An Act for Abolishing the Ancient Office of Justice of the Peace”. He was interested in juvenile crime and wrote and published a pamphlet on the subject, which was apparently full of suggestions, which we have been unable to access.

Like Fry, Suart seems to have been a fair and publicly minded individual who served the court without fear or favour.

He was a governor of Chigwell Grammar School, and active in that community. He died after a long illness on 23 May 1882 (aged 69) in Bowls, Chigwell, and left an estate valued at £4,290 (twenty times a clerk’s salary of the day). (Sources: obituaries in The Essex Herald, Chelmsford Chronicle, Naval and Military Gazette and Ancestry).

Little Ilford Gaol’s final twenty years

This is the third article on Little Ilford gaol. It delves into its history, tracing its journey from its pinnacle of importance to its intriguing sale in 1880 as: “An eligible site for the erection of villa residences.” Its three acres were swiftly transformed into houses, utilising bricks and other construction materials from the prison buildings, now forming Worcester and Gloucester Roads, off the Romford Road in Manor Park/Little Ilford.

Auction document, for sale of gaol site

By 1860, the gaol's role and scope of responsibilities were under scrutiny. The Essex Standard (4 July) reported the Quarter Sessions to be pondering over whether to retain Ilford gaol solely for remand cases or construct another facility for that purpose:

 

In consequence of Ilford Gaol being within the Metropolitan Police District … it is recommended to the justices in the Ilford Division to commit all further remand cases, as well as short sentences and prisoners on trial at the Central Criminal Court (Old Bailey), to Ilford gaol and all other convicted prisoners, together with prisoners on trial at the Assizes and Sessions (in Chelmsford) to the County gaol in Springfield.

 

It is not clear which of the proposals to combat overcrowding were adopted, but by 1866, the 31st Report of the Inspector of Prisons of Great Britain noted that there had been a reduction in prisoners in Little Ilford. And, simultaneously, apparently, for the first time, indicated that several debtors were imprisoned there. Fourteen in total that year, with the average number at any time being seven – one of whom was female.

 

Changing roles

 

The Inspector’s report of that year also revealed a significant shift in the gaol's inmate population. It noted a higher percentage of all female criminal prisoners (22%) than the typical 10% in previous years. A future article in this series will delve into the nature and types of prisoners held through the gaol's lifetime and the conditions they endured.

 

By this time, there were 35 cells for males and five for females, together with a day room, a punishment cell (for solitary confinement), five reception cells, two male exercise yards, and one for females. For debtors, who were treated differently, there were four sleeping cells, one day room, and one exercise yard. The report did not mention infirmaries.

 

Although there was no “national prison system” at the time, prisons were highly regulated and closely supervised by external bodies, and parliament was very prescriptive about the conditions that prevailed within them.

 

The terms of the 1865 Prison Act had a very significant impact on Little Ilford gaol. Just as an earlier Act had deemed Barking gaol unfit for purpose (see previous article), the 1865 Act offered a real challenge to Little Ilford and its controlling bodies.

 

In January 1868, the Essex Quarter Sessions received a letter from the Home Office saying that Little Ilford did not conform to the standards laid down in the legislation and wanted proposals for addressing the shortcomings. Over the following 18 months, a considerable volume of correspondence related to the matter circulated.

 

Bid for growth

 

The visiting magistrates (supervisors of the gaol) took the challenge as an opportunity to bid for a significant upgrading of its size and status: “in the belief that the great increase in the population in the parishes near London renders such an enlargement necessary and advisable”. (Essex Standard 2 July 1869).

 

The 1865 legislation required cell sizes to be larger than they were in Little Ilford, and the visiting magistrates concluded that this could be done most cost-effectively by knocking down some partition walls and thereby halving the number of cells. This would require the construction of additional cells if the gaol’s  capacity were to be maintained, never mind increased, to cope with “the great increase in the population in the parishes near London.”

 

John Gurney Fry (Elizabeth’s son and a principal visiting magistrate to Little Ilford - for full details, see a forthcoming article) seized the opportunity to increase the significance of Little Ilford. 

The only known surviving photo of John Gurney Fry - son of prison reformer, Elizabeth

 

He proposed that 48 new men’s cells would be required, at a cost of £4,180, six additional women’s cells, at a cost of £725, and £500 would be required to convert the existing 32 cells into 16 larger ones. He proposed that a total of £5,675 would be required for adequate transformation.

 

Huge as this sum was at the time, he argued that it would be dwarfed by the estimated £30k - £40k that would be needed to build a new institution from scratch. For the much smaller sum, he insisted, Little Ilford could not only be made fit for purpose but also relieve some of the pressure on Springfield gaol by accommodating longer-term prisoners. Consequently, he stated that Little Ilford’s significance would be considerably enhanced.

 

It was probably John Gurney Fry’s greatest moment as a visiting magistrate: within two years, he had died of typhoid (the cause of which some put down to the conditions he endured in visiting the gaol – see subsequent article), his vision unfulfilled.

 

Unfulfilled vision

 

His proposals were debated in various forms around the Essex Quarter Sessions for a couple of years (see Essex Herald 17 March 1871 and Chelmsford Chronicle 6 June 1873) but never agreed upon or implemented.

 

Meanwhile, significant developments were happening elsewhere. Edmund Frederick du Cane was a prison administrator who, following the 1865 Prison Act, was instrumental in abolishing penal transportation to Australia in 1867. Two years later, partially in recognition of his achievement, he was appointed to a new role of national Director of Prisons. This was a signal for the effective “nationalisation” of the prison service, taking responsibility for them away from independent county assizes and Quarter Sessions.

 

As part of his proposals, he announced a halving of the number of prisons in Great Britain, boosting the size and importance of some and making the rest redundant. Little Ilford, undeveloped by the Fry proposals, fell victim. It is probably a coincidence, but the leading visiting magistrate at Chelmsford’s Springfield prison, which survived the cull, was Edmund du Cane’s cousin, Sir Charles du Cane.

 

The Essex Quarter Sessions received compensation from the government, to the tune of £120 per cell, for decommissioning the gaol, and was left to dispose of the facility as it saw fit.

 

The end of the institution

 

In a debate at the Quarter Sessions, John Gurney Fry’s long-term fellow visiting magistrate William Swainson Suart outlined some of the options for disposal (Chelmsford Chronicle18 October 1878):

 

The motion of Major Suart to consider and report to the next court (Quarter Session) as to the future disposal of the gaol, for the utilisation of which there are already a charming variety of objects suggested, some thinking that it would make a nice little lunatic asylum (!) or workhouse, some that it should be a hospital for infectious diseases and others that it was too ugly for anything.

 

In the event, it was sold at auction on 14 October 1880 for housing development to George Blizard, 91 Ladbroke Grove, for £3,800. Around 100 houses were built, to form Worcester and Gloucester Roads, which was still surrounded by farmland and open spaces.

 

Purchase contract signed by George Blizzard of Ladbroke Grove

The auction documentation (ERO B280 - see below) makes interesting reading. 

 

 

The auction lot was described as follows:

 

A substantial pile of buildings, a large area of garden ground … an important frontage to the main Essex Road. The total extent being nearly 3 acres. An eligible site for the erection of villa residences. The present buildings affording a large quantity of sound material … (it was) Auctioned by Messrs Beadel of Gresham Street in the City. All fixtures and fittings are included in the sale. “Ilford Prison”.

 

The existing erections have until lately been occupied for the purpose of a prison and comprise a Governor’s House, Eight Blocks of Cells opening into Twelve Yards, one of which has a Well of excellent water, a Stable and other Outbuildings, a Chapel and Court-house, with extensive offices attached. The Buildings are most substantial, the Yards and Cells paved with Bath Stone and the latter enclosed by high and massive Iron Railings, thereby affording a quantity of Building and other Material on the spot, and offering an excellent opportunity to Builders, Speculators and others, for acquiring a profitable Investment. … There is a large extent of garden ground. The whole is surrounded by a High Brick Wall, around which there is a strip of Vacant land, included in the above area.

 

Gloucester Road today, half of the 100 "villas" built on the site of the gaol, partially with materials from the gaol's buildings

 

The next article in this series will examine how the gaol was supervised and managed, and the final chapter will explore the lives and conditions of those incarcerated there.

 

The early history of Little Ilford Gaol

This, the second in a series of articles on the story of Little Ilford Gaol, examines the buildings' history from their construction in 1830 until their high point of significance in 1860. The following article will examine its final twenty years and the reasons for its demise.

As previously mentioned, the gaol was built to replace unfit-for-purpose buildings in Barking for the Becontree Hundred administrative area of Essex, which then embraced what is now Barking, Dagenham, Newham, Redbridge, and parts of Havering and Waltham Forest.

 

The new gaol was to hold prisoners sentenced by Waltham, Ongar, Epping, Ilford, Romford and Brentwood magistrates’ courts, and later, from a court built within its grounds in 1852, and later still from one constructed in Angel Lane in Stratford.

 

Official documents variously called the establishment a “gaol” and “a house of correction,” “a common gaol for prisoners for further examination and trial ... for Essex.” Those incarcerated beyond a few days were typically there for minor offences (see later). 

 

More serious offences were considered at the Quarter Sessions court in Chelmsford and committed to Springfield prison in that town. Alternatively, they were sentenced to be hung  (there were over 200 capital offences in the early years of the nineteenth century) or for transportation (often for what to us would seem fairly minor offences—sheep stealing, for example—see later). Long-term incarceration did not become a significant feature of the British penal system until much later in the nineteenth century.

 

Construction of the gaol

 

A major attraction of the new gaol site for the Essex court system was that it was on the main London – Colchester road and reasonably easily accessible to those sending prisoners. According to contemporary maps, the area was wholly agricultural at the time and appears to have been owned by the Marquis of Salisbury (see below). Quite how he came to possess the land in this part of Essex is unclear, but his presence in the area is still acknowledged by the nearby Salisbury school and road, presumably named after him.

 

2nd Marquis of Salisbury - previous owner of the land upon which Little Ilford gaol was built

The Curtis family built the gaol, substantial builders who specialised in the construction of gaols but who also won the contract for building Buckingham Palace! They may have owned the Uphall brickfield on the River Roding, about half a mile away: so – local bricks for local gaols (see here)!

 

Map showing location of the gaol, sited on "High Road, London" and on land previously owned by Marquis of Salisbury

As can be seen from the plan of the prison below, it was well ordered, with the governor having accommodation at the front of the gaol, facing what is now Romford Road, with buildings on either side of him providing a brew house (for beer for prisoners and staff at a time when water was often polluted or disease-ridden), and a bake-house, each with adjacent store rooms. Other non-cell buildings included two infirmaries (one for men and another for women) in the centre of the site, a chapel, work rooms, and a treadmill area (see later).

 

Architects' drawings of gaol at the time of construction, 1830

 

The gaol was built on the “separate system” to try to keep prisoners isolated from each other. This was done partially as punishment, partially to keep “old lags” teaching newer prisoners “new tricks,” and partly, through Quaker influences, to give prisoners silence in which to reflect on their wrongdoing and then repent and reform.  

 

The gaol layout shows the prisoner spaces to be predominantly 24 single cells, roughly 8 feet by 6 feet. In addition, 15 larger cells, 13 feet by 6 feet 6 inches, could be used for multiple prisoners who were on remand rather than those who had already been sentenced.

 

There was no heating in the gaol, even in the harshest winters. Prisoners could control temperatures slightly by opening and closing cell windows, and ventilation bricks were installed on the external walls of all cells to ensure some air circulation. There were no candles or any form of artificial light in the cells.

 

To minimise the inmates' ability to communicate with each other, the gaol had separate areas for male and female prisoners and several different exercise yards within each. As will become clear later, female prisoners were attended to almost exclusively by female staff.

 

The number of prisoners in the gaol fluctuated by season and over time, but in the 1830s, it averaged about 500 prisoners per year, with an average number of around 47 on any given day.

 

A ten-foot high wall surrounded the gaol to prevent escape, and when this seemed inadequate, additional measures were taken. So, when the Eastern Counties Railway (en route to Forest Gate and what is now Liverpool Street) was constructed in the late 1830s, a ten feet ditch was dug at the back end of the gaol, which was a little over 200 yards from the railway line, and an additional iron fence was placed on top of the wall, to make escape more difficult.

 

Escapes seem to have been rare. Although surviving records are patchy, few examples of successful break-outs survive. In almost all cases, recapture seemed pretty swift – with offenders being severely punished (whipping, food deprivation, solitary confinement in darkened cells, etc). The Annual Report to the Home Secretary, October 1845 (ERO Q/SBb 550) stated, “Two prisoners have escaped during the last year but have both been retaken. In both cases, after they scaled the outer wall from the roof of the bakehouse, the necessity of altering which is now under consideration”.

 

The “roof of the bakehouse” became an identified route for escape as the building, like that of the brewhouse, had an additional floor built on it in the early 1840s to provide more staff accommodation. The “necessity for altering” resulted in an iron fence being erected on top of the outer wall, just as it had been when escaping to the new railway line seemed a threat.

 

Increased functions and jurisdiction

 

From 1840 the Metropolitan Police, established a decade earlier, had its jurisdiction extended to parts of western Essex. That, coupled with its recently created detection function, and the beginnings of population growth in the eastern part of London, led to a greater demand for cells in Ilford gaol.

 

The next thirty years of the gaol’s existence were dominated by considerations of its exact role and scope. The gaol couldn’t cope with the increased demands the Metropolitan Police placed on it, nor the steady growth of population in the areas, so various proposals were made to solve the conundrum, including reducing the number of courts it served, narrowing the scope of offences it would cater for, as well as, of course, increasing its size to cope with increased demand.

 

The “visiting magistrates” (see later), who the Essex Quarter Sessions appointed to provide independent oversight and regulation over how the gaol was managed as early as 1842: “felt deep regret that during the past quarter, at a season when there were generally few in the gaols (spring) the numbers had been so large they could not account for them”. They obtained funds to increase the number of cells in the gaol by four in 1846.

 

By the late 1840s, the number of prisoners had increased considerably, so in 1848, 677 were confined during the year, with a daily average of 59.

 

Dealing with growing numbers

 

The reorganisation of “police courts” in the early 1850s resulted in the construction of a new court within the grounds of Ilford gaol in 1853 (see plan below). The court met every Saturday morning and usually sentenced more prisoners to terms in the gaol. This simply increased the demand for accommodation in it!

 

Architects' plans of the new courthouse, built within Little Ilford Gaol in 1850s

 

So, 879 prisoners were confined in 1853 and demands to increase the size of the prison accordingly gathered pace. The number of inmates reached its peak in 1854. At one time that year, 81 males and 18 females were incarcerated within it. The gaol, however, only contained cells for 42 males, with a workroom, day room, and infirmary consisting of two large and two small rooms being used to accommodate the surplus. Females had two sleeping cells and an infirmary of similar size to males.

 

The Essex Standard of 6 April 1855, under the headline “Increased number of prisoners at Ilford gaol”, reported that the magistrates’ committee in Chelmsford:

 

Considered how to reduce demand and recommended that in future the benches of Epping, Brentwood, Waltham Holy Cross and the Liberty of Havering, where the sentences were less than one month, should be sent to Springfield. This is estimated to reduce the demand at Ilford by 24 males and four females … But even at that, taking 1854 figures, there would still be 15 males and eight females not accounted for … especially in the parish of West Ham where the numbers were likely to be much further increased with the prospect of an increase in crime.

 

The committee responded to the increased demand for accommodation by recommending the construction of nine more cells, at a cost of £800.

 

Within a year, consideration was given to expanding Springfield gaol, handing over responsibility for dealing with prisoners captured by the Metropolitan Police to London authorities and closing Ilford gaol. No action on these considerations was taken, but additional pressures were soon placed on Little Ilford.

 

In 1858, the Essex Standard (20 October) reported that the gaol’s finances had benefited from £44 “received from the government for the maintenance of military prisoners” – presumably deserters and others convicted of felonies during the Crimean War. So, there is an added demand for space and additional functions for the gaol.

 

This was probably the high point in the gaol’s history. The next article in the series will examine its final twenty years—from this point until its eventual closure—and beyond.

Little Ilford Gaol – introduction and background

This is the first of a five-part series examining the history and role of Little Ilford gaol, which was the second most important prison facility in Essex for almost forty years. It was located in the area now occupied by Worcester and Gloucester Roads, opposite Seventh Avenue and bordering Romford Road in Manor Park, and over its lifetime will have held around 30,000 prisoners.

Site of Little Ilford gaol today - Romford Road, Manor Park

Gaol was the common spelling for what we would now call jail until the mid-twentieth century, and so will be the spelling we will adopt for the Little Ilford establishment through its mid-nineteenth century existence.

Subsequent chapters, assembled from extensive research at the Essex County Records Office and examining newspaper archives, will delve into the institution's history, its management and supervision, and the lives and conditions of the prisoners it housed.

Little Ilford in the early nineteenth century

Little Ilford owes its mid-nineteenth-century growth to establishing a gaol in 1830. According to the Victoria County History of Essex, it comprised 768 acres, with Wanstead and the River Roding forming its northern and eastern boundaries. It was called Little Ilford to distinguish the area from Great Ilford, which lay east of the Roding and was located on the main London—Colchester road.

It underwent significant changes in the nineteenth century (see here). It transitioned from being the smallest parish in the Becontree Hundred, one of the 23 civil administrative units that had provided civil government for Essex-including law-and-order functions since the Middle Ages, to becoming part of the West Ham Poor Law Union in 1836. It was embraced by the Metropolitan Police District in 1840 and was incorporated into the East Ham Urban District, upon its creation in 1886. This transformation placed it on the cusp of rural Essex and the rapidly growing London conurbation, adding a layer of interest to its historical narrative.

We are getting ahead of ourselves. Little Ilford was entirely rural at the start of that century. There were just 15 houses in the district in 1801, and the only substantial building was the Three Rabbits pub (a coaching and trading inn, dating back to the 1630s). The population during the first three decades of the century hovered around 100. It was almost totally agricultural, with its main crop appearing to be the cultivation of osier (part of the willow family, used for basket making) on the banks of the Roding.

The population rose from 100 in 1831 to 189 a decade later, almost entirely because of the establishment of the gaol.

The local prison situation before Little Ilford was constructed

Before the construction of the Little Ilford gaol, there were only two significant prisons in Essex: Springfield in the county town of Chelmsford – which survives today in a much modified form, and the  Becontree House of Correction, which was located in Barking. They both came under the control of Essex’s Justices of the Peace, who were technically royal appointments but were, in practice, appointed by the Lord Lieutenant of the County, who, himself had been appointed by the Lord Chancellor – head of the judiciary.

To be recognised for the position, they had to be of considerable financial and social standing and socially minded enough to accept the unpaid post. The function required travelling around the county, sitting in judgment at police (magistrates) courts, visiting prisons, and reporting to the Essex Quarter Sessions every three months, which supervised both justice and administration in the county.

Each gaol had courts attached, and in Chelmsford’s case, its Assize and Quarter Session courts dealt with more serious cases, that could have resulted in Transportation or execution. Becontree court and gaol were primarily concerned with minor offences, or holding prisoners awaiting trial in Chelmsford.

The Becontree House of Correction had been located in East Street, Barking and served the whole of the Becontree Hundred between 1609 and 1791, incarcerating both “criminals and lunatics”.  It was replaced by a new “House of Correction/Bridewell” in nearby North Street in 1792, but this facility didn’t last long, as it failed to meet standards set for prisons from the 1820s.

Map of Becontree Hundred, soon after Little Ilford Gaol constructed

Early nineteenth-century prison reform

Prompted by prison reformers, including East Ham/Forest Gate’s Elizabeth Fry (see here), Robert Peel’s 1820s tenure as Home Secretary began to rationalise the justice system. The 1823 Gaol Act sought to establish a measure of uniformity throughout prisons in England and Wales. It established health regulations, required room for religious observance, the separation of different categories of prisoners and facilities for imposing hard labour on certain categories of prisoners. 

Early prison reformer, Elizabeth Fry, who lived about 2 miles from Little Ilford gaol and was the mother of the gaol's most prominent "Visiting Magistrate"

The Act directed county magistrates to inspect gaols at least quarterly and demanded that annual reports for each gaol be sent to the Home Secretary.

The Barking House of Correction could not meet the requirements of the 1823 legislation, so the Essex magistrates sought a replacement. It was closed in 1831, and its functions transferred to the newly created Little Ilford gaol. Thus, a community barely larger than a hamlet came to host the only significant prison in Essex outside the main Springfield establishment in the county town of Chelmsford.

Springfield gaol, Chelmsford c1900

Law and order in Britain before 1829 (and the establishment of the Metropolitan Police) were very much hit and miss. The functions were generally in the hands of “constables,” who were often part-time county appointments. Their main function was the collection of county rates.

 They had no detection or preventative responsibilities but did have the powers of arrest and an obligation to pursue felonies reported to them. The initial pursuit of offenders was often assumed to be the injured party's responsibility, who would call upon constables to make the arrests, serve warrants, and move prisoners from place to place (court, prison, transportation, etc.).

Constables also had a responsibility to clamp down on perceived anti-social behaviour and activity and move vagrants from the parish (because they were a drain on local finances). In the absence of locally convenient gaols, they would often be required to accommodate suspects in their own homes, which was something of a disincentive always to arrest perceived offenders.

Unsurprisingly, the convenience of having a local court and goal encouraged prosecution in the neighbourhood, and small towns with their own courts had greater levels of crime recorded than those whose individuals had a long trek to quarter sessions in county towns. (PJR King: Crime, Law and Society in Essex 1740-1820—unpublished Cambridge PhD, 1984).

Impact of Little Ilford gaol on local law and order

Therefore, establishing a gaol and court in Little Ilford meant that the area surrounding the court was more likely to see convictions for various offences than before the goal was constructed.

The 1829 Act establishing the Metropolitan Police brought a more structured approach to law, order, and detection in London—and a subsequent increase in the number of gaols in London. The Act impacted the court and gaol of Little Ilford when, a decade later, the jurisdiction of the Met was extended to incorporate the area covered by the Little Ilford facilities.

Two distinct actions – the establishment of the goal and court and the incorporation into the territory of a detection police force - within a decade, meant that the West Ham area started to record a greater incidence of crime and conviction than it had previously, although the actual level of criminal or anti-social activity may not have changed at all.

Subsequent chapters in this series on the gaol will examine its fifty-year history and how it was managed and overseen on a day-to-day basis, particularly by the “visiting justices” appointed by the Essex Quarter Sessions. The most prominent of them was John Gurney Fry, son of the aforementioned Elizabeth.

The series will conclude with a detailed look at the gaol’s estimated thirty thousand prisoners, their offences, and the conditions in which they were held during their confinements.

 

Forest Gate's arsonists and insurance fraudsters

Forest Gate resident Leopold Harris and his family and associates have played a significant part in shaping how fires are assessed for compensation today following a major trial in 1933. This post is indebted to local resident and fire brigade historian Peter Williams for its inspiration, a major modern insurance-world blog, and a 1930s book for much of its content (see footnote). We are grateful to them for helping to piece together this fascinating tale of intrigue and calumny.

Leopold Harris

The trial of Harris and his gang of fireraisers was one of the newspaper sensations of 1933. A special dock had to be built to accommodate the 17 defendants during the conspiracy case, which was heard at the Old Bailey. It lasted six weeks and was, at the time, the second longest case to have been heard there. Its historical significance cannot be overstated, as it reshaped the insurance industry’s investigation of fires, leading to the creation of the profession of Loss Adjustors.

Harris' childhood family home 531 Romford Road

Harris, the central figure in the story, was born into a middle-class family in Forest Gate, and they lived at 531 Romford Road, E7 (1911 census). His father had founded Harris and Co. as a fire insurance assessor in 1865, and Leopold joined it as a young man, taking over aged 31 in 1925. Assessors attend the site after a major fire and calculate the financial losses that might result from the fire.

Until the early 1930s, fire claims investigations lacked consistency, with competing insurance companies not sharing valuable evidence and data. Harris and his gang took full advantage of this loophole and devised a simple scam.

He established a network of corrupt contacts in Fire Brigades and the Salvage Corps (insurance-funded bodies that worked with the fire service to salvage as much as possible from fires to minimise the size of settlements), nationwide. 

Captain Brynmer Miles MC - a corrupt co-conspirator

Among those Harris bribed in the industry was Captain Brynmer Miles, the London Salvage Corps Chief Officer. Before then, Miles had a distinguished military career (decorated with the MC) and had held senior positions within the London Fire Brigade. Following the stock exchange crash of 1929, he got into financial difficulties, and Harris was there to help him, with bribes. Miles knew of Harris’ crimes and actively worked to cover them up, so that no suspicions were raised or prosecutions took place.

The scams

Harris invested money in a series of businesses—not in his own name—and saw that they were insured for much more than they were worth. Most of the companies he established were supposed to be engaged in wholesale trades such as textiles and stationery, dealing in highly inflammable products. Having overseen the establishment of the firms, he would pay generous sums to the front people who set them up and proceeded with the rest of the scam.

He and others in his gang planned fires on these premises and made themselves available locally when the fires were due. He used his spies (like Miles) in the fire and salvage organisations to tip him off as soon as they became aware of a fire. In some cases, Harris’ people arrived on the fire scene before the fire bodies (!), which put them in a prime position to secure the right to represent the policyholder (complicit in the fraud) in claiming damages.

Camillo Capsoni, conspirator who turned King's evidence

Another arm of his sophisticated team of crooks involved Camillo Vittorio Luigi Capsoni, an Italian with a struggling high-quality silk business. He and Harris’ brother-in-law, Harry Gould, who ran a commercial salvage business near Liverpool Street, would ensure that the premises identified for the fires were filled with cheap, usually inflammable products. 

Capsoni's Italian Silk Company, in a staged photo to show his credibility

One of their first frauds was at Capsoni’s Franco-Italian Silk Company in Oxford Street in 1929. They filled it with cheap products worth less than £3,000 and insured it for ten times the amount. They devised a way of setting fire via a lighted candle trail, which left little trace when the cause of the fire was investigated, allowing the rest of the scam to follow undetected.

The scene at Metro-radio, Manchester after a Harris arson attack

Once the fire destroyed the stock they planted on the premises, they produced false invoices to suggest the burned goods were very high-end products, thus bumping up the scale of the claim. The various arms of the corrupt Harris organisation would share the spoils of the fraud.

Sidney Balcombe (Harris' brother in law, and company secretary) lived at 110 Capel Road, but claimed no knowledge of the scams

Another brother-in-law and witness at the Harris trial was Sidney Balcombe, who lived at 110 Capel Road in Forest Gate in a house owned by Leopold Harris in the 1930s. He was married to Harris’ sister. Though Balcombe was company secretary, he said he knew nothing of the frauds. Their family relationship was to have long-term consequences—see below.

The "talkative" Harry Priest in his fireman's uniform

One of Harris’s co-conspirators, Harry Priest, became too talkative about the frauds and was overheard discussing them in a pub. The conversation came to the attention of William Charles Crocker (later Sir William), a solicitor who specialised in fraud cases.

Sir William Charles Crocker, the anti-Semitic lawyer who tracked down the case and later became Deputy Director of MI5 and President of the Law Society

Capsoni fell out with Harris and helped Crocker put his case together by offering “King’s evidence”. In his biography, Crocker recalled, "I spent half of 1931 and the whole of 1932 deep in such a plot as Edgar Wallace might have used, had he not found the truth of it too tall for fiction.”

There is a further unpleasant twist to this drama. Crocker’s anti-Semitism, which was common among the English middle and upper classes at the time, may have fueled his determination to bring the Harris gang to justice. Harris and most of the key members of his gang were Jewish. Crocker was later involved in several dubious pro-German and anti-Semite groups in the late 1930s, which did not stop him from briefly rising to the position of Deputy Director General of MI5 in 1940 and President of the Law Society.

The trial

Crocker’s painstaking investigations laid the basis for a raid by 40 police on 17 different premises, which uncovered enough evidence to prosecute the trial the Harris gang faced in July/August 1933.

In passing sentence at the end of the lengthy trial, Mr Justice Humphries had the following to say about those who have featured above:

Leopold Harris: “You were the head and front of this conspiracy … You are responsible for the presence in this dock of your fellow co-defendants, and you have pleaded guilty to no less than ten separate cases of arson. The sentence of this court is that you are kept in penal servitude for fourteen years”.

Capt Brynmer Miles: “I feel I should be doing less than my duty if I did otherwise than to send you to penal servitude for four years.”

Camillo Capsoni: Pleaded guilty to 25 charges of arson and fraud and turned King’s evidence. The judge called him “the most destestable type of criminal” whom he regretted he would “be unable to pass sentence, of which he deeply regrets.”

Harry Gould: “Your case has given me much trouble. You were in the conspiracy from start to finish … I had it in mind to pass a sentence of ten years penal servitude.  But the prosecution ….(said that you had been co-operative) ..The sentence therefore, upon you, will be penal servitude for six years.”

Harry Gould - another brother-in-law of Harris' - sentenced to three years for his part in the crimes

Harry Priest: “Your learned counsel described you as a boastful fool. … Your part in the conspiracy was a very substantial one … I sentence you to a term of three years penal servitude.”

The gang was careful to ensure that their arson attacks did not kill or harm people. Had they not done so, the above sentences would have been much more severe and could have included capital punishment.

The Harris gang’s spree of insurance frauds lasted 3-4 years and generated more than £1.5 million in fraudulent claim payments (in excess of £110 million at today’s rates). Harris and co took over 30% of the money as their cut in the scam. Little of the money was recovered.

Aftermath

The diligence by which the scams were conducted led to a serious review of their operations by fire insurance companies and the establishment of the Chartered Institute of Loss Adjusters.

Australian newspaper, The Truth, covers the outcome of the case

As seen from the cutting above from an Australian newspaper, the case gained widespread international attention. It led to the publication of a book, The Fire Raisers, by Harold Dearden, by significant publishers William Heinemann. The following year a feature film of the same name, directed by Michael Powell, was released. It is still available on YouTube (Fire Raisers film).

Fire Raisers - the book

 

 

 

Fire Raisers - the film

Most of the convicted arsonists/fraudsters served only half of their sentences. Harris was the last to leave prison in August 1940, having served just seven years (mainly in Maidstone jail). He returned to the insurance assessor's business on release.

Leopold Harris, with his wife, on his release from prison in 1940

 

In January 1972, Barking MP Tom Driberg urged Scotland Yard to investigate the activities of the then 78-year-old Leopold Harris following a spate of fires in London. Using parliamentary privilege, he claimed that Harris and co were “up to their old tricks of submitting fraudulent claims.”

The litigious Harris strongly denied the claims and challenged Driberg to make them outside of parliament so that they could be actionable under defamation laws. We have been unable to find any follow-up on this exchange. Leopold Harris died in 1983, leaving almost £200,000 in his will.

In yet another twist to this strange tale, Ellis and Buckle, another firm of loss adjustors, decided to republish the 1934 book The Fire Raisers "by arrangement with the copyright holder" (William Heinemann) in 1986, presumably in a bid to discredit their main loss adjusting rival company at the time. 

This was much to the consternation of Harris’ family, who were still running the family business. Amid heavy threats of litigation, the republication ceased after around 1,500 copies had been released.

The Harris family continued to trade as the Harris Claims Group until it merged with its main rivals, Balcombe and Co. (see the Harris-Balcombe family relationship above), in 2008 to form Harris Balcombe. That company currently has three Balcombes and one Harris on its main board.

There is absolutely no claim or suggestion that this company is improper in its business dealings. We are happy to accept their statement that they are: “the oldest and most prestigious claims recovery specialist in the UK.”

Footnote. As mentioned at the top of this post, we are grateful to Harold Dearden’s book The Fire Raisers for much of this article's content and for using most of the photographs. We are also very thankful to David Worsfold of the insurance industry blog The Insurance Post (here) - edition May 2020 - for some of the more recent and contextual information in this article.