THE TERROR OF SPRING HEELED JACK...

This Halloween evening the VV may stay in, sitting safely beside the fire while sipping an innocuous cup of tea - and reading through some pages of her novel, Elijah's Mermaid,in which one of the characters warns of the dangers that lurk below London's streets -




The VV assures you each word is true; and that she herself nearly died of fright when accosted last year by Spring Heeled Jack.

It occurred after visiting old friends (a most delightful evening, with apple bobbing and popping nuts, and staring into mirrors to see the face of one's true love), and when it was time to venture home, rather than hailing a hansom cab, the VV decided to take the air, walking alone through the narrow streets.

Oh, what a foolish decision that was, for with the air so murky and thick and no sign of the moon then shining down to afford the faintest glimmer of light, the VV found herself quite lost; chilled to the very core of her bones when so closely wrapped in that shrouding fog. She could have imagined herself anywhere, even the wilds of Exmoor, and that sudden, hot, panting breath on her cheek that caused every fibre of flesh on her body to prickle and shiver with fear - why, it might be the Hound of the Baskervilles!

When the VV dared to stop and turn, as the drifts of fog began to part, she heaved an enormous sigh of relief, for she saw no rabid beast at her side, only an elegant  gentleman attired in a long black evening cloak. But – oh – when he lifted his face and arms, when the cloth of that outer garment was spread, she would swear it was the devil himself come in place of the hell hound Cerberus.

Even now she might faint to recall his eyes, two fierce, round balls of gleaming fire –and how, when he opened his mouth to laugh, a torrent of blue and white flames flared out, and so rank and thick with the phosphorous she could hardly gasp for the scorching gag that paralysed and caught her throat. And there the terror did not end.

His body was clad revealingly, in some sort of tight white oilskin. Upon his head were two black horns. At the end of every fingertip was a long claw of metal, filed sharp as a knife. And then, with the VV about to collapse, with the hands of that demon reaching out and shredding her outer garments to ribbons, when he touched her exposed and trembling flesh, his own was as clammy and cold as a corpse - at which point she finally found her voice, letting out a piercing scream that, luckily, stunned her assailant a while – just long enough for some residents to hear them and open their house front doors - at which the monster leered once more before jumping at least twenty feet in the air, clearing the railings of a park as if he had grown two wings to fly - just as if he had springs in the soles of his feet.

You may laugh at such a description now. You may ask if the VV had perhaps been drinking a little too greedily of her friend’s very good Madeira wine. But then, she was not the only soul to witness the terror of Jack that night. 

Attempting to avoid the fiend when he suddenly ran into the road, a coachman almost crashed his cab, later describing the shock he'd had when seeing the fiend's vile features, and hearing his spine-chilling  laughter. In Kensington, Hammersmith, and Ealing too, several servant girls were traumatised – some wounded and scarred by the touch of his claws, one of them taking to bed for a week when the horror brought on a delirious fit. Many newspapers carried the daunting reports that in Stockwell, Brixton, and Camberwell innocent women were dying of fright. By April 1838, The Times wrote, if somewhat tongue in cheek, that ‘Spring Heeled Jack has, it seems, found his way to the Sussex coast’ where a gardener in Brighton met some cruel growling creature which then leapt over a high brick wall – though on closer investigation it may have been that the witness in question had found himself startled by a dog.

Whether Spring Heeled Jack was real, or the result of an urban rumour put about by some - ahem - unscrupulous types, the tales of his exploits were very soon spread, and those razor sharp claws at the ends of his hands took their hold on Victorian imaginations, creating a mass hysteria during which several police searches were made, even with requests for the Lord Mayor of London to help in ensuring the ghoul's apprehension.

Even so, Jack refused to fade away. Fictionalised accounts of his ever more daring exploits became a regular feature in some of the popular Penny Dreadfuls. Local theatres held dramatisations, and the character was even incorporated into children's Punch and Judy shows – with many a naughty boy or girl warned that the bogeyman, Spring Heeled Jack, might be sent to peer through their windows at night should they continue to misbehave.

So, remember, as the nights draw in, lock your doors and draw your curtains shut. And, if you must walk through gloomy streets beware any gentlemen coming too near. Dear ladies, take heed of this advice. Keep your virtue and your wits intact. Avoid the glare of fiery eyes.