Camberwell's Night Choke, Proper Daft
Category: Garrotters Alley 16th June 2026
Right then. This one is about James Thackeray, who in 1868 decided he'd try making a living by strangling blokes in the dark and taking their watches. Sounds like a daft idea now. Back then the papers ate it up. I was mooching about facts and it reads like someone tried to invent a more awkward way to make pocket money.
The story goes he picked a man on Camberwell Road, muscled up close in a ginnel and slipped a scarf round the poor sod's neck. Proper mingin' scene. The victim fought, of course, but the neck's a delicate job and he lost his Newtons while Thackeray nicked the watch and scarpered. He tried to peg it, but his haste made him clumsy. The dibble turned up quick. There was blood on his boots and a dodgy alibi. Bobbins excuses don't hold up when the bench has a list of witnesses who saw the whole lamp-lit mess.
The trial was the sort of absolute scenes that makes folks in the back of the court lean in and whisper. Thackeray had been nabbed before for assault. The jury looked fed up. I mean, that's the thing. People act surprised the law catches repeat nonsense. Give over.
Magistrates read the evidence like they'd been handed a soggy butty. The papers called it a reign of terror for a week and then moved on to a scandal about pie shops. Thackeray got his sentence. Proper heavy. He wasn't chuffed. No one in the dock ever looks chuffed, do they.
What strikes me is how small this all was. One bloke's greed, one man's night ruined, a crowd having their tea and scoops across the street, and the whole city pretends it's a problem of morals. It was rank then. It's rank now. Still, the courtroom felt oddly sorted by the end. Everyone went home. Some poor soul lost a watch. Thackeray went somewhere less fun. That's the lot.