London Falling

Grace is falling into fear
Find your god, the end is near
Slinking, seething evil speaks
Into your life, this evil creeps

7 September 1888

I should never have followed in my father’s footsteps. I could have been a rogue poet or drunken writer, scrawling things down that the only the likes of Shakespeare or Browning would comprehend. I should have run far away and wallowed in a life of self-deprivation and immorality. I could have taken up the life of a tramp or street performer like those I see each night line the walkways and alleys beckoning me to come partake of what they have to offer my eyes. Only pence to look upon those that God himself has forgotten. Instead I succumbed to the pressures of my family and went to the University at Oxford, where my father before me had learned his trade and his father before him. I was to be a respectable gentleman. I chose to come to Whitechapel as a bane to my father’s well wishes for me and to better the London I loved so much as a boy. I have failed to change Whitechapel at all since I arrived. However, Whitechapel has changed me as a man considerably. I had hoped that a fine doctor with a gentlema n’s education could somehow uplift these people, I was wrong.

As of this afternoon I no longer have a reason to stay in this ramshackle district. I have been absolved of my duties at the Royal London Hospital. Tonight I shall waste the evening in the public houses in the company of the people who ruined me. I think I shall take another whore from the streets. Yes, I think I would like that.

__________

Darkened dreams have left you here
Promise still rings in your ears
Haunted by the come of day
At night you waste your life away

8 September 1888

The Ten Bells was rather quiet last evening. It was quite late when I finally left it; I do not recall the hour. Though I’m sure, diary, that it is of no consequence to you. I have a confession to make though; I have been a bad doctor again. I can’t help but laugh now at the mockery of my profession that I have become. I do find it ironic that now that they have left me to the streets of Whitechapel that I have become its street surgeon.

In the back yard of 29 Hanbury Street I shined like a beacon of medical prowess that Hippocrates would have been astounded to behold. She did not struggle much; I believe within her was a voice screaming for this end. Even she knew there was nowhere left to go in her life. I had seen this woman before this night. She resided at the Dorsey Street lodging house I believe. I am afraid, diary, that I do not recall her name. The paper will tell us tomorrow. I wonder will the detectives observed my symbolism in what organs I removed; I wonder if the paper will report it accurately. I’m sure though, that they will report it as a barbaric crime. I can’t blame them; they are too simple to understand what it is I do.

I have decided that in the absence of gainful employment that this coming week would be a good time to travel to Canterbury. I’m sure that my family will be delighted to hear that I will be coming back to where I rightfully belong. I have already planned to call on Lizzie. Perhaps she will accompany me to the theater. I have heard wonderful things about "The Union Jack". I have not seen a play of this caliber since I left Oxford. It will be a nice change from the burlesque shows and raunchy adaptations of Shakespeare one sees around here.