Nominated BEST BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST, 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, Crime & Investigation Channel's Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week.
Welcome to the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, all set within and beyond the West End.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-THREE:
On Tuesday 11th August 1936, at roughly noon, in the basement flat of 7 Roseford Gardens in Shepherd’s Bush, 66-year-old widow Elizabeth Fortescue was smothered to death, as her attacker ransacked her flat. Given the violence used against her, the Police suspected “she had died at the hands of a violent man”. But how true was that?
THE LOCATION:
The location is marked with a bright yellow symbol of a bin just by the words 'Shepherd's Bush' kin the west of the map. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other maps, click here.
SOURCES: (a selection)
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: Welcome to Murder Mile. Today, I’m standing by Roseford Court in Shepherd’s Bush, W12; three streets east of the savaged prince, opposite the Shoebox Killer’s last attack, next door to the petrol station where the First Date killer had a body in a boot, and three streets north of the bongo basher - coming soon to Murder Mile. Built in 1968, on the south side of Shepherd’s Bush Green stands a block of flats called Roseford Court. Named after the road demolished to make way for it, Roseford Gardens was a quaint set of Victorian terraces where everybody probably suffered from TB, rickets, typhoid and had a tooth between them. In 1936, the basement flat of 7 Roseford Gardens was home to 66-year-old widow Elizabeth Fortescue, an unassuming woman who went about her life without grumbling or causing a fuss. She did right by those she lived with and deserved to live and long and happy life. And yet, by opening her door to a person of pure evil, it was said “she died at the hands of a violent man”. But how true was that? My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 273: A ‘Bad’ Man. Elizabeth Fortescue was born Elizabeth Ada Coker on the Hallow’s Eve of October 1869 as one of two sisters to working-class couple, William & Sarah Coker. Raised in Marylebone and living local most her life, she was a Londoner through and through and rarely saw beyond the same streets in her early days. Her life wasn’t tragic or sad, as although far from well-off, she was rich in spirit, as all she craved was the simple comforts in life; like a roaring fire, a homecooked meal, her bills paid and a neat house. As a woman who took pride in her appearance, although some suggested she looked a little frumpy, she always blacked the ironwork of her fire, and proudly washed her doorstep every Saturday without fail. Burdened by a stern expression and the stout frame of a woman who wasn’t to be messed with, her ‘no nonsense’ exterior belied her truth about Elizabeth. She wasn’t tough but hardened by a lifetime of hard graft. She wasn’t grumpy, but (rightly) only let into her life those she trusted. And although a woman of solitude with few friends, she was full of kindness, love and would do anything for anyone. In 1894, aged 25, she met and fell in love with Alfred Cecil Fortschunk, a Londoner whose work often took him to Ireland, and as his new bride, she followed him to Dublin and later to Pontypridd in Wales. Little is known of their life together, but by 1917, with the First World War having ravaged Europe and with Britain rife with anti-German sentiment, the royal family changed their name from the Germanic Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to Windsor as did Albert & Elizabeth Fortschunk who became Mr & Mrs Fortescue. Married for 26 years, in December 1920 when Albert died, Elizabeth was left with no home, no savings, and with no children to look after her in her later years, she had to make do with a widow’s pension of just 10s a week (about £25 today), but being frugal and hardworking, she ploughed on with her life. Into her sixties, whereas many woman had retired, unable to do so, she travelled the breadth of the country earning an honest wage as a food demonstrator, as blessed with a pleasant demeanour, she bestowed upon the housewives of Britain’s towns and cities the value of canned and powdered goods. It was long hours and hard work, but as a single woman on a pitiful pension, it kept her alive and well. By 1928, she moved into a two-roomed basement flat at 7 Roseford Gardens in a three storey Victorian terrace which (having seen better days) was cheap. To make it affordable, she split the rent with her sister, but with Louise moving out in 1932 owing to a falling out, Elizabeth took in a series of lodgers. She was a good woman who never did wrong… …and yet it was a good deed she did for a friend which left her for dead. From 2nd of July to 19th of August 1936, the landlady Anna Blades was on holiday. Needing someone reliable and honest, she asked Elizabeth to collect the rent on her behalf, having done it before. On Sunday 9th August 1936, two days before her death, she had collected £4 18s in rent from Celia Rowe on the second floor, Alexander Wills on the first, she (of course) paid her own, and as was standard, she placed the money in an envelope, popped it in a portmanteau case, and stashed it under the table. It was hardly Fort Knox, but who would break into a flat in the hope a few quid hidden in a box? Being broke, but a nice lady, Elizabeth gave her new lodgers - Alfred Stratford and his girlfriend – a day’s grace to pay 11 shillings having rented out her front room, and she went about her day. Monday was as uneventful, as was the Tuesday. That morning, she woke early as she always did, she made a cuppa, she cleaned her small single room, she shook and beat the rugs in the garden, and she began washing a mountain of laundry, only to be interrupted by Leslie Windmill, an engineer of the Gas, Light & Coke Company who at 11:20am installed a water boiler and was done in 20 minutes. That was the last time she was seen alive, but she was heard returning to her washing. As a solitary woman who kept to herself, it wasn’t uncommon not to see or hear her for hours or days. By the Thursday though, with milk bottles piling up outside of her door, and getting no reply from the flat, Mrs Rowe’s husband peeped in through her bedroom window, and was shocked by what he saw. The investigation was headed up by Detective Inspector Rawlings. The motive was obvious from the outset, it was a simple case with a likely suspect. The flat consisted of the lodger’s room, a passage and a scullery, all of which were untouched. Yet her tiny room, barely 8 feet square with just a sofa bed, a table, a dresser and a fireplace had been ransacked and trashed. Every drawer had been searched, every cupboard had been opened and with the culprit clearly looking for something specific, everything was in disorder. On the small side table, two handbags and a purse were open, their contents spread. On the sofa bed, a suitcase had been forced and emptied. And on the main table, the portmanteau case was broken open and the envelopes of rent money missing. Elizabeth didn’t have jewellery or heirlooms, all she had was a cash tin in her dresser with £3 and 17s, almost as much as the rent itself, which the culprit missed. But they might not have known about it? What was stolen was barely enough money to last one person a week, yet it was worth killing her for. In front of the door lay what looked like a bundle of old clothes still to be washed, only its shape was akin to an Egyptian mummy wrapped in all of its bandages from the day it had been entombed. Police Surgeon Dr Ernest Travers would state “the body was trussed up from head to foot with various articles of clothing, dusters, rags, etc”, with the top half of a pyjama suit still in the scullery sink, damp. “Her ankles were bound with sheets, also her knees, wrists and elbows tight to her sides” as someone had strived to keep this short but stoutly built woman still as she struggled to fight herself free. Underneath, her face was a bloody swollen mess, as keen to keep her silent, her brutal assailant had slammed their fist hard into her face, breaking her nose and rupturing the left eye till the pupil blew. Knocking her to the floor, and leaving her back, legs and arms a patchwork of thick black bruises, at least one of those punches had dislodged her dentures, and caused her to bite down on her tongue. But as scared and overpowered as she was, this proud and resolute woman never gave up the fight. Wrapped so tight she was immovable, as overkill, her attacker had wrapped her pyjama trousers about her face and neck to silence her, cutting a deep groove in her skin the more she struggled. Over that was wrapped a thick duster, over that a large cotton sheet, and over that a blue woollen jumper; an inch of several layers of material, and with some wet or damp, it was akin to being waterboarded. Dr Travers said “she couldn’t have breathed for very long with those things tied over her mouth”. And although bound, as she struggled to emit a muffled scream for help, unable to render her unconscious with a heavy blow, several times her head was slammed against the hard wooden floor with so much force and violence that the pathologist couldn’t tell if she had been beaten to death with a hammer. Unable to move, scream and barely breathe, it took a full 30 minutes for Elizabeth to die, as every pained breath got shallower and weaker, and with no-one having heard her, she died alone and afraid. Her death was tragic… …but for the police, the suspect was obvious. Given the violence against her, they were looking for a man. Having searched her room for the rent money, it was likely that he knew her. With no signs of a break-in, he was believed to be a resident. And with the front room untouched and only one set of fingerprints found on the ransacked items (her handbag, purse, suitcase and the portmanteau case), with her new lodger missing since the day of her murder, a manhunt was on to arrest Alfred Stratford. Warnings were issued at every station and port that he was violent and dangerous. But who was this ‘bad man’? Born on the 3rd of October 1895 in East London, Alfred was the eldest son of George & Ruth Stratford, and bar a brief stint in Saskatchewan aged 3, his life was mostly spent in Dalston or Bethnal Green. When assessed following his arrest, his psychiatric report states “he is poorly educated and struggles to read being of below average intelligence”, when in truth, his low IQ and his mental (and sometimes) physical slowness was attributed to a 13-year bout of epilepsy exacerbated by a dog attack as a child. Deemed fit and strong, he earned a good living as a labourer, and having married his sweetheart Emily Wheeler when he was aged just 20, across their marriage he fathered seven children with her, but like so many parents in that era, two died too early, with James aged 9, and George barely even a toddler. By 1914, with the outbreak of the First World War, Alfred was enlisted as a Private in the Royal Sussex Regiment – to do his bit and earn a good wage for his family - and although not a leader, as a soldier who was fit, brave and could take simple orders and undertake them to the fullest, he flourished. On 11th of November 1918, the last day of the war, Alfred fought in the brutal Battle of Mons, a bloody fight to liberate the Belgian town from the Germans. Deemed a success which led to this hero awarded the British War and Victory medals, having been shelled, the next 11 years of his life were spent in and out of hospital, as even after many operations and bone grafts, his left forearm was badly deformed. Shipped home to Dalston, being unable to continue working as a labourer, he was forced to support his family on the few pounds he could make, and a pitiful disability pension of just 16 shillings a week. Later assessed as a ‘desperate criminal’, who having been trained to kill was ruthless and aggressive, his motive was money. But although mentally slow, he showed no signs of insanity or trauma and with no criminal record, it didn’t seem like he had gone bad. Besides, he wasn’t a leader… but a follower. So what was his motive? In 1933, while living at 191 Quinn Square in Bethnal Green with his wife and children, 38-year-old Alfred caught the eye of his neighbour, 16-year-old factory-hand Mary-Ann Flynn. As an attractive girl with a short black hair, bright red lipstick and a mesmerising smile, Alfred was instantly smitten. It was wrong, and he knew it, and although his family needed him, in 1936, when she was 19, they eloped. Whether it was love, we shall never know, but whereas he was mentally slow and some say easily led, as a girl who wanted more than life was willing to give her, others say she was manipulative and cruel. On Sunday 2nd of August 1936, just nine days before, Alfred & Mary-Ann committed a violent attack on a lone woman, which has some haunting similarities to the brutal murder of Elizabeth Fortescue. For a few months, Mary-Ann was the maid to Florence Gaze, affluent heir to the Gaze Drapery empire who lived with her siblings at 13 Middleton Road in Golders Green. With their modest house full of silk sheets and jewellery, 24 hours earlier, Mary-Ann had loaded up a suitcase, swiped £6, and fled with the plan to elope with her lover. But needing more money, she returned with a different plan. Florence Gaze later recalled, “I went to the door and the caller was Mary-Ann”, standing there without an ounce of remorse for the theft. “She said she had come for her clothes, so I asked her in”. Florence saw this as a chance not to accuse her, only to ask why, but what she didn’t see was this was a ploy. “I was talking to her in the hall when the bell rang again”, only she was expecting no-one. “I opened the door and saw a shabbily dressed young man. Before I had time to say anything, he seized me with both hands, and threw me to the floor”, badly bruising her back, arms and legs. Fighting to hold her down with his deformed left arm, “he tried to gag me with a blouse. I called out to Mary-Ann who I thought was helping me”, only she wasn’t, “instead, I discovered she was the one holding my wrists”. Florence was overpowered by Mary-Ann, as Alfred started to ransack the room. “For a time, I lay on the floor with a cloth in my mouth”, gagged and struggling to breath. “Somehow, I managed to get to my feet and ran along the second passage towards the kitchen. I got the cloth out of my mouth and I began talking to Mary-Ann. She said ‘I met this man and he made me do it’. I asked him to let me sit up but he struck me a blow which sent my head against the wall, but although I was very frightened, before I lost consciousness, I ran out of the house”, fleeing over the fence and alerting the police. Florence Gaze was lucky to be alive, as although this gruesome twosome frequently shifted the blame between each other, and sometimes took the blame exonerating their lover, with the police having set up a man hunt for this “bad man and his accomplice”, the couple had headed to Shepherd’s Bush. That day, seeing an advert in the newsagent’s window for a room to let at 7 Roseford Gardens, Alfred paid a small deposit, and the couple moved in, with the latest victim in their spree in the next room. Elizabeth had no idea about their crimes, she thought they were a couple in love. And seeing that they had no luggage and were short of a few bob, she would do her best to help them as best she could. But was her killing really the fault of this ‘bad’ man? When arrested, Mary-Ann confessed in full. She said “towards the end of the week, we didn’t have any money. Alfred said we may as well go to the police station and give ourselves up for leaving home”, as he knew he would be arrested for deserting his family, as well as the assault on Florence Gaze. That night, on Sunday 9th of August 1936, Elizabeth sat in her room supping tea with her friend, Mrs Gould, as Mary-Ann passed the slightly ajar scullery door, “when I went to the sink I saw her with some envelopes of money on the table”. And although just a passing glance, this evil seed grew a cruel oak. “I told Alfred what I’d seen, and I suggested we take it. He said ‘no’, he didn’t like the idea”, but by the Tuesday, when Elizabeth’s boiler was fitted, he was onboard, having either been pestered or smitten. “I put the idea to Alf that we should attack her as she was at the sink washing”, as with her back turned she wouldn’t be unnerved by a petite young girl with a sweet voice and rosebud lips. “I said I should speak to her, then he should come out with a duster and tie it around her mouth”, which he did. Only the plan went wrong from the very start, as she was an over-eager girl with greed on her mind, and the gag slipped off as he was a slow-witted veteran who fumbled owing to a badly deformed arm. “All the time she was screaming”, fighting to get free and terrified for her life. “I sent him to get some more cloths to gag her” and grabbing a stack from the sink, many were damp having just been washed. “I was holding her down with my hand over her mouth and a cloth to keep her quiet, she was struggling with me, trying to pull the cloths from her mouth and she bit my fingers terribly”, so with a violent rage mistakenly attributed to brutal man, not a seemingly feeble girl, “I hit her in the face and banged her head on the floor”, as they trussed her up like a mummy, so she couldn’t move, speak or breathe. “As I was holding her down. I said to him ‘leave me with her, you look for the money’”, which is why the police never found any of her fingerprints in Elizabeth’s room, as like her loyal servant, he went looking for the loot, ransacking the room, as Mary-Ann stopped this suffocating woman from fleeing. “I shouted to Alf ‘have you got it yet?”, directing his hand to the portmanteau case, and grabbing the cash, they had brief moment of conscience, asking (Mary-Ann) “what shall we do, leave her like this?”, (Alfred) “is she all right?”, (Mary-Ann) “yes, we’ll get caught if we stay”. And later confessing, “she was still struggling when we left her. We shut both doors to her flat, went upstairs and out the front door”, knowing that she was alive and breathing, but that no-one would find her until it was too late. “We went to Shepherd’s Bush”, by which time Elizabeth’s strength had begun to fail her, “and we got a bus to Fenchurch Street Station”. And as the giggling lovers counted their haul of £5 and 10s (£600 today), Elizabeth breathed her last, as muffled by a mountain of cloths, she uttered her death rattle. “Then we got a train and went to Southend”, where they stayed for two weeks, enjoying the sun, the sea, the sand, and not eloping (as being married, Alfred couldn’t), but seeing this as their honeymoon. As the two lovers frolicked and guffawed, the police were already on the hunt for a ‘bad’ man, but no-one had suspected that the killer could be a ‘bad’ woman, and this bias would dog the investigation. Their capture and arrest was simple, as being creatures of habit, they returned to East London. Dubbed ‘a danger’, on the 3rd of October at 1:15pm, Alfred was spotted by DCI Rawlings at a bus stop by the corner of Kingsland Road and Dalston Lane. Asking “is your name Stratford?’, replying “yes”, before he could be arrested, he interjected “alright, I know”, and was taken to Dalston Police station. Deemed less important, as in court they would paint her as a stupid little girl who was obsessed with a ‘bad’ man – asking Albert who wasn’t the sharpest, “have you the slightest doubt that this girl worships the ground you walk on… and would willingly have lay down her life to save you?” – Mary-Ann was found in their new lodging at 106 Greenwood Road in Hackney and made a full confession. And yet, although Albert was bundled into a van and roughly manhandled, Mary-Ann was given time to wash, dress, and while prettying herself before the ogling constables, possibly she crafted her story. Mary-Ann gave a lengthy statement covering several pages, claiming “I want to make a clean breast of the whole thing to get it off my mind”, which formed most of what you’ve just heard. When handed it, Alfred apologised, saying “it might take a while, I read very slowly” and eventually added “it is all true, absolutely true what she says. It’s no good me saying anything, she’s said all that’s true”. And that was the bulk of his statement, he had nothing to add, edit, and it’s likely he didn’t understand it. Tried at the Old Bailey on the 19th of November 1936, with Mary-Ann’s statement declared as invalid, as the police had failed to correctly caution her, the testimony of both culprits became invaluable. And yet, as he changed his story to protect her, she denied any violence against the victim, and said her confession was made “to shield him and take the blame. He is the only man I have ever loved”. But was this the truth to save him, or a lie to save herself? With the judge declaring “the jury took a merciful view of her. There was no doubt that she was aiding Stratford, and but for her assistance, it is probable that Mrs Fortescue wouldn’t have been killed”, Alfred was sentenced to death for his crime, while Mary-Ann was sentenced to just 8 years in prison. So sympathetic were they to her, that when Alfred was condemned to death, Mary-Ann was ushered out of the court to spare her this “terrible ordeal… as for the rest of her life, she will have the sorrow that she will never again in life see the man she loved”, treating her as if she was the real victim. But some sympathy did fall on Alfred. With the jury recommending mercy, his sentence was reduced to life, and serving nine years in Maidstone Prison, released in 1945, he died in 1971 at the age 75. The press said that “justice was served”, and yet, there would be one more death before the year was out. Sent to Holloway, on 14th May 1937, five months into her sentence, Mary-Ann died in the prison hospital. Conceived on their honeymoon, she had carried Alfred’s child to full-term, but with her too weak to survive this painful birth, she died when her baby daughter was only 32 hours old. Said to have been adopted, somewhere a woman exists, hopefully having lived a good life and blissfully unaware that her birth was owing to a brief but bloody union between a ‘bad’ man and a ‘bad’ woman. The Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast has been researched using the original declassified police investigation files, court records, press reports and as many authentic sources as possible, which are freely available in the public domain, including eye-witness testimony, confessions, autopsy reports, first-hand accounts and independent investigation, where possible. But these documents are only as accurate as those recounting them and recording them, and are always incomplete or full of opinion rather than fact, therefore mistakes and misrepresentations can be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast is a 'dramatisation' of the events and not a documentary, therefore a certain amount of dramatic licence, selective characterisation and story-telling (within logical reason and based on extensive research) has been taken to create a fuller picture. It is not a full and complete representation of the case, the people or the investigation, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity, speed and the drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, and therefore it will contain a certain level of bias and opinion to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated. Murder Mile is just one possible retelling of each case. Murder Mile does not set out to cause any harm or distress to those involved, and those who listen to the podcast or read the transcripts provided should be aware that by accessing anything created by Murder Mile (or any source related to any each) that they may discover some details about a person, an incident or the police investigation itself, that they were unaware of.
1 Comment
Kay
9/1/2025 17:58:20
Her baby passed away aged 6 months
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AuthorMichael J Buchanan-Dunne is a crime writer, podcaster of Murder Mile UK True Crime and creator of true-crime TV series. Archives
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