Many people thought the young artist, Robert Wood, was fortunate when he was acquitted of the so-called Rising Sun Murder 100 years ago. James Morton looks back at his trial and those who were involved


It is 100 years ago this month that Phyllis Dimmock, a prostitute, was found with her throat cut in her two-room lodgings in Camden Town, north London, which she shared with her common-law husband, Bert Shaw, a railway car attendant. In the lodgings was a letter inviting her to meet a man, also known as Bert, and a postcard with a drawing of a rising sun, suggesting a meeting at that local public house.



Scotland Yard published a copy of the postcard and a talented young artist, Robert Wood, something of a protégé of William Morris, came forward to identify it as his work. He had, he said, met Phyllis in a public house and she had asked him to draw something nice. He was being less than frank. He had almost certainly known her, socially and biblically, for up to 18 months.



He clearly realised he was a suspect because he went to an old flame, Ruby Young, to give him an alibi. She agreed, but then later talked to a journalist friend and went to the police. The evidence in those pre-DNA days was fairly strong, if circumstantial. There were identifying witnesses and Wood had a distinctive walk – his shoulder twitched.



He was defended by the very talented, if crooked, solicitor Arthur Newton, who instructed the great Marshall Hall. It was a rare case where there were two other potential suspects: Shaw, who had a seemingly impregnable alibi as he had been working the night shift on the Sheffield-London run; and another lodger, Robert Roberts.



Hall was at his best, clashing with the judge, Mr Justice Grantham, throwing doubt on the identification, pointing out the poor street lighting and complaining that the prosecution had deliberately not called two witnesses whose evidence helped Wood. Ruby Young, who had been a nurse before becoming what she euphemistically described as an artist’s model, had a torrid time from Newton at the magistrates’ court, but at the Old Bailey Hall handled her more sympathetically, pointing out that the alibi Wood wanted did not cover the time of the murder. Nevertheless, she was the object of a baying crowd that believed she had informed on Wood for the £100 reward offered by the News of the World to anyone who recognised the handwriting on the postcard.



There had been considerable discussion whether the apparently mild-mannered Wood should be called. In the nine years following the Criminal Evidence Act 1898, which allowed an accused to give evidence on his or her own behalf, no defendant who exercised that right had been acquitted. Newton and Marshall Hall were against Wood giving evidence, arguing that he was ‘raving mad’ and would give a poor showing. Hall’s junior, Wellesley Orr, was convinced he should. ‘He’ll swing if you don’t call him,’ he said. Throughout his period on remand and during the trial, Wood spent his time drawing a series of cartoons and sketches. One was of Newton playing poker for Wood’s life with a police officer who kept his cards under the table.



In fact, Newton, Hall and Orr were all correct in their thoughts on calling Wood. He made a dreadful witness, refusing to answer the simplest question in a direct manner. When first asked if he had killed Phyllis, he simply smiled. But he had charm, and 65 of his workmates were prepared to come to say he was the office pet and incapable of violence.



The judge, who had been hostile to the defence throughout the trial, suddenly had a volte face during the summing-up and told the jurors that, in his opinion, although there was suspicion, there was no evidence. Wood was acquitted in 15 minutes.



Many thought that Wood was fortunate – author Leonard Gribble included him in his book ‘They got away with Murder’. Some thought he was schizoid and had killed Phyllis because he was revolted at finding himself in bed with a prostitute. Others thought Shaw, who claimed he did not know Phyllis had worked as a prostitute, resented her relationship with Wood and, despite his alibi, could have jumped off the train on which he had been serving outside St Pancras station.



Wood went to Australia. Marshall Hall continued to be the supreme criminal advocate of his era, dying in February 1926. The dapper Newton survived Marshall Hall by a mere five years. Newton, who had already served a prison sentence for his part in suborning witnesses in the Cleveland Street homosexual brothel case, later acted for Crippen. For his conduct in that case – producing a false death cell confession for a newspaper – he was suspended by the Law Society. In 1913, he served four years’ imprisonment for his part in a land fraud. His son took over his practice but it soon folded. On his release, Newton opened a rather dubious marriage agency, matching the wealthy nouveau rich with the daughters of the impoverished aristocracy.



Ruby Young, the object of great crowd hostility, was smuggled out of the Bailey dressed as a charwoman. She later lived for 20 years with a rogue clergyman, the Rev Basil Andrews, whom she met on the London train from Beckenham. After that, she married a journalist. And the Rev Basil? In 1955, he had more than his allotted 15 minutes in the public eye when he gave perjured evidence on behalf of the Soho gangleader Jack Spot, accused of wounding another Soho figure, Albert Dimes, in a knife fight. Following Basil’s untimely intervention, both were acquitted and the affray became known as the ‘Fight that never was’.



James Morton is a former criminal law specialist solicitor and now a freelance journalist