S1 E9: The Ballad of Kate Eddowes

elbowing for a view of the drop. She earns her living writing songs and singing them on the streets, and she's seen many a new snap tight around a villain's neck. Because nothing sells quite as well as ballads about murderers and Hali. Kate's wandering itinerant ways will eventually take her to a neighborhood gripped by fear of a shadowy serial killer, but she will not turn his deeds into a profitable song. Instead, her voice will be among those silenced forever. I'm Hallie Rubbin.

Hold you're listening to Bad Women. The Ripper retold, a series about the real lives of the women killed by Jack the Ripper and how we got their stories so wrong. One side, Money Plenty and friends too by the sky. Then fortune smilder. Upon me I naw One passmder Sees to lime con Rock, the Eddows family crowded onto an open topped canal boat, burdened with baskets and bundles and

whimpering little ones. They were heading a hundred miles south from Wolverhampton to London, and though a journey by train would have been far quicker and more comfortable, such a convenience was beyond their means, so instead they piled into the narrow vessel among other passengers and an awkward cargo

of barrels and boxes. Slowly, the familiar industrial landscape of their hometown, the smoking furnace, chimneys and heaps of mining waste, would have transformed into the strange new scenery of rural England, green and yellow fields, bright with wild flowers, ancient churches

and country estates. These novel sights would have kept the five eldest Eddo's children occupied, but the youngest child, Kate, was scarcely nine months old, far too young to comprehend the change of scenery or the circumstances that had forced the family to leave their hometown in the first place. Kate's father, George had run into some trouble. A skilled tin plate worker, George had been active in his local union. After he led a strike, his employer had him prosecuted

for agitating among his fellow workers. For his offenses, George did two months hard labor, and upon his release he would have realized that he was blacklisted from working in his hometown, so he sought employment in London. George settled his wife, Katherine and their six children not far from

the Stinking Thames waterfront, were the canal both docked. If George had been the father of a more modest collection of children, this move to London might have brought the family a degree of comfort and the opportunity for his sons and daughters to rise in society. As a skilled tinplate worker, George could earn well in the capital city, and he was entitled to a better rate of pay than many of the general laborers who populated his neighborhood.

But for working class families like his household, income ebbed and flowed according to the number of earners under a roof, and the burden of six children soon blocked any route to improvement for the working class woman, in particular, earning potential would be crippled by the onset of childbearing and domestic obligation, and women from large families were often trapped

in inescapable cycles of poverty. Women and girls were significantly less likely to be able to obtain the level of skill at which working class wages start to be good. A working class girl would be pulled out of school as soon as she was old enough to look after her younger siblings, says social historian Sarah Wise, passing these duties on to the next child in line. She might then have taken up a job at the very bottom

of the pile. She may be able to do things like work in a factory, or perhaps be a domestic servant. Upon marriage, she will almost immediately become a mother, and then she will be reliant on a male wage. But until the eldest child is in its turn old enough to start going out to work to contribute to the family budget, that's the point at which a family is really struggling. Sometimes women combined work with the noise and

chaos of childcare. Mothers might perform low skilled assembly work at home, making matchboxes or sewing together clothing, for example, but their earnings would be small. This was the bleak future that lay before Kate and her sisters, just as it described the life of their mother. Access to contraception might have transformed the lives of these women, who were starved of any opportunities beyond mind numbing chores and nursing

their wailing offspring. By the nineteenth century, social reformers had published works on methods for restricting family size. These varied from reusable condoms known as French letters constructed from sheep's gut, to contraceptive wards pieces of wool or sponge, perhaps soaked in vinegar, that were inserted before sex. While basic contraceptive information was discreetly conveyed to the literate middle classes, the working classes were left in the dark, perpetual childbearing, plead,

the lot of being a working class wife. All this took its toll on the well being of women like Kate's mother. The ranks of the Eddo's family continued to swell even after the move to London. By eighteen fifty four, Kate's mother had given birth an exhausting twelve times. Every new arrival meant less food on the table for everyone, thinner soup, smaller chunks of bread and evermore water down milk.

Surely our heartbreaking process of rationing for a mother, As one maternal rights campaigner of the era noted, if there is saving to be done, it is not the husband and children, but the mother who makes her meal off the scraps which remain or plays with the meatless bones. Kate's mother would have been expected to be the first to go hungry, even if she was pregnant or breastfeeding.

She would also have been engaged in domestic labor into the moment of each child's birth, and was probably back at the scrubbing, cooking, and heavy lifting within days of her delivery. This could have serious health repercussions, including hemorrhages,

severe vericos veins, and crippling back problems. Managing an army of offspring presented practical hardships, but it also seems that Kate's parents wanted better for their children, and they chose Kate, possibly aged as young as six, to attend the esteemed Dowgate School. This institution was run by a charity, and it offered a rigorous and focused education to the area's poor children. Kate would also have learned music and singing here.

It would have been an honor to have a child at this school, though why precisely her parents selected Kate for this privilege is unknown. Perhaps she demonstrated a particular spark and intelligence which set her apart from her brothers and sisters. The intention of the Dowgate School was to create a better sort of working class person, one who would go forth into the labor force, dignified, clean, thoughtful, and obedient or the same. It did not offer its

girls the same kind of opportunities as its boys. Boys were groomed for placements in engineering, architecture and in banks. Girls, meanwhile, were prepared for roles in, of course, domestic service. The boys are being taught to be future breadwinners, on the understanding that they will have families and they will be looking after their wives and their children. Even the Delgate School's pathway to betterment was part of a structure that intended women to be dependent upon a male wage earner

and to endure all the accompanying insecurity. The problem with the ideal is that so often it didn't work out. Marriages fail, breadwinners die, breadwinners scarpa, breadwinners get put into prison, leaving single women either on their own or with children. Childhood for the sons and daughters of the Victorian laboring classes was fleeting, often curtailed abruptly by family circumstances. When Kate entered her early teens, she lost her mother to tuberculosis.

Death at just forty two was hardly unusual for a woman of her class. Less than two years later, George followed his wife to the grave. The ten Eddo's children were now without parents. While Kate's elder sisters were able to either marry or find employment, the youngest children had to be dispatched to the dreaded Workhouse as orphans. But what to do with fifteen year old Kate. This was a source of anxiety for her eldest siblings. Her sister

Emma recalled, we wished especially to get her away. Kate's aunt and uncle, who lived back in Wolverhampton, agreed to take her in, and she soon found herself on a train, leaving behind all she had ever known for a place she did not remember, to live among strangers with whom she shared nothing but a surname. Whether Kate had any say in this move was doubtful, but it would ultimately determine the course of the rest of her life. The

rippery told will be back in a moment. Kate's train sped away from London and into the deadened, scorched landscape of a region that had recently come to be called the Black Country. An industry of chain making, brick baking, and steel forging had risen from this land, fed by a thirty foot thick vein of coal which ran through the country side. Those who did not graft in the factories or before the furnaces dug at the seam itself,

drawing forth the lifeblood that sustained the engines. By day, the chimneys blotted out the sun with a rain of soot. By night, the forges glowed demonoically through the darkness. Even for those accustomed to horrific scenes of misery, the Black Country was a hellish vision. On every side, as far as the eye could see, tall chimneys crowding on each other, wrote Charles Dickens. The horror of oppressive dreams poured out their plague of smoke, obscured the light, and made foul

the melancholy air. Although Kate had grown up in the shadow of London's leather tanneries and workshops. This new environment, shaped by heavy industry, would have seemed as foreign and strange to her, as did her new family. Kate settled with her uncle William and her aunt Elizabeth. Although sad, the loss of parents was too commonplace to be an excuse for not pulling one's weight, and at fifteen, Kate was able to earn her own keep, so she would

have been put out to work without delay. Her aunt and uncle found her a job as a scourer at a local factory, a good position, they would have lectured her. Kate worked alongside other women amid furnaces and machinery. She

would have used long handled tongs or pickling forks. Did it recently forge tinware into a vat of acid, preparing it to be she lacked, then she would have dried the piece of tinware and sawdust, repeating this entire process again and again from dawn until dusk, six days a week. There were benefits to this work. The advantages are that it's a wage of any kind, it can be very convivial, and you're independent, unlike her domestic servant, are your own

free agent. It's not quite the same as doing the dirty work for another couple in a social class above you. At the same time, the pay was poor, the hours were long, and the work was often dangerous. Burning eyes, raw throats, and the occasional industrial accident were all par for the course. So horrible jobs for horrible wages, things involving awful chemicals or dangerous bits of machinery, lots of

really deadly trades that wouldn't be allowed these days. I think factory life kind of ground down both men and women. This was not the kind of work that the Dowgate School or Kate's elder sisters had intended for her, but it was a wage or the same. After working long hours, Kate would have assisted with domestic duties at home two, cooking and cleaning, and looking after her young cousin. It was probably also around this time that she acquired a

jolly disposition and a fondness for drink. The local pub just a few doors down the road from Kate's new home would have offered her an escape. Eventually, Kate grew both restless and reckless. According to members of her family, she was caught stealing from work. She was scolded and dismissed from her position. No criminal charges were brought, but the words and recriminations of her aunt and uncle at

home would have been fundrous. They were said to neither forgive nor forget this infraction, and it came to define nineteen year old Kate's future. She packed her belongings, planning once more to start her life afresh. This time she set out on foot, walking fourteen miles to this city of Birmingham, where she hoped to find refuge with another family member. Kate's uncle, Tom was a shoemaker, but he supplemented his income with brute strength as a bare knuckle boxer.

British men of all classes were hooked on the sport, but fighters generally came from working class backgrounds. While respectable ladies were not supposed to be present at such matches, it was just about permissible for working class women to attend. It is likely that Kate watched her uncle from amid the crowds, slightly star struck, and came to believe that he could offer the sort of sympathetic home she had

not found in Wolverhampton. But if Kate had hoped to avoid a life of factory drudgery, she was sorely disappointed. She knew tin work, and there were plenty of jobs to be had here for young women. No longer a scourer, Kate now sat at a long table with polishing cloths, working the surfaces of decorative trays into a high sheen, so that somewhere in a house what a parlor, a serving maid could deliver tea to her mistress on an

object pretty enough to make her visitors envious. Kate fell back into the old routine, rising at dawn or in darkness, home for supper, and climbing into a bed shared with her cousin. It did not matter where she fled, to the house of a bare knuckle boxer or a tinplate worker. The rhythm of her life would be this until she married. Then it would be her mother's life, the pain of child bearing, the weariness of childrearing, worry, hunger and exhaustion,

and eventually sickness and death. The stories as to how Kate Edoes met Thomas Conway differ. By one account, the twenty year old Kate was nice looking and warm hearted, and Conway was a gray eyed irishman with light brown hair and a talent for telling tales. A former soldier who had journeyed to India with his regiment. Conway had been discharged from the army because of physical disability and

continual infirm principally rheumatism and chronic bronchitis. He had become a chat bookseller, moving from village to village, peddling short pamphlets decorated with woodcut engravings. These chat books recounted everything from fairy tales to biographies, poems and short stories. At taverns and pubs, he might also pull out a collection of broadside ballads, songs printed on a single large sheet, which told of the loss of love or set forth

the story of a bloody crime. The lyrics were usually set to a well known tune, so that purchasers could throw down their penny, grab a sheet, and launch into a new song over a pint of ale. Thomas Conway would certainly have cut a romantic figure with his tales of tigers and fragrant jungles. He was footloose and had slipped the ties that held conventional nineteenth century existence together.

It was understandable then that Kate Jolly going in open would find him, in his lifestyle, an attractive alternative to the drudgery of her own. Kate's family, on the other hand, took an instant dislike to Conway, with no real occupation, as well as no home, no family, and no reliable income beyond his poultry army pension. This Irish drifter was like a figure in a Victorian cautionary tale. Any layers on with his kind was seen as a one way

ticket to poverty, starvation, and the workhouse. But Kate was said to be infatuated with Conway, and she would not be discouraged when her aunt issued her with an ultimatum. She chose the penny ballad salesman and left their house. By July of that year, Kate was pregnant. While Kate's behavior would have brought shame on the Eddo's family, unmarried pregnancy was not so unusual. Among the privileged classes, female chastity was taken as a measure of a young woman's character.

By contrast, for the working classes, virginity did not hold the same significance. Working class lives were governed by practicalities. Commentators express concern that, on account of cramped living conditions, the sexualization of the laboring classes occurred at a very young age. With space and short supply, and many family members often sharing a single room. The notion of bodily privacy and modesty were luxuries that the working classes simply

could not afford. When social reformer Henry Mayhew interviewed girls involved in slop work, the manufacture of cheap clothing, one told him, I am satisfied that there is not one young girl that works at slop work that is virtuous. There are some thousands in the trade among the laboring classes. Many also chose to cohabit rather than mary. Working class communities lived by a simple rule. If a couple said

they were married and behaved accordingly, then they were. At the same time, attitudes towards cohabiting couples were full of contradiction and nuance. Landlords and employers could be quick to turf out those whom they discovered were not legally wed, and women naturally bore the brunt of any persecution, especially if illegitimate children were involved. When Kate threw in her lot with Thomas Conway, she would been fully aware of the risks she was taking, yet they seemed preferable to

the life she already knew. Joining forces with Kate would have had its advantages for Conway too. She proved herself to be a useful, even masterful, business partner. She could assist Conway by singing the ballads that he flogged her passers by. Together, the couple might also perform duets or engage in a theatrical repartee. As an extrovert who had been taught music at school and who loved singing, street performance would have suited Kate's inclinations far better than laboring

in a factory. Conway himself was illiterate, so Kate could have transcribed his stories, those about his adventures with the army in India, for example, to be sold on as ballads. Perhaps the couple hunched over pub tables together, Kate with inky fingers, acting the scribe to Conway's poet, curiously scratching outlines, arguing, recomposing, and singing. Kate had made her escape from conventional existence, but the one she had chosen was not as happy

or carefree as she might have imagined. The miseries of itinerant life, of sodden, frozen, filthy clothing and a rumbling belly with no shelter in sight could not be underestimated. Kate would have had limited opportunities to enjoy a bath or londer. Her clothes, and what little the couple possessed they carried with them, which made them prey to robbers and tricks. It's hardly a wonder, then, that in her ninth month of pregnancy, Kate found herself knocking on the

door of a workhouse infirmary. The workhouse accommodated expectant and destitute mothers, but in many cases the guardian sought to distinguish between deserving married women and the fallen who had arrived to bear children out of wedlock. So when Kate appeared at the workhouse, she gave her name as Catherine Conway and claimed that she was married to a laborer. Kate now had a roof over her head, but this

was by no means a safe haven for childbirth. In the eighteen sixties, pregnant women might lie next to patients suffering from tuberculosis, smallpox and syphilis, and infants were delivered without the use of soap and water. After their baby was born, Kate and Conway returned to tramping up and down the country. In the course of their wandering, Kate would have laid the infant down to sleep in stable stores, churchyards, against walls, or under trees, all as the rain lashed down.

This mode of life could never have felt entirely satisfying, though Kate must have found something that sustained her the joy of performance. Perhaps the singing and storytelling and composing of tales, and just as it had for Polly Annie and Elizabeth drink two, would have helped dull the discomfort and sorrow. Always on the lookout for a payday, it seems unlikely that Kate and Conway would have missed the

hanging of murderer Charles Christopher Robinson. Hanging days were big business for ballad and chat booksellers who belted out rhyming lamentations on the murderer. Executions would have been Kate Conway's bread and butter, and the Robinson case was a salacious one. The atmosphere at the jail that January day would have been comparable with the kind of excitement of a county fair.

Vendors of tea, coffee, and hot milk set up stalls, and the crowds filled their stomachs with currant buns, boiled eggs, sheep's trotters, and cakes. Being Christians give beer unto my tail. It's horror room. I was at staffer, Jeff. The horrid crime I had done, Shine, I murdered love Barrant Figer. Dear Robinson had cut his young fiance's throat during an argument,

and then attempted and failed to shoot himself. The killer was a distant cousin of Kate's, leading some to argue that it was she who penned this musical account of the killing. I well deserve my wretched fate. No one can pity me to think that I, in my code blood, could take her life away. She no harm to me have done. How could I serve her so? No one my feelings now can tell. My heart was full of wa Not long after Robinson's execution, Kate and Conway decided

to settle in London. This the home of Kate's youth and of her sisters. After years of roving, it was now time for the prodigal child to make her return. The Rippery told, will be back in a moment. Back in London, Kate was careful about revealing too many details of her life to her sisters, though her lack of a wedding ring was likely to have raised questions, as would the tattoo of Thomas Conway's initials inked crudely onto her forearm. It's likely that Conway had Kate's initials marked

on his arm too. It was by the exchange of such gestures, rather than with wedding bands and a church service, that many working class couples solemnized their commitment to each other. Their bond was sealed on their own terms. But, like many of the decisions Kate had made, acquiring a tattoo was deeply subversive. On a man's body, a tattoo was a mark of his manliness and spirit of adventure. On a woman's body, however, a tattoo flouted the conventions of

feminine purity and beauty. But what if a Kate's sisters whispered amongst themselves. Her appearance in London seems to have signified a desire to make changes to her life. Kate and Conway were soon settled in a clean and comfortable house, and they had two more children. Conway, however, struggled to establish himself in London as a seller of books and ballads. The competition was intense, and so with young children to feed,

he went to work as a laborer. The couple found themselves struggling to make ends meet, and sustenance ran thin. Kate was soon reporting her youngest infant's death from malnutrition, the final convulsions of which she would have felt in her arms. Perhaps it was this incident that prompted Conway to head north in search of work. Kate now found

herself caught in a vicious circle. Conway had to leave London to find work, but in doing so, he abandoned his partner and their children without any support, and no amount of women's labor could ever bring in the sum adequate to cover the family's needs. Single unwed mothers were

not entitled to receive parish handouts either. The authorities were concerned that providing financial support to women with illegitimate children would be tantamount to a state subsidy of prostitution, and so to receive help, Kate had to surrender herself to the cruel regime of the workhouse. Over the years, she would be in and out of this institution, often accompanied by one or more of her children as she passed through the so called archway of tears. Once Kate was

inside the workhouse, doors. The board of guardians was at liberty to label her either decent or damned. At many workhouses, mothers who had given birth the illegitimates were fed a punishment diet of water down skilly, a type of broth made from oats and water and little else. Worse still, when Conway did return, he was often violent. He began to beat Kate, whose sisters were shocked by her disfigured appearance.

Both her eyes had been blackened. But as was in keeping with Victorian attitudes, they held Kate responsible for her partner's violence. They believed that she provoked Conway with her excessive drinking. People believed men had the right to correct their wives. Ginger Frost is an expert on Victorian domestic violence. There's basic belief is undergirding almost all of this acceptance of domestic violence, of his right to control her, to tell her where she can go and what she can do.

A degree of violence within the home was thought to serve a disciplinary function. Husbands felt no remorse for administering a chastising slab, while wives were often made to feel but they had asked for it. We still do that. We don't put the focus on the violent mail. We put the focus on the woman. What did you do to provoke this? Why didn't you leave when you could, Why did you say what you did, Why did you

wear what you did. It's endlessly about the woman who's getting hid, and not the man who's doing the hitting. In Kate's time, a beating at the hands of one's husband might be prompted by any number of supposed infractions, the use of foul language, the rejection of his sexual advances, drinking, disobedience, impertinence, or simply offering a challenge to his superior role within the family. There were other reasons. The Edo's Klan did

little to intervene in Conway's violence, too. There's not a lot of family can do unless she leaves him. There was little legal support available for victims of domestic violence. In fact, a legal textbook from the time, Principles of Punishment, described wife beating as a crime that varies infinitely in degree of criminality. A wife's perpetual drunkenness was often used as a successful defense by spouses in assault trials, and

where conviction did occur, punishment would be minimal. If you bring a case against him, say an assault case, he may get three months, and most women who are dependent financially on men do not want the police involved because if he goes away for three to six months, she has no income. For this reason, many wives would not testify against their husbands before a magistrate. Conway and Kate, however,

faced a different set of circumstances. The real question for me with couples like this, if they're not married and they're not happy, why don't they leave? That's the question, not just her, but him too. You're not legally married. You could walk away from each other, no harm, no foul. Were they to separate, Conway would not be required to be Kate any alimony. Still, in spite of their apparent misery together, they're destructive and abusive relationship limped on for

a number of years. Gina recognizes this pattern in her own research. I think the reason is that they do think they're married in every important way, and it's a committed relationship. On the men's part, I think it's possessiveness. I think it's not just I love her, it's nobody else can have her. A kind of attitude that you see in a lot of violent men, that they're trying to control the woman in every way they can. It's

also very dangerous for women to leave. I can't tell you how many violence cases I have in the nineteenth century where she gets killed as soon as she tells him I'm leaving, or she's left, and a month later he catches up with her and cuts her throat. So it is dangerous to stay, but it is also dangerous to leave. And once a woman has lived with a man, her reputation is very low. She's unlikely to find a

good provider or someone to marry her. After that, Conway exhibited no shame at all for his actions and was said to warn openly Kate, I shall be hung for you one of these days. Clearly the execution of Charles Christopher Robinson had not left a lasting impression. Kate became ever more distant from her siblings, and more worryingly, began

to abandon her children for weeks on end. To where she disappeared on these occasions is anyone's guess, but her behavior begs many questions about her state of mind and her use of alcohol. Earlier that year, another one of her children had died, a circumstance that may have exacerbated her existing problems. Eventually, in eighteen eighty one, Kate and Conway separated for good. He painted himself as the victim, stating that he had found it necessary to leave Kate

on account for drinking. But Kate's sisters disputed this narrative, stating that Kate had left Conway because he treated her badly. Kate's behavior began to spiral further. She was charged with drunken disorderliness and dragged off the streets as she spewed obscenities at passers by. On two occasions, she spent a

short spell in prison for her behavior. By this point, all but one of Kate's siblings had distanced themselves from her, but she still maintained a good bond with her sister Eliza, whom she followed to the district of Whitechapel whenever she could. Kate rented a bed at a lodging house around the corner from the little garret where Eliza lived. It was here that she met John Kelly, the man who would

fill Conway's empty boots. But if the Edo's women had taken a disliking to Thomas Conway, their disdain for John Kelly seems to have been even greater. Although Kelly was described as quiet and inoffensive, which was more than could be said for Conway. In the eyes of Kate's family, he possessed one major failing that Conway did not. He drank and heavily. Kate's eldest child, Annie, was unequivocal about her feelings on him. I've never spoken to him, and

I don't like him. Ginger Frost thinks that Kelly wasn't a good provider and that the edo's sister's marginal preference for Conway tells us something about what was expected of a partner in the nineteenth century, which as you provide, that's the number one thing, and if you provide, then the woman has to put up with the rest of your crap. Irrespective of her family's sentiments with Kelly, Kate seemed to settle into a happier, though no less erratic pattern.

The pair shared a love of the bottle, and the conviviality made them popular with their fellow lodgers. Kate was said to always be ready with the song and didn't hesitate, and her last fourpence for someone who hadn't made their doss money For a time, both she and John worked. Kate became a cleaning lady for Jewish families in the area, while Kelly labored at the market. Though this income was

always disappointing and never reliable. Their handmouth existence didn't permit them to linger for too long in any one place, and they roam between London and the neighboring county of Kent in search of work. After twenty or more years of wandering, this existence may have seemed to Kate more comfortable than a settled life. Ever could a peddler was beholden to no one, not even family. Perhaps what most suited Kate about her association with John Kelly was that

he appeared to make very few demands of her. Their connections seems to have been based on practicality rather than an emotional messy. First and foremost, Kate and Kelly appeared to have been committed to each other's daily survival. By the time they found each other, Kate had lost the goodwill of most of her family, She had suffered domestic violence and bereavement, and she had experienced the degradation of

the workhouse as well as nearest ovation. Under such circumstances, What mattered most was the here and now, acquiring the drink that dulled the pain and the food that stopped the hunger. Kelly's company, his protection on the street, and his occasional income made survival simpler. In September eighteen eighty eight, Kate and Kelly left London to go hot picking. They were among the thousands of city dwellers who poured into the rural county of Kent to help bring in the

hot harvest, a vital ingredient and beer. But that year the crop was especially poor, and many laborers were forced to walk back to London having earned nothing. Kate and Kelly were among them. When they arrived back in town, they raised a little money by pawning Kelly's boots. By the end of the evening they had only fourpence left. It was decided that Kelly should have this money for a bed at a lodging house. Kate likely slept rough

that night. The next morning, the pair were back at their usual doss house, making themselves comfortable in the communal kitchen and turning their minds once again to how they would find that night's money for lodgings. As they parted ways on the street outside. Kate assured Kelly that she would return to him by four o'clock that afternoon. She was hoping to get a few coins from a family

member she intended to visit. He watched the woman in the black velvet and straw bonnet, his drinking hanyon, his partner bob down the crowded street, slowly disappearing from his view, and, although he did not know it yet, from his life. The next time John Kelly was to encounter Kate Edo's, it would be under the most terrible circumstances imaginable bad women. The Ripper Were Told. Is brought to you by Pushkin Industries and me Hallie rubbin Hold, and is based on

my book The Five. It was produced and co written by Ryan Dilley and Alice Fines, with help from Pete Norton. Pascal Wise Sound designed and mixed the show and composed all the original music. You also the voice talents of

Soul Boyer, Melanie Gutridge, Gemma Saunders and rufus Wright. The show also wouldn't have been possible without the work of mil LaBelle, Jacob Weisberg, Jen Guerra, Heather Fane, Carlie Migliori, Maggie Taylor, Nicole Morano, and Daniella Lacarne were special thanks to my agents Sarah Ballard and Ellie Kron