Pushkin. The following episode contains discussions of sexual assault that some listeners may find distressing. There's a certain equality in death. Visit a British military cemetery with its pristine lawns and carefully tended flower beds, and you'll see no difference between the pale stone grave markers of women's service members and those of their male counterparts, below a carved crest of
their unit, be an army, navy, or air force. The tombstones carry each woman's name, her rank, the date on which she died, and her age forty four, twenty seven, twenty one, eighteen seventeen. In a space at the bottom of each stone, relatives are permitted to add a brief personal message. One grieving family writes, not goodbye, darling, but
au revoir for we will meet again. Illness and accident are counted for hundreds of these wartime deaths, and while women were not supposed to serve on the front lines, many were indeed killed by enemy bullets and bombs. But distressingly, some of these tombstones also mark the final resting places of women who died in other troubling circumstances. Thirty seven year old Lilian Welsh, an army cook, is cycling back to the cottage she shares with her husband William and
their daughter Audrey. Her steel helmet and military gas mask are slung over her shoulder. It's late in the evening and the twisting road is dark. Thick woodland comes right up to the edge of the tarmac, the bare winter branches meeting overhead. Lily probably isn't too concerned by the gloom. She's familiar with this quiet route. But then the sound of an approaching engine slowly fills the chill night air.
The light from the truck's hooded headlamps might just be enough to illuminate Lilian's back and cast a shadow onto the tarmac ahead. The light grows stronger, the engine louder. Something isn't right. Lilian keeps to her side of the road and pedals on. Why doesn't he overtake? Why doesn't he pull over to the right and pass by? Hemmed in by trees? There's no obvious escape for the cyclist.
How long this terrifying chase lasts isn't known. Perhaps it's a matter of seconds, or perhaps Lilian is pursued by the driver for hundreds of yards. When the fender of the truck hits Lilian's bike, the force is enough to crumple the frame. Lily is catapulted from the saddle and sprawls onto the road just ahead of the truck. Her wristwatch stops at nine fifty three. This is the seldom told story of women in World War Two who were killed not by the enemy, but by husbands, lovers and
strangers wearing the uniform of their own side. It's also the tale of a particular string of murder victims that history has swept from view. I'm Hallie Ribbinhold and I'm Alice Fines, and you're listening to bad women the Blackout River. During the Second World War, violence perpetrated against women wasn't
confined to the Blackout Rippers west End hunting ground. It happened in other parts of London too, in other big cities and their suburbs, in bustling port towns, a remote airbases and army barracks, and even on the quiet lanes and rural back roads so familiar to Lillian Welsh. In this episode, we'll leave Piccadilly and Soho to explore the lives of young women who enlisted in the armed forces. These women made unique and brave contributions to the war effort,
breaking codes and parachuting into enemy territory. They also made other equally important contributions, doing the dull and dirty tasks that freed men up to fight on the front line. Many had the time of their lives. I was very much afraid the war would end before I could get involved and helped to win. But luckily it didn't, and in fact had a rather interesting Women like Patricia Outram were plucked from their homes and faced new challenges alongside
people they'd never otherwise have met. The foundations of careers were built, friendships forged, and romances kindled. I did have a boyfriend, a Canadian. We used to explore Kent and his staff car and you know, have a bit of a social life. But of course he went off to your open He wrote for time, and then obviously he lost interest. So I didn't form any permanent touchment during the war. I was quite keen not to, actually, because I didn't just want to be married and settled down
have a family. I wanted to have a correl. Pat and her sister Jean were teenagers when they joined up, and their foreign language skills saw them assigned to top secret work spying on the enemy for Kazana Fordham glossant or stuntner on stairs knocked off for Today. Both aged nearly one hundred. The sisters have a party piece. They sing the popular wartime hit Lily Marline together Pat in German Jean in Italian. Yes, I've probably got a lot of the words wrong, but we used to sing it
out to. Both women clearly loved their time in the forces. In retirement in the leafy London district of Chiswick, they happily regale visitors with tales of their wartime exploits, probably the only irrespectable Chiswick who might be able to use her like machine gun. But the new opportunities they enjoyed sometimes brought new and less welcome interactions. Jean, a crossword
whiz who became a codebreaker, traveled widely. Her secret work took her to the battle fronts of North Africa and Italy, often perilously close to the fighting, But it was in London that she experienced one chilling brush with danger. During an air aid. She was forced to take cover in a public shelter and there was a man that the appalling creature I had ever seen the whole of my life, who reached out as I came in. Jean was a teenager and alone. She turned on her heels and raced
back up the steps to escape this male assailant. In the end, she decided that it was better to face the blitz than to risk falling into his clutches. So I did stay up on the top, but luckily it was not bombed and nobody killed me, but it might
have done if I'd gone down those steps. Such terrifying encounters were by no means rare, and while Pat and Jean have nothing but praise for their male colleagues, women in the forces didn't just have to avoid assault at the hands of strangers in air aid shelters, the men fighting alongside them could also pose a threat. Men must dodge advancing bullets, and girls are expected to dodge advancing men. Doctor Tessa Dunlop says female veterans have long been reluctant
to talk about such harassment. They don't want to undermine the reputation of Britain's military forces in its greatest hour. Why would they want to do that? You know we were the goodies. Our boys were the good guys. Tessa is the author of Army Girls, The Secrets and Stories and Military Service from the final few Women who fought in World War Two. She spent countless hours talking to
female veterans and examining written accounts from the time. I noticed there was a clear discrepancy between the way in which they remembered their experiences fondly, laughing, always a bit of a pest, giggling about it in late Great old Age, and the letters they wrote home, especially if the letters
were written between contemporaries written to their peers. Tessa's research has uncovered patterns of harassment, intimidation, and sexual offenses that are grimly familiar to women today, like the behaviors described in this private letter. I do wish that men didn't always assume that if they take you out, they can kiss you whenever they choose. Last night I went with a naval type to the club. He started getting gooey, and I had a hell of a time on the
way home. When service women faced lewd comments, unwanted advances, groping, or worse, the opportunities to challenge behavior were limited. There was the usual social pressure on women to manage the egos of all men, but the military added another power dynamic. Would any allegations be taken seriously if the man accused was of a higher rank. Tessa gathered testimony from an army clock Joan Aubrey, who came under intense pressure to enter a relationship with an officer, and he just drives
at a distraction. He sort of stalks her. I mean, he starts trying to contact her parents. He tries to change her leave to match hers, He leaves her flowers on her desk, he tries to kiss her. She's really bothered by she writes to her parents. She says, I'm so depressed. I could really wish all these men would
go away, well, mainly one particular man. With her daily work life thus blighted and no relief in sight, all Joan could do was pray that the officer would be posted elsewhere, hopefully to the grim fighting taking place in
the remote jungles of Burma. Other than these letters and diaries, this sort of harassment doesn't leave much of a paper trail, and to the military shame, it's only when it becomes more extreme and more violent that it finally crops up in the official archives in the form of court martial papers, police files, and autopsy reports. It was pretty dark, staff,
that's going on at its wast pretty dark stuff. Indeed, it was still early when farm worker Herbert Pratt set out, too dark for him to see much of anything as he cycled to the fields and his waiting tractor. But then a strange shape on the verge at the side of the road caught his eye. A cap lay on the ground bearing the insignia of the Woman's branch of the Army, the Auxiliary Territorial Service or ATS, and close by was its owner. Lillian Welsh had suffered devastating head wounds.
Blood trails across the tarmac revealed that her body had been dragged from the obvious sight of the collision. Whoever had killed this soldier had lingered at the crime scene, tampering with evidence. Lilian's underwear had been removed and placed next to her corpse. Lilian was laid to rest in the shadow of the ancient Stone church not far from
the Welsh family cottage. Her coffin was ceremonially draped with the Union flag, and her headstone bore the crest of the ats, as well as her rank and serial number. The sergeants for whom she cooked stood to attention at the graveside, and full military honors were observed as her coffin was lowered into the ground. Investigators reviewing Lilian's long list of injuries quickly concluded that only a heavy vehicle could have wrought such damage. That type of vehicle driven
almost exclusively by military personnel. I've got a few questions I'd like to ask. Police officers checked alibis for army drivers in camps in the vicinity. They identified one man who returned alone to his billet in a one and a half ton truck after ten o'clock on the night
in question. At first, William Flack denied the allegations, but with the discovery of a pair of blood drenched boots hidden away under his army cart, and of incriminating dents and blood traces on the truck, his story slowly shifted. He was new to the area and he had mistakenly passed the turn to his camp and followed Lillian's route
home instead. He maintained that he hadn't seen the cyclist at all, not until it was too late, he claimed that, disorientated and panicked, he'd moved her body and tampered with her underclothes, all in a bid to make it appear that someone who knew her had committed the crime. Flack was charged with wilful murder. Then the prosecution added more charges to the court docket. A pair of young women from Whales were Flack had previously been stationed, accused the
army driver of sexual assault. One woman described how he'd launched his attack after knocking her from her bike with his truck. Flack denied this version of events. These women were simply lying. And as for mowing Lilian down, bespectacled, Flack stated that he was a novice behind the wheel and he'd repeatedly asked to be reassigned from driving duties because he fretted about his eyesight. He wasn't in the habit of deliberately knocking down women and launching sexual attacks
on them. He was just clumsy. After twenty five minutes of deliberation, the jury agreed with Flack he was no murderer, and the judge, for his part, concurred with this verdict. Rather than being sent to the gallows, Flak received a seven year prison sentence for manslaughter. Flack died in two
thousand and two. Who knows if, as an elderly man he stood to attention amidst other veterans at Armistice Day parades, if he shared stories of his time in the forces, or if he let people stand him a beer at the local pub in thanks for his wartime service. Bringing offenders before the courts and securing convictions was difficult enough in this age before advanced forensic science, but when young women and particularly servicewomen were the victims, there were other
hurdles to clear. Women in the forces were dogged by crude insinuations that they invited the advances of men and that they were asking for trouble. In fact, the reports and files on these cases are often a dismal exercise in victim blaming. All too often violence against women was cruelly ignored or coldly dismissed. Bad women. The blackout Ripper
will return in a moment. Witnesses said the band was playing the tango sensation Jealousy as eighteen year old Private Louisa Price left the dance at a forest glen pavilier, a Uker's affair hosted by a detachment of American soldiers. You see her danceman, She didn't go far when her body was found in the nearby undergrowth. Her uniform and underwear had been torn away, and she'd been beaten to
death with a rock. Months later, prosecutors thought they had their man, a twenty two year old military policeman called Sarga Michael Piosch, who had sustained several injuries on the night of the dance, and whose uniform bore bloodstains matching not only his own blood type but also Louisa's. British police had carried out the investigation, but because Piosh was American, it was the US Army who charged and tried him. At the trial, the officer defending Piosh deployed a cynical strategy,
probing and picking apart Louisa Price's conduct. Private Price was a pretty good jitterbug dancer, he asked Louisa's ats comrade Lily Bentley. Yes, the jitterbug was one of the most fashionable dances of the day, but also the most notorious. Energetic and lively. Jitterbugging was seen by many as a deeply inappropriate and morally suspect import from the USA. Many venues in America and the UK had already banned the dance, and the moral panic about jitterbuggers like Louisa Price carried
both misogynistic and racist overtone. One disgusted dancehall observer described maidens gasping with their eyes staring at almost fainting, as they hurled themselves about like savages. Was the defense counsel trying to paint a less than flattering picture of Private Price? Had she surrendered to this heathen music been passed from partner to partner and flung into the air like a
savage with her army skirt billowing wildly? Lily Bentley defended her friend, Private Price, She told the court had only jitterbugged with other women. The defense tried another tack. Had the ats girls also requested that a sexually charged tango be played? And had they further teased the serviceman at the dance by asking the band to play the aptly title hit Jealousy? Were you one of those who asked the orchestra to play Jealousy Gloser? Had you asked for
a tangul at all? No, sir, The defense suggested that Louisa had been killed by one of the men on the dance floor that night, a man she led on. They insimulated, but whose advances she then refused. Piosch, who was heavily inebriated, had been in no fit state that night to tango or dancer jitterbug. His own council described him as a drunken, drooling idiot. Sergeant Piosch was acquitted and he vowed to stop drinking for good. Louisa Price's
killer was never found. The drunken, jitterbugging and tangoing of that party would only have reinforced a popular opinion about ats girls. The women of the Auxiliary Territorial Service were mockingly called ground sheets for the officers, or the auxiliary tart Service. Tessa Dunlop says the move to conscript women into the armed forces in nineteen forty one, when the demands of the war were quite literally outstripping the supply
of manpower, was deeply unsettling for many people. You know, this is a real sign that Britain is waist deep in a war. It's not winning if it's having to actually draft inter military service into uniform females. The Nazi threat was an existential one, critics admitted, but surely women serving in the armed forces risk destroying the patriarchal underpinnings the very fabric of British society. So an idea that a man was going to go away and fight, he
was going to be the brave hero. He was fighting for this idealist domestic ideal, the idea of the sort of wife at home with the comely bosom and fecund overflowing table. And there was a deep fear, and it persisted throughout the war that if you in some way unpick those very clearly defined gender roles where the woman is feminine icon to be protected and looked after, a man is masculine and brave and wears a uniforman kills, sometimes it will somehow undermine the basis on which the
war is fought and the War office. Because I've had total connections over the demoralizing of troops. If women further encroached on this very male domain that was the military, many poorer women were already doing tough, physically demanding jobs to feed their families in themselves, but for veterans like Pat and Jean Oltram, who were entrusted with complex and top secret tasks. There was a real sense that they
were breaking down barriers. I think I was lucky because, of course no woman in the family and I thing like the sort of jobs that Gene and I did in the war, and you were rather a well that you were covering new ground. Pat can't recall facing discrimination in the course of her duties, though her experience within the world of spying and intelligence was far from the norm. She was, however, adamant that societies prevailing prejudices about women's
limited capabilities were quite wrong. I'm very keen that women can really do those jobs, anything like intelligence. Saw the sort of jobs that I was involved with perfectly well be done by a woman. But I think we did make a considerable sto forward during the war by showing that, yes, we could do well, perhaps a bit more than women had ever been thought of as capable of. There was a further concern about allowing nice young women like Pat
and Jean to undertake military service. According to Tessa Dunlop, it was feared that once they had been unleased from the confines of domesticity, women would grow unfeminine. Course and sexually promiscuous, hurting the morale of their men folk, and the idea being. Of course, if you're a boy fatting out on the front line, you're worried your fiance, your sweetheart home is suddenly in uniform and actually not at home anymore, you know, might she be being flowered. So
this was a really genuine concern. Rumors of sexual promiscuity among female recruits spread far and wide. It was the stuff of pub chatter, but it was also debated in the corridors of power. Questions were asked about it in Parliament. There is absolutely no foundation whatsoever for this whispering campaign, which I regret very much. Indeed, is there a fine body of women who were doing a fine job of work.
Although the Secretary of State for War defended the honor of female recruits, a fellow politician told the government he was pretty sure the whole country had the very definite impression that the ATS is not the sort of service to which a nice girl called lease ladies and gentlemen. The ATS had been organizing recruitment valleys. Now it had to change t staging public meetings to pacify parents and husbands and convinced them that their daughters and wives weren't
headed for a life of barrack whom debauchery. The authorities tried to demonstrate that these allegations of sexual immorality weren't supported by the facts. They tallied the number of babies born out of wedlock in the general population and found it was higher than the number born to servicewomen. But of course, mud sticks. Some parents reacted with cold fury at the lew denuendos and idle chatter directed at their
girls in the ATS. The famously proud coal miners of Durham in northern England suspected that class snobbery played a significant role in the denigration of their daughters serving in the military. Looks like she's wearing a mama's old curtains if you asked me. They declared, blisteringly that these rumors of immorality were intended to besmirched girls whose reputations are
unassailable in their horn tones and villages. Tessa says that class was a defining issue for the women's services, especially the ATS. The rapidly expanding wartime military had little choice but to take recruits from all walks of life, sparking fears that so called decent girls would fall in with and be contaminated by roughs from the slums. Anne, another veteran interviewed by Tessa, recalled the gaping class divide in her unit, which was largely made up of girls from
London's impoverished East End. Anne, who was a vicar's daughter and was immediately promoted above them aged eighteen, you know, remembers spending hours combing the knits out of their hair and just being spellbound by their conversations about sex and boys, stuff she'd never heard before. Because Anne says, what endured was our friendship and we would have never met had
it not been the war. This idea that there was this night Vickers girl having her eyes opened, and likewise the East End of London equivalents being struck by this decoras, very sweet, polite girl who was helping them. So there was an aspect of melting. The ats vigorously argued that far from corrupting the nation's good girls, this social mixing elevated all recruits. After all, Winston Churchill's daughter Mary joined up,
as did heir to the British throne, Princess Elizabeth. The daughters of the rich, so went the theory, had the breeding confidence and wherewithal to say no to men. It was hoped, therefore, that the right sort of girl would teach the wrong sort how to ward off male advances and the deep shame of premarital pregnancy. But as well, hereafter the break, some men wouldn't take no for an answer. The following story contains explicit language and descriptions of sexual
assault that some listeners may find understandably dis dressing. We've also changed names to align with modern practices for protecting the identities of victims of sexual offenses. Jane is terrified. It's nearly midnight and an American soldier has pushed her off a bicycle and dragged her into the shadow of a hedge beside the road. The gi is on top of Jane, now tearing at her uniform and sexually assaulting her. Jane asked the stranger if he will stop so that
they can talk. The man agrees and allows Jane to stand. She steps away from her attack her and screams for help. The soldier tackles Jane once more, dragging her to the ground, but her cries have finally attracted the attention of some people nearby to other gis smoking behind a edge, rushed to her aid, scaring the rapist away. He runs across a field in the direction of his barracks. Officers from the camp soon arrive, along with a local woman who
tries to comfort Jane. Jane's hair is twisted and turned. Her army uniform is disarranged, stockings torn. You've had a nasty fry. Her cap has come loose in the prolonged struggle against her attacker. She asks her rescuers to help her find it. The witnesses describe her as upset and hysterical. Jane, a senior sergeant, will see her attacker again. She confidently picks him out of a lineup of fifteen other men
from his unit. While many of those other men would later take part in the D Day Invasion, celebrated forevermore as patriots and heroes, John SIPs was tried, dishonorably discharged, and sent to prison to serve ten years hard labor. Tessa says that had Soaps ultimately succeeded in raping Jane, the abortion laws of the day would have forced her to carry any baby to full term. Can you imagine
if she was then burdened with an illegitimate pregnancy. How even more torturous that process would have been had to have given up some baby and some awful mother and children's home, which is where a lot of these girls gave birth. But what really strikes Tessa about Jane's case is neither these cruel abortion laws nor the appalling brazenness of the attack itself. Instead, she's surprised that Jane's attacker was actually convicted. If you drill into the case, look
what's required to achieve that conviction. There are two witnesses, two uniformed male witnesses, almost at the scene of the crime when it's happening, who hear her plaintive cries and find her damaged bicycle. And crucially, she's the sergeant major, so she's a woman of rank and status within the ATS. So she's believed. Not only is she believed, but she's found, you know, some ripptights and derobed and scared. Just how unlikely is it that you're going to be attacked in
air shot two men serving in uniform. By the way, men of course more likely to be believed, because men don't gossip, girls do. Tessa says that many servicewomen didn't even report rape and sexual assault, either through shame, fear, or just through the sense that there would wouldn't be believed. Such crimes were prosecuted internally in the military so called Khaki justice, rather than in civilian courts. This could place criminal cases in the hands of serving officers with little
experience of the law. Indeed, Tessa accounts the disturbing case of another young woman who reported a rape to her somewhat clueless female commander, and the case falls apart because she didn't really understand what the girl was talking about. She couldn't make a property scryption of what either girl seemed or what she'd experienced. But she clearly doesn't know what intercourses and therefore indeed rape. You've got no idea
how ignorant some people were. I always remember my own grandmother saying she thought that some couples gonna have had children simply didn't know what to do. So simple ignorance could upend a woman's chances of seeing justice. If you would have told me when I was like twenty that I would be interested in this topic, I would say no,
not at all. US Army veteran Kim Difiori knows only too well the pressure women in the military continue to face to stay silent and conceal assaults from their commanders. Generally speaking, they don't believe the victim anymore than sail especially if the sailant's a higher rank, and so you have that hurdle to go through and then say we did make it to a court martial. The chances of that person getting a conviction and get in a hefty
sentence is like point zero zero zero one percent. The chance of them getting a light sentence is point eight percent. So the stats are against you. Kim is a West Point graduate and a career officer. After serving a brutal deployment in Afghanistan, she returned to what she thought was the safety of a base in Germany. We're just happy to be alive. It was just a very exciting time because we were like, hey, we made it, like through
a combat tour. It was awesome. And so we're out and the club was about two blocks from where I lived, Like I was just walking home and my other friends were like, you're good to get home, and I was like, yeah, I have two blocks. I'll just walk that way, and one of the guys followed me, and I just I
was too drunk to really fight him off. I just said like, no, I don't want you here, and like I just kept saying no, no, no, And then next thing I know, I'm waking up and the next morning he's gone, and I just like couldn't get out of bed, and it was just this horrible new reality to wake up too. And until you've been through it, you can't really empathize with the victims of like waking up that next day and that next week and just seeing like that cloud that's just over you, and you're just like
what do I do? Because I know the system and it's not gonna work in my favor. As a captain herself, Kim would have been expected to deal with allegations of rape or sexual assault brought to her by her troops, but she didn't formally report her own rape. And when I was telling people, I guess they assumed that I had reported it, but there was just such a matter of fact about it. It was like saying, like I got shot at Afghanistan and it wasn't like, oh, yeah,
that's really bad. I must have been traumatic, like it took me forever to even use a word like sexual as salt or rape or military sexual trauma, anything like that. There's so much blame on me. But it was traumatic, and that trauma ended Kim's Army career. She's now an author and an advocate for reform when it comes to the way the military deals with sexual assault. We asked her to look at some of the cases from World War Two that we'd identified in the files. Well she
at all surprised reading them. If you would have asked me at eighteen, yes, but after being in the military for thirteen years, not at all. It's such a prevalent problem the victim blaming attitudes inherent in some of the stories, like that of the jitterbugging Private Louisa Price, reminded Kim of warning she was given as a young Army cadet.
I remember getting a briefing at West Points about two thousand and five, and the central message around sexual assault was, hey, females, be careful what you were because you don't want to be asking for trouble. It just cringes me to this day. That's the reality of it is. You still have messages like that saying don't ask for it, rather than putting the onus on Hey, let's get rid of rapists. Kim argues that war further clouds our judgment about rape and
the men who perpetrate it. We celebrate those who show courage in battle or who are charismatic leaders, and we struggle to conceive that they might not behave so nobly in other situations. You can be a really good leader and also be a rapist. This bias can even make its way into the rape cases that do reach the military courts. You're allowed to present in your defense like a good soldier defense saying basically like, oh, this person can't be that bad of a person because they deploy
direct through times. Such hero defenses crop up in the World War two archives as well. In one case, a soldier who had launched a terrifying assault on a woman was given just a min of fine after his superio Areas told the court that he'd shown heroism in battle. The man quickly went on to commit other sexual offenses until he was finally jailed. Reflecting on the experiences of women in World War Two, Kim recognizes patterns that haven't changed.
The tendency to excuse attackers and blame victims. The conflict of interest inherent in allowing an organization to investigate its own members and the owners placed on women to change their behavior in the face of male violence. Kim also points out that men too are victims of sexual coercion and violence in the military. This was as true of
World War Two as it is today. Kim certainly doesn't criticize those aging female veterans who shy away from speaking about the harassment, abuse and violence they endured, but she implores the rest of us to pay attention to the voices in the private letters and army files from that time and to heed what those women so long dismissed have to say. It's a hard topic to discuss, so it does a lot of good talking about it, even if it is uncomfortable, and I'll tell you it's uncomfortable
for all of us. But it needs to be a very talked about discussion, just like anything else, because that's how we change cultures. In the next episode of Bad Women, will return to London's West End to meet the enigmatic Margaret Lowe, a refined woman known on the streets of Piccadilly simply as the Lady Will trace her complicated story
and meet the violent men who seek her out. If you want to learn more about Patricia and Geane Outram's wartime experiences, then we recommend you read their fascinating book, Code Breaking Sisters, Our Secret War Bad Women. The Blackout Ripper is hosted by me Hallie rubin Hold and me Alice Fines. It was written and produced by Alice Fines and Ryan Dilley, with additional support from Courtney Guerino and Arthur Gomberts. Kate Healy of Oakwood Family Trees aided us
with genealogical research. Pascal Wise Sound designed and mixed the show and composed all the original music. The show was recorded at Wardoor Studios by David Smith and Tom Berry. You also heard the voice talents of Ben Crow, David Glover, Melanie Gutridge, Stella Halford, Gemma Saunders, and Rufus Wright. Much of the music you heard was performed by Edgarchan, Ross Hughes, Christian Miller and Marcus Penrose. They were recorded by Nick
Taylor at Portcupine Studios. Pushkin's Ben Tolliday mixed the tracks and you heard additional piano playing by the eight Berry Wise Hi Berry. The show also wouldn't have been possible without the work of Jacob Weisberg, Heather Fane, Carlie Migliori, Maggie Taylor, Nicole Morano, Eric Sandler, and Daniella Lucan. We'd also like to thank Michael Buchanan Dunne of the Murder Mile podcast, Lizzie McCarroll, Catherine Walker at the Royal Pharmaceutical
Society and the Earb Historical Society. Bad Women is a production of Pushkin Industries. Please rate and review the show and spread the word about what we do, and thanks for listening the