Crime Immemorial

At around six fifteen p.m. on October 9th, 1932, twenty-one-year-old Marston left his own residence. By seven twenty-five p.m., a man matching his description was spotted at the door of 63 Willows Crescent. Just ten minutes later, passersby Mr. H.L.D. Thompson, a gunsmith, and Miss Hilda Holden heard a disturbance inside. The front door burst open, and a young woman rushed out, screaming for help.

The house’s residents added layers of scandal to the unfolding tragedy. It was occupied by Marjorie Kathleen Yellow (also known as Honeyman), a nineteen-year-old married shop assistant who had separated from her husband in Manchester and was cohabiting with Herbert Gwinnell, a local man. Her younger sister, Emily Eleanor Thay, sixteen years old and also separated from her own brief marriage, was visiting for the weekend. The home was notably bare: sparsely furnished with just one table in the entire place and only one bedroom equipped for use. Gwinnell had reportedly left at six fifteen p.m., leaving the sisters alone.

Emily Thay emerged first, shouting “Murder! Fetch the police!” Marjorie followed, pleading with Thompson: “Come and get this strange man out of my house.” Thompson entered the dimly lit hall and confronted a staggering figure—a man later identified as Marston. “What is your game?” Thompson demanded. Gasping, Marston replied, “I’ve done nothing,” before sagging at the knees and collapsing unconscious. He died moments later in the front garden from a deep stab wound to the chest, compounded by severe head injuries that had dazed him shortly before the fatal blow.

A postmortem examination by Professor Haswell Wilson and the renowned Home Office pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury revealed critical details: the head wounds, delivered to the left side of Marston’s face, would have rendered him semi-conscious within fifteen minutes of death, occurring before the stabbing. Crucially, there were no defensive wounds on Marston’s body, nor signs of a prolonged struggle. In his pocket, police found the blade of a knife—its handle lying nearby on the ground. Adding intrigue, a loose ten-shilling note (half a week’s wages for many) was discovered in Marston’s clothing, which the sisters claimed had been on their table and gone missing.

The sisters were arrested on the spot and charged with willful murder. Their initial statements painted a picture of terror: Marjorie described seeing a man with “shining, queer” eyes in the hall, as if he’d had a fit, clutching a black-handled knife and staggering about. They claimed to have screamed and rushed past him to the door, believing he was pretending. When questioned further, Emily said she cut her hand trying to wrest the knife from him, while Marjorie alleged he struck her in the mouth and tried to throttle her.

Yet, inconsistencies emerged quickly. Marjorie first denied knowing Marston but later admitted meeting him at a dance. Bystanders recalled her peculiar remarks as Marston lay dying: “He’s only shamming. He’s done that before.” To a constable, she reportedly quipped, “They don’t hang women, do they?” and mused, “You have only to die once. Women go to prison for life, don’t they?” Prosecutors, led by Mr. M.P. Pugh at the Birmingham Police Court, theorized a quarrel over the missing ten-shilling note—Marston allegedly pocketed it, prompting the sisters to assault him with blows to the head before stabbing him in a fit of rage.

The sisters were remanded in custody, with Marjorie granted £100 bail. Their male relatives disrupted preliminary hearings, shouting “They’re innocent!” before being ejected.

The case reached the Birmingham Assizes in early December, presided over by Mr. Justice Humphreys. Addressing the grand jury, the judge urged careful scrutiny: without evidence pinpointing one or both sisters as the stabber—or ruling out Marston himself doing it—no solid theory could be established. The prosecution hammered the timeline, the missing note, and the sisters’ evasive statements, suggesting Marston was lured or forced into the house and attacked.

The defense countered with self-defense, insisting Marston was the aggressor who burst in, knife in hand, possibly intent on robbery or worse. They highlighted the lack of fingerprints, witnesses to entry, or proof of prior acquaintance beyond a casual dance. Sir Bernard Spilsbury’s testimony was pivotal: the eminent pathologist could not attribute blame to any party, noting the knife blade in Marston’s pocket could support a suicide narrative, though improbable.

On December 8th, 1932, the jury deliberated briefly. Justice Humphreys intervened, directing a verdict of not guilty due to insufficient evidence. The sisters were discharged amid courtroom murmurs, walking free but forever linked to the crime.

The acquittal did little to quell public fascination—or police frustration. Detective Inspector George Vince, who led the investigation, faced scrutiny during the trial for allegedly providing witnesses with copies of their statements, a practice questioned in Parliament. A report on the matter was pending when, on December 28th, 1932—just weeks after the verdict—Vince was found shot dead on the steps of King’s Heath police station. A single bullet through the heart ended his twenty-five-year career, leaving his wife and two children behind. Officially ruled a suicide, whispers persisted of foul play tied to the Marston case, though no evidence surfaced.

Nearly a century later, Sidney Marston’s murder remains a frustrating unsolved mystery.