Wilma
McCann grave (? to 30th October 1975)
The serial killer Peter
Sutcliffe sent terror across the north of England between 1975 and 1980. He was
convicted of murdering thirteen women and attempting to murder seven others.
Here I am at the grave of the 28-year-old who was first one to actually die
from her injuries.
On Wednesday evening on 30th October
1975 Wilma bade said goodnight to her four children and left the eldest - a
nine 9-year-old - in charge. She walked to the nearby pubs Chapeltown,
a threadbare area of Leeds. Visiting a minimum four pubs she was soon drunk on
beer and whisky. Come closing time she headed to a club with longer drinking
hours. Drunk she left at about 1am in the morning and bought a tray of chips
and curry. She walked in front of traffic hoping for a lift home. She managed
to wave down a lorry but blasted the driver with a litany of abuse that forced
him to drive away. Had she been more polite she'd probably be alive today.
Sutcliffe was cruising around Leeds in his Ford
Capri GT having consumed lots of beer. Over the last four months he’d attacked probably
four women with hammers but they'd all survived. He spotted Wilma thumbing for
a lift and as soon as he pulled over she jumped in. She asked him if he
"wanted business?" When he asked what she meant, she said in a
scornful voice, "Bloody hell, do I have to spell it out?" They parked
near Prince Phillip Playing Fields (only about 90m from her front door.) “Let's
get on with it!", Wilma said charging £5. When Sutcliffe said he couldn’t
be aroused so quickly Wilma McCann was abusive and threatened to leave.
When Sutcliffe suggested they do it on the grass
Wilma walked off. He lay his coat down and hid a hammer in his hand. Wilma
returned, lay on the coat and unfastened her trousers. "Come on, get it
over with" she encouraged and Sutcliffe struck her head several times with
his hammer. She fell down flat on her back emitting moaning gurgling noises. He
pulled her trousers down to her knees and pushed her brassiere up to expose her
breasts. He stabbed her lower abdomen, chest and neck fifteen times. He drove
back to his mother-in-law's house where he was living and went to bed. The next
morning Wilma's cold blood-drenched body was found by a milkman who thought the
body was an abandoned Guy Fawkes or pile of rags. News of the murder saturated
the local news agencies and Sutcliffe expected a knock on the door from the
police. It never came and five years and twelve murders ensued before he was
caught.
The grave lies in a sprawling 53-acre cemetery in
Leeds and I couldn't find it (the graves locations had little chronologically.)
I found a stone mason's yard near within the cemetery and heard voices through
an open window. I knocked on his door and asked for help, showing two men the one
photo I had. Working there for decades they knew the grave and lead me to it. Two
of Wilma's children are buried here (Sonia killed herself aged 39 having
suffered years of torment.) Her son Richard didn't visit this grave until he
was sixteen years old. If Wilma hadn't abused the truck driver and got in his
cab she probably wouldn't be lying here now.
I was on the way to Scarborough in the motorhome and it was already teatime so I didn't stay long.
I reflected on the orphans and misery behind the murder, did a salute and left.
She left behind four children...
