The Autobiography of Jack the Ripper by James Carnac Page A

squeejee, he scraped up a mass of thick gravy and tossed it into his mouth, I waited expectantly for the sudden cry and the gushing of blood. But it never came; long practice had made my uncle dexterous. He always succeeded in withdrawing the knife without accident.
    I think it was this fascination of knives which clinched my decision to embrace my father’s profession. I had no desire to doctor mumps or measles nor, I will admit, any wish to alleviate human suffering. But I wanted to dissect. I wanted to cut flesh, not cooked meat but human flesh. How ghoulish it must seem, set down in black and white.
    â€”
    Soon after we moved into the New Cross house, I learned from my uncle that the sum of money which my father had inherited from his aunt—but the bulk of which he had never handled—would descend to me. My uncle took up my financial affairs energetically, and he and I had several interviews with a firm of solicitors who were dealing with the estate. My uncle, upon the information he received, estimated that I could rely on an income of about two-hundred and fifty pounds a year and his estimate subsequently proved to be fairly accurate. My uncle, by the way, had been nominated by my father as the sole executor of his will.
    I have forgotten exactly what arrangement was come to in the matter of my inheritance; whether my uncle was appointed my trustee either by the terms of my father’s will or by the courts, or whether he simply “minded” my money. I do remember that he allowed me very lavish pocket money and that it was an understood thing that when occasion arose for my use of any larger sum the money was available for me.
    After my parents’ deaths I did not return to school; my uncle was no believer in “book-learning” and in those days a high degree of education was not considered so essential as it is to-day. But my uncle held very strongly the opinion that, in spite of the fact that I had an independent income, I should embrace some calling. He had a great contempt for what he called “idle young loafers” and suggested to me that as the means were available I should qualify in some “respectable profession.” He was aware of my passion for drawing, but he viewed it indulgently as a rather childish pastime and could not be made to accept it as a definite occupation. He was of the opinion that I could not do better than enter my father’s profession, and as I could not think of anything else and was, as I have previously indicated, biased by certain feelings, I agreed that my uncle might make enquiries as to the procedure of learning to be a doctor. I was somewhat dismayed to learn, as a result of the enquiries, that I should have to commit myself to a course of study covering five years before I could qualify; but still, that study promised to be interesting. I fell in with my uncle’s scheme if not with absolute enthusiasm, at least with a certain pleasurable anticipation, and so the thing was settled. I succeeded in passing the preliminary examination required, and was duly entered at a London medical school which there is no need for me to specifically mention.
    I continued to live with my uncle, but in view of the fact that my new life of studentship would necessarily be accompanied by a freedom to which, up to that time, I had been unaccustomed, my uncle took an opportunity on the eve of the commencement of my studies to favour me with a few words of advice. Even after the lapse of time I can almost recall his exact words. “Now, Jim, my boy,” he said, “I know a youngster don’t take no notice of an old man’s advice, but I’m going to say it for all that. I reckon you’ll have your fling like every other lad, and by all I hear, medical students are a pretty wild lot. But go easy on the cards and the women. Playing cards for money is about the silliest way of wasting time I know of; as for women, well You’re old