On the morning of December 1, 1948, a body was found on the shore of the Somerton Beach. The man was resting against the seawall, slumped forward, with a half-smoked cigarette lying on his lapel. He was well-dressed, in a suit with shined and heeled shoes—odd attire for a summer day on the beach. There was no sign of violence or a struggle. The man carried no identification of any kind
The police immediately assumed the man had simply died of natural causes while taking a stroll on the beach. When no missing person report matched up with the body, investigators had to dig a little deeper
At 7pm on November 30, 1948, John Bain Lyons and his wife were taking an evening stroll on the beach, a small seaside resort just outside of Adelaide, Australia. They noticed a man lying against a seawall about 60 feet away from them, legs crossed in front of him. He lifted his right arm weakly, before dropping it back to the ground. The couple assumed it was a drunken attempt to smoke a cigarette, and continued on their way
Around 7:30pm, another couple walking along the seawall saw a man in a similar position. This time they both noticed the man was not moving at all, despite the mosquitoes swarming his face. The man joked that he must be dead to the world to ignore the bugs, but the couple also assumed he was simply in a drunken stupor and moved on
John Lyons, the same man who had seen the body during an evening stroll with his wife, returned to the beach the next morning for a swim. He met with a friend after his swim, and they noticed a cluster of people on horseback near the seawall where the body had been the night before. Approaching the group to investigate further, Lyons realized something was wrong when he saw a body in the same position as the night before. He immediately called the police
He was 5'11" (180 cm). He had gray eyes. His hair was a mousy ginger color, graying around the sides and receding in the front. He was estimated to be between 40 and 50 years old. He was uncircumcised. He weighed between 165 - 175 pounds (75 - 80 kg). He was missing 18 teeth, including his two lateral incisors, which most likely never grew in due to a genetic defect. He had small scars on this left wrist, left forearm, and left elbow. His hands and feet were clean and callous-free, indicating he did not do manual labor
The body was taken by ambulance to the Royal Adelaide Hospital. Doctor John Barkley Bennett examined the body, and proclaimed the time of death to be no sooner than 2 am, based on the stage of rigor mortise. (This time of death has since been questioned, as poison affects the process of rigor mortise) His report listed the cause of death as heart failure, possibly caused by poisoning.
The items in the man's possession were also cataloged: an unused train ticket from Adelaide to Henley Beach; a bus ticket from Adelaide; a pack of Juicy Fruit chewing gum; some Bryant & May matches; an aluminum comb; and a pack of Army Club cigarettes containing seven cigarettes of another, more expensive brand.
The man was smartly dressed in a suit and heeled shoes, but the maker's labels had been snipped out of the clothes. He wore a knit pullover and double-breasted coat—again, strange attire for a summer beach trip—but he was missing a hat, which was also strange for 1948. One pocket of his trousers had been torn and neatly repaired with orange thread.
A full autopsy the following day revealed more detail. The man’s leg muscles were noted during the autopsy—they were high and toned, and his feet were oddly pointed. Expert witnesses suggested he had often worn high-heeled and pointed shoes, perhaps as a ballet dancer. It was also noted that his pupils were smaller than normal. His spleen was three times the usual size, and firm. The liver was distended with congested blood. His stomach contained more blood, along with the remains of a pastry.
These observations strengthened the poisoning hypothesis, but lab tests revealed no traces of any known poison. The pastry was also tested, and came back negative. The attending pathologist, John Dwyer, was astounded that nothing was found. Thomas, the coroner, later stated that there are two deadly poisons that quickly decompose and leave no trace in the body: digitalis. If either had been used, they would have decomposed before the autopsy was performed
It was becoming evident that this was not a simple case of a man dying of natural causes while vacationing on the beach. Police took a full set of fingerprints and circulated them throughout the English-speaking world, to no avail. Photos were published in all Australian newspapers, and a slew of relatives of missing persons were brought in to identify the body. No one could.
This man did not seem to exist in any official records, nor did he have anyone looking for him who was willing to come forward. All leads were exhausted.
Police decided to expand their search efforts, as no one who recognized the photo had come forward. Because the man was not dressed for the weather or the location, they assumed he had been traveling. A call for abandoned property was sent to every hotel, dry cleaner, railway station, bus station, and lost property office in the area. The very next day, police received their first break in discovering this man’s identity.
A brown suitcase had been deposited to the Adelaide Railway Station’s cloakroom on November 30, and never picked up. It was now January 12, and the property was considered abandoned. Because so much time had passed, the staff remembered nothing about the person who had dropped it off. However, a search of its contents yielded a promising item. A reel of a rare orange Barbour thread, not found in Australia, was among the items in the suitcase. This thread was a perfect match for the orange thread used to repair the Unknown Man’s trouser pocket. Between that unlikely match, and the luggage being dropped off on the day before the body was discovered, it seemed almost certain that this suitcase belonged to the man.
Further investigation, however, was disappointing. A label had been torn off of the suitcase, to hide its origin. Tags and labels had been removed from all but three of the pieces of clothing. The tags left bore the name “T. Keane”, but a search revealed no missing person with that name.
The police concluded that those tags were left on knowing the dead man’s name was not T. Keane, and they therefore would not reveal anything if found, although it was also noted they were the only labels that couldn't be removed without damaging the clothing. Also, noteworthy in the suitcase was a stencil kit that would’ve been used for stenciling cargo on merchant ships; a table knife that had been sawed down; airmail cards that indicated he was sending communications abroad; and a coat with stitch work identified as American in origin. These items indicated someone who had traveled, most likely on a merchant vessel, but shipping and immigration records revealed no leafs.
Discovering the suitcase did clear up a few details about the man’s final day. He must have gone to the train station and purchased the ticket to Henley Beach that was found in his pocket. Records showed that the public baths at the station were closed on November 30. The man must have inquired as to where he could freshen up before being told the facilities were closed and sent to the public baths about half a mile away. He headed to the facilities to shower and shave, but the extra walk caused him to miss his train. He decided to take a bus rather than wait for the next train, and bought the bus ticket from Adelaide that was also found in his pocket.
This had all happened around 11am on November 30, meaning there were now eight hours to account for between the time he left the train station and was first spotted on the beach
Although the suitcase was an exciting find, it did little to help identify the man. Months went by with no new leads, until JohnCleland, professor of pathology at the University of Adelaide, was brought in to reexamine the body in April 1949. Four months after the body had been discovered, the case took its most perplexing turn yet.
John discovered a previously unnoticed, small pocket sewn into the waistband of the man’s trousers, most likely intended to hold a pocket watch. The pocket contained a tightly rolled piece of paper. Inscribed on the paper, in an elaborate font, were the words “Tamám Shud.” (Newspapers misprinted it as Taman Shud, and the misprint stuck through the years.)
A police reporter for the Adelaide Advisor, Frank Kennedy, instantly knew what the words meant. A twelfth century book of poetry, the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, had become quite popular in Australia during the war, especially a translation by Edward Fitzgerald. It was a Persian phrase that closed the final page of the book, loosely translated to “It is ended” or “The End.”
This discovery caused quite a stir—did the man commit suicide? Was this hidden scrap of paper a final message before taking his own life?
It did seem to indicate that the man had known, in some way, that November 30th would be his last day. All identification had been removed from his person and his possessions, and he had taken the time to hide this message on his body. Khayyam’s poems all dealt with romance, life, and mortality. Had the man killed himself after suffering a broken heart?
The case seemed closer than ever to a resolution: a suitcase had been found, his movements were somewhat known, and it appeared he may have planned his death. But the true twist was about to be revealed.
Police began searching libraries and bookshops for a copy of the Rubaiyat with the same fancy typeset seen on the scrap of paper. Nothing turned up. The search was broadened to include publishing houses, and eventually extended worldwide. It looked fruitless. But on July 23rd, 1949, the book was finally found. A man from a town, slightly north of the beach, brought a copy of the book to the Adelaide police station. The final page, which had contained the Persian phrase, was torn out. The font perfectly matched the dead man’s scrap of paper. Testing revealed the scrap of paper matched that used in the book.
The town man explained that just after the body had been discovered in December of the prior year, he and his brother-in-law had gone for a drive in a car he kept parked near the beach. They found a copy of the Rubaiyat in the back seat of the car, but both silently assumed the other had left it there, and threw it in the glove compartment without another thought. It wasn’t until a news report mentioned the police search for the book that the man realized he might be holding key evidence.
Having the unknown man’s copy of the Rubaiyat, from which he had torn his hidden message, was an exciting break, but seemed to offer little help. Detectives looked for another copy of the book, but none seemed to exist in the world. They now knew it was published by a New Zealand chain called Whitcomb & Tombs, but an inquiry revealed that Whitcomb & Tombs had never published that book in that format. They did publish a similar version with the same cover, but it had a squarer format. No other publishing house in the world published anything that was a closer match. Where had this man obtained his completely unique copy of such a popular book?
Detective Sergeant Lionel wasn’t satisfied that the book contained no additional clues. He examined it closer. There were two telephone numbers listed on the back cover, and he saw the faint impression of other letters, as though someone had written on the final page of the book - the page containing the Persian phrase - before tearing it out. Ultraviolet light was used to make out what was written. There were five lines of letters, with the second line crossed out. It appeared to be a code of some sort.
Starting at the beginning, the police called both numbers listed in the book. One belonged to a bank, and provided no leads. The second belonged to a nurse who lived very near the beach. The police agreed to protect her identity, and for many decades she was known only as 'Jestyn', but eventually it was revealed that her name had been Jessica Thomson. Jessica was very reluctant to speak with the police, and they seemed reluctant to press her for details. She was, at the time, living with a man who she would later marry. She was very worried about a scandal arising, perhaps because of a romantic affair she’d had with the man and kept hidden from her soon-to-be-husband… or perhaps because of links to government intelligence programs and spy networks?
Regardless of her reason for keeping quiet, Jessica denied any knowledge of the case, but did admit to giving a copy of the Rubaiyat to a man named Alfred. Jessica had been an army nurse during the war, and Alfred an officer. She gave him the book when they met in an army hospital, and had inscribed it with one of the verses of poetry that she signed with her nickname. The police decided the unknown man must be this Alfred, and were quite disappointed when they found him a few days later, alive and still bearing his copy of the Rubaiyat, complete with Jessica's inscription on the last page. It was not the same unique edition the dead man had possessed.
When the Alfred lead proved fruitless, Jessica was brought in to the police station to view the body. Upon seeing his face, Detective Sergeant Lionel noted that she seemed “completely taken aback, to the point of giving the appearance she was about to faint.” She was only shown a cast that had been made of his face, and not the actual body, so this shock was not due to being faced with a dead body. Even if it had been, as a nurse, she already had experience being faced with death and sickness, so her reaction still would have been suspicious. It was clear to many that she recognized the man, but she continued to deny any connection to him. The only other piece of information Jessica offered was that some time the previous year, neighbors had told her a man had come asking for her when she was not home. She wasn’t sure of the date.
With Jessica refusing to relay any information of value, officers turned to the code. With only four short lines to work from, it proved impossible to crack. Naval Intelligence tried to decipher the code. It was published in newspapers for amateur sleuths to take a crack at. The best code breakers from all over the world were called to examine it. No one could give a definitive answer, although many guesses were made. The Navy decided the most reasonable explanation, based on the line breaks and frequency of occurrence of letters, was that the code was in English and “the lines are the initial letters of words of a verse of poetry or such like.” And, despite many ongoing efforts, the trail ended there.
Conclusion:
In June 1949, more than six months after the Unknown Man had been discovered, the body was beginning to decompose. The police had the body embalmed, and made a plaster cast of the head and upper torso. A plot of dry ground was chosen, to help preserve the body in case it was ever necessary to exhume it. The Unknown man was finally laid to rest on June 14, 1949, with a small ceremony, his name still unknown and his death not avenged. The casket was sealed under a layer of concrete, and in the following decades two other bodies have been placed in this same grave. Flowers were intermittently found on the grave until 1978, although no one ever saw who placed them there.
Jessica Thomson passed away in 2007. Her son Robin, who many believe to be fathered by the Unknown man, died two years later. Her husband, Prosper Thomson, had passed in 1995. Any secrets Jessica held were taken with her to her grave. The rare copy of the Rubaiyat was lost by police in the 50s, and no matching copy has ever turned up. The brown suitcase was destroyed in 1986.
The final results of the investigation, published by the South Australian coroner in 1958, concluded with the line, “I am unable to say who the deceased was… I am unable to say how he died or what was the cause of death.” Requests to exhume the body in order to extract mitochondrial DNA have been denied. Unless new evidence comes to light in the future, or the code is eventually cracked, we will never know exactly who this man was, or what happened to him.
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