John Middleton and Laird Bocconi: A Ghostly Bromance

Tags

1st Earl of Middleton, charles II, civil war, covenanters, England, Ghosts, Hauntings, John Middleton, Laird Bocconi, pacts, presbyterians, Scotland

Images source unknown.

The image of the vengeful ghost is one which is very common in literature, films and folklore. Usually the spirit returns to wreak revenge on someone who had wronged them when they were alive or to seek help in carrying out their revengeful plan or even just to curse those who unluckily come into contact with them. Famous fictional examples include The King in Hamlet, Samara from The Ring series and Jennet Humfrye from The Woman in Black. There are also people who claim that evil spirits intent on causing them harm share the same house. For instance The Cage in St Osyth which was labelled as one of the UK’s most haunted houses by the TV series, Great British Ghosts is reported to be occupied by the vengeful spirit of Ursula Kemp, one of 13 women accused of witchcraft who were chained up in the house prior to their execution[1].

The flip side of the coin is spirits who return to help the living rather than to harm them. There are many reasons given as to why they return such as to bring comfort to grieving family and friends, to impart a message such as the location of important documents or family heirlooms or to give a warning. One of the most often repeated stories involves a pact made between two close friends, John Middleton and Laird Bocconi to help each other from beyond the grave.[2]

A Career Soldier

John Middleton, 1st Earl of Middleton, pictured in later life. Source Wikimedia.

John Middleton born around 1608 was the eldest son of a Robert Middleton, Laird of Caldhame in Kincardineshire in Scotland. Middleton’s origins are obscure which probably indicates that he was from a humble background. Some sources say that he enlisted as a regimental pikeman when he was just thirteen but all agree that by 1632 he had joined the regiment raised by Sir John Hepburn for service in France. Whatever the truth of his origins, Middleton was a career soldier and a good one. It was due to his skill and ability that he worked his way up the ranks to become captain of the Covenanter army led by Earl James Graham of Montrose during the Bishops’ Wars[3].

Victory at the Battle of the Brig O’Dee

The Bishops’ Wars (1639-1640) were triggered by Charles I desire to remove the Presbyterian system (without bishops) favoured by the Church of Scotland and replace it with an episcopal system (with bishops). Charles I also wanted to force the Scots to follow the Book of Common Prayer.

The determination and success of the Scottish rebellion led to Charles I eventually admitting defeat and accepting the decisions of the General Assembly and the Scottish Parliament. Middleton played a vital role in the Covenanter army. In June 1639, he successfully led an attack on the Royalists at the Brig o’ Dee outside Aberdeen. The battle at the Brig o’ Dee was the only ‘substantial action’ that took place during the First Bishop’s War.

Covenanters petitioning Charles I. Source: Bridgeman Art Library.

The Parliamentary Cause

At the outbreak of the English Civil War in 1642, the Covenanter army allied themselves with the Parliamentarian cause against the Royalists. Middleton volunteered and fought at the Battle of Edgehill and in 1644 he was promoted to the rank of the Lieutenant-General in the Regiment of Horse in Sir William Waller’s Southern Associate and served in the Oxford Campaign and at the Battle of Cropredy Bridge. In 1645 Middleton returned to Scotland and joined the Army of the Covenant with the rank of major-general. In February 1646 Middleton was given the rank of commander-in-chief by the Committee of Estates and fought a campaign against the Royalists in the Highlands. Middleton also helped to negotiate the final terms for the surrender of Montrose (who he had formerly fought under) in July 1646[4].

The Battle of Edgehill. Source: Bridgeman Art Library.

A Fraught Partnership

Although between 1642 and 1647 the Covenanters and the Parliamentarians fought on the same side, the alliance was often on shaky grounds. Differences of religious ideology made them uneasy bedfellows. The parliamentarians were unhappy with the Scottish aim to impose a Presbyterian system on the Church of England and the Covenanters were equally uncomfortable with the increased radicalisation of the parliamentarian troops and the popularity of the levellers’ ideas in the New Model Army. The conflict between the two allies came to a head shortly after the Covenanters handed over Charles I to the parliamentarians after the king had surrendered to them at Newark in 1646. This led to an alliance or the Engagement between the Scots and the Royalists with Charles I promising to impose Presbyterianism on the Church of England for a period of three years once he was reinstated on the throne[5].

Charles I insulted by Cromwell’s soldiers. Source: wikipedia

A Change of Heart

As the covenanters changed alliances so did Middleton and as a result he found himself for the first time fighting for Charles I instead of against him. In August 1648 Middleton was amongst those who were taken prisoner by the Roundheads after the Royalist defeat at the Battle of Preston. Middleton broke parole and made his way back to Scotland to join up with Sir Thomas Mackenzie of Pluscardine in an abortive Royalist uprising in the Highlands in the Spring of 1649.

A Ruffian’s Penance

Sack cloth and ashes. Source: unknown.

Middleton’s support for both the Royalists and the Engagement brought him into conflict with the Presbyterians of the godly Kirk. Middleton was probably not someone whom the Presbyterians would have been too fond of anyway because of his reputation as a notorious ‘hard-drinking ruffian’[6]. As a punishment they excommunicated Middleton in October 1650 and then forced him to undergo a public penance. Middleton was made to wear a sackcloth at St Mary’s Kirk in Dundee[7]. This humiliating experience left Middleton with a deep hatred of and grudge against the Presbyterians. As a result of his degrading treatment Middleton became a loyal supporter of the Royalists and in particular Charles II. His grit, experience and ability made him indispensable to Charles II and a dangerous foe to the Presbyterians who he was once willing to put his life on the line for.

A Ghostly Visitation

The Tower of London. Source: hauntedisland.co.uk

In September 1651 whilst fighting on behalf of Charles II, Middleton was captured at the Battle of Worcester. In a bad state and wounded Middleton was sent to the Tower of London to await trial for treason. It is whilst he was a prisoner that one of the strangest stories of a ghostly apparition was reported to have occurred. One night while he was lying in bed feeling depressed, Middleton saw the ghost of his friend, Laird Bocconi appear before him. Many years before Middleton and Bocconi had made a friendship pact that if one of them died before the other and if the survivor was in trouble, the deceased friend would return to help him. Middleton first asked Bocconi if he was alive or dead[8]. Bocconi’s ghost replied that he was dead and that he had died a long time ago. Bocconi then continued that Middleton’s life was in serious danger and that he needed to make his escape sooner rather than later. Middleton did in fact manage to escape three days after receiving this ghostly advice by disguising himself in his wife’s, Lady Grizel’s clothes. His escape was even more remarkable since he manage to get out his cell despite the door being tripled locked! Did he have inside help? Did his wife change places with him? No one knows and no other details about how he got away have ever emerged.

Source: wikipedia

Bocconi’s appearance up to the point of his warning seemed to follow a typical pattern for manifestations of this type but then after delivering his message Bocconi did something very bizarre. Middleton reported that Bocconi started to do a frisk i.e. jigged around the room and recited a short rhyme,

“Givanni, Givanni, ‘tis very strange,

In the world to see so sudden a change”[9]

Then Bocconi vanished. Why did Bocconi’s ghost suddenly decide to prance around the cell and chant and what if anything did the rhyme have to do with Middleton’s situation? Bocconi’s use of the Italian equivalent of the name ‘John’ does show that Bocconi was addressing Middleton directly but the rest of his chant is confusing. Was the ghost referring to Middleton’s personal change in circumstances i.e. from a free man to a prisoner or to the remarkable change in his allegiances or more generally to the tumultuous times Middleton was living in? Could the message have been a prediction about Middleton’s future and his rise in the world? No one has ever managed to explain the ghost’s actions or to be fair I don’t think anyone has ever tried.

Aftermath

Middleton managed to get to France and join the exiled Charles II in Paris. By 1653 he was made commander of the Royalist forces and was at the forefront of the military campaign to restore the Stewarts to the English throne. When Charles II became king he was given the title of the Earl of Middleton. Middleton was appointed in 1660 as the Royal Commissioner to the (Scots) Parliament[10] using his position to help the king root out Presbyterianism from Scotland. His rapid rise from humble beginnings caused resentment amongst the established nobility, in particular the Earl of Lauderdale who contrived to destroy Middleton. Lauderdale succeeded for a while with Middleton being stripped of his position and offices but he was soon back in favour. In 1663 he was made Governor of Rochester and later in 1668 he was appointed as the Governor of Tangiers. Middleton remained in Tangiers as governor until his death in July 1674[11]. It is believed he died from injuries sustained after falling down some stairs whilst extremely drunk[12].

Image Source: Franz Hals[?]

A Final Note

On a historical note, Middleton had the last laugh as despite the Scottish aristocracy contempt for him, his descendant is currently sitting on the throne of England! Queen Elizabeth through her matrilineal line is a direct descendent of John Middleton[13]. The only mention of Bocconi I could find was in relation to his ghost, who he was, what he did and how he met Middleton seems so far to have vanished from the pages of history. Maybe they met when Middleton was fighting on the continent. Bocconi sounds Italian but the title of Lord was given in its Scottish form. Does that mean anything? probably not. As to the ghost story, it is a unique tale revealing very strange behaviour on the part of the spirit, from a dignified and ominous entry to a rather silly exit. I would also be fascinated to know if anyone ever manages to work out the meaning of Bocconi’s last words on earth!

Image source: favim.com[?]

Bibliography

John Middleton, 1^st Earl of Middleton, http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/usbiography/m/johnmiddleton.html

Royal Middleton Roots, http://www.scotclans.com/royal-middleton-roots/

Alisdair McRae, How the Scots won the English Civil War: The triumph of Fraser’s Dragoons

Brave or bonkers? Man chooses to live in ‘Britain’s most haunted house’ where poltergeists BITE guests, http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/brave-bonkers-man-chooses-live-7080762

Magnus Bennett, Royal wedding: Prince William ‘has Middleton ancestry’, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-north-east-orkney-shetland-13209043

Owen Davies, The Haunted: A social history of ghosts

Horace Welby (editor), Signs Before Death: Authenticated Apparitions

John Middleton, c.1608-74, http://bcw-project.org/biography/john-middleton

Covenanter, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Covenanter

Bishops’ Wars, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bishops’_Wars

Tristan Hunt, The English Civil War: The Endgame – 1646 – 1649 – Introduction, http://www.open.edu/openlearn/history-the-arts/history/world-history/the-english-civil-war-the-endgame-1646-1649-introduction

John Middleton, 1st Earl of Middleton, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Middleton,_1st_Earl_of_Middleton

Middleton name already part of Prince William’s family tree, https://www.thecourier.co.uk/news/115525/middleton-name-already-part-of-prince-williams-family-tree/

Notes

[1] Brave or bonkers? Man chooses to live in ‘Britain’s most haunted house’ where poltergeists BITE guests, http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/brave-bonkers-man-chooses-live-7080762

[2] Owen Davies, The Haunted: A social history of ghosts

[3] John Middleton, c.1608-74, http://bcw-project.org/biography/john-middleton

[4] ibid

[5] Covenanter, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Covenanter

[6]Royal Middleton Roots, http://www.scotclans.com/royal-middleton-roots/

[7] Alisdair McRae, How the Scots won the English Civil War: The triumph of Fraser’s Dragoons

[8] Horace Welby (editor), Signs Before Death: Authenticated Apparitions

[9] ibid

[10] Middleton name already part of Prince William’s family tree, https://www.thecourier.co.uk/news/115525/middleton-name-already-part-of-prince-williams-family-tree/

[11] John Middleton, c.1608-74, http://bcw-project.org/biography/john-middleton

[12] Magnus Bennett, Royal wedding: Prince William ‘has Middleton ancestry’, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-north-east-orkney-shetland-13209043

[13] Magnus Bennett, Royal wedding: Prince William ‘has Middleton ancestry’, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-north-east-orkney-shetland-13209043

The deathly stoop chair of Thomas Busby

Tags

Busby Stoop Inn, cursed chair, daniel awety, death, Ghosts, gibbet, haunted furniture, Murder, stoop, thirsk museum, thomas busby

Thirsk Museum. Image source Trip Advisor.

If you visit the small jewel of a museum in Thirsk you will see the rather strange sight of an oak chair hung from the ceiling in one of the display areas. The chair was suspended at the explicit request of its owner to prevent anyone from ever sitting on it including maintenance and cleaners[1]. The museum has never broken its promise in over 30 years despite numerous requests and even the threat of legal action[2].

A notorious ruffian

Portrait of Thomas Busby. Image source: darkhauntingswordpress.com

Local legend has it that the chair belonged to Thomas Busby, a thug, thief and drunkard who lived in North Yorkshire in the latter part of the 1600s. Busby married Elizabeth, the daughter of a small time petty crock, Daniel Awety who lived near the village of Kirby Wiske. Awety had purchased a farm after moving to the area from Leeds. His house which he called Danotty Hall was ideal for Awety, enabling him to continue with his illegal coining activities in relative seclusion. It was even reported that Awety had built within the house a hidden chamber which was connected to the cellar via a secret passageway[3]. Busby who was also the original owner of an inn near Sandhutton and just three miles from Danotty Hall became Awety’s partner in crime.

A crime of passion

The details of what happened that fatal last day of Awety’s life are vague. Awety and Busby may have argued earlier that day but over what is not known, it could have been something to do with Elizabeth, the coining business or almost anything else. Their relationship was known to be far from harmonious with Busby often in a foul mood with Awety for some reason or another.

Gibbet. Source unknown.

What is clear is that later that day a drunken and volatile Busby returned to his inn only to find Awety waiting for him threatening to take Elizabeth home with him. Busby’s mood only blackened when he saw Awety sitting in his favourite chair. Whatever their second argument of the day was over Busby forcibly removed Awety from the chair and threw him out.

That night Busby still seething grabbed a hammer, stormed over to Danotty Hall and bludgeoned Awety to death. Busby then tried to hide his handiwork in the woods. Concern over Awety’s sudden disappearance led to a local search of the area being made. On finding the body, Busby was arrested at the inn and charged with murder.

In the summer of 1702 Busby was tried and sentenced to death for murder at the York Assizes. His punishment was to be gibbeted i.e. hung from a gibbet, his body dipped in tar and his remains displayed on a stoop (post) attached to the gibbet, in full view of his inn. The inn was soon after renamed the Busby Stoop Inn, a name which it retained until it closed in 2012.

The Busby Stoop Inn. Image taken from Paranormalguide.com

Busby’s final warning

Busby’s favorite chair. Image source: Paranormalguide.com

It is here that the story veers away from historical certainty and moves into the realms of local folklore. One version recounts how Busby was granted his last wish which was to have a final drink at his own inn and sit in his favorite chair. On leaving the inn to make his final journey to the execution site Busby cursed the chair declaring that death would come shortly to anyone who sat in it. Another version tells how Busby drunkenly shouted out the curse whilst being taken to the gibbet to be hung. Whichever way you look at it, Busby was determined that even from beyond the grave he would never allow anyone to enjoy sitting in his beloved chair.

Busby’s spirit was believed to have haunted his old pub as well as the area where he was gibbeted[4] but it’s his precious chair, the focus of his curse which became irrevocably linked to his revengeful spirit. According to local legend, this seemly innocuous piece of furniture has been responsible for more deaths than most serial killers (one estimate puts the number of its victims at over 60!).

The chair’s first victim?

The first reported death alleged to be associated with the death chair is that of a chimney sweep who along with a friend sat in the chair whilst having a drink one evening in 1894. The sweep never made it home that night, being completely inebriated he laid down on the road to sleep. The next morning his body was found hanging from the post next to the gibbet. His death was ruled as a suicide but in 1914 the friend with whom the chimney sweep had spent his last hours with admitted on his death bed to having robbed and murdered his friend.

Dead man’s chair or Don’t sit down!

During the Second World War, the pub became a popular drinking spot with RCAF airmen. The airmen would goad each other to sit in the chair. Those that took up the challenge never returned from their missions.

In 1968 a couple of years before Tony Earnshaw took over the running of the pub, he overheard two airmen dare each other to sit in the chair. They both did. Returning to the airfield their car left the road and crashed into a tree. They both died on the way to the hospital.

Source: Pinterest

Through the early 1970s the chair seemed to claim a number of victims including a cleaning lady who was diagnosed with a brain tumor after knocking into the chair; a number of cyclists and motorcyclists who suffered fatal road accidents; a hitch-hiker who was run over after having spent two nights at the pub and; a local man who died of a heart attack shortly after sitting in the condemned chair[5].

A group of builders having a drink at the pub cajoled the youngest of their group into sitting on the chair. Back at the site the man fell through the roof of the building and landed on the concrete ground below. This death proved to be the final straw for Earnshaw and he banished the chair to the cellar.

A delivery man from the brewery was in the cellar one day when he decided to try out the chair. He commented to Earnshaw that it was far too comfortable to be left down there. He was killed shortly afterwards when his van went off the road. Soon after Earnshaw must have decided that the chair despite being a profitable tourist attraction was too dangerous to keep any longer. In 1978 Earnshaw donated it to the Thirsk Museum

A grim legacy or tourist gimmick?

There are so many questions that have been left unanswered and probably unanswerable. Did Busby really commit murder over a chair? Could any person truly hold such deep affection for a carved piece of wood? Is Busby’s revengeful and jealous spirit still attacking anyone who dares sit in his seat? Or was the murder over something far more important, something which we will never know about? Is the chair really haunted or was it a money-making gimmick? Is the chair just really an extremely unlucky piece of furniture? Is this chair really the same chair that Busby fought over[6]?

The chair is safely out of reach now. Image source: Hauntedyorkshire.com

Many people believe the deaths were just an unlucky coincidence. Another explanation could be simply that the majority of those brave enough to defy the curse were just risk-takers, prepared to push their luck[7] (it is interesting how many of the deaths happened on roads and thousands of men of Bomber Command never returned from sorties) and were simply unlucky.

On one hand, it would be intriguing to test the chair to see if the legend about this unusual haunting is really true…but on the other hand, sometimes it is better not to know…

Bibliography

Thomas Busby’s Ghost – The Busby Stoop Inn: http://www.spiritseekers.info/thomasbusbyghost.php

Busby’s stoop chair: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Busby%27s_stoop_chair

The infamous Busby Stoop Chair: http://www.thirskmuseum.org/chair.htm

The Busby Stoop Curse – The full story: http://soapboxcorner.blogspot.co.uk/2007/10/busby-stoop-curse-full-story.html

The Cursed Busby’s Chair: http://seeksghosts.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/the-cursed-busbys-chair.html

Chair of death: http://unsolvedmysteries.wikia.com/wiki/Chair_of_Death

Busby’s Stoop Chair of Death: http://www.theparanormalguide.com/blog/busbys-stoop-chair-of-death

Notes

[1] Busby’s stoop chair: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Busby%27s_stoop_chair

[2] The Busby Stoop Curse – The full story: http://soapboxcorner.blogspot.co.uk/2007/10/busby-stoop-curse-full-story.html

[3] ibid

[4] Thomas Busby’s Ghost – The Busby Stoop Inn: http://www.spiritseekers.info/thomasbusbyghost.php

[5] The Cursed Busby’s Chair: http://seeksghosts.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/the-cursed-busbys-chair.html

[6] The Busby Stoop Curse – The full story: http://soapboxcorner.blogspot.co.uk/2007/10/busby-stoop-curse-full-story.html

[7] Death chairs

 

Copped Hall: An architectural phoenix

Tags

Anne Boleyn, Charles Sackwell, Copped Hall, Coyners, Earl of Middlesex, Essex, Fitzaucher, Heneage, imprisonment, Lionel Cranfield, Mary Tudor, restoration, Sir Anthony Denny, Waltham

Aerial view of Copped Hall and grounds. Via Copped Hall Trust.

In 1165 Henry II granted two acres of land to the Fitzaucher family in an area known as Waltham. The Fitzaucher family who served the king as royal huntsmen built the first house on the property.

The house which encompassed a timber framed hall with service rooms became known as ‘La Coppedehalle’ or Copped Hall. The actual name of Copped Hall was first recorded in 1258. There are different views on the name’s meaning; some say it was from the two pinnacles/turrets on the medieval building coped with lead; others that it was because the hall was built on a hill or peak as ‘cop’ or ‘copp’ was the old English word for the top of a summit; and another view is that the ‘cop’ was referring to the height of the house (about 300 feet) above sea level[1].

Example of a 13th Century timber framed hall. Landmark Trust.

By 1303 the estate had expanded to include 60 acres of parkland, 100 acres of arable farmland and 20 acres of meadow lands. By 1337 the house had passed into the ownership of Sir John Shardlow who in 1350 gave the hall and its land to the Abbots of Waltham in exchange for other properties.

So began a fascinating history of a hall and the people who owned it. From a refuge of abbots to a Tudor prison to one of most important houses in Essex to a burnt out shell to a project of love, Copped Hall has seen many changes and hopefully its story will continue for many years to come.

“A Mansion of Pleasure and Privacy”[2]

Waltham Abbey was at the time that Copped Hall came into its possession one of the most important Augustinian Houses in England. The first church was a wooden structure of which nothing remains. It was believed to have been built on the site in 610AD during the reign of Saebert, King of the East Saxons.

Waltham Abbey. By JohnArmagh – Own work, Public Domain, via Wikimedia.

Two ‘events’ had a profound impact on the Abbey and shaped its future. The first was in around 1025 when Tovi (Tofig) the Proud, a loyal follower of Cnut, had a prophetic dream of a large black flint crucifix buried on top of a hill on his Somerset land[3]. The crucifix was found and brought to Waltham which became known from then on as ‘The Abbey Church of Waltham Holy Cross’. The Abbey became a famous centre of healing and both it and the village grew wealthy from the large number of visiting pilgrims. The second was in 1066. Harold II had stopped to pray at the Abbey which he had rebuilt, refounded and patronised before continuing onwards to Hastings. It is claimed that as he lay dying on the battlefield his last request was for his body to be buried at Waltham Abbey[4]. His body has yet to be found.

As the Abbey prospered as a centre of learning, the Forest continued to be a popular royal hunting location. Copped Hall became a retreat or resting place of retirement for Waltham’s abbots which allowed them the privacy they needed to entertain their guests in a suitably luxurious environment. It is claimed that Henry III, Richard II and Henry VIII were among those who took up the abbots’ offers of hospitality.

The Henry VIII Connection

Hans Holbein the Younger [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

It is believed that Henry VIII visited Copped Hall on a number of occasions whilst it was in the possession of the Waltham abbots in order to discuss religious matters.

Legend has it that on the 19 May 1536, the day of the execution of Anne Boleyn, Henry was at Copped Hall. The story recounts how it was whilst he was taking a walk among the yew trees with his courtiers that he heard the sound of the signalling cannons which heralded her death[5].

Unfortunately even the esteem which Henry had for Waltham and despite the best efforts of its last abbot, Robert Fuller who surrendered the abbey to the King in 1537 could not save it. On the 23 March 1540, the Abbey of Waltham became the last abbey in the country to be dissolved.

Although in theory, Copped Hall, now a three storey brick built building, became a royal property, Henry VIII never lived there instead he leased the manor to Sir Anthony Denny in 1541.

A Royal Prison

Queen Mary Tudor, known as Bloody Mary.

Mary Tudor’s strict adherence to the Catholic religion caused a deep and irreparable rift between her and her brother, Edward VI. During his short reign, January 1547 to July 1553, Mary was banished from Court and a close watch was kept on her actions and movements.

For at least two of these six years Mary was kept a virtual prisoner at Copped Hall which she referred to as her “poor howse”[6]. Despite the obvious danger and choosing to ignore a warning not to have mass performed either at the Hall or at her other Essex property, New Hall in Boreham, Mary made Copped Hall a centre of Catholicism.

It is also believed that the future Elizabeth I was also briefly imprisoned at the Hall. Eventually the Hall and the other Essex Mansions did eventually pass to Elizabeth.

Sir Thomas Heneage and a Shakespearean First

Thomas Heneage. Image from Coppend Hall Trust.

In August 1564 Elizabeth granted the estate of Copped Hall to one of her favourite and most trusted courtiers, Sir Thomas Heneage.

Heneage begun his political career as a MP for Stamford in 1553. He continued his rise to eminence as a MP for a number of other boroughs including Arundel and Essex. He was eventually awarded the position of Gentleman of the Privy Chamber at the Elizabethan Court and knighted in 1577. It was rumoured that Robert Dudley, 1^st Earl of Leicester was deeply jealous of Elizabeth and Heange’s flirtatious friendship. Elizabeth was never the easiest monarch to serve and there is evidence that Heneage fell in and out of royal favour but she did honour him with a state visit at Copped Hall in 1568.

When Heneage took ownership of Copped Hall, the building was in a terrible condition and Heneage decided to completely rebuild it, albeit on the same site. He employed the architect John Thorpe to design the new Hall. Thorpe’s design was unusual for the time in that he created a U-shaped building which only partly enclosed the courtyard. The main building was two storeys high with a single storey corridor connecting the main block to the wings. To the south of the main building was a formal garden area. The most impressive feature of Heneage’s Hall was a 174 feet long, 24 feet wide and 23 feet high[7] gallery which occupied the entire top floor of the East Wing (the gallery was destroyed in a hurricane in 1639).

Copped Hall in the time of Thomas Heneage. Image from the Copped Hall Trust.

Although I have read differing accounts on its location i.e. either the formal garden or gallery, what they do agree on is that the first performance of ‘A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream’ took place at Copped Hall on the occasion of the wedding of Heneage to his second wife, Mary Browne, Countess of Southampton on the 2^nd May 1594[8]. The wedding celebration must have been a magnificent event with many influential and wealthy guests attending. Shakespeare more than likely was in attendance and possibly also Francis Walsingham of whom he was a close friend.

Oberon and Titania by William Blake. Image via Wikimedia.

Heneage died on the 17 October 1595 and he was buried in the Old St Paul’s Cathedral. His grave along with many other was destroyed during the Fire of London. The estate passed to his only daughter Elizabeth by his first wife, Anne Poyntz. Elizabeth divided the estate and sold Copped Hall. In 1623 the Hall became the property of Lionel Cranfield, Earl of Middlesex.

Lord Lionel Cranfield, 1st Earl of Middlesex: A ruthless financier

Lionel Cranfield, 1st Earl of Middlesex. Image via Wikimedia.

Cranfield was the son of a London merchant. He began his career as a merchant’s apprentice to the importer/exporter Richard Sheppard whose daughter, Elizabeth he married in 1599. The success of his own business enabled him to join the Merchant Adventurers in 1602 and eventually he came to the notice of some powerful men including Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton who became Cranfield’s first patron. Cranfield’s entered royal service in 1605, he rose quickly and in 1621 was made Lord Treasurer[9].

As Treasurer Cranfield had two main aims, to amass as much money for himself as possible and to reform royal finances i.e. to raise revenues and somehow to curb James I flamboyant spending. Cranfield was noted as being ruthless in financial matters[10] and his punitive measures led to him making a number of powerful enemies including another of his patrons, the Duke of Buckingham. Using Cranfield’s opposition to a proposed war with Spain as an excuse, his enemies accused him of “bribery, extortion, oppression and other grievous misdemeanours”[11]. In 1624, Parliament found Cranfield guilty and he was stripped of his office, fined £50,000 and sent to the Tower. Still in James I good books, Cranfield was finally exonerated and after a year released from the Tower.

Despite being pardoned he never returned to politics and instead retired to his country estate and political obscurity, living at Copped Hall until his death on the 6th August 1645. The Hall passed to his sons and eventually to his daughter, Frances’ son, Charles Sackwell, 6^th Earl of Dorset in 1674.

Charles Sackwell: A rapier wit and forgivable rogue

Charles, 6 Earl of Dorset by Kneller. Image via Wikimedia.

Sackwell was a renown Royal courtier and wit and a close friend of Lord Rochester and Sir Charles Sedley. Sackwell’s antics often got him into trouble for instance, Charles and his brother, Edward along with thirteen others were arrested for the robbery and murder of a tanner by the name of Hoppy[12]. Charles and his friends were acquitted on the grounds of mistaken identity i.e. they had thought Hoppy was a highwayman. In general he was popular and well-liked despite his behaviour, Rochester remarked to Charles II that “he did not know how it was my Lord Dorset might do anything, yet was never to blame”[13]. Sackwell was also credited by Pepys of having been responsible for taking Nell Gwyn away from the theatre and the two having “kept merry house at Epson”[14] before she became the mistress of Charles II. Although a favourite of Charles II, Sackwell was never popular with James II whose mistress Catherine Sedley, Countess of Dorchester he lampooned. On James II ascension Sackwell retired from court spending more time at his country properties including Copped Hall.

Nell Gwyn by Peter Lely. Image via Wikimedia.

Copped Hall continued during Sackwell’s ownership to play host to royal guests including Charles II and James II. The Hall also acted as a shelter for royalty. For instance in 1688 Anne’s support for the proposed overthrow of her father, James II and the plan to replace him with her sister Mary and Mary’s husband William of Orange led her in fear to flee Whitehall. Copped Hall was one of the stops she made on her way to Oxford “On the following morning she set out to Epping Forest. In that wild track Dorset possessed a venerable mansion, which has long since been destroy’d. In his hospitable dwelling, the favourite resort of wits and poets, the fugitives made a short stay”[15]. On another occasion, after a failed Jacobite kidnap plot in 1696 was thwarted, William of Orange came to the Hall for a rest and refuge.

A New Era: The Conyers Family

Edward Conyers. Image via Copped Hall Trust.

By the time Copped Hall passed into the ownership of Edward Conyers in 1739 it was in a terrible condition due to storm damage and the neglect of the previous occupier, Thomas Webster. Conyers, a wealthy MP and landowner, already owned the Manor of Epping and by buying Copped Hall he reunited the estate which had been previous split up by Heneage’s daughter. Unfortunately Edward Conyers did not live long enough to enjoy his purchase as he died only three years later.

His son, John decided to abandon the old Hall and build a completely new house in a slightly different position. In the mid-1740s, he hired the architect John Sanderson to make the necessary plans and in 1758 the new Georgian mansion was completed. There is a record that shortly after John Conyers’ death, the Hall was burgled and a quantity of plate was stolen. The stolen goods were traced to Brick Lane in Shoreditch and the thief, Lambert Reading was caught and sentenced to death [16].

John Conyers II inherited the house from his father and added his own mark by refurbishing the rooms with the help of the architect James Wyatt. It is not completely certain if it was under John Conyers II or his father (more likely the latter) but at some point the great Lancelot Brown was hired to redesign the grounds and gardens. The new garden plan included an impressive four metre walled garden in which fruit, vegetables and flowers were grown.

Under the Conyers the hall earned the title of the premier house of Essex and was “celebrated as one of the principal ornaments of the country”[17]. The Conyers also turned their attention to the Hall’s estate which had long been neglected by building small tenant cottages, each of which had a small portion of garden allocated to them and also by providing the tenants with a supply of firewood. According to reports this had a civilizing effect on the barbarians and cleared the surrounding forest of an infestation of deer and wood stealers[18].

A Victorian Palladian Mansion

Unfortunately the Hall’s golden age did not last long. Under John Conyers II son, Henry John Conyers the house again fell into disrepair. Henry was obsessed with hunting spending over £100,000 on his hobby[19] but had no interest in the house and gardens. On his death, the estate passed to his eldest daughter, Julia who continued to live at the Hall with her husband until his death. She eventually sold the Hall to George Wythes, a wealthy railway magnate in 1869.

Foxhunting. Image via George Glazer Gallery.

Wythes younger grandson, Ernest James Wythes who had raised his social position by marrying into the aristocracy inherited the house in 1887. He felt he needed a house which was grander and more suitable to his new status. So he commissioned the architect Charles Eamer Kempe to extend and embellish the house, build a huge conservatory and create a new Italianate architectural garden full of statues, temples, gates and ornate fountains. The estate was so wealthy that in 1900 Wythes employed a huge staff which included 27 house servants and 31 gardeners despite the house only being occupied part of the year[20].

Copped Hall in its Victorian Heyday. Image via Copped Hall Trust.

An unfortunate accident

During World War I many of the Hall’s male servants went off to war and sadly did not return. In order to keep the estate going, Land Girls were recruited to farm the land and to help produce the much needed food for the war effort. The Hall itself was handed over to the Army and was used as a barracks for wounded soldiers.

Accounts on how the fire started differ. Some say it was a staff member who accidently dropped a lighted cigarette whilst on the roof of the Hall watching Zeppelins being destroyed over Grays in Essex and others that it was started by a careless soldier. The most probable explanation is that the fire was a result of an electrical fault[21]. Whatever the cause, the fire started on a Sunday morning in 1917 in the south west corner of the Hall. Gardeners and house staff tried to put out the fire by passing buckets of water through the open windows and using hoses but the situation was extremely tricky due to the windy conditions which helped the fire spread. Rare books were thrown out of the windows into buckets, paintings were grabbed and Ernest concentrated on saving his valuables from the wall safe[22]. Even with the assistance of the Loughton Fire Brigade the fire continued to burn until late on the Monday evening.

Detail of stately home on fire c1940s. Image source unknown.

By the time the fire was extinguished the house was no longer safe to be lived in. The Wythes moved to Wood House, a small lodging on the estate where they continued to entertain influential and powerful figures such as Winston Churchill. Although the Wythes maintained the gardens the house was left to decay. The move which was supposed to be temporary eventually became the Wythes permanent home and they lived there until Ernest Wythes’ widow Aline died in 1952. The estate was then sold and what was left of the building stripped of its timberwork; the staircases were removed; and railings, gates, statues, steps sold and dispersed to other stately homes both in England and abroad. Even some of the ancient trees were uprooted and the conservatory dynamited[23]. With the M25’s construction which cut off part of the estate, the fate of Copped Hall seemed sealed.

Copped Hall Reborn

In the 1950s, 60s and 70s the house remained largely forgotten, an architectural skeleton in the Essex countryside. Some of the only visitors were groups of local teenagers (my mother being one of them) who would visit the house at night looking for ghosts.

Copped Hall today. Image via Copped Hall Trust.

It was Alan Cox, an architect who had grown up in the area, who became the house’s saviour. In an interview with the Telegraph he said he recollects that Copped Hall was hauntingly wonderful, a “poignant statement. It is the height of a particular cultural period, yet it transcends the era in which it was built”[24]. In the 80s, Cox began a nine year campaign to save the house and gardens, a difficult task since the land was a developer’s dream being close to the M25, London and Stanstead Airport. In 1986 Cox set up a group including influential people which successfully lobbied organisations such as Save Britain’s Heritage and the Georgian Group to prevent a proposed development, the first of three. In 1992 the Conservators of Epping Forest bought the parkland and in 1995 the Copped Hall Trust purchased the mansion, stables, outbuildings and gardens. For full details on the Trust, the Friends work and the restoration project you can visit the Copped Hall Trust website http://www.coppedhalltrust.org.uk/.

The aim of the Trust is to restore the house and gardens to their former Georgian grandeur and create an educational and community centre for the local area. On my first visit to Copped Hall, I was lucky to see the roof which had just recently been installed as well as the first few steps of the marbled staircase. I also explored the fantastic cellars and strolled through the gardens which had once been the preserve of Royalty and the wealthy, had an encounter with bees in the incredible walled garden and saw the site of the first Hall. The house and gardens are stunning and have a wonderful warm and positive feeling about them. I really hope that I will see the complete restoration of the mansion but a house which originally took only six years to build will take many more years to rebuild. Luckily the love, dedication, determination and sheer hard work of the volunteers and Friends will ensure that Copped Hall will one day rise fully formed from the ashes and this house with its incredible history will once more claim its rightful status as one of the premier houses in Essex.

Copped Hall. Image via Diamond Geezer blog.

Bibliography

1. The history of Waltham Abbey http://www.walthamabbeychurch.co.uk/history.htm
2. Waltham Abbey Church, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waltham_Abbey_Church
3. Waltham Abbey Church, http://www.britainexpress.com/counties/essex/churches/waltham-abbey.htm
4. Copped Hall Trust, http://coppedhalltrust.org.uk/
5. Copped Hall, https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1000384
6. Copped Hall, http://www.britainexpress.com/counties/essex/houses/Copped-Hall.htm
7. Copped Hall, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copped_Hall
8. Copped Hall, Epping, http://www.derelictplaces.co.uk/main/residential-sites/18398-copped-hall-epping-essex-april-2011-a.html
9. Folklore of Essex, Sylvia Kent, January 2009
10. Nicholas Hagger, A view of Epping Forest
11. Jennifer Potter, Past Historic, Future Perfect, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/gardening/gardenprojects/3318465/Past-historic-future-perfect.html
12. St Albans & Hertfordshire Architectural and Archaeological Society, http://www.stalbanshistory.org/page_id__286.aspx?path=0p3p164p125p130p
13. Excursions in the County of Essex, Thomas .Kitson Cromwell, 1819
14. Sir William Petre, Secretary of State http://tudorplace.com.ar/Bios/WilliamPetre(Sir).htm
15. The Conyers Family of Walthamstow and Copped Hall http://www.weag.org.uk/CoppedHallConyersLinkFinal3.pdf
16. Old Bailey Online, https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/
17. Jacobite assassination plot 1696, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacobite_assassination_plot_1696
18. Thomas Heneage, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Heneage
19. Charles Sackville, 6th Earl of Dorset https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Sackville,_6th_Earl_of_Dorset
20. Lionel Cranfield, http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/stuart-england/lionel-cranfield/

Notes

[1]  Nicholas Hagger, A view of Epping Forest

[2] Waltham Abbey Church, http://www.britainexpress.com/counties/essex/churches/waltham-abbey.htm

[3] Waltham Abbey Church, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waltham_Abbey_Church

[4] Waltham Abbey Church, http://www.britainexpress.com/counties/essex/churches/waltham-abbey.htm

[5] A view of Epping Forest, Nicholas Hagger

[6] ibid

[7] Waltham Abbey Church, http://www.britainexpress.com/counties/essex/churches/waltham-abbey.htm

[8] Excursions in the County of Essex, Thomas .Kitson Cromwell, 1819

[9] Lionel Cranfield, http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/stuart-england/lionel-cranfield/

[10] ibid

[11] ibid

[12] Charles Sackville, 6th Earl of Dorset https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Sackville,_6th_Earl_of_Dorset

[13] ibid

[14] ibid

[15] Nicholas Hagger, A view of Epping Forest

[16] The Conyers Family of Walthamstow and Copped Hall http://www.weag.org.uk/CoppedHallConyersLinkFinal3.pdf

[17] Excursions in the County of Essex, Thomas .Kitson Cromwell, 1819

[18] ibid

[19] The Conyers Family of Walthamstow and Copped Hall http://www.weag.org.uk/CoppedHallConyersLinkFinal3.pdf

[20] Copped Hall, https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1000384

[21] Copped Hall, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copped_Hall

[22] Nicholas Hagger, A view of Epping Forest

[24] Jennifer Potter, Past Historic, Future Perfect, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/gardening/gardenprojects/3318465/Past-historic-future-perfect.html

 

Dead Gorgeous: the life and death of Venetia Stanley, Lady Digby

Tags

Brief Lives, cosmetics, death portraits, died in bed, in praise of venetia, John Aubrey, memento mori, Poison, private memoirs, seventeenth century, Sir Kenelm Digby, stelliana, Van Dyck, Van Dyke, Venetia Digby, Venetia Stanley, Viper Wine

Stelliana

“…if she had been in those times when men committed idolatry, the world would certainly have renounced the sun, the stars and all other devotions and with one consent have adored her for their goddess.”[1]

As an acknowledged beauty of the Stuart Age, with a slightly suspect reputation, it was to be expected that scandal and gossip clung to Venetia Stanley’s name. However it was her mysterious demise – which led to suggestions of suicide and allegations of murder, and the obsessionally morbid devotion displayed by her husband after her death, that would ensure her lasting fame.

Sexual adventuress or secret bride?

Venetia Stanley had had an effect on men from the moment she was born. She was born in 1600, in Tong Castle in Shropshire, into a well-connected family. Her father was Lord Edward Stanley and her mother Lady Lucy Percy, co-heiress to the vast Percy fortune. When Lucy tragically died, Lord Stanley had the young Venetia sent away rather than have her presence a constant reminder of his lost love, Lucy.

Growing up in the countryside, at Enston Abbey in Oxfordshire [2], the young Venetia’s star burned bright.  Gossipy polymath John Aubrey, writing several decades after Venetia’s death, wrote of her early life:

“..it seems her beauty could not lie hid. The young Eagles has espied her, and she was sanguine and tractable, and of much suavity (which to abuse was a great pittie)”[3]

I’m no expert on the idioms of seventeenth century speech but it sounds rather like Aubrey is suggesting that the young Venetia might just have been a bit of a flirt.

Venetia Stanley, Lady Digby. By Henri Toutin, painted in 1637 (after her death). Via Wikimedia

After Oxfordshire, she decamped to London where she continued to make a stir everywhere she went. In the debauched Stuart Court beauty was everything and young Venetia had it all – perfectly meeting the ideal of the Stuart age with her fine dark locks, alabaster complexion, languid ‘come to bed’ eyes, and as Aubrey so nicely puts it, her ‘bona roba’, her curvaceous figure.

The Stuart Court was a place of great sexual license, but barring one or two privileged exceptions (such as the notorious Countess of Somerset) that license tended to be issued to men only: randy cavaliers could bed whom they pleased with little fear of tarnishing their reputation. The sexual politics of the time was not quite so tolerant of female rakes; money and social standing could offer some protection to a young adventuress but gossip and scandal could be cruel bedfellows.  Venetia was not immune to slander, both during her life and even decades after her death.

Aubrey, generally the most quoted source for her life, claimed that Venetia was the mistress of Richard Sackville, Earl of Dorset, and had children by him.  In his Brief Lives, Aubrey states that Sackville paid her £500 annually – no mean sum. However, Aubrey is not necessarily the most reliable source, writing decades after her death and often reporting gossip and hearsay as fact. Another possibility is that Venetia’s reputation as a courtesan may be in part due to the fact that her marriage to Sir Kenelm Digby in c1625 was kept secret until after their first child was born [4].

The Ornament of England

Sir Kenelm Digby, c1632, after Van Dyck. Lewis Walpole Library, Yale University.

Kenelm was the son of Sir Everard Digby who was executed following the Gun Powder Plot.  He was a scholar, philosopher, courtier,alchemist, privateer, and general all round clever-dick given the somewhat pompous epithet “the ornament of England”.

“Sir Kenelme Digby was held to be the most accomplished cavalier of his time. [..] He was such a goodly handsome person, gigantique and great voice, and had so gracefull Elocution and noble address, etc., that had he been drop’t out of the Clowdes in any part of the World, he would have made himself respected.  But the Jesuites spake spitefully, and sayd ’twas true, but then he must not stay there above six weeks.'”[5]

I can’t help but think that Aubrey seems to take sly delight in spiking this unctuous description with a little acid.

Theories as to why the pair might have kept their marriage a secret abound: from Sir Kenelm’s mother disapproving of her prospective daughter-in-law’s libertine life-style or considering her a penniless gold-digger to fears that Venetia would be cut off from her father’s will should she marry against her family’s wishes.

Chastity crushing Cupid, Anthony Van Dyck, National Portrait Gallery.

Whatever the truth behind the rumours, Sir Kenelm appears to have loved Venetia deeply and she him.  He commissioned many portraits of Venetia, both during her life and after her death. One such portrait entitled  ‘Chastity crushing Cupid’ – could be perhaps interpreted as a bit of PR for his wife’s reputation as a sexual adventuress.  Aubrey suggests Sir Kenelm was well aware of the gossip surrounding his wife’s (lack of) virtue and claims he said “..a wiseman, and a lusty could make an honest woman of a brothell-house” [6].  For a man who went on to write incessantly about his love for Stelliana, aka Venetia, in his Private Memoirs, it would seem quite a harsh thing for him to say of her.

Even Aubrey concedes that Venetia transformed from mad-for-it party girl to virtuous wife and mother with ease. However the slight twist in the tale of the stolid church-going matron.  Venetia was an avid, and it would seem, successful gambler, and it is alleged she funded many of her good works through her winnings…so perhaps a little of the wild-child remained after her marriage.

Lead Powder and Viper Wine

Lady Elizabeth Pope, c1615,  sporting pale complexion and rouged lips and cheeks, and a vast amount of bosom. Robert Peake, via wikimedia.

Several years of happy and uneventful marriage ensued, Venetia and Sir Kenelm had four sons and seemed ready to slide into comfortable middle age.  Hermione Eyre, author of Viper Wine, a novel about Venetia, suggests that far from being a time of placid contemplation of impending old age, Venetia may have found the transition from youth to middle age extremely difficult.

As a celebrated beauty seeing her charms fade as the years passed, living in a society that judged women on their looks (sound familiar, anyone?), she could easily have fallen back on cosmetics and potions in a desperate bid to preserve her looks.

Certainly the fashionable women (and men) of the Stuart Court were not shy about slapping on the make-up.  Pale complexions and acres of bare bosoms were enhanced and perfected with ceruse a mixture of finely ground lead powder and vinegar. A tracery of pale blue veins might be drawn on to imitate the translucent skin of youth, a lead comb could darken the eye brows. Spanish wool, or Spanish paper (a cloth impregnated with cochineal) was used to colour the lips and cheeks [7] and all of this could have been held in place with a varnish of egg white.  The look would seem to be porcelain doll… with a whiff of omelette…

Ladies might go further than the surface and could take any number of miracle beauty preserving potions…such as Viper wine…filled with such hearty ingredients as baked viscera of vipers (yummy) such concoctions could claim near miraculous effects:

“This quintessence is of extraordinary good virtue for the purifying of the flesh, blood and skin” and “preserves from grey hairs, renews youth, etc” [8]

As Hermione Eyre points out, ladies regularly using lead as their cosmetic of choice would quickly ruin their complexions and must have been willing to try pretty much anything to improve them.   Venetia was certainly a big fan of Viper wine and had been drinking it, so Aubrey claims, at the behest of her husband for a number of years.

Sleeping Beauty….is dead

On the morning of the 1 May 1633 Lady Digby’s maid entered her bed chamber to wake her mistress for her morning ride.  Sir Kenelm had spent the night tinkering in his laboratory until the early hours, he had slept there rather than disturb his wife.  It was he who was disturbed however, by  “That shrill and baleful sound expressing her heavy plight struck my eares.” when the maid screamed in horror upon finding her mistress dead in her bed.  She was only 33.

Sir Kenelm was distraught, Venetia lay in her bed exactly as she had laid down to sleep the night before, a faint blush on her cheek, looking as though she might wake up at any moment.  What he did next may seem strange…he called an artist.  Within two days of Venetia’s death he had Sir Anthony Van Dyck (1599 -1641) come and sketch the corpse of his wife, as it lay, in her bed.  He also had casts taken of her head, hands and feet.

Portrait of Death: Lady Digby on her Deathbed

Sir Anthony Van Dyck’s portrait is either tender and seductive, or slightly creepy and stalker-ish depending on your view-point. Portraits of the newly deceased were not unheard of in the Stuart Age, and later, the Victorians were famous for their morbid family portraits of dead relatives. But from a modern perspective at least, the realisation that the subject is in fact dead, is enough to jar the senses and the sensibility. In the modern age we have become so separated from death and the dead, seeing their images mainly in news footage and usually connected with violent or tragic events. This is different, this is not a celebration of the corpse, or a quick snap-shot for the family album, it is a meditation upon death. Sleeping beauty has entered into that long good night that beckons us all.

Suicide, Murder or Misadventure?

Even in the seventeenth century, an age when death came regularly to the young and apparently healthy, suspicions were raised about Venetia’s sudden and mysterious demise.  Poison was suspected but was it suicide, murder or over indulgence in viper wine?  Aubrey reports that gossips said:

“Spiteful women would say it was a ‘viper husband’, who was jealous of her, that she would steal a leap.” (have an affair).

There was also the curious suggestion that Digby was given a letter by the maid, just before Venetia’s death, in which Venetia had enclosed paper that might be of interest to him…what that paper may have been has never been discovered [9].

Sir Theodore Turquet de Mayerne(?). Via Wikimedia

An autopsy was ordered by Royal Command, and the famously rotund Dr Theodore de Mayerne was called in.  Digby insisted she had always been healthy, but did take Viper wine for headaches. Upon opening her head the good doctor found “but little brain” and it has been inferred from that, that the cause of death may have been a cerebral haemorrhage.  However due to the time that elapsed before the autopsy was carried out it is likely that the results may have been invalid [10].  Hermione Eyre proposes the theory that the viper wine itself may have killed Venetia.  She showed the recipe to a doctor who said:

“this type of “beauty potion” usually works, if it works, by blocking the muscarinic acetylcholine receptors, which can be toxic in the wrong doses. “Hence ‘deadly’ nightshade,” he said. Viper Wine’s herbal elements – not the snakes, which are incidental – could have been used to dilate the pupils, vasodilate the cheeks leading to a healthy blush, and promote euphoria, but if she drank too much, it could have been fatal.” [11].

So was it suicide, murder or misadventure? Personally I don’t think she committed suicide, she was a devout Catholic, attending Mass daily. She would surely have regarded suicide as a sin and a bar to heaven.  I don’t think the evidence supports the theory that that Sir Kenelm poisoned her. His eccentric and obsessive behavior after her death does not necessarily mean a guilty conscience, it could just have been how he coped with the such a devastating and unexpected loss.  On balance, I like the viper wine theory proposed by Hermione Eyre.  If not the Viper wine specifically, one of the other deadly cosmetic ingredients could easily have been the silent killer in this case. However after the passage of time, and the possibility that Venetia simply had some underlying medical condition, it would seem that the true cause of Venetia Stanley’s death will likely never be proven.

Epilogue

The final word should perhaps go to Sir Kenelm, unable to forget the beautiful wife whose sudden death shook his world to the foundation, he retreated to Gresham College and led the life of a scholarly hermit.  He kept the portrait with him for many years, until he lost it during English Civil War.

“This is the onely constant companion I now have…It standeth all day over against my chaire and table …and all night when I goe into my chamber I sett it close to my beds side, and by the faint light of the candle, me thinks I see her dead indeed.” [12]

Sources and notes

Aubrey, John, Brief Lives, available online via Gutenberg Press [1] [3] [5] [6]

Digby, Sir Kelemn, Private Memoirs/Stelliana available on Google Books [2]

Downing, Jane, 2012, Beauty and Cosmetics 1550 – 1950, Shire Library [7]

http://www.dulwichpicturegallery.org.uk/explore-the-collection/151-200/venetia,-lady-digby,-on-her-deathbed/

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/art/great-works/van-dyck-sir-anthony-venetia-stanley-lady-digby-on-her-deathbed-1633-795383.html [11]

http://www.hermioneeyre.com/

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/history/10680346/Venetia-Stanley-did-viper-wine-kill-the-17th-century-beauty.html [8] [10][11]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venetia_Stanley [4] [9]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kenelm_Digby

 

 

King Coal and the witch-pricker: the Newcastle witch trials of 1649/50

Tags

civil war, Hobson, King Coal, Newcastle Corporation, Newcastle upon tyne, Newcastle Witches, Ralph Gardiner, seventeenth century, St Andrews Church Newcastle, witch trials, witch-prickers

Newcastle c1590

The case of the Newcastle Witches lead to one of the biggest witch trials in England, yet the story is not as well-known as the infamous cases at Berwick and Pendle.  This is a tale of a ruthless City Corporation,  a coal monopoly, a corrupt witch-finder and how a skeptical Lieutenant with an eye for the ladies saved an accused witch from the gallows-tree.

Newcastle in the Seventeenth Century

Newcastle Keep, image by Lenora

The seventeenth century was a time of turmoil, civil war, regicide and religious upheaval; as if this wasn’t enough it was also a superstitious age and an age of dreadful and incurable diseases.  All of these factors created a perfect recipe for social and economic uncertainty across England.  In such parlous times, people often look for scapegoats….

“In every place and parish, every old woman with a wrinkled face, a scolding tongue, having a rugged coate on her back, a skull-cap on her head, a spindle in her hand, a dog or cat by her side, is not only suspected but pronounced a witch.  Every new disease, notable accident, miracle of nature, rarity of art, nay, and strange work or just judgement of God, is by the people accounted for no other but an act or effect of witchcraft.” [1]

Newcastle upon Tyne, in the mid seventeenth century, had been in the thick of things.  Burgeoning industrialisation on Tyneside as a whole had created a large class of poor and often disgruntled workers – as many as 40% of households in Newcastle did not have a fireplace.  In 1636 the city had been visited by plague and the death toll had been devastating – out of a population of 20,000 people 7,000 died.

In the impending Civil War, Newcastle found itself on the Royalist side and as a hub of the Coal trade was a rich source of funds for the king. As tensions rose in the Kingdom,  Charles I decided to introduce (or should that be foist?) the English Prayer Book on Scotland.  London merchants saw this as a perfect opportunity to hit out at the King, and hit him where it hurt most (in his pocket) so they encouraged the Scots to capture Newcastle in order to disrupt the highly lucrative coal monopoly.  The town was captured in 1640 then again following a siege in 1644 – this time the Scot’s army stayed for two years.

16 & 17C Buildings on Sandhill, Newcastle. Image by Lenora

Ralph Gardiner and the coal monopoly

Frontispiece of Ralph Gardiner’s book published in 1655

By the end of 1640’s, with the Civil War ended, the Corporation of Newcastle was now in the hands of the Puritan’s in place of its former Royal Burgesses.  The new Puritan Corporation was no less harsh or money-grubbing than the previous one, and continued to exercise the lucrative monopoly on the coal trade much to the annoyance of one Ralph Gardiner.  It is thanks to Gardiner and his book which railed against the Coal monopoly that we have so much information on one of the largest witch trials in England – that of the Newcastle Witches.

Gardiner was an angry man.  He was unhappy at the punitive tax on the coal trade exerted by Newcastle, and the attendant risk to ships and men sailing up the perilous river Tyne to pay it. Gardiner felt North Shields was the logical focus for this trade being ideally placed at the mouth of the Tyne rather than several miles in land.  To emphasise his case Gardiner also draws on other injustices carried out by the Corporation which further illustrate the arbitrary oppressive nature of the corporation’s rule.  As part of his book he looked at the brutal public humiliations visited on citizens of the town – the scold’s bridal being one such punishment. He also took testimonies relating to the notorious witch trials of 1649/1650.  One has to respect the bravery of his witnesses in standing up to the witch-finder, one woman who Gardiner spoke too – Elinor Loumsdale – had actually been prosecuted for trying to dissuade witnesses giving evidence against the accused.

Enter the witch-pricker

Fear of witchcraft was rife in Newcastle.  The new Puritan Regime fostered this fear with a more fundamental reading of the Bible especially the passage: ‘thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’ (Exodus XX11, V18). In March 1649 the council of Newcastle heard a petition concerning witches.  The Puritan council demanded that all witches be tried and sent to Scotland for a witch-finder, or witch-pricker, to assist in rooting out these individuals.

One such man was currently wreaking havoc in Berwick and at 20 shillings a head had rounded up 30 unfortunates whom he accused of witchcraft.  It is recorded that some of them confessed to use of harmless magic, whilst others claimed to have been present at Preston (a battle where witchcraft was blamed for the kings defeat).  Sensing a profit to be made further south, this unnamed witch-pricker who, according to one local MP ‘professeth himself an artist in that way’ found his way to Newcastle by December 1649.

The newly powerful Puritan’s of the Corporation encouraged the plague and war ravaged population of the city to vent their frustrations on their neighbours, and they heralded the arrival of the witch-pricker very publicly.  The Magistrate’s bellman went about the town announcing that anyone with a complaint against a witch should denounce them, the accused would be brought to the town hall and tried.  It seems that many Novocastrians embraced the opportunity to settle old scores and soon 30 people had been brought before the magistrates and their witch-pricker.

Newgate Prison, Newgate Street c1823, where the Witches were imprisoned.

Methods used by witch-finders and witch-prickers were quite brutal. Although torture was not legal in England, the accused would often be deprived of sleep or walked for hours until they confessed.  They were also subject to public humiliation, being stripped and searched for witch marks which were then ‘pricked’ by the witch-finder.  If no blood flowed then they were guilty of witchcraft.   It was not unusual for witch-finders to employ retractable bodkins to prick their victims thereby ensuring a guilty verdict – and their fee.

Of the 30 unfortunate women accused at Newcastle, 27 were found guilty, 2 were declared innocent…but it was the final woman who caused some controversy.

17C image of woman being stripped [4]

It seems that this final accused was not the usual warty old crone of stereotype, but a quite handsome and well-presented young woman.  The woman had been ‘pricked’ by the witch-finder and had not bled thus condemning her to be hanged.

Lieutenant Col Hobson, had witnessed the degrading spectacle.   The witch-finder had pulled up the woman’s clothes thereby exposing her, much to her horror.  He then appeared to pricked her thigh just as he let her skirts fall about her – thus obscuring the actual ‘pricking’.  When questioned as to whether she felt anything, the woman admitted she had not – at this point the witch-finder theatrically reached up her skirts and pulled out his bodkin.  She was condemned by her own words.  Hobson, who was a Baptist not a Puritan, and was also an ex military surgeon seems to have suspected either sleight of hand on the part of the witch-finder or simple shock on the part of the woman,  objected.  May be the fact that she was quite attractive also spurred the gentleman into action –

“The said reputed Witch-finder acquainted Lieutenant Colonel Hobson that he knew women, whether they were Witches or no by their looks, and when the said person was searching of a personable, and good-like woman, the said Colonel replied and said, ‘Surely this woman is none, and need not be tried’..”[2]

Hobson had cunningly tried to employ the witch-finders own argument against him, however the chilling response from the witch-finder was: –

“..but the Scotch-man said she was, for the Town said she was, and therefore he would try her;”[3]

The power of gossip and calumny was all that was required to bring about a successful accusation of witchcraft and clearly young and attractive women could be just as vulnerable to slander as the more obvious targets: old crones.  However in this case Hobson insisted that the process was repeated in a more decent manner, this time the woman bled and was thereby acquitted.

Nevertheless, despite Hobson’s intervention, of the remaining accused 17 women and 1 man were hanged on the Town Moor in August 1650.  Their remains were buried in unmarked graves in St Andrew’s Church Newcastle.

The Newcastle Witches being hanged, from Ralph Gardiner’s book, 1655

Karma catches up with the Witch-pricker

Too often these sinister individuals seem to escape justice, however, in this case the witch-pricker himself met a sticky end.  Heading into the remote reaches of Northumberland in order to pick up more fat fees for his vile trade, the witch-pricker found himself arrested by JP Henry Ogle. Escaping into Scotland, Gardiner says that he was later hanged after confessing to causing the deaths of 220 English and Scottish women.  Perhaps this was just Gardiner emphasising that the Corporation had been at best hoodwinked or at worst complicit in murdering its citizens,  Gardiner certainly seems to have thought that the whole thing was hokum, however, I like to think that in this case at least Karma caught up with the witch-finder.

Have the Newcastle witches resurfaced after 350 years?

Bones found in St Andrews Church, Newcastle – are they witches bones? Image from NE Chronicle

In 2008 the Newcastle Chronicle reported that teeth, ribs and skull bones had been recovered during renovations to St Andrew’s Churchyard.  The bones were believed to be those of the Newcastle Witches finally uncovered after being flung in an unmarked pit following their execution.  It was claimed that the bones could be cursed as a workman is said to have come up in blisters and boils following handling the bones….it seems that the even after 350 years very little has changed and people are still willing to attribute bad luck to witches….

St Andrews Church, Newcastle, final resting place of the Newcastle Witches. Image by Lenora

 

Notes

1. John Gaule, 1646, ‘Select cases of conscience touching witches and witchcraft’
2 & 3. Ralph Gardiner’s England’s grievance discovered, in relation to the coal-trade(1655).
4. Image source: https://the1642goodwyfe.wordpress.com/2012/09/26/stripping-whipping-and-pumping/

Sources

Armstrong, Pamela, 1990, Dark Tales of Old Newcastle, Bridge Studios
Bath, Jo, 2002, Dancing with the Devil and other True Tales of Northern Witchcraft, Newcastle City Council
http://www.chroniclelive.co.uk/news/north-east-news/bones-find-casts-spell-workers-1465557
Unattributed, 1989, More Ghosts and Legends of Northumbria, Coquet Editions
http://roy25booth.blogspot.co.uk/2010/02/newcastle-witch-pricker-1649-and-other.html
31 Days: Witches (A Tale of a Northen Witch Finder)
http://www2.newcastle.gov.uk/collections.nsf/display?readform&id=EEC2032B0AFCE516802574270030652B
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hostmen_of_Newcastle_upon_Tyne

Mother Shipton: Yorkshire’s Nostradamus

Tags

English history, history, Knaresborough, Mother Shipton, Nostradamus, Petrifying Well, seventeenth century, tourism, witches, Yorkshire

Old Mother Shipton

I visited Knaresborough in Yorkshire on a family holiday when I was a teenager.  One of the things I remember most about the trip was a visit to Old Mother Shipton’s cave and the Dropping Well – famed for its petrifying properties (hang a teddy up and it will turn to stone in under five months).

The Dropping Well, Image by Chris (click image for copyright info)

For a start Old Mother Shipton looked like the archetypal witch, but more than that, she was credited with being Yorkshire’s answer to Nostradamus.  She was a prophetess and seer who had predicted everything from the death of Cardinal Wolsey, the great fire of London, the building of Crystal Palace, the Crimean War, the train, the car, the telephone – you name it Mother Shipton had prophesied it!  I was understandably impressed.

The legend is born

Sculpture of Mother Shipton in the cave where she was alleged to have been born. Image by Chris, click image for copyright info.

In 1488 Ursula Southeil was born out-of-wedlock to a fifteen year old girl called Agatha.  Agatha steadfastly refused to name the father of her child and sought refuge in the cave by the dropping well on the banks of the River Nidd, here she gave birth to the remarkably ugly Ursula.  Agatha either died in childbirth, or gave Ursula up for fostering when the child was two.  Because strange happenings followed the child, people began to suspect her father was non other than Old Nick himself.

Tales of objects moving around or going missing and furniture shifting about were common.  In one such tale, the foster-mother returns home to find baby Ursula gone, and a commotion in her cottage.  Upon entering, she and her companions are set upon by imps disguised as monkey’s.  Ursula is finally located swinging in her crib – up the chimney!

Ursula Southeil was noted for her startling appearance.  One early source describes her thus:

“She was of an indifferent height, but very morose and big boned, her head very long, with very great goggling but sharp and fiery eyes; her nose of an incredible and improportionable length, having in it many crooks and turnings, adorned with many strange pimples of divers colours, as red, blue and mix’t..”  (1)

When she married Toby Shipton at the age of 24, it was said she used a love potion to attract him (either that or else he just had very bad eyesight!).

Their home in Shipton soon became the focus for people seeking advice and her reputation for wisdom grew.  She was particularly good at locating lost or stolen property.

She is most famous for her prophecies, many of which came true during her life time.  She was also supposed to have predicted her own death, at the age of 73, in 1561.

A talent for prediction

Mother Shipton did not write down any of her prophecies.  As a poor woman in the sixteenth century the chances of her being able to write would have been slim – nevertheless her biographers credit her with a sharp intelligence and inborn ability to read from a very early age.

Mother Shipton and Cardinal Wolsey, image Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

Her fame grew beyond her locality when her prophecies were published in 1641.  ‘The Prophesie of Mother Shipton in the Raigne of King Henry the Eighth’ was printed in York and was composed of regional predictions and had only two prophetic verses, this version did not predict the end of the world (2).

A later version of her life and predictions ‘The Life and Death of Mother Shipton’ was published in 1684 by the unfortunately named Richard Head.  It is likely that he invented most of the biographical details about her.

A still later version published by Charles Hindley in 1862 contains the famous rhyming couplets relating to Crystal Palace, cars trains, and the famous end of the world prediction (1881):

“Carriages without horses shall go,
And accidents fill the world with woe.
Around the world thoughts shall fly
In the twinkling of an eye.
The world upside down shall be
And gold be found at the root of a tree.
Through hills man shall ride,
And no horse be at his side.
Under water men shall walk,
Shall ride, shall sleep, shall talk.
In the air men shall be seen,
In white, in black, in green;
Iron in the water shall float,
As easily as a wooden boat.
Gold shall be found and shown
In a land that’s now not known.
Fire and water shall wonders do,
England shall at last admit a foe.
The world to an end shall come,
In eighteen hundred and eighty one.”

Sir Henry buys a well

In 1630 Sir Henry Slingsby, a local grandee, purchased some land around the River Nidd from King Charles I.  The land contained the Dropping Well (now known as the Petrifying Well).  The enterprising Sir Henry, seeing the potential in such an extraordinary geological feature quickly constructed an exhibition and began running tours.

Could it be co-incidence that only 11 years after he begins this commercial venture, a book of prophecy linked with the well is published?  As Philip Coppens points out, having a famous prophetess linked to the miraculous well would be an added draw to reel in visitors.

Some believe that the well was feared and avoided by the locals during Mother Shipton’s life – supposedly believing that its petrifying properties would turn them to stone.  However, this does not seem to have been the case with everyone.  John Leyland, the Antiquary of Henry VIII visited the well during Mother Shipton’s lifetime – 1538.  He remarked that the well was known for its healing properties and was regularly visited.  He doesn’t seem to have mentioned Mother Shipton at all.  All of which would point to Mother Shipton being a fabrication to bring in paying visitors.

And tourists did come – even the famous female traveller Celia Fiennes visited the cave in 1697 and noted the following in her journal:

‘and this water as it runns and where it lyes in the hollows of the rocks does turn moss and wood into Stone …I took Moss my self from thence which is all crisp’d and perfect Stone … the whole rock is continually dropping with water besides the showering from the top which ever runns, and this is called the dropping well’(3).

The Truth behind the legend…

So what is the truth behind the legend?  Well, the historical evidence for the existence of Mother Shipton is as scarce as clear skin was on her nose.  This is not necessarily proof she didn’t exist, but if Leyland visited the well during her lifetime  and knew of the miraculous properties of the well, surely he would also have mentioned the presence of a noted seer so closely associated with it?

The links to the commercialisation of the well and the publication of the first prophecies are also suggestive of her tale being fabricated.  Also, as Philip Coppens points out: it is quite a common historical feature to associate oracles with wells, caves and other subterranean features.  Mother Shipton added a mythic dimension to the geological feature.

Mother Shipton working at her predictions, image public domain via Wikipedia Commons

There might even be a hint of intercontinental rivalry going on here as well – the French had Nostradamus, so maybe the English came up with Mother Shipton?  It is notable that after the repeal of laws relating to witchcraft in 1736 Mother Shipton’s image began to transform from the archetypal witch, to a more benign prophetess, depicted with scrolls instead of familiars, and much less warty about the nose.

As for the predictions – the earliest are from 80 years after her death, and relate mainly to events that have already happened.  The later versions seem to have embellished the prophecies.  Charles Hindley author of the 1862 version (extract quoted above) later admitted to inventing the predictions he published.

A Folk-memory of a cunning woman?

For hundreds of years (and well into the nineteenth century) the cunning woman or cunning man was an integral part of village life in England.  A local healer who could offer advice and assistance in the form charms and love potions.

I like to think that Mother Shipton falls into this category.  That she did exist in the capacity of a local cunning woman, and that a folk-memory of her endured until Sir Henry’s day allowing him to appropriate her for his own purposes. The facts and details of her life that have come down to us may be total fabrication and her prophecies have certainly been elaborated down the centuries, but I think that there is a tiny grain of truth in the tale of Mother Shipton which has fixed her in to the very fabric of folk-memory and the landscape itself.

The Cave and Well are open to the public, you can find details of how to arrange a visit on the Museum website:  http://www.mothershipton.co.uk/

River Nidd, Mother Shipton’s Museum just visible under the arches.

Notes

(1) Extract from ‘Yorkshire Legends and Traditions’ by Rev. Thomas Parkinson 1881, himself quoting from Richard Head’s 1684 account.
(2) Wikipedia/Mother Shipton
(3) Morris, Christopher (Ed), The Journeys of Celia Fiennes, Cresset Press, 1947.

Sources

http://www.ephemera-society.org.uk/articles/shipton.html
http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk/occult/mother-shipton.html
http://www.philipcoppens.com/mother_shipton.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mother_Shipton

Sawney Bean: Cannibal, Progaganda or Bogeyman?

Tags

Cannibal Clan, cannibals, Christie Cleek, eighteenth century, Hills have eyes, history, James I, James VI, Progaganda, Sawney Bean, scottish folklore, Scottish history, seventeenth century

By Levi L. Hill [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, image adapted by Lenora

“A man and his wife behind him on the same horse, coming one evening home from a fair, and falling into the ambuscade of these merciless wretches, they fell upon them in a furious manner…..in the conflict the poor woman fell from behind him, and was instantly murdered before her husbands face; for the female cannibals cut her throat, and fell to sucking her blood with as great a gust, as if it had been wine.  This done, they ript up her belly and pulled out her entrails….It pleased providence…that twenty or thirty from the same fair came together as a body; upon which Sawney Bean and his blood thirsty clan withdrew and made the best of their way through thick wood to their den.” Captain Charles Johnson in 1742.

The legend of Sawney Bean and his incestuous clan of cannibals is famous in Scotland and a whole heritage industry has grown up around the infamous Sawney. The grisly tale has spawned horror films such as The Hills Have Eyes, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Ravenous, as well as films dealing directly with Sawney himself.

The Legend

There are a number of versions of the legend, but most agree that Alexander ‘Sawney’ Bean was born in a village in East Lothian a few miles outside Edinburgh and that he began life as a hedger and ditcher.  Not keen on honest graft Sawney ran away from his parents in the company of a like-minded woman who may or may not have been called Black Agnes Douglas. It seems the couple tried to settle in Ballantrae but Black Agnes was accused of witchcraft and the pair decamped to the hidden cave of Bennane Head.  They soon took up a more sinister occupation suited to their vicious natures namely highway robbery with a cannibalistic twist.

Sawney Bean and wife [Pulbic domain] via Wikimedia

It is said that their reign of terror lasted for 25 years during which time they bred an incestuous clan of children and grandchildren numbering nearly 50 at the time they were caught.  They were remarkably good at evading notice, despite the high numbers of victims attributed to them – some say up to 1000 were murdered by the clan.  In part this was due to their hideout – their cave lair extended a mile under ground and its entrance was covered by the sea when the tide was in.   The other element in keeping their bloody lifestyle a secret was leaving no survivors.

The size of the clan enabled them to attack groups of travellers and it is said that they often had a surplus of food.  Discarded arms and legs were tossed into the sea miles from the cave and caused alarm amongst coastal villages when they washed up on the shore.

As the surrounding area became depopulated, and the local villagers became more fearful, accusations were levelled against innocent individuals, particularly innkeepers, and many were hanged for the crimes of Sawney Bean and his family.

Eventually the Bean Clan’s luck ran out.  They were interrupted in attacking a couple returning from a fair and their crimes were exposed.  The husband had survived the attack and took his wife’s mutilated body to the magistrate at Glasgow and the matter came to the attention of the king.

Sawney Bean’s Cave, Image by Tony Page via Wikimedia

A party of 400 men led by King James VI set out to catch the culprits.  Riding up and down the coastline it is said that they overlooked the cave because nobody could conceive of human beings living in such conditions.  But the bloodhounds they had brought with them were drawn towards the cave and the smell of rotting meat issuing from it.  Entering the cave the king and his men found Sawney Bean and his clan.  Captain Charles Johnson writing in 1742 describes what they found in the cave:

“Legs, arms, thighs, hands and feet of men, women and children, were hung up in rows like dried beef.  A great many limbs lay in pickle, and a great mass of money, both gold and silver, with watches, rings and swords, pistols, and a large quantity of clothes, both linnen and woollen, and an infinite number of other things, which they had taken from those they had murder’d, were thrown together in heaps, or hung up against the sides of the den.”

The murderous troupe was taken to Edinburgh Tollbooth, then to Leith were they were executed in suitably Grisly fashion:

“The men had their privy members cut off, and thrown into the fire before their faces, then their hands and legs were severed from their bodies; by which amputation they bled to death in some hours.  The wife, daughters and grand children…were afterwards burned to death in three several fires.”

All died cursing and unrepentant.  One daughter was said to have left the clan and married, but when the horrible deeds of her family were uncovered she was lynched by the villagers and hanged from the ‘hairy tree’.

What lies beyond the legend?

Like many legends concrete evidence is hard to locate.  One of the biggest stumbling blocks to proving Sawney Bean ever existed is that the records simply are not there.  If a thousand people had disappeared over a generation, and the culprits had been found by the King himself and executed in such a gory fashion, then surely someone somewhere would have recorded it?  Sean Thomas sees this as one of the biggest proofs that Sawney is simply a legend.

No official records, no royal records, no letters, no journals no contemporary evidence of these extraordinary crimes exists.  Even allowing for the sparsity of records in early seventeenth century Scotland Dr Louise Yeoman, in an interview with the BBC,  has pointed out that if a king such as James VI of Scotland/I of England had been involved in such a perilous and successful venture against a group of blood-thirsty cannibals he would surely have publicised it.  After all this was a king with a strong sense of paranoia and a hands on interest in demonology and witchcraft.

Frontispiece of Captain Charles Johnson’s 1742 book

In fact the earliest references to Sawney Bean and his family occur in eighteenth century English broadsheets and chap-books.  Publications that were designed to amaze and horrify their audiences with tales of terrible deeds.  Dr Yeoman in her BBC interview and Fiona Black writing in ‘The Polar Twins’ support the idea that Sawney Bean was actually a piece of English Propaganda.  It is to be noted that the earliest versions of the story appear in English publications not Scottish.  Perhaps it was a colonial view of the barbarous Scots designed to show the superiority of the English at a time when suspicion of the Scots was rife.  The Sawney Bean tale surfaces just after the Union of England and Scotland, and at a time when Anti-Jacobite feelings were running high.   Dr Yeoman further supports this interpretation with the fact that ‘Sawney’ was a derogatory name often given to Scotsmen in English cartoons at the time.

Against this view, Sean Thomas points out that these same periodicals also contain a plethora of horrible deeds perpetrated by English criminals.  However, it would seem to me that Sawney’s deeds stand out from the rest.

Neverthless there seems to be some consensus in the view that one of the biggest anomalies in the various tellings of the story relates to when the events took place.  The most common time-period is the reign of James VI/I, but versions exist that take place in the reign of James I in the 1400’s and some set in earlier periods.  Could the legend be based on earlier tales of real cannibalism?

During Scotland’s turbulent history and its many conflicts with England, there were many periods of famine.  During such times of starvation there were tales of cannibalism occurring.  One such documented case is that of Christie Cleek who lived in the reign of David II.  Christie was a butcher from Perth, and in a period of famine, he and a band of friends lived a life of scavenging to survive.  When one of the party died, Christie used his butchers skills and the group ate their comrade.  Eventually Christie took to attacking travellers and robbing them and when necessary eating them to ward of starvation.  This story is documented in the 1400’s when it was alleged to have occurred so appears to be historically plausible.

Goya [public domain] via Wikimedia

It may be that the story simply fulfills the psychological need for a good scare story and it certainly contains many of the staple ingredients of the macabre that seem to crop up time and time again whatever the century. Sean Thomas certainly draws this conclusion. Sawney Bean has never lost his gory appeal – from the broadsheets, to John Nicholson’s 1843 version of the tale, the Newgate Calendar, numerous film versions, and even the Edinburgh Dungeon’s Sawney Bean experience, shock horror endures because it appeals to something dark within the human psyche.

At the end of the day it may be that Sawney Bean is the archetypal Bogeyman, a tale to tell children at bed-time; a half-remembered folk-memory of times when famine drove people to commit terrible deeds to survive and that was then co-opted by anti-Jacobite propagandists.  We may never know for sure.

Sources

Brocklehurst, Steven, Who was Sawney Bean? http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-21506077
Johnson, Charles, A General and True History of the lives and actions of the most famous highwaymen, murderers, street-robbers, &c, 1742 http://archive.org/stream/generaltruehisto00defo#page/n49/mode/2up
Sawney Bean: Scotland’s Hannibal Lector,http://www.bbc.co.uk/legacies/myths_legends/scotland/s_sw/article_1.shtml
The Legend of Sawney Bean, http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk/scotland/dumfriesshire/legends/the-legend-of-sawney-bean.html
The Newgate Calendar – Sawney Bean, http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk/scotland/dumfriesshire/legends/the-newgate-calendar-part-1-sawney-bean.html
Thomas, Sean, In Search of Sawney Bean, http://www.forteantimes.com/features/articles/129/in_search_of_sawney_bean.html
Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sawney_Bean; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christie-Cleek

The Wicked Lady: folklore, fiction – fact?

Tags

civil war, English history, folk lore, Hertfordshire, highway women, highwaymen, history, Katherine Fanshawe, Lady Katherine Ferrers, legends, Markyate Cells, seventeenth century, The wicked lady

The Gentleman’s Magazine, Monday, 24 November 1735:

Margaret Lockwood as the Wicked Lady, 1945 Gainsborough Pictures.

“A Butcher was Robb’d in a very Gallant Manner by a Woman well mounted on a Side Saddle, &c. near Rumford in Essex. She presented a Pistol to him, and demanded his Money; he being amaz’d at her Behaviour told her, he did not know what she meant; when a Gentleman coming up, told him he was a Brute to deny the Lady’s request, and if he did not gratify her Desire immediately, he wou’d Shoot him thro’ the Head; so he gave her his Watch and 6 Guineas.”†

The term Highway Man entered the English Language in 1617, courtesy of one William Fennor in his work ‘The Counter’s Commonwealth’ and it did not take long for the female highway man to follow.

One of the most colourful and persistent legends of the female highwayman is that of The Wicked Lady.  Her tale has entered both the local folk-lore of the Hertfordshire area and become well-known to the public at large through the 1944 novel by Magdalen King Hall and the 1945 Gainsborough film starring Margaret Lockwood and James Mason.  A later more frolicsome version was also produced by Michael Winner in 1983 and starring Faye Dunaway (although it is not to be forgotten that the 1945 version was considered extremely daring in its day because of the low decolletage of the ladies gowns).

The legend of the Wicked Lady

Both book and film contain most of the salient points of the legend, although they clearly embellish the account.  King Hall names her protagonist Lady Barbara Skelton of Maryiott Cells (rather than Markyate Cell), her lover the notorious highwayman Captain Jackson.    These versions of the tale have taken on an authority of their own in imparting the legend to a contemporary audience.

The main elements of the traditional tale are that a beautiful, young and bored noblewoman takes to dressing as a man and riding the countryside between Markyate Cells, Watling Street, Nomansland Common and Gustard Wood holding up travellers at gun point and stealing their goods.  Her antics are unknown to her husband and retainers as she is able to exit Markyate Cells via a secret passageway.

She falls in love with a local farmer Ralph Chaplin and together they continue their reign of terror.  Eventually Chaplin is hanged during a failed robbery on Finchley Common and in her grief the wicked lady terrorises the villagers around  Markyate Cells burning their cottages as they sleep, killing livestock and even going as far as to kill the Constable of Caddington.

Faye Dunaway – the death of the Wicked Lady, from the Michael Winner film 1983

Despite her grief she continues to rob and plunder travellers until one night she attacks a lone waggoner on the remote and chillingly named Nomansland Common.  Unbeknownst to her, he has comrades hidden in the waggon and she is shot and fatally wounded.  Riding back to Markyate Cells she dies before she can reach her home and is found, in her highwayman’s garb, in the grounds by servants who under the cover of darkness convey her body for burial.

Spectral Sightings

It might be supposed that the death of The Wicked Lady would see the end of her antics.  However, there was more to come, as Magdalen King Hall well knew.  At least one-third of her novel deals with a fictionalised history of the sightings of the female highwayman’s ghost particularly in and around ‘Maryiott Cells’.

“Slow dragging footsteps could be heard across the floors and lights seen in windows of unoccupied rooms; where mysterious rappings, sighs and whispering disturbed the stillness of the night house.”

A trembling bishop at a garden party describes seeing a comely female form in male attire that chilled him to the bone:

“The expression on the face was malign, predatory, doleful and all together most disquieting”

Nomansland Common, image by Hogweard

Not so fanciful it would seem, as there are many real life accounts of the spectre of the Wicked Lady.  The accounts seem to begin in the nineteenth century and include the somewhat surprising manifestation of the lady swinging from the branches of an old Sycamore tree in the grounds of Markyate Cell, terrifying a gang of workmen away from the location of her hidden treasure.

In 1840 Markyate Cell burned down and this was said to have been caused by the wicked lady – those fighting the fire are said to have felt very uneasy and many thought that their efforts were being watched from the woods by her baleful spirit.

In the late 19th Century the journal of August Hare records her presence at Markyate Cell – he apparently was not phased by sharing his home with a phantom and often bid her good night when he passed her on the staircase.  One comical entry states he found her shade standing in a doorway. Calling to his wife, who was on the other side, they both ran forward arms outstretched to capture her but – of course – she was not there. I don’t believe Mr Hare’s journal notes whether he and his wife bumped noses as a result of this encounter!

In the early twentieth century one George Wood was travelling the road from Markyate to Kensworth and saw a female figure dressed as a man about half a mile away.  The figure jumped into a ditch and when he reached the spot she was gone.  Mr Wood was unaware of the legend, but a local woman interpreted his vision for him and decided it was clearly the famous highway woman herself.

In 1970, Doug Payne, owner of The Wicked Lady Pub in Wheathampstead, claimed that whilst dog walking on Nomansland Common one night he was startled by the sounds of hoof-beats fast approaching him – yet he saw no rider.  The Wicked Lady pub was an inn in the seventeenth century and was thought to be one of her haunts.

More recently still, a woman returning to St Alban’s and stuck in a traffic jam was amazed to see a rider galloping in front of her car, pursued by a figure on foot who leaned on the car bonnet!  The vision dissolved in front of her eyes.

Local legend has it that horses left out in the fields near Markyate Cell at night, have been found in the mornings foam-flecked and exhausted, as thought they had been ridden hard all night….

Who was the Wicked Lady?

Katherine Fanshawe – the wicked lady? Portrait currently in Valence House Museum

Such a rich legend has to be true, doesn’t it?  There has to be a real woman behind this legend – right?  Well many people have tried to identify the real historical woman behind the legend and by far the most popular candidate is Lady Katherine Ferrers (1634 – 1660).

Katherine Ferrers (sometimes spelled Catherine) was the daughter of Knighton Ferrers and his wife.  Early in life she suffered the tragedy of losing her father and grandfather and brother which meant that by the age of 6 she was heiress to a vast fortune and extensive property and land.  Her mother remarried in 1640 Simon Fanshawe (later Sir Simon) but died only two years later leaving the young Katherine to the mercenary mercies of her step-father.

The Fanshawes were another wealthy landowning family, and a match between the Ferrers and the Fanshawes would seem practical – both families needed to ensure an heir or die out, their lands were adjoining and both were of the same religion.  Katherine was betrothed to Simon Fanshawe’s nephew Thomas.  In 1648 when she was 14 and he was 16 they were married and their fortunes were united.

One cloud on the horizon for the young couple was the Civil War.  It is likely that both families were royalist, but the Fanshawe’s were very actively so, and had suffered as a consequence.  The Sequestration Act took one of their properties and unlike parliamentarians, royalists had to obtain funds for their cause through contributions (from willing contributors such as the Fanshawe’s and less willing contributors who were looted or taxed unfairly).  Many of the Fanshawe’s fled abroad and others were often away fighting or in prison.  All of this made the family short of ready money.  Katherine’s inheritance was fair game and bit by bit her lands and properties were sold off for the cause.  Even Markyate Cell, so integral to the legend was sold by her husband in 1655 to ‘3 Londoners’ then again in 1657 to Mr Coppins.

Did this sudden pressure on the Ferrers/Fanshawe coffers lead Katherine to a life of highway robbery?  It was not unheard of – the Civil War left may noble and dashing young royalist without funds and a number of noble men (and even some noble women) were credited with taking to the highways and byways to replenish their wealth.  Did the bored and beautiful young wife, neglected by her husband take up with the handsome Ralph Chaplin and seek a life of adventure and peril on the open road?

She certainly died young – only 26 years of age.  She was not recorded as having any issue and was buried by night not in the Fanshawe family vault as might be expected, but at St Mary’s Church, Ware.  With her early death, the Ferrers line died out.

Katherine Ferrers – Guilty or Innocent?

Putting aside any thought for what the real Katherine may have thought about her posthumous fame/infamy, I would love her to be the prototype for the Wicked Lady.  A modern minx or proto feminist who just wouldn’t sit back and be the passive wife while her inheritance was frittered away by her neglectful husband, someone who took destiny by the throat, and even though she eventually lost, someone who died trying!  I would like to think she had an exciting, if short, life.  But I just don’t think the evidence holds up.

Markyate Cell, from The Gentleman’s Magazine, 1805

Yes, she was in the right place at the right time, and circumstances could have led her to seek her fortune on the road and her early death may hint at some violent end….but.

The legend sets her base as Markyate Cell, her ancestral home, yet it has never been proven that she actually lived there and in any-case the manor was sold well before her death.  In addition to this, Markyate Cell would seem too far away from her alleged stomping ground on Nomansland Common to be practical (although Gustards Wood has been mooted as an alternative HQ).

The handsome Ralph Chaplin, who swept the bored young girl off her feet, appears no where in local records and seems as much a phantom as the unseen rider.  Finchley Common, the site of his death, is also just a bit too far away to be likely.

Her early death, and burial by night can hardly be seen as uncommon in the seventeenth century.  Insanitary conditions, even for the wealthy, and poor understanding of medicine would have led to many an untimely death.  Burial in the evening was also a common practice at that time.  Her choice to be buried in the Church at Ware may have been out of respect to her Ferrers heritage rather than a sign of disgrace.

A case of mistaken identity or folk-lore gone wild?

The female highwayman/soldier/sailor is a common folk motif in English tradition. And treasure – what good folk-tale or legend is repleat without lost treasure to keep the story alive!

“Near the Cell, there is a wellNear the well there is a tree
And under the tree the treasure be”

Ballads and folktales abound on this subject of cross-dressing highwaymen and lost treasure; and perhaps at a time of civil war when there was so much turmoil and unrest a female highwayman entering the local cannon of folk-lore might be expected.  That Katherine Ferrers name has become associated with this local legend may be down to misidentification and coincidence.

In the 1820’s builders discovered a secret passage way at Markyate Cell.  It ran from the Kitchen to a chamber above.  The discovery excited local gossip about the legendary highway woman.  In 1833 a poem called ‘Maude of Allinghame’ told of the exploits of a female highwayman.  Coincidentally Katherine’s mother was related to a family called Allinghame.

Add to this the muddled memory of the Wicked Lord Ferrers, hanged at Tyburn in 1760 for murdering a faithful servant and it’s not to big a step to create a Wicked Lady Ferrers – the film versions have the wicked lady murdering a faithful old retainer so incorporate this element.

Overall, I am with John Barber and Marianne Gilchrist on this one and I believe that on balance, Katherine Ferrers probably wasn’t the Wicked Lady of folk legend; but that the strength of this legend in the popular consciousness was such that it appropriated a real person to validate it.

Certainly Anne Fanshawe writing the family history in the 1920’s had little to say of Katherine, and gossip at the time of her death did not attribute any scandal to her name.

She was, perhaps best described thus (despite the unfortunate emphasis on her fortune):

“A very great fortune and most excellent woman”§

Katherine Fanshawe

Notes

† Quote taken from http://www.outlawsandhighwaymen.com, http://www.outlawsandhighwaymen.com/gentmag.htm

§ Quote from ‘Dictionary of National Biography’,  http://www.hertfordshire-genealogy.co.uk/data/answers/answers-2001/ans-0021-wickedlady.htm

Sources

http://www.dunstablehistory.co.uk, http://www.dunstablehistory.co.uk/archives/VWX/Wicked_Lady.htm
http://www.hemelonline.com, http://www.hemelonline.com/history
http://www.hertfordshire-geneaology.co.uk, http://www.hertfordshire-genealogy.co.uk/data/answers/answers-2001/ans-0021-wickedlady.htm
http://www.johnbarber.com, http://www.johnbarber.com/wickedlady.html part 1-4
/the_wicked_lady_of_markyate.html
King-Hall, Magdalen, ‘The Wicked Lady’, 1944, reprinted 1976.
http://www.lutonparanormal.com, http://lutonparanormal.com/hertfordshire/popups/markyate.html
http://www.watfordobserver.co.uk, http://www.watfordobserver.co.uk/nostalgia/crimelibrary/katherineferrers/
Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Katherine_Ferrers
http://fadedvideolabels.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/the-wicked-lady-1945.html

Eyam: Village of Death

Tags

black death, bubonic plague, Derbyshire history, England, Eyam, history, mompesson, plague village, seventeenth century

A Lovers Tryst

Detail of tombstone at Eyam

Two lovers meet in secret. Gazing across the grassy Delph, they dare not speak for fear of discovery, they dare not touch for fear of the terrible consequences.  This silent meeting takes place every day for many weeks until one day, at the end of April, the young man stands there alone.  Although he returns often she does not come again.  He is fraught with worry but he cannot go seek her at her home.  His name was Rowland Torre of Stoney Middleton, her name was Emmott Sydall and she lived in the village of Eyam.

I visited the sleepy village of Eyam (rhymes with stream) on a dank and misty day in February.   The village nestled beneath damp green hills and was encircled by the shiny black branches of winter trees – the whole landscape seemed drenched in silence and mystery.  I would almost say there was a mournful air to the place, but that would be to over simplify the incredible story of this village and the terrible sacrifice its inhabitants chose to make.

Signs and Portents

They said that Plague was a punishment from God visited on the sinful, and that it should be borne with fortitude and prayer.  The seventeenth century had seen a world turned upside down with regicide, the commonwealth and the restoration bringing religious, political and economic turmoil in their wake.  But by the 1660’s things had calmed, Charles II was on the throne, the village of Eyam was thriving with a rich lead mining industry, busy yeomen farmers and tradesmen plying their trades.  But the signs were there all the same…

They said that village lads had allowed the cows to stray into the churchyard, the nave had been fouled; soon after unnatural white crickets were spied on hearths; the Gabriel hounds were heard calling on the moors:  God was displeased with Eyam.  Or so the faithful reasoned when plague arrived as an unwanted guest a year later.

The Plague

Plague Doctor/undertaker

The Plague has been known in Europe since the mid fourteenth century.  Its first terrible outbreak in the late 1340’s wiped out up to one-third of England’s population.  In the intervening years there were many sporadic outbreaks across Europe.  It was not until the early twentieth century that the cause of the plague was discovered to be bacillus carried by fleas and transmitted to Black Rats and thence (when there were not enough rats to support the fleas) to humans.

The Bubonic Plague was spread by black rats who lived in very close proximity to humans (in the wainscot, in the thatch, under your floor).  You could expect vomiting, high fever, extreme pain, gangrene in the extremities, swellings of the lymph glands, particularly in the groin.  These swellings were excruciatingly painful, large and often burst.

“The pain of the swelling was in particular very violent and to some intolerable; physicians and surgeons may be said to have tortured many poor creatures, even into death.”  So wrote Daniel Defoe in his ‘Journal of the Plague Year’.

The Pneumonic Plague  was even more virulent as a flea bite was not required in its transmission – it was spread by the coughs and sneezes from its victims.  Pneumonic plague affected the blood and lead to extreme fluctuations in temperature which usually lead to coma and death.

During the three hundred or so years when the Plague visited and revisited Europe, people had few defences against it.  Nostrums and charms both Christian and more pagan varieties were employed.   Sweet smelling nosegays were used to ward of noxious plague filled air; fires were burned in the streets to disperse the infected miasma.  Some of the cures on offer were unorthodox to say the least – tying a chicken or a toad to the buboe to draw off the poison; poultices made up of varying degrees of foul ingredients.  Preventative measures were taken such as killing cats and dogs who were mistakenly seen as responsible for spreading the plague; and most disturbing of all the immuring of whole families where plague had visited a household, effectively condemning sick and healthy alike to a slow and painful death.  Some advice was sound:  leave the infected area, however this also facilitated the spread of the disease.

Plague comes to Eyam

1665 saw the plague raging in London but the remote village of Eyam would seem far away from the problems of the capital. But plague, like bad news, travels fast.  Legend has it that sometime in August or September 1665 a bundle of cloth was sent from London (some say Canterbury) to a travelling tailor lodging with Mrs Cooper of Eyam.

The Plague Cottages

Records suggest that Mrs Cooper was a relatively affluent widow, and possibly a merry one as she married a second time in March of 1665.  Her new husband Alexander Hadfield may have been the travelling tailor referred too in local legend but he was away from home at the time of the plague (not returning until much later).  It is likely that he had an apprentice or a servant by the name of George Viccar’s whose fate was to be the first victim of the plague.  Dr Richard Mead, writing in the eighteenth century and using the recollections of Mompesson’s son described the scene thus:

“a box of materials relating to his trade [was delivered] a servant [George Viccars] who opened the aforesaid box, finding they were damp was ordered to dry them by the fire.”

Perhaps he loosed fleas from the cloth or perhaps flea eggs hatched in the warmth of the fire, what ever he let loose George Viccars paid the price and died within the week.  The second victim was young Edward Cooper Mrs Cooper’s son.  Over the next few days close neighbours began to fall ill and die: Peter Hawksworth, Thomas Thorpe and his 12-year-old daughter.  It couldn’t have taken long for the villagers to realise that something was terribly wrong.

The deaths continued through the late summer and autumn, those who had means, such as the wealthy Sheldon family, fled.  Those who were tied to their trade or land, or simply too poor or too late to flee remained.  Some camped in the hills and caves in the surrounding area but many stayed in the village.  Those who camped nearby might have made the best decision – in fleeing the outbreak they had left behind the insanitary conditions that helped spread the plague.

Plague comes in the summer, preferring the warmer months of the year so there was a falling off of deaths during the winter.  Numbers began to creep up again in spring 1666, and by April there had been 73 deaths (well above the average for a village of Eyam’s size).  May saw a lull and the villagers hoped for the best.  Medical knowledge of the day said there should be a clear gap of 21 days with no new infections before an area could be deemed clear of plague.  Eyam was not so lucky.

William Mompesson

By June many more had fled – the Rector William Mompesson had sent his children to safety in Yorkshire although his consumptive wife Catherine had insisted on remaining by his side to help tend the sick, although it would cost her life (she died in August and was buried in the churchyard by special dispensation).  It was clear that action needed to be taken in order to prevent plague spreading beyond the village.  In the absence of the usual village hierarchy who had mostly fled, the Rector became the focus of authority in the village.  However, village life was never simple and the rector was a young man and a newcomer to the village.  He needed an ally in order to successfully carry out any action, and he found it in Thomas Stanley the former incumbent.

Thomas Stanley was a puritan who replaced the traditionalist and unpopular rector during the civil war.  The old rector was re-established in 1660, but Stanley remained a part of religious life in the village and was very popular.  Mompesson took the rectorship in 1664 but Stanley’s influence must still have been very strong in the village.  Nevertheless  despite their widely differing views both were able to put aside these differences in order to present a united front to the village.  This unity undoubtedly helped in gaining their parishioners consent to the radical plan the men proposed.

A Simple Plan

1. No more burials in the churchyard – people would bury their own dead on their own land or gardens.
2. The Church would be closed and services would be held out-of-doors at Cuckold Delph with family groups remaining at least 12 feet apart from their neighbours (sound advice).
3. The village would be quarantined.  No one would leave or enter the village until it was clear of plague in order to prevent it spreading to neighbouring villages and towns such as Bakewell, Fulwood and Sheffield.

The villagers entered into a pact with their Rector and consented to the quarantine, knowing full well that for many of them it was a death sentence.  Nevertheless their religious faith fortified their resolve – many felt it was their religious duty to seek divine forgiveness, some went to the extreme of refusing the cures on offer for fear of offending God.

It is hard to understand how terribly these simple rules would have affected the villagers. It is harder still to imagine the suffering that was to come:  whole families were wiped out, people were forced to bury their own dead, inscribe their own headstones when even the mason died.  The infected, whilst still living, would have heard their own graves being dug in preparation.  But death would bring no respite because at that time it was held that if a person was not buried in consecrated ground they would not rise on Judgement Day and be reunited with loved ones in paradise.  That was the extent of the sacrifice the villagers were prepared to make to prevent plague spreading.

Staying alive

Mompesson’s well

Despite the bleak outlook, in the midst of death, life still goes on.  Practical measures were implemented to alleviate suffering.  The Earl of Devonshire paid for food and medical supplies and local villages supported Eyam by supplying goods which were dropped off and paid for at set points around the boundaries of the Cordon Sanitaire.  Many of these drop off points remain today as poignant reminders of this time.  In order to disinfect coins left by the villagers they were usually left in water – Monday Brook earned its name at this time when goods from Bakewell’s Monday market were exchanged there.  The Boundary Stone has niches drilled in it that were filled with vinegar to disinfect the coins and Mompesson’s Well sits on a lonely stretch of the Grindleford Road.

Of death and life

The death toll was huge, Mompesson stated 76 families were affected. Some of the monthly figures show the devastation of the plague:  July 56 deaths, August 78, September 24, October 14.

However, statistics can never truly convey the human cost of plague, individual families suffered huge losses:  Jane Hawksworth lost 25 members of her immediate and extended family; The Talbot’s and the Hancock’s were all but wiped out:  Mrs Hancock burying her husband and 6 children in the space of a week before eventually fleeing Eyam.  The graves she dug can still be seen, and have become known as the Riley Graves, they stand as a silent testament to one woman’s almost unimaginable loss.

The Riley Graves dug by Mrs Hancock, Image by Stephen G Taylor

Not everyone who contracted plague died, some survived and their stories have entered local folk-lore. Margaret Blackwell was in the final stages of plague when suffering from a raging thirst she swigged back a jug of bacon fat mistaking it for milk.  She vomited up the fat and made a remarkably swift recovery, convinced that the bacon fat had saved her.  Another case has a certain macabre humor about it – Marshall Howe himself a plague survivor thought he may have built up some immunity so offered his services (for a fee) to help bury the dead.  One such client was a man called Unwin, and as Marshall dragged the corpse towards its grave, he was horrified to hear the dead man call for a drink.  Marshall fled in terror thinking the dead had risen.

Finally by Christmas 1666 Plague was officially over and the villagers began to return to their homes.  One final action was required to ensure plague was gone for good and, lead by the Rector himself, villagers burned all but the clothes on their backs.

Emmott and Rowland meeting at Cuckold Delph, a window at St Lawrence Church

And what of Emmott and Rowland?  Rowland was one of the first outsiders to enter the village once the quarantine was lifted.  When he found the Sydall house empty his hopes must have begun to fade.  He soon discovered that the Sydall’s were all dead and that his precious Emmott had fallen ill and died shortly after their last meeting.  All his months of waiting and hoping had been in vain.

In all close to 260 villagers of Eyam died in the outbreak which lasted for 14 months.  But they had succeeded in their plan – the plague did not spread beyond Eyam.

Today Eyam is a working village, but it has never forgotten its extraordinary history.  The Parish Church commemorates events in a stained glass window, and Eyam Museum provides historical detail.

Every year, at the end of August a commemorative service is held at Cuckold Delph to remember those who made this sacrifice.

List of plague victims on display at St Lawrence Parish Church, Eyam

Sources

BBC – Legacies, http://www.bbc.co.uk/legacies/myths_legends/england/derby/article_1.shtml
Clifford, John, ‘Eyam Plague 1665 – 1666’, 2003 edition
Eyam Museum, http://www.eyammuseum.demon.co.uk/museumguide.htm
St Lawrence Eyam Parish Church, http://www.spanglefish.com/EyamChurch/index.asp?pageid=14206