Seaton Delaval Hall lies near the Northumbrian Coast, not far from the former mining villages of Seaton Sluice and New Hartley. The house is spectacular, though not excessively large, with a central block flanked by two enveloping wings that reach out and embrace the visitor. It was designed in the early eighteenth century by Sir John Vanbrugh, the architect of Castle Howard and Blenheim Palace, for Admiral George Delaval. The Admiral never saw the hall completed, as he died after a horse-riding accident before work was finished. Drama and tragedy have always stalked the Delavals, and many strange tales and legends grew up around them, from building a castle in a day, to the macabre tale of the Wallsend Witches, and the tragic story of the white lady of Seaton Delaval.
The White Lady of Seaton Delaval
It is said that the spectre of a lady dressed all in white, or in some versions grey, has, at certain times of day, when the sunlight falls in a particular way, been seen staring soulfully out of a first-floor window on the North front of the house.
Interior of Seaton Delaval Hall
Other versions claim the white lady is seen cradling an infant and haunts the nearby family chapel.1
The story is that the son of the Delaval family had a secret love affair with an ‘unsuitable’ girl, possibly a servant. As heir to the Delaval fortune, he was expected to make an advantageous marriage, so his family took steps to end his liaison with the girl. He was swiftly was sent away to the opposite end of the country, never to return. The heart-broken girl pined and died. But her spirit remained, and to this day, can sometimes be seen holding its lonely vigil at the Hall, forever awaiting her lost love’s return.2
It is a tragic and romantic tale, that fits the windswept grandeur of Seaton Delaval Hall. It has also often been linked to a real life Delaval heir who lived in the eighteenth century.
Seaton Delaval Hall, South Portico
Jack Delaval and the unwilling maid
The White Lady was said to have been in love with John Delaval (1756-1775). John, known as Jack by his family, was the only son of Sir John Delaval, and found himself the accidental heir of Seaton Delaval Hall.
Sir Francis Blake Delaval , Jack’s uncle, had originally inherited Seaton Delaval Hall in 1752. Sir Francis was the original Gay Delaval, infamous for his wild parties, gambling, theatrics, pranks, and sexual liaisons. But even the vast income from the Delaval empire could not keep up with this kind of lavish lifestyle. Sir Francis was soon drowning in debt and forced to hand over his inheritance to his sensible brother John, in return for an annual annuity.
Sir John was an MP and an industrialist, he was the polar opposite of his rakish brother Francis. He was determined that his only son would not replicate his brother’s dissolute behaviour, and tried to stamp this out of Jack through a strictly regulated education. However, it seems that the apple never falls far from the tree, because Jack’s name has forever been linked with another tale of thwarted love and tragic death. However, this tale is considerably less romantic.
Allegedly, young Jack had taken a fancy to a buxom serving girl and decided to exercise his ‘droit de seignior’ and sexually assault her. The girl emphatically rejected his advances and landed him a firm kick in the groin in order to facilitate her get away. Her deftly landed blow hurt more than his pride, and he later died of internal injuries.3 What happened to the feisty servant girl, sadly, is left unrecorded.
John ‘Jack’ Delaval 1756-1775
Oddly enough, for a young man linked to such unpleasantly vigorous exploits, he was not a strapping lad by any means. Surviving letters suggest he was a sickly, and often peevish boy, and records suggest that while he was definitely sent away from Seaton Delaval Hall, this was to recover from Consumption (Tuberculosis), rather than to escape a mesalliance or to recuperate from an embarrassing injury.4
His obituary in the Morning Post paints a very complementary picture of his character, albeit in the conventional language of the day:
“On Friday last died at Bristol, in the twentieth year of his age, after a severe illness of several months continuance, which he bore with a truly Christian patience, John Delaval, Esq. son of Sir John Hussey Delaval, Bart. whose death is grievously lamented by his most afflicted parents, and by all who had the happiness of being acquainted with him. His manners were so pure, unaffected, and amiable, and his behaviour so engaging and irresistible, that he captured the affections, and was the delight of all that knew him. He spend a precious life of innocence and goodness in this world, by which he prepared himself for the perpetual felicity in the next to which he had been called.”5
Despite this glowing eulogy, the story has stuck, like mud, to Jack’s reputation down the centuries, so much so, that Francis Askham, writing in The Gay Delavals suggests that the Morning Post could have been bribed to keep silent as to the ‘true’ cause of the boy’s death. Askham also quotes lines from The Delavaliad, a satirical poem directed at Sir John, and suggests the poem could hold an oblique reference to the incident with Jack and the girl.
‘And if with foot you kick a ball,
E’en so you may-a Delaval’6
In the context of the poem, the lines could just as easily be talking about the shifting nature of Sir John’s principles in politics, however, it is fascinating to imagine that the story of Jack’s undignified demise might have been an open secret amongst society.
However, it is also worth pointing out that there are no contemporary accounts to suggest that Jack was the victim of his own proclivities and it is just as likely that his posthumous reputation as an unsuccessful womanizer is unfounded.
Figure from fireplace, Seaton Delaval Hall
Unconsecrated Ground
Jack died in July 1775, at Hot Springs in Bristol. His body was interred at Doddington Church, near Doddington Hall, another of the Delaval family seats. But he was not intended to remain there long.
Sir John was devastated that his only son had died so young, Jack was barely twenty years old.
To assuage his grief, Sir John had a very grand mausoleum built near to Seaton Delaval Hall. It cost the huge sum of £1742.11shillings (about £152,000 in today’s money). However, despite this vast expenditure, he had a falling out with the Bishop of Durham over the cost to consecrate the building.7 In the end, the beautiful structure remained unconsecrated and untenanted, and Jack’s body remained at Doddington. Today, the mausoleum is a blackened and graffitied shell, inaccessible and marooned amongst farmers fields.
The Mausoleum at Seaton Delaval
Epilogue
Why Jack? Events in Jack’s life were easily grafted on to the tale of the White Lady and her lost lover, the fact that it was known that Jack had been sent away from home suddenly, never to return, may have been used to add a veneer of authenticity to a local ghost story. Such local tales were popular with Victorians.
On the other hand, he also exists in the folk memory of the area as the over-sexed, upper class creep who got his just desserts (and an ignominious death) at the hands of a servant girl. Perhaps this negative story may have something to do with his father being an MP or just a way of local people bringing Bigwigs down a peg or two. What ever the truth of the matter, Jack’s short life will forever been linked to these two very different tales.
Spiral staircase with boy, Seaton Delaval Hall
Sources
All images by Lenora
Asbury, Jonathan, Seaton Delaval Hall Souvenir Guide (National Trust)
Askham, Francis, 1955, The Gay Delavals
Green, Martin, 2010, The Delavals A Family History
The ‘Screaming Spectre’ is one of the most famous hauntings in London. Hundreds of passengers and London Underground employees alike have claimed to have heard a terrifying scream whilst waiting for the last train out of Farringdon Station. Rarely seen, usually only heard, the cry has occasionally led some intrepid soul to go searching for the source of the noise, convinced it is the sound of someone in severe distress, only for them to return confused and empty handed.
The ghost, is believed to be that of a young girl named Ann Nailor, who was murdered, her remains left near the site which later became Farringdon Station.
From the Workhouse to the Sweatshop
Ann Nailor was only thirteen when she was killed in 1758. At the time of her death she was apprenticed out to a millinery in Bruton Street, Berkeley Square, London, along with four other girls; her sister Mary (8), Philadephia Dowley (10), Sarah (Sall) Hinchman (12) and Ann Paul (age unknown). The millinery was owned by Sarah Metyard, a widow with one daughter, Sarah Morgan Metyard, who would have been either 18 or 19 at the time.
Forced to work long hours in a small room, sewing ‘mitts and purses’[1], poorly fed and only allowed out a couple of days a month, it is pretty obvious the value their mistress placed on her apprentices. They needed to work hard, if they didn’t, they were punished. Ann couldn’t sew as well as the others, she had suffered from a herpetic infection ‘whitlow’ which had led to a finger being amputated[2]. This lack of productivity was reflected in her treatment. She was beaten more often than the others and not given food as regularly. As she became weaker, she was even less able to work and so was punished again. Thus, the vicious cycle continued until reaching breaking point she tried to get away.
Source unknown: 18th century milliners shop.
A Slow, Lingering Death
Ann had tried once before to escape from the Metyards. The second time she only made it as far as the doorstep when she was stopped by the milkman, Mr Brown. She begged him to let her go, pleading that if she stayed, she would be starved to death since she had had “no victuals for so long a time”[3]. Reassuring her that she would not starve, he stood by as Sarah Morgan pulled her inside. Ann was dragged by the neck upstairs where she was held down by the mother on a bed and severely beaten with a broom handle by the daughter. She was then taken up another flight of stairs where she was attached to a door by a string tied around her waist. For three days she was left in this position, unable to sit or lie down[4]. Each evening she was cut down and allowed to return to her room to sleep, on the last day she was so weak that she crawled up the stairs on her hands and knees[5]. According to the other apprentices throughout this time Ann was given neither food or water, was unable to speak and could only groan in agony[6].
At the end of the third day, one of the girls noticed that Ann was bent over double, no longer moving. Starved, dehydrated, exhausted and badly beaten (who knows what injuries she had sustained), her poor, frail body had finally given up. Death in the end would have been a merciful relief; her pain and suffering were at least at an end, even if her story was not yet finished.
Source: By anonymous illustrators of the Newgate Calendar. Public Domain, via Wikipedia.
The Cover-up
Scared the girls called for help. Initially the daughter refused to accept that Ann was dead. Taking her shoe, she beat Ann on her backside and hand, insisting that she would make the girl move. When she could not, she called for her mother to come up and take a look. The mother on arriving cut the string and laid Ann’s dead body over her lap. She then sent one of the apprentices, Sall, to fetch some drops, insisting that Ann was just in a fit and was perfectly fine. This was the last time the girls saw her.
According to both the apprentices at the trial, the Metyards began to act strangely sending them to wash in the kitchen or dining room, instead of in the garret as normal, the door of which was kept securely locked. As to Ann they were told that she was very sick and that they were not to disturb her. Despite putting on a show, taking up plates of food and demonstrating concern for her well-being the Metyards were perfectly aware that they could not keep up the charade indefinitely. At dinner a couple of days after Ann’s death, Sarah Metyard pretended to hear a noise and sent Sall to fetch Ann and bring her down to eat. Sall returned frightened, saying that the garret door was open and Ann had gone. Sarah Metyard just remarked that the girl had obviously run away again and with her history, few would have questioned it.
Despite the evidence, the girls were not convinced. For one thing, Ann had left without her shoes[7].
The Evidence Hidden
Whilst the Metyards were pretending everything was dandy, Ann’s cold body had lain in a garret room for two days before being moved to a second room. On the fourth day, it was unceremoniously dumped in a box, where it remained for two months.
By the beginning of December, the stench of the rotting corpse had become too much and fearful of discovery, they realised that the body needed to be removed from the premises. The first plan was to burn it but that idea was soon abandoned over fears that the smell of burning flesh would arouse suspicion and on a practical note it would have taken far too long. A decision was made to cut the body up into pieces and dump it. The mother aided by her daughter cut the arms and legs from the body. The trunk and head were stuffed into one bag and the limbs in another. An exception was made for the hand with the amputated finger which was burnt on the fire. Possibly the mother was frightened that the disfigured hand would make identifying the remains easier. On 5 December, Sarah Metyard carried the sacks to the sewer in Chick Lane, over 1.5 miles away. Unfortunately for her, the sewer was overflowing with mud and water and so she just left them in the gully-hole. Afterwards, her nerves shattered, she stopped at a public house near Temple-bar. Mr Inch, the landlord, knew Sarah Metyard well[8] and enquired about the stink (of what would have been a mixture of rotting flesh, bodily fluids and guts) with which she was perfuming the place. Sarah Metyard denied all knowledge of any smell and quickly left the public house after just one drink.
A Gruesome Discovery
Late at night, not long after the body had been left, it was found by a constable and two watchmen whilst on their rounds. The pungent smell which Sarah Metyard had claimed to be oblivious to, had attracted their attention. Examining the bags briefly they ascertained it contained body parts and immediately went to report their find to Thomas Lovegrove, the Overseer of the Parish of St Andrew, Holborn. Despite the lateness of the night (it was about midnight), he ordered the men to get ‘a shell’ from the workhouse and go and gather up the body parts. The head and trunk were found first and then the limbs but despite making a thorough search of the area they could not locate the hands. They then took the remains to the workhouse where they were left until the next day when Lovegrove sent for the coroner, Mr Umfreville. The coroner asked for the body parts to be washed and laid out on a board, ready for examination. The body was identified as having belonged to a young female but the coroner mistakenly assumed that it had been dissected by surgeons and as such declined to summon a jury[9]. The body was sent for burial.
That would have been the end of the story but for the fear and guilt which gnawed at the murderers and which eventually was their undoing.
The Murderers Condemn Themselves
During the years which followed, the mother became increasingly paranoid. She initially refused to let her daughter go out to service, afraid she would reveal their terrible secret.
After two years the daughter did get her wish. A tenant, Mr Richard Rooker, took pity on the daughter and offered her work as a servant at his house in Hill Street. Sarah Morgan gratefully accepted. Despite no longer living under the same roof, the mother’s behaviour worsened and she would regularly turn up at Rooker’s residence, causing a scene and accusing her daughter of being Rooker’s whore. Her aggressive behaviour continued even when the household moved out of London[10].
Matters came to a head one day when Rooker heard a scream come from the kitchen and found Sarah Morgan badly beaten, a knife discarded on the floor and the mother’s hands around her daughter’s throat. The mother and daughter began to trade insults. The mother called Rooker names and the daughter in turn called her the ‘Chick-lane ghost’ [11].
This last comment disturbed Rooker and played on his mind. Eventually he confronted Sarah Morgan and she revealed everything to him. Rooker convinced of her innocence, persuaded her to turn her mother in. Rooker sent a letter to the Parish in Tottenham High Cross and finally, Sarah Metyard was arrested for the murder of Ann Nailor. Unfortunately for Rooker he had been wrong, the mother exacted the ultimate revenge and her daughter was eventually taken in for questioning and charged.
The Trial
On 14 July 1762, the trial for the murder of Ann Nailor was held at the Old Bailey.
Source: William Hogarth The Bench. Fitzwilliam Museum.
The feeling of animosity between the mother and daughter was such that they had to be housed in different areas of the prison[12], so it is not surprising that at their trial, they turned against each other. The mother throughout repeatedly asserted that Ann had not died under her roof (with the exception of one odd statement later denied, given to the Newgate Ordinary, that the girl had been killed by a falling bed post[13]). She claimed that the girl was of a sickly constitution but had always been treated well and that she had run away, possibly with the milk boy, of whom Ann was fond of.
The daughter insisted that it had been all her mother’s doing adding that her only crime had been to conceal the murder, which she had done out of a false sense of loyalty. She stated that she had treated Ann kindly and had begged her mother to give the girl food. She told the jury that she had warned her mother that if Ann was not cut down from the string she would die and that Ann had still been alive, albeit very weak, when she had been laid on the bed. She also testified that it was only later that her mother had called her up and told her that Ann was dead.
The evidence against the pair was overwhelming and they were swiftly convicted. Sarah Morgan made one last futile attempt to save herself, “she pleaded her belly”. A panel of matrons were summoned to examine her, they found her not to be pregnant and the sentence of hanging was upheld[14].
Justice for Ann and Mary Nailor
Sadly, it had not only been Ann who had suffered but also her younger sister. Mary had been convinced that her sister had been murdered and freely expressed her views. This signed her death warrant. The child was killed, the body ‘secreted away’. Even without the physical proof, the jury found the Metyards guilty and they were duly charged with a second murder. Her body was never found.
On the morning of the 19July, the women were taken to the execution site at Tyburn. The daughter continued to protest her innocence, accusing her mother of various other nefarious deeds whilst the mother lay insensible in the cart. Sarah Metyard had been wailing that she was unable to eat, maybe she was trying to starve herself before the hanging. Somehow fitting in the circumstances.
Source: William Hogarth – Scanned from The genius of William Hogarth or Hogarth’s Graphical Works, Public Domain via Wikimedia.
A Fair Sentence?
In my opinion the guilt of the mother is indisputable, however, I am less convinced when it comes to the daughter.
It is hard to ignore the fact that Sarah Morgan Metyard, like the apprentices had suffered at the hands of her mother. According to her confession taken the morning of her execution, she listed a number of grievances against her mother. She stated that from the age of eleven, she had been raised in a “scene of wickedness” being forced to steal pewter from the scullery at St James Palace and on one occasion being sent to beg money from her friends on the pretence that she had been abandoned [15]. Although the only other witness was not in a state to refute these claims, it seems strange that she would have been lying, it was not as if she was going to be granted a reprieve and even if they were true it did not excuse what had happened to Ann. Maybe she was trying to gain sympathy but she appears to have been eager to receive the holy sacrament, so why risk her soul?
She also denied hitting Ann, despite the witnesses’ evidence to the contrary, stating that she had never treated the apprentices badly, even on occasion being beaten because of her defence of them. She claimed that when her mother was away from the house, she had often unlocked the garret to let the girls out and had even given them a key to lock themselves back in so her mother would never know. She added that on times she had given the girls “a halfpenny roll; and sometimes a halfpenny; and sometimes other victuals unknown to the mother”[16]. This later assertion was confirmed by Sarah Hinchman.
She also mentioned how she had begged her mother to give the dead girl a decent burial but was ignored, her mother stating that if they did, they would both be arrested as it was obvious to anyone who looked at the body that the girl had been starved[17].
Source: William Hogarth Rakes Progress detail.
After the murder, the daughter was continuously abused by the mother, confiding in Rooker her desperation and her wish to kill herself if she could not escape her mother’s clutches. In the end she must have been thankful for the lifeline handed to her by Rooker. Did Rooker exploit an already vulnerable girl? Considering, that she most probably was in a relationship with him (otherwise why else would a man have subjected himself and his reputation to such abuse if she was just a servant), maybe, but for a short time he did save her. She always denied that she was sexually involved with him or any man. This then makes her claim that she was pregnant seem ridiculous. Her excuse was that she thought she would get a brief respite and hadn’t realised they would examine her[18]. Yes, this could prove she was a liar or an idiot or equally a desperate young woman clutching at straws.
In my opinion, although Sarah Morgan was culpable and deserved punishment for not having reported the crime, I do not believe the death sentence was warranted. The girl was clearly mistreated both physically and emotionally. Yes, she had beaten Ann, which is inexcusable but possibly she did so out of fear of her mother turning her anger on her. She had obviously been threatened into keeping her mouth shut and forced to assist her mother in cutting up the body. Having to live this type of life must have been hell for the girl, so, for me, Sarah Morgan Metyard was in many ways just as much a victim as Ann and Mary Nailor.
End Note…
As to the otherworldly scream heard in Farringdon Station, if it does belong to Ann Nailor, then the ghost has wandered as the station is not directly over the area where her body was found[19] and if not, then it makes you wonder what other gruesome discovery has yet to be found.
Source: Tennessee State Library and Archive
Bibliography
Baldwin, W & Knapp, A, The Newgate Calendar Comprising Interesting Memoirs of the Most Notorious Characters who have been Convicted of Outrages of the Laws of England, Volume II, 1825
Ordinary’s Account, 19th July 1762: The Ordinary of Newgate’s account of the behaviour, confession, and dying words of Sarah Metyard, and Sarah, Morgan Metyard, her daughter who were executed at Tyburn, on Monday, July 18, 1762, for the murder of Ann Nailor, https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/print.jsp?div=OA17620719
“Why, my goot Master Oldenbuck, you will only laugh at me. But de hand of glory is vary well known in de countriess where your worthy progenitors did live, – and it is hand cut off from a dead man, as has been hanged for murther, and dried very nice in de shmoke of juniper wood; and if you put a little of what you call yew wid your juniper it will not be any better, – that is, it will not be no worse; then you do take something of de fatsh of de bear, and of de badger, and of de great eber, as you call de grand boar, and of de little suckling child as has not been christened (for dat is very essentials), and you do make a candle, and put it into de hand of glory at de proper hour and minute, with de proper ceremonish, and he who seeksh for treasuresh shall never find none at all”[1]
So, what is the truth behind the mummified hand held in Whitby, why does the Hand of Glory occupy such a precarious position between fact and fiction and why did the myth around the dried and pickled hands of hanged criminals take such a strong hold on the imagination of so many people?
Hand of Glory Recipe
Step 1: Preparation of the Hand
There are quite a few pamphlets that describe how to make Hands of Glory. Certain minor details vary from account to account but overall, the instructions are strikingly similar in detail. The following instructions are taken from the Petit Albert (an eighteenth-century grimoire of natural and cabalistic magic)[2] which cites Émile-Jules Grillot de Givry[3], a French occultist as its source and from the Compendium Maleficarum[4], a witch-hunter’s manual written by Francesco Maria Guazzo in 1608.
Sever the hand from the body of a still hanging criminal. Choose the left hand, except in the case when the man is a murderer, then cut off the hand that committed the murder. If this is not known, remove his right hand as this is the hand most likely to have been used.
Remove the hand in the dead of the night or during an eclipse.
Wrap it in part of a funeral pall and so wrapped squeeze it well.
Then put it into an earthenware vessel along with zimat (an unknown substance, possibly verdigris), nitre (the mineral form of potassium nitrate also known as saltpeter), salt and long peppers. The contents should be well powdered.
Leave it in this vessel for a fortnight, then take it out and expose it to full sunlight during the dog-days (the hottest days of July and August) until it becomes quite dry (if the sun is not strong enough put it in an oven with fern and vervain)
A different method of making a Hand of Glory can be found in the text which accompanied the Whitby Museum’s Hand and which was published in a book in 1823.
“It must be cut from the body of a criminal on the gibbet; pickled in salt, and the urine of man, woman, dog, horse and mare; smoked with herbs and hay for a month; hung on an oak tree for three nights running, then laid at a crossroads, then hung on a church door for one night while the maker keeps watch in the porch”[5]
Step 2: Create the Candle
There are two ways to make a Hand Glory.
The first is to bleed the hand, dry it and then dip it in wax, turning each finger into a candle.
The second is to use the Hand of Glory as a candlestick to hold a candle. The candle must be made from human fat taken from the corpse of the same hanged man and then combined with virgin wax, sesame and ponie. De Givry proposed that ponie was another name for horse dung, which due to its combustible nature when dry would make it a logical choice. An alternative suggestion also put forward is that ponie is a contraction of ‘sisame de Laponie’, in English, Lapland Sesame[6].
In some descriptions, the hair of the deceased man is used for the wick.
Hands of Glory were most commonly associated with thieves who would harness its power to steal from households.
It was believed that all the fingers and the thumb should be lit. If one finger refused to ignite it was due to there either being less than five people in the house or to one person still being awake. Dousing the hand in milk was the only way to extinguish the flames and render the power of the hand dormant, releasing anyone under its control.
The hand could:
Induce a coma-like state for anyone already asleep in the household.
Open any door, however securely it had been locked and bolted.
Cause the holder to become invisible to others.
Make any person to whom the candle was presented, motionless.
Burn forever.
How to Protect Your Home and Property
A household could protect itself from the Hand by rubbing a rather unpleasant and pungent concoction on their thresholds or other parts of the house. The mixture should be composed of the gall of a black cat, the fat of a white hen and the blood of a screech-owl. As with the creation of the hand, the potion has to be made during the hottest days of July and August[7].
Historical Evidence for the Hand of Glory
Body parts have always had the reputation of being imbued with special qualities, you have only to look at the reverence that remains of Christian saints are held in. Even today in Africa, body parts are used in witchcraft practices, for instance, male genitalia is the most sought-after human body parts used in traditional witchcraft ceremonies[8]. So, it is easy to understand that in the past, remains were thought by many to have magical qualities and how in their minds, crime, especially terrible crimes would increase the dark power of those remains.
So, what actual historical evidence do we have? The answer is very little. Most of it is either hearsay, second-hand accounts or very obviously fanciful. Hand of Glory stories are most common in Northern England. Robert Southey in his memoirs at one-point talks of assisting in the “definitive judgement” of certain criminals. Before he begins to demonstrate his knowledge, he makes it very clear to his audience that he himself had never attempted to create such an abominable object. He then states that men who had undergone torture confessed to him their use of a Hand of Glory. He says that its purpose was to render people motionless “insomuch that they could not stir, anymore than if they were dead“[9]. He then goes on to describe how to create a Hand of Glory. Unfortunately, the lack of actual details such as where the trials took place and who the men were does call its veracity into question and besides under torture people will admit to anything!
Jack Shepherd robbery from Ainsworth’s “Jack Sheppard, A Romance” 1839 by George Cruikshank
There are also many stories that have been passed down, recounting incidents of the Hand being used. A famous account concerns the Inn of Spital on Stanmore (possibly Stainmore) in Yorkshire[10]. It was said that on a cold October night in 1797, an old female beggar come to the door asking for lodgings. The owner of the inn, George Alderson agreed but stated that the beggar would have to be content with sleeping by the fire in the kitchen. The family then went to bed. Only the maid, Bella remained awake. Something about the beggar’s appearance unsettled her. Pretending to be asleep, she watched the beggar and was shocked to discover that the raggedy old woman was actually a man in disguise. She saw him remove a withered hand from his pocket, as well as a candle. Taking her chance, she rushed to her master’s bedroom but was unable to wake him or his son. On her return to the kitchen, she saw the man open the door and go outside leaving the Hand on the table. Realising that the household was under a spell, she grabbed a cup of milk and poured it on the Hand’s flames. Immediately the household woke and grabbing their guns, they shot at the thief and his accomplice. Knowing their luck had run out, the thief asked for the Hand of Glory to be returned. In answer, the son shot at them again. The Hand remained in the family’s possession for sixteen years. This account was supposedly given to the author by someone who had themselves heard it from the daughter of Bella. Two other Hand of Glory stories from Yorkshire are known; one is from Oak Tree Inn, Leeming (the incident reported to have taken place in 1824)[11] and another earlier tale retold by Sabine Baring-Gould[12]. The heroes of these stories are again female servants who save the families (and their valuables) through their bravery and intelligence.
Whitby’s Hand of Glory
The only surviving Hand of Glory can be found in Whitby Museum. Given to the museum in 1935, it was discovered in a cottage in Castleton by stonemason and local historian, Joseph Ford. Hidden in the wall, Ford identified it based on depictions found in numerous stories[13].
Often the Whitby example is cited as being proof of the existence of the Hand of Glory but is it really what it is purported to be? As shown above, stories about its existence were widespread and widely believed but could it have just been one of many items such as witches’ bottles and shoes that were hidden in walls to protect against witchcraft, demons and the fey or could it have been the property of cunning folk or ‘witches’? Unfortunately, we will never know.
It was not only thieves that were associated with dead hands or Hands of Glory but also witches and fairies. These stories show the power of such objects as well as the fear that they could stir in people’s hearts and minds.
In Ireland ill luck, diseases and ‘curses’ were more commonly attributed to fairies rather than witches. It was generally believed that butter witches used the hand of a corpse to help them produce large quantities of butter and milk. In one tale an old woman asks a fairy how to get more butter and the fairy in response digs up a corpse’s hand and gives it to her to use for collecting it[14]. In another, locals of the parish of Eyrecourt suspect a neighbour of having a dead hand in her possession due to the large amount of milk and butter she managed to produce from only a few cows[15]. Despite the possible benefits of owning a dead hand such as taking a neighbour’s “crops and stock, and maybe breaking them out of house and home”[16], it was strongly believed that in the end, the hand would become a curse for whoever was in possession of it[17].
In England, a number of local stories appeared which linked the Hand of Glory to witches. One more light-hearted tale is set in the village of Crasswall in Herefordshire where it was said that a witch made a Hand of Glory from a hanged corpse in order to put a spell on the people who ducked her in a horsepond. The story was told by a woman from the village who remembered it as being one of her great-uncle’s “silly old tales”[18].
The most famous case concerns the Scottish schoolmaster and convicted ‘sorcerer’, Dr John Fian (alias Cunninghame). Tortured to breaking point and in extreme agony, he admitted to having trained several witches in North Berwick Kirk (many of whom found themselves centre stage in the now infamous North Berwick Witch Trials), bewitching townsfolk and raising a storm to sink the ship carrying King James VI of Scotland and his newlywed wife, Anne of Denmark as they returned from Copenhagen[19] and using a Hand of Glory to help him break into a church and perform a service to the Devil[20].
Further afield in Germany, during their witch hunts in 1588, two women, Nichel and Bessers were accused of witchcraft and the exhumation of corpses. The women admitted to “poisoning helpless people after lighting hands of glory to immobilise them”[21].
One other curious aspect of the belief in the power of dead hands was that people, despite the objects’ gruesome nature, also associated it with healing. Even in Ireland, dead hands were believed to cure toothache. The hand had to be rubbed against the tooth. For the treatment to be effective for men, they had to avoid shaving on a Sunday[22].
Hands of Glory were also thought to have healing properties. In particular, they could be used to heal goitre, an abnormal growth on the thyroid gland caused by poor diet and nutrition, by passing the Hand over the swelling[23]. Severed and preserved hands have been found in physicians’ medical bags and collections.
European Traditions
It is fascinating that stories about hands used for similar purposes can also be found in other countries in Northern Europe.
In Switzerland, it was said that the bodies of deceased and unbaptised children should be buried at night so that the location of their graves remained unknown. This was done to prevent the bodies from being mutilated as it was thought that the hands of such infants could open any lock. As in England, it was believed that the number of fingers that were not burning indicated how many in a house were still awake[24].
Germanic folklore also contained stories of how thieves would make lights for themselves which would cast a spell over people keeping them asleep for however long the candles burned. Known as ‘Thieves’ lights’, these gruesome objects were made from the fingers of unborn children. These infants would have to have been cut from a womb of a thief or murderer who had either been hanged, beheaded or had committed suicide. Specific and strict instructions had to be followed in order to invoke the hand’s power:
Special incantations and spells had to be recited.
The journey must be made along the devil’s roads at midnight.
The journey must be taken in absolute silence.
The same axe or knife that had been used by the executioner must be used to “open up the poor sinner’s belly, take out the child, cut off its fingers, and take them with you”.
The candles fashioned from these tiny hands would ignite whenever their owner wished it and would be quenched in the same manner. The power held by these macabre objects echoes exactly the power displayed by Hands of Glory. To add to the gruesome origin of these lights, it was reported that pregnant women were often sold to or stolen by brigands of thieves[25].
In West Flanders in the Netherlands, a story persists of how a foot of a hanged man was found in the possession of a thief which he used for the purpose of putting people to sleep. There is also a story from Huy, which bears a remarkable similarity to the Yorkshire tales. In this version, two men request permission to sleep by their host’s fire. The maid not liking the look of the visitors, spies on them. When they believe themselves to be unobserved, one of them, to the maid’s horror, draws a thief’s hand from his pocket. Despite his best efforts, all the fingers burn except for one. Realising that someone in the house was not asleep but seemingly unperturbed they hang it by the chimney and go to the door to call their associates. Failing to wake her master, the maid runs to the kitchen and blows out the candles. In an instant, the men of the household wake up and drive off the robbers[26].
The Hand of Glory: An Interesting Tale or a Grim Tool
Although it is highly improbable that Hands of Glory were powerful magical instruments, it is more than likely that people did try to make them. There are just too many stories, from too many countries, to dismiss them as complete nonsense. It is a shame that only one has survived as more physical evidence could give us a better understanding of this traditional occult practice. What happened to the others? One possible explanation is that they were buried in secret locations where they could not cause harm and another is that they were simply destroyed. Going back to the introduction and the section taken from the novel Waverley, it is apparent that the author did have knowledge of the Hands although the description given here of their creation is very different from the written accounts that have come down to us. Also, its use to protect secret treasure seems contradictory, it is more likely the Hands would be used to find it instead!
I will leave the last word to Thomas Ingoldsby of Tappington Manor (pen name of Richard Harris Barham) who wrote The Hand of Glory, the second of the Ingoldsby Legends.
Now open, lock! To the Dead Man’s knock! Fly, bolt, and bar, and band! Nor move, nor swerve. Joint, muscle, or nerve At the spell of the Dead Man’s hand! Sleep, all who sleep! – Wake, all who wake! But be as the dead for the Dead Man’s sake
The Hand of Glory, still popular today. Image from Snazle on Amazon.
Bibliography
Baring-Gould, Sabine: Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, Rivingtons: London, Oxford & Cambridge, 1868
Guazzo, Francesco Maria: The Compendium Maleficarum, Dover Publications; Montague Summers edition, 1988
Guiley, Rosemary: The Encyclopedia of Witches, Witchcraft and Wicca, Checkmark Books, 2008
[4] Francesco Maria Guazzo, The Compendium Maleficarum, Dover Publications; Montague Summers edition, 1988
[5] Hand of Glory: The Dark Secret Of The Severed Hand At Whitby Museum, Hand of Glory In Whitby Museum, The History Behind The Hand Of Glory, Hand of Glory In Whitby Museum, The History Behind The Hand Of Glory, https://www.thewhitbyguide.co.uk/hand-of-glory/
In the 1830’s and 40’s a haunting occurred in the small township of Willington, that in its day was as famous as the Haunting at Borley Rectory would be almost 100 years later. However, unlike Borley Rectory, the haunting at Willington Mill House has never been satisfactorily explained.
The haunting caused a sensation in the nineteenth century, with local historians, journalists and psychical researchers all reporting on events and yet now it has been all but forgotten.
Location, Location, Location
With any ghost story, it is important to set the scene.
“Between the railway from Newcastle Upon Tyne to North Shields and the River Tyne, there lie in a hollow some few cottages, a parsonage, a mill, and a miller’s house; these constitute the hamlet of Willington.”1
Willington in the early nineteenth century was a small, close-knit industrial community, nestled beneath the arches of the new railway bridge, with slopes on either side, and a small stream, known as Willington Gut, running through it and emptying into the River Tyne.
The area was not remote or isolated, by any means –in fact it was a hive of industry, with collieries, shipbuilding and milling providing work for the community. In short, it was not the kind of place you would expect to be haunted.
And yet, even before the Mill was built, the land had a bad reputation. The locals believed that a witch once lived in the area, possibly at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Some link the story of the Willington Witch to ‘Mrs Pepper’ a historically attested individual, who was tried and acquitted of witchcraft in nearby Newcastle, in the late seventeenth century, although is remains a theory as there are no records to support her presence.2
The witch may have been some kind of cunning woman, a local folk healer, if in fact, she existed. She is said to have been refused final communion and died unshriven, leading her to curse the area. More recent rumours hinted that a murder had been committed by one of the workers during the building of the Mill, creating a further sense unease in the local community.3,4
Willington Viaduct and Willington Gut. Image by Lenora
The Haunted House
The Mill and Mill house were built sometime between 1800 and 1806 (the sources differ) by the business partnership of William Brown, Joseph Unthanks and Joseph Proctor Snr. The mill was innovative for its time and was thought to be the first steam powered flour mill on Tyneside, with engines running well into the night.
The Mill house was next to the Mill but separated by a road and was originally lived in by Joseph Unthanks and his family. When Joseph Proctor Snr died in 1813, his son, also called Joseph, joined the business, and became a full partner in 1829 (Brown had left the partnership sometime in 1807). The Unthanks’ and Proctors were cousins, and they were both respected quaker businessmen.
The house was visually unremarkable, it was square, double fronted affair, very typical of early nineteenth century domestic architecture. It had three floors (including the ground floor) and a garret/attic area above. Some sources say that the house did not have a cellar, but again, sources differ, for example, Richardson says there was no cellaring,5 while WT Stead and some modern writers, believe that the house did have a cellar. This point is important, because some believed that the cellar related to the alleged murder at the mill house and may have been where the body was concealed.6,7
Willington Mill and House, with the Gut in frontfrom The History of the Parish of Wallsend by W.Richardson
Living with thedead
Life was unremarkable at the Mill House for many years. The Unthanks lived there from 1806 until 1831, when Joseph Unthank finally retired and moved his family out of the Mill House to Battle Hill Farm. The same year Joseph Proctor had married Elizabeth Carr of Kendal, so he and his new wife took up residence at the Mill house and in a few years their new home was filled with their young family. Things seemed to be going well for the Proctor’s until January 1835. It was at this point, Joseph Proctor decided to keep a diary, to record events, giving us a first-hand account of the haunting. The accounts of events described below are based on that diary.8
The Disturbed Room
It all began with footsteps in an empty room. For about two months, the nursemaid, employed to look after the children, had heard someone pacing back and forth in the room above the nursery. So forceful were the steps, that they even rattled the window frame in the nursery; this happened every evening and lasted for about 10 minutes. Her unease at these strange noises steadily grew until she became convinced that the noise was supernatural in origin, and she reported it to her mistress. The girl left the Proctor’s employment soon after, terrified by her experiences.
Girl reading ghost stories. Engraving by R. Graves after R.W. Buss.
The nursemaid was not alone in the hearing ominous noises emanating from the third-floor room. Elizabeth Proctor soon bore witness to the strange sounds herself. At 11 am one morning, she was in the nursery, when she too heard a heavy tread in the room above.
The replacement nursemaid was not told why her predecessor had left, but it didn’t take long for her to find out. Soon she too was regularly being terrified by the sound of heavy boots pacing back and forward in the room above the nursery.
Whenever noises were heard in the room, the room was swiftly checked, but each time, it was found empty.
The room on the third floor, soon became known as the disturbed room. This room was occasionally used for storage but was usually kept empty by the family. What makes this room unusual, is that the door had been nailed shut until quite recently. In addition to this, the window and fireplace were boarded up and there was no access from the roof. Dust lay thick on the floor and that dust had not been disturbed by a single footprint – not even that of a mouse. Exactly when the door was sealed and by whom it was opened, remains unclear. The Unthanks only lived on one floor of the house during their tenure, did they know something about the room, did they seal it shut, did Proctor open it, unknowingly releasing something that should have remained sealed up for ever?
Creepy attic. Image from Jenny Cross on Pinterest
Soon every inhabitant of the house had experienced some form of unexplained and terrifying phenomena emanating from the disturbed room. But things were only going to get worse.
In early 1835, Joseph Proctor’s diary noted that he and his wife were disturbed in their bed by the sound of a mallet hitting a block of wood ten or twelve times, very close to them. The following night, when putting his baby son in his crib, he described hearing indistinct noises from the room above, then suddenly a metallic sound tapped on the cradle, causing it to vibrate.
These were amongst the last times the noises were heard in the disturbed room. Whatever was in there, had got out, and was now roaming the house terrifying the inhabitants.
The invisible thief
On the same night, Thomas Mann, the highly respected foreman of the Mill, was working a nightshift, tending the mill engine. At around 1am he was in the Mill yard to collect more coal, when he heard a loud grating noise on the cobbles. The Mill had a wooden cistern on wheels that was used to bring water to the Mill horses. Mann was convinced someone was trying to steal the cistern and rushed to confront the thief. To his surprise the cistern had not moved, and the yard was deserted. By the time Mann described his experience to Proctor, he was convinced the event was supernatural.
In his journal, Proctor himself noted that he had sometimes heard disembodied footsteps on the gravel outside the house.
The confrontation
Two Victorian gentleman in debate
By this time, it was clear to Joseph Proctor, that something uncanny was going on in his house. He broached the subject with his cousin Joseph Unthanks.
In February 1835, Proctor wrote:
My wife and I were informed by our cousin Unthanks that they understood that the house, and that room in particular in which the noises now occurred, was said to be haunted before they entered it in 1806, but that nothing they knew of had been heard during their occupancy of 25 years.
How the Proctor’s felt at this revelation and whether they truly believed the Unthanks had not had any strange experience in the house is not recorded.
After this bombshell, Proctor began to research reasons why the house might be haunted and made an indistinct half erased note in his diary saying:
“An infirm old woman, the mother-in-law of R.Oxon, the builder of the premises, lived and died in the house, and after her death the haunting was attributed–”
Much has been made of this phrase as potentially relating to the Willington Witch. But it must be remembered that the Mill House was comparatively new, so if a witch lived there, or nearby, it was likely to have been in an earlier older house.
The ghost in the window
Throughout 1835, the family and other visitors continued to experience strange phenomena on an almost daily basis. The haunting had now evolved from simple bangs and footsteps to full blown apparitions, as the following incidents from November of that year, testify –
“A respectable neighbour had seen a transparent white female figure in a window on the second story of the house.”
The following incident appeared connected –
“Early in the evening, two of the children, one aged about 8, the other under 2 years, both saw, unknown each other, an object which could not be real, and which went into the room where the apparition was afterwards seen, and disappeared there.”
The Hammersmith Ghost. N John Graham 1804
By now the house’s reputation had become notorious and some visitors did not wish to stay in the house overnight. In November 1835, Elizabeth Proctor’s sister, Christiana Wright was visiting from Mansfield and chose to lodge with Thomas Mann and his family to avoid the disturbances. However, this precaution made no difference.
The following incident occurred about 9.30pm.
“Soon after going to her bedroom, TMs wife went out of the house for some coals and was struck by a figure in the window previously referred to; she called her husband, who saw the same figure passing backwards and forwards and then standing still in the window. It was very luminous and likewise transparent and had the appearance of a priest in a white surplice”
Mrs Mann called her husband, daughter, and Christiana Wright to observe the apparition, which remained in the window for around 10 minutes until it gradually faded away from the head downwards.
The witnesses described the night as moonless, the yard empty, the window blind down, and the figure seemed to come through the blind and the glass. The possibility of a projection via a Magic Lantern was discounted at the time because a magic lantern would only have projected only on the blinds.
The next event took place on 16 December 1835 when Elizabeth Proctor’s sister, Jane Carr was visiting.
“..[A] little before twelve o’clock at night, JC and her bedfellow were disturbed by a noise similar to the winding up of a clock, apparently on the stairs where the clock stands, which continued for the space of 10 minutes. When that ceased, footsteps were heard in the room above, which is unoccupied, for perhaps a quarter of a hour, while this was going on the bed was felt to shake, and JC distinctly heard the sound of a sack falling on the floor. “
The ghost was not finished with Jane Carr yet, on the 31 January 1836,
“About twelve o’clock at night, JC being quite awake was disturbed by a noise similar to a person knocking quickly and strongly on a piece of board in the room; when that ceased, she distinctly heard the sound of a footstep close by the side of the bed.”
The next event dated around 21st February 1836 involved Mrs Proctor who was sleeping apart from her husband and sharing her bed with the children’s Nurse, a woman called Pollard. As they were lying bed, they were raised up and let down three times, as if a man was underneath the bed, pushing it up with his back. The Proctor’s son, Joseph, also experienced his crib being raised up several times, and was so frightened that he called out for a light.
Victorian Family, 1840. English School
In 1838, Jane Carr, was again visiting. Terrified to spend the night alone, she was sharing her bed with the cook, Mary Young, when things soon took terrifying turn. Sometime between 11 o’clock and midnight, Mary Young heard the bolt on the door of their room slide back. Steps then approached the dressing table, upon which burned a rush light. The light was obscured as if the figure had extinguished it. Jane Carr then felt the bedclothes raised over her twice, then they both heard something rustling the curtains as it went around the bed. Mary Young claimed she saw a dark figure on the outside of the curtains, Jane heard and felt a sound like a fist hitting the headboard on her side. Mary Young then felt pressure on the bed, and saw the curtains pressed inwards, before they both heard it leave the room without shutting the door. The following morning, the door was found to still be bolted. Quite understandably, Jane Carr kept her head firmly under the bedclothes during this nocturnal disturbance.
A haunted childhood
The Children were not immune from the paranormal activity, and while they were sometimes scared of it, they seemed to cope with growing up in a haunted house quite well most of the time. Their experiences range from the bizarre, to the amusing to the downright terrifying. For example, Joseph junior experienced disembodied snatches of conversation, voices saying things like ‘Never mind’ and ‘Come and get,’ he also appears to have haunted himself, as he claimed to have seen his own image staring back at him on one occasion. On other occasions the children claimed they saw and pursued strange animals, including an odd-looking cat and a strange monkey. As an adult Edmund claimed he recalled these events clearly, although he was only around 2 years old at the time. Other, more terrifying experiences, include disembodied white faces, and a female apparition with hollow eye sockets.
Creepy dolls. Image by Lenora
The vigil
Willington Mill has an unusual claim to fame, it was the site of one of the first ever recorded ghost hunts in England. Gossip about the haunting at Willington Mill travelled fast, despite Joseph Proctor’s best efforts to quell the rumours. In 1840, Dr Edward Drury, a sceptic, wrote to Joseph Proctor and cordially invited himself, his dog, and his brace of pistols, to hold vigil at the house at some time when the Proctors were away from home. Surprisingly, Joseph Proctor agreed to the request, he drew the line at the dog, but was fine with the pistols. Dr Drury arrived on Friday 3 July 1840 along with another ghost hunter, a chemist called Thomas Hudson. They hoped to spend the night alone, locked in the Mill house, along with an elderly servant. However, Mr Proctor unexpectedly returned home from his family trip for business reasons, so the two sceptics dined with the hardened believer, suffice to say, they came away converted (or some might say primed).
After minutely searching the house for any tricks, the vigil began. A letter from Dr Drury to Mr Proctor, provides an account of what happened next.
He and Hudson had taken up position on the landing of the third floor at about 11pm. Just before midnight, they began to hear the sound of bare feet pattering on the floor, but he couldn’t tell where they came from. Then, the sound of knocking was heard by their feet, followed by a hollow cough and the sound as of fabric rustling up the stairs towards them. By 12.45am Drury was feeling cold and wanted to go to bed, but Hudson insisted they stay up until dawn. To occupy himself, Drury picked up a note that he had dropped on the floor, read it, then checked his watch, it was 12:50am.
“In taking my eyes from the watch, they became rivetted upon a closet door, which I distinctly saw open, and saw also the figure of a female attired in greyish garments, with the head inclining downwards, and one hand pressed upon the chest, as if in pain [..] and the other extending towards the floor, with the index finger pointing downwards.”
The terrifying figure advanced on Drury and his sleeping companion, stretching out its hand towards Hudson. In an attempt to protect his friend, Drury charged at the figure, but only succeeded in crashing into Hudson, whilst giving out a terrible yell. He was carried from the scene in paroxysms of fear and did not regain his senses for a full three hours.
Man trapped by a ghost, 1889. Photographer unknown.
Some link this apparition to the alleged murder at the Mill house. Hallowell and Ritson, in their excellent book on the haunting have suggested that the body of a woman was buried beneath a large stone in the cellar. WT Stead also thought that there was something hidden in the cellar. 9, 10
Life goes on
The strange events continued for many years, and Proctor continued to record them in his diary and communicate with interested parties on the subject, including William Howitt, Catherine Crowe, and the Spiritualist Magazine (despite his professed efforts to stop the story spreading he seemed fairly open to discussing it).
By 1847 the Proctor’s had finally had enough of their haunted house and moved to Camp Villa in North Shields. The ghost gave them one final performance the night before they left, when they heard banging and dragging of boxes down the stairs, as though the ghost was planning to move house with them.
Fortunately for them, their new home was quiet (although the servants may have played upon the families haunted past to scare new staff!)
When Joseph died in 1875, Edmund, his son, found the diary amongst his papers. Frustratingly the manuscript was incomplete, ending abruptly in August 1842. Joseph was never able to find the missing pages – which were promised to contain absolute proof the events were supernatural. The widowed Mrs Proctor asked Edmund to wait until after her death before publishing the diary and Edmund respected her wishes. Edmund finally submitted the diary to the Journal for Psychical Research, and it was published in their 1891/2 edition.
Page from the JSPR 1891/2 edition. Image by Lenora
Afterlife
After the Proctors, the Mill house was split into two, and was occupied by two families, one of them being the Mann family. The Mann’s were familiar with the house’s history and did continue to experience some strange events, nevertheless they remained there for twenty years. Later it was broken up into tenements and eventually fell into ruin.
Joseph Proctor closed the mill in 1865 and eventually sold it in 1871. It is worth mentioning that the mill has its own ghost as well. The ghost of a little girl named Kitty is said to haunt the Mill, having been killed in an industrial accident.
Willington Gut looking towards the viaduct. Image by Lenora
Epilogue
The Willington Mill Haunting has never been satisfactorily explained.
Most of the contemporary accounts stress the reliability of the witnesses, Joseph Proctor and his wife were devout Quakers, Proctor was an abolitionist and a member of the temperance movement. Several of the other witnesses were trusted family members or long-standing servants and employees.
Great pains were taken at the time to consider trickery, environmental factors, or noises from heavy industry. All were, at the time, discounted.
Often, hauntings of this kind can be tracked back to bored children or teenagers faking poltergeist activity. There are two famous eighteenth century cases: the Stockwell Ghost and the Cock Lane Ghost, where the culprits in both cases were young girls simply out for mischief.
This is a possibility at Willington, it was a presumably young nurse maid who first reported the phenomena, however, she left soon after reporting it. There are also the Proctor children to consider, however the haunting starts in 1835 when the oldest child was only 2 years old, so that would seem to rule them out, at least initially.
As far as environmental factors go, the railway viaduct was not opened until June 1840, so would not seem to be a cause, however, it would be interesting to know when construction began, and if digging deep foundations for the railway arches could have caused vibrations or noises in the house. In addition to this the noises of the steam mill, and even the gut emptying and filling with the tide, could account for some of the noises.
Willington Gut at low tide
It is also a possibility that once the family, and others, experienced some inexplicable phenomena, they remained hypervigilant, ascribing unusual events to the supernatural, rather than looking for a natural explanation.11
Priming may also be a factor, in particular with Dr Drury, who began as a sceptic but was rigorously primed about what kind of events to expect by Proctor. This may also account for Edmund recollecting chasing strange animals when he was 2 years old – his 8-year-old brother Joseph may have been playing a prank and priming him by saying ‘did you see THE Strange cat’ rather than ‘did you see A strange cat?’ causing Edmund to create a false memory of events. 12
There are also several instances that could be attributed to sleep paralysis and hypnogogic or hypnopompic hallucinations which are associated with the first stage of sleep and with waking up. This could be a factor in Dr Dury’s experiences with the apparition of the old lady. If he had nodded off, he could easily have had a terrifying hypnogogic hallucination and then woken himself with a shout. Others had experiences that could similarly be linked to this natural phenomenon.13
The diary itself is also problematic, can we be sure it is genuine, and that Joseph wrote it when events were occurring? He could have written it after the event, and misremembered or misinterpreted things.
Michael J Hallowell & Darren W Ritson have looked at many theories and possible explanations from a paranormal perspective in their excellent book The Haunting of Willington Mill. They consider whether there was a murder at the site, and whether the Browns, Unthanks and Proctors knew or suspected a body was located in the Cellar of the Mill. Hallowell and Ritson also consider the intriguing possibility of a time slip in the area (were the family hearing echoes of the future or seeing into the deep prehistoric past?). 14
A dark path by Willington Gut. Image by Lenora
Personally, I want to know why the disturbed room was nailed up and sealed off, what, if anything, was in there? Opening up the disturbed room seems to be the key to this whole mystery. But, in the end, without the rest of the diary, we may never know the secret of the Willington Mill Haunting.
Willington MIll from across the Gut. Image by Lenora
For anyone who would like to visit the site of Willington Mill, sadly the house is long gone, now under the carpark next to the old Mill building. The Mill itself remains, reduced in size. It is still operational and is run by Bridon Bekaert as a Rope works, so you cannot access the actual site. However, you can get great views of the Mill Building by walking along the wooded footpath on the other side of Willington Gut. Seeing the rose-coloured building emerging between overhanging tree branches, and reflecting in the still water of the gut, it is easy to imagine that this is a place out of time, where strange things might still happen.
You can hear me talk about the Haunting of Willington Mill House on the Voices from the Northeast Podcast Halloween Special soon, available at https://anchor.fm/voicesfromthenortheast and on Spotify.
Happy Halloween
Bibliography
Crowe, Catherine, 2000, The Night Side of Nature, or Ghosts and Ghost Seers, Wordsworth (original edition published 1848)
Hallowell, Michael J., and Ritson, Darren R., 2011, The Haunting of Willington Mill, The Truth behind England’s most Enigmatic Ghost Story, The History Press
Howitt, William, 1840, Visits to Remarkable Places, Old Walls, Battlefields, and Scenes illustrative of Striking Passages in English History and Poetry, Longman, Orme, Brown, Green and Longman
Here at The Haunted Palace Blog, Halloween is our favourite time of year and this year we’ve been busier than ever!
As well as our usual super spooky Halloween post, we have not one, but two podcast collaborations coming up for Halloween!
In the summer, Lenora was lucky enough to be invited onto The Newcastle Witches Podcast to record their Halloween Special. The Newcastle Witches podcast examines the Newcastle Witch Trials of 1649-50, in which 14 innocent women and 1 man lost their lives. In each episode Maria and Caitlin talk to the experts on different aspects the witch trials, seventeenth century belief in witchcraft and magic, and the political and social situation in seventeenth century Newcastle. Each episode is dedicated to one of the victims of the trials. For their Halloween Special they asked Lenora to share the folktale of the Wallsend Witches and consider whether it is linked to a real-life alleged witch in Wallsend.
Look out for updates on release date on Instagram at @newcastle_witches_podcast and @lenora_hautnedpalaceblog the episode will be available from Anchor FM The Newcastle Witches Podcast, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.
Lenora was also delighted to be invited back to the Voices from the North-East Podcast for one of their two Halloween Specials. Voices from the North-East is a social history podcast that is doing amazing work to preserve memories of growing up in the North-East of England, so much so many of their episodes are being preserved in the Northumberland Archives. Last year Lenora chatted with Paul about the Wallsend Witches and the Alnwick Vampire, this year Lenora will be talking about the Willington Mill Haunting, in a podcast that will run alongside our Halloween blog post.
Look out for updates on release date on Instagram at @voicesfromthenortheast and @lenora_hautnedpalaceblog the episode will be available from Anchor FM Voices from the North East Podcast, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.
If you stroll along the Victoria Embankment between Victoria Embankment and Temple underground stations, you will see a large obelisk flanked by two sphinxes jutting out into the sky. Cleopatra’s Needle is a distinctive landmark in London and a popular tourist spot but few people take the time to understand its history and the supernatural stories which surround it.
The Obelisk of Thutmose III
Although the obelisk in London is associated with Cleopatra, in reality its only connection to the famous Egyptian is that she moved it to Alexandria in 12 BCE, her royal city and set it up in Caesareum – a temple built in honour of Mark Anthony[1]. The obelisk was in fact carved over 1000 years before Cleopatra came to power. Hewed out of red granite from the quarries of Aswan and dedicated to Pharaoh Thutmose III[2], the obelisk was erected in the city of Heliopolis in around 1450 BCE. Two hundred years later inscriptions on the side lines of the shaft were carved out in honour of Rameses the Great commemorating his military victories[3].
In 1819, the Albanian Ottoman governor and ruler of Egypt and Sudan, Muhammad Ali gave the obelisk as a gift to Great Britain. The obelisk was seen as a fitting monument to commemorate the British victories over Napoleon in the Battle of Nile (1798) and the Battle of Alexander (1801)[4]. Unfortunately, the cost of transporting the 224-ton obelisk proved too much and plans to bring it over to Great Britain were dropped. The subject was again unsuccessfully revisited in 1822 and 1832.
In 1867, Lieutenant-General Sir James Alexander read a paper to the Royal Society of Edinburgh outlining his ideas for bringing the obelisk to Britain[5]. In 1875, Alexander visited Egypt to assess its condition. On his trip he met with the civil engineer and Egyptology enthusiast Mr John Dixon who had already been researching the obelisk. At the end of 1876, Dixon and Alexander consulted with Sir William James Erasmus Wilson, a distinguished anatomist, who agreed to contribute £10,000 to the endeavour. Dixon accepted full responsibility for any other expenses incurred as well as transportation logistics. With a firm plan and the permission of the then Khedive Ismael Pasha, Dixon set about drawing up blueprints for a ship strong enough to hold the obelisk[6].
The iron cylinder barge, Cleopatra. Victoria and Albert Museum Collection.
The Cleopatra
The ship, Cleopatra, built to transport the obelisk was ingenious in its design. The cigar-shaped iron cylinder (around 92 feet long by 16 feet wide) which encased the granite monolith was constructed around it, with the sheets of metal riveted together. A bridge was built to shelter the crew. Once the iron case was complete, it was towed to the dry-dock of the Egyptian Admiralty and converted into a ship. Here the internal ballast rails, stern and rudder were added[7].
A crew of eight Maltese sailors led by Captain Carter were hired to steer the Cleopatra whilst the Olga, a steam ship was engaged to act as a tow ship under the command of Captain Booth[8]. On 21 September 1877, the Cleopatra and the Olga left Egypt bound for Falmouth.
The Deadly Bay of Biscay
Initially the journey was uneventful but on the 14 October as the ship entered the Bay of Biscay, the weather took a turn for the worse. The violent storm whipped up the sea causing the iron rails to break loose. At 9.20pm the Cleopatra signalled to the Olga that they were in trouble and a small boat manned by six volunteers were sent over to assist them[9]. Tragically, the crew of the Cleopatra were unable to secure the ropes flung to them and the small boat drifted away, swallowed up by the rough water. Having not heard from the Cleopatra, Captain Booth was under the impression that she was safe. It was only when a few hours later he received a second distress signal asking for the Olga to pick them up, that he realised the seriousness of the situation. The Olga managed to pull up alongside the container ship, collect the crew and cut the tow-rope[10]. An attempt was made to find the six men but to no avail, the boat had disappeared. The names of the men who drowned were William Askin, Michael Burns, James Gardiner, William Donald, Joseph Benton and William Patan (their names are inscribed on the base of the Needle)[11]. Thinking the obelisk lost, the Olga returned to Falmouth.
Incredibly a few days later, the container ship was spotted still afloat proving Dixon’s faith in his design correct, “its buoyancy and sailing qualities have been shown to be of a high order by one of the severest tests to which a vessel, likely to encounter ocean storms can be exposed”. The Cleopatra was picked up by the English steamer ship, Fitzmaunce and brought into the port of Ferrol. After a short and tricky negotiation (the captain of the Fitzmaunce had placed a lien for salvage on the container[12]), the steam ship Anglia was sent to bring the monolith to Britain. On the 21 January 1878, the obelisk arrived at Gravesend (school children in Gravesend were given the day off to welcome the Cleopatra[13]). Even at this stage, the obelisk’s final home had not been decided. Many sites were suggested but in the end the decision was made by the two men who had paid for its journey, Sir Wilson and John Dixon[14]. In September 1878, the obelisk was at last installed to cheers from the crowds and the 68 feet (21 metres) monolith became Cleopatra’s Needle.
The Cleopatra hits storm weather in the Bay of Biscay. Victoria and Albert Museum Collection.
PART TWO: THE CURSE OF THE OBELISK
Cleopatra’s Needle has developed a strange reputation. A reputation which probably stemmed from the idea that Egyptian objects are by their nature cursed and the tragic story of its journey to Britain.
The Suicidal Lady
For some unknown reason the site of Cleopatra’s Needle has become a popular suicide spot. On two separate occasions, a policeman was approached by a distressed woman urging him to come to the banks of the River Thames to prevent someone from jumping into the water. As the policeman reach the area of the needle, they see the same woman, who had just stopped them, leap into the river[15].
The Phantom Sailor
Unearthly laughter has been heard coming from the Needle at night. This eerie sound has been linked to the ghost of a naked man who has been witnessed on a number of occasions, running from out behind the obelisk and throwing himself into the River without making a splash[16]. The first sighting of this apparition occurred a few weeks after the installation of the obelisk leading many people to believe it was in fact the ghost of one of the sailors who died in the Bay of Biscay.
An Egyptian Curse
Aleister Crowley. Unknown author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
As with many Egyptian artifacts some believe the obelisk is cursed and that the soul of Rameses II has been imprisoned inside the granite.
There is a very odd tale relating to the obelisk and Egypt which may or may not have any basis in truth and which is closer to a horror than ghost story. In 1880, a Miss Davies, aged 27 from Pimlico, was wandering along the Embankment when she felt herself being unwillingly pulled towards the site of the Needle. As she got closer to the obelisk, she heard unearthly laughter and losing control of her legs she flung herself into the water. Luckily for her, she was saved by a vagrant. She was taken to hospital to recover. Although physically healed, she experienced terrifying nightmares in which a tall woman with a white face and black almond eyes wearing red robes appeared. As the woman opened its mouth, she revealed sharp pointed teeth and the flesh from her face is ripped off[17]. Miss Davies believed her ordeal to be caused by the obelisk. The description of the woman’s appearance conjures up the image of an Egyptian priestess or member of the Egyptian nobility.
The Crowley Connection
Another unsubstantiated story regards the occultist Aleister Crowley. It is said that Crowley performed dark sorcery one dark night at the base of the obelisk in order to release Rameses’ trapped spirit. The ceremony involved the feeding of animal blood to a human skeleton. Crowley was unsuccess and It is said that Rameses mockingly laughed at Cowley’s failure[18].
The Ill-fated Needle
Many believe that the curse of the obelisk lead to it being bombed in an air-raid during the First World War. At midnight on Tuesday, 14 September 1917, the obelisk was hit disfiguring the pedestal[19]. After the war ended, it was decided not to repair the bomb damage – the scars having become part of its history and its cursed legend.
A Haunting Time Capsule?
When the obelisk was erected, a time capsule was inserted into the pedestal. This capsule contains many objects including 12 photographs of the best looking women of the day, box of hairpins, a box of cigars, tobacco pipes, a set of imperial weights, a baby’s bottle, toys, a shilling razor, samples of cables used in the erection of the obelisk, a portrait or Queen Victoria, a written history of the transportation of the obelisk and a map of London[20].
Could the time capsule contain objects which are themselves haunted? Is that what is responsible for the ghostly stories associated with the obelisk?
The Guardian Sphinxes
Lastly, there are the sphinxes. The sphinxes (as well as the pedestal) were sculptured by the English architect, George John Vulliamy[21]. As with the pedestal, the sphinxes were damaged by the same bomb. It has long been said that the sphinxes were accidentally placed the wrong way round. Logically, they should have been facing outwards, symbolising protection for the obelisk, but maybe the sphinxes were positioned correctly. Maybe their role was not to stop harm from coming to the obelisk but rather to prevent anything from getting out!
The history of Cleopatra’s Needle is a fascinating and sad one and the obelisk itself is very beautiful. Personally, I highly doubt that there is any Egyptian curse on it. Egyptian curses became fashionable after the opening of the tomb of Tutankhamun and are now a mainstay of films and books but it is a mystery as to why the site has become a magnet for those with a desire to commit suicide. Does the obelisk have some sort of power or magnetic pull? I have visited it on numerous occasions at all times of the day and night and have never felt any particular draw to it but if you are brave enough there is a legend that if you want a particular question answered you should look at the pyramidon at the top and say the words “I call spirits from the vasty deep”[22]. Maybe you will receive an answer from the spirit of the obelisk!
Cleopatra’s Needle from across the Thames. Lenora 2022
Bibliography and Further Reading
Brier, Bob (Dr), Cleopatra’s Needles: The Lost Obelisks of Egypt, Bloomsbury Academic, 2021
Sir Erasmus Wilson, Cleopatra’s Needle: With Brief Notes on Egypt and Egyptian Obelisks, London: Brain & Co, 1877
Internet Archive Book Images, No restrictions, via Wikimedia Commons
A common definition of a turf maze is a “convoluted path cut into level areas of short grass” [1]. Sometimes the groove cut into the turf is to be walked but more commonly it is the turf itself which is the path. The maze is cut into level areas of short grass or lawn to create raised paths of turf marked by shallow channels excavated between twists and turns.
CATHOLISM AND THE MINATOUR
There are two types of turf mazes; classical and medieval. The medieval pattern of turf mazes is identical to pavement labyrinths found in Gothic Cathedrals elsewhere in Europe such as the famous example in Chartres Cathedral.
On the other hand, the classical form seems to have taken its inspiration from ancient Greek mythology and history. Coins depicting the minotaur’s labyrinth found in Crete at the site of ancient Knossos confirms this as does the names of three of the surviving English examples; ‘The City of Troy’, ‘Troy’ and ‘Troy Town’. The preference for the name Troy could refer to an ancient Roman equestrian game which re-enacted the battle of Troy played over a maze-like pattern with the grooves separating the pathways representing the walls of the ancient city[2]. The link between the name Troy and the design is taken as evidence of the deliberate decision to connect the mazes to the ancient world but there is another school of thought that asserts that ‘Troy’ is a corruption of the Celtic word to turn, ‘tro’[3]. I personally don’t see any reason why the name ‘Troy’ couldn’t have been chosen precisely because of its double meaning.
Although they are known as mazes, the name itself is misleading. They are actually labyrinths because unlike mazes there is only one route from the entrance to the centre.
Turf mazes come in all sizes and can be found in Britain, Ireland, Germany and Denmark but the practice of constructing mazes from stones and boulders was much more widespread. Most experts believe the tradition of ancient stone mazes predates the creation of the earliest turf mazes. This is more than likely correct but it is nearly impossible to verify because of the nature of turf mazes. In order for turf mazes to keep their shape they need to be constantly re-cut; this destroys any archaeological material which could have helped with the dating process.
Saffron Walden turf maze. Image by Miss Jessel
Evidence from written sources such as W.H. Matthews, who in his 1922 book, Mazes and Labyrinths recorded over 30 mazes[4], and also from local oral folklore reveal that at one time turf mazes existed all over Britain but unfortunately only eight have survived in England. These are: –
Alkborough, North Lincolnshire
Breamore, Hampshire
Dalby North Yorkshire
Hilton, Cambridgeshire
Saffron Walden, Essex
Troy Farm, Somerton, Oxfordshire
St Catherine’s Hill, Hampshire
Wing, Rutland
So, what was the purpose of these mazes? Many theories have been put forward including those relating to religion and fertility rites. Whatever the reason, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the trend of cutting turf mazes reached its peak. More and more appeared, mainly on village greens but also on estates of wealthy landowners. During Cromwell’s reign the use of turf mazes was forbidden but they regained popularity after the restoration of the monarchy. A memorial obelisk placed at the centre of the Hilton turf maze by 19-year-old William Sparrow who re-cut the turf maze in 1660, commemorates both the return of King Charles II to England and the rededication of the maze [5]. Turf mazes witnessed a revival in interest in the nineteenth century although many on private land were destroyed by Capability Brown, who disliked their unnatural stylised form.
TORMENTING THE DEVIL
As was mentioned before, turf mazes cut in the medieval pattern are identical in style and shape to the engravings found in the naves of cathedrals in mainland Europe. These labyrinths symbolised the search for redemption. Penitents were encouraged to cleanse their souls by following the path of the labyrinth as it was believed that walking a twisting path would confound the Devil who could only travel in straight lines[6]. Many would do so on their hands and knees[7]. Few of these survive, most were destroyed, seen as a distraction from the religious solemnity of the services. You can sort of picture the scene, a queue of sinners all lined up to walk the labyrinth and so focused on keeping their place that they become oblivious to the words of wisdom coming from the pulpit.
Walking the maze at Wing. SiGarb at English Wikipedia, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
There are no records of pavement mazes inside English churches but there is evidence that some turf mazes existed just outside as well as close to places of pilgrimage such as Julian’s Bower, the twelve-circuit turf maze in Alkborough which was located next to a thirteenth century Benedictine cell [8]. This has led some to speculate that they fulfilled the same function as their European counterparts. An unsubstantiated but interesting legend recounts how the Alkborough maze was created to force a knight who took part in the murder of Thomas Becket to pay penance[9]. Even if this can explain why turf mazes were first introduced it does not account for the fact that so many mazes were located far from any religious sites. The evidence for a few mazes near churches have also led to some theorising that they actually predated Christianity which is also a possibility as early Christian sites do have strong links to the sacred places of pre-Christian religious practices[10].
If turf mazes were linked to Christian practices it leads to the question of why English churches or cathedrals did not incorporate them into their design? Could it have been due to differences in architectural, cultural or religious preferences or is there another reason that we are just not aware of. Did the early turf mazes have a religious purpose and if not, why was this particular design adopted? Do the origins of the English turf mazes lie in the European pavement labyrinths or were the church versions built upon an earlier tradition? There are so many questions, most of which we will never know the answers to.
PROTECTION FROM THE PERILS OF THE SEA
A number of stone mazes existed and still survive along the Baltic coast. According to the folklore of this area, these mazes were used by fishermen as a snare to trap evil sprites during tempestuous weather. It was believed that the smagubbar or little people followed fishermen everywhere and brought bad luck [11]. In order to prevent them from wreaking havoc the fishermen would walk the maze calling on the smagubbar to follow them. Once they reached the middle the men would flee and put out to sea, thus confounding the smagubbars’ dastardly plans. It was believed these sprites were unable to turn corners which links back to the Catholic belief about the Devil only being able to walk in straight lines[12].
Studies of labyrinth imagery from Scandinavia has shown that from the earliest times it was asserted that
“walking the stone labyrinths in the proper way gave fortune and protection healing and magical aid – even fishermen used labyrinths in the hope of being able to control the weather and increase the catch, as well as protection against the perils of the sea”[13].
Fishermen and sailors because of the perilous nature of their work and the fact that their lives depend on elements which are beyond their control have some of the most fascinating superstitions of any other group of people. Therefore, considering how so many countries share similar mythologies and practices I can see no reason why this link between fishermen and mazes shouldn’t have also existed in England. Although no examples exist in England, the closest comparison we have comes from St Agnes in the Isles of Scilly where a stone and boulder seven-ring maze can be found on the coast[14]. The present form of the maze was built by the son of a man who worked the local lighthouse in the 1700s[15]. Considering that the role of lighthouses is to keep sailors safe it would be logical to think that the maze was also a form of protection. Excavations of the site have revealed that the current maze was built on top of an earlier one, lending support to the idea that this connection goes back a long way.
FERTILITY RITES
As with every ancient countryside ritual or structure sooner or later we get back to the idea of fertility and turf mazes are no exception.
There are many different versions of this practice but they all centre around one particular theme, that of the boy finding his way to the girl and carrying her off. Often the event took place during village fairs. In some places the chosen girl would stand in the centre and a group of young men would run through the maze to reach her and claim her as their prize or the men would race to the middle, the winner able to take his pick of the young women waiting on the edges of the maze[16]. At the turf maze in Saffron Walden a young maiden would have to wait patiently at ‘home’ i.e. the centre of the maze, to be rescued by a boy who had managed to negotiate the twists and turns of the path without stumbling.
Saffron Walden turf maze. Image by Miss Jessel.
Lending credibility to the similarity of uses of the turf mazes and their stone maze cousins is the fact that nearly identical fertility rituals existed in Scandinavia where races would take place and girls saved and ‘freed’ from their imprisonment in the maze. In Finland another strange custom existed called The Virgin Dances, whereby the man who won would be allowed to lead her in a dance[17]. In Sweden even as late as 1985, the folklore department of Abo Akademi recorded how locals from one area would still meet in secret at their stone maze during the summer, choose a girl to stand in the centre and watch the boys race the maze. The girl would belong to the first boy to reach her who had not taken any wrong turns. The rest of the villagers would watch the entertainment clapping and encouraging the participants[18].
In many ways these practices remind me of the rituals surrounding the harvesting the last sheath of corn and the creation of the corn dollies, in that the young men of the villages would run a gauntlet in order to demand a kiss from one of the village girls.
RUSTIC REVELRY
Connecting the mazes back to their classical associations can be seen in the writing of Abraham de la Pryme. Whilst at Alkborough in 1697, he relates how he sat on the hill overlooking the maze and watched two Roman games being played[19]. I would hazard a guess that this must have been an English version of the Battle of Troy re-enactment. From his account the games seemed to have been very popular.
Understandably the mazes became a source of amusement for local children who would make up games and invent rules for playing on the maze. Few details of these games have survived.
The mazes also seem to have been turned into a drinking game where local men would wager beer for walking the maze. In one village a game was played where three men, blindfolded, tried to follow the maze’s path without stepping off [20]. Not sure if they did this sober or drunk!
Saffron Walden turf maze. Image by Miss Jessel.
In Saffron Walden there still survives the largest turf maze in Europe with a circumference of 132 feet, a pathway of one mile, seventeen circuits and enclosed by a bank and ditch. Four bastions are located at equal distances around the perimeter. A notebook owned by the town’s museum records how each part of the maze was named after a local town. During festivals and fairs everyone would come together to watch men race between the different sections of the maze within a set time. An umpire watched over the proceedings to ensure no cheating took place[21].
The cutting of the turf was also an occasion for celebration as the whole village would turn out to help with food being provided and music and dancing taking place. It seems that turf mazes played an important role in village life.
THE LEIGH WITCHES
William Barnes in 1879, wrote how the eastern part of Leigh Common was called Witches Corner and that records from Somerset magistrates contain information about the site between 1650 to 1664, being the meeting places of a coven of witches. The turf maze at Leigh has long since disappeared and although there is no evidence of the maze having any association with witchcraft, a local legend has somehow developed which fuses the two together. Personally, I think it would have been a very appropriate place for them to meet except for the fact that it seems that evil beings are unable to traverse the mazes due to their circular design, maybe witches were an exception to this rule! According to sources in the 1990s, Leigh Women’s Institute designed a banner which depicted a witch on a broomstick viewing the six-sided puzzle[22].
MEETING PLACE FOR LOST SOULS
Not only does England boast the largest turf maze but we also have the smallest one too. The classical shaped seven-ringed turf maze in Dalby, North Yorkshire is tiny but beautifully preserved. I am not sure if someone was being ironic but it is known as the City of Troy. A sign nearby informs visitors that the maze is a waiting point for trapped lost souls and that they may be consulted at the centre of the maze[23]
Hilton Turf Maze by Alan Simkins via Wikimedia Commons
CONCLUSION
Although most documentary evidence suggests that turf mazes sprung up in the sixteenth century, there is no reason to suppose that they had not existed prior to this period. Why they appeared is a mystery, it is possible they originally had a religious purpose whether that was for Christians or Pagans but it is equally as likely that they were simply a form of rural entertainment.
Why they were allowed to overgrow and disappear was probably due to several factors. Maybe over time the reason for their existence disappeared alongside many traditional countryside superstitions, maybe just like many fads they just fell out of popularity or maybe the money and labour needed for their upkeep was seen as an unnecessary expense, for example in 1699, it cost 15 shillings to pay for three men to work for five days to cut the turf at the Saffron Walden maze[24].
I am just really glad that at least a few of them defied the odds and survived. They are a remnant of a bygone age and as such should be cherished and protected because they are just as much a part of our history and culture as the castles, iron age forts and standing stones which decorate the English countryside.
Dalby City of Troy turf maze. User:SiGarb, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
BIBLIOGRAPHY AND FURTHER READING
Kraft, John: The Goddess in the Labyrinth, Abo Akademi, 1995
Gogerty, Clare: Beyond the Footpath: Mindful Adventures for Modern Pilgrims, Little, Brown Book Club, 2019
Bounford, Dr Julie E: The Curious History of Mazes: 4000 years of Fascinating Twists and Turns, Wellfleet, 2018
Image from More English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs 1894– Illustrated by John D. Batten
‘Whisht! Lads, haad yor gobs,
An Aa’ll tell ye’s aall an aaful story
Whisht! Lads, haad yor gobs,
An’ Aa’ll tell ye ‘boot the worm 1
Anyone who went to school in the North East of England will probably be familiar with the famous chorus from the folk-song The Lambton Worm. The song was written in 1867 by C M Leumane and quickly took on a life of its own in popular culture. My own memories of learning it as an eight-year-old, were that I loved the catchy chorus, but there were way too many verses to memorise!
Tales of worms or dragons are not uncommon in British folklore, one only has to think of St George and the Dragon to appreciate how entwined dragon-slayers are in national and regional identity.
But is the tale of the Lambton Worm simply another Dragon Slaying tale, or is there more to it than that?
The Legend of the Lambton Worm
The Legend of the Lambton Worm first appeared in print in 1785. Antiquarian William Hutchinson outlined the folk explanations of the formation of Worm Hill, a glacial moraine, in Fatfield, Washington:
“Near this place is an eminence called the Worm Hill, which tradition says once possessed by an enormous serpent, that wound its horrid body round the base; that it destroyed much provision, and used to infest the Lambton estate, till some hero in that family engaged it, cased in armour set with razors…the whole miraculous tale has no other evidence than the memories of old women…” 2
This figure from the distant past was often identified as Sir John Lambton, Knight of Rhodes.3
However, these written accounts draw on older local oral traditions.
Here is my summary of the Legend of the Lambton Worm, as we know it today:
Young Lambton, the heir to the Lambton Estate, was fishing in the River Wear one Sunday, when he should have been in church, when he caught a very strange eel-like creature with a dragons head. Unhappy with his scrawny catch, he blithely discarded it down a well, later known as Worm Well, and went on his merry way. Young Lambton grew to repent of his profane ways, and joined a crusade, leaving his home for many years. The worm, however, did not leave, and was thriving and growing to a prodigious size at the bottom of the well where it was discarded. So much so, that it had to relocate to a larger habitat, choosing first to wrap itself around a local hill, which became known as Worm Hill, and later favouring a rock in the River Wear.
Image via Pinterest, source unknown
All would have been well enough, had the worm not also had a very large appetite. Cattle, Sheep, and even the occasional child all made it onto the worm’s menu. Consequently, the locals lived in terror of the poisonous and very hungry worm that young Lambton had unwittingly set loose amongst them. Finally, young Lambton returned, a new man, from the crusades and set about righting the wrong he had set in motion in his youth. His initial skirmishes with the worm were unsuccessful until he consulted with a local witch or wise woman.
The wise woman gave him some sage advice on how to tackle the slippery beast, which asides from being extremely dangerous, had a habit of being able to pull itself back together if it was ever cut in half. Following her advice almost to the letter (this will be important later) he donned a suite of armour studded with razors and took on the worm on its home territory, the River Wear. The worm, seeing Lambton as another tasty snack, wrapped itself round the knight, in order to crush him, but was instead sliced and diced, with all of its pieces flowing away in the river, never to reform again. The Worm was dead, and the local people were saved and there was much rejoicing!
All would have been well and good, except for one small omission by Lambton, the witch had warned him that once his mission was accomplished, he must kill the first thing that greeted him on his return home, or else the next nine generations of Lambton chiefs would not die in their beds. Despite taking some precautions, Lambton’s father was the first to greet him on his return, and well, young John couldn’t bring himself to kill his own father, so the curse fell upon the Lambton’s and the next nine generations did not die in their beds.
Dragon Tales
St George and the Dragon, Newcastle War Memorial, image by Lenora
Tales of Dragon Slayers are common throughout Medieval Britain and Europe. The Northeast of England (taking in Northumberland, County Durham and Yorkshire) has twenty or so tales of Dragons and their slayers, for example, the Sockburn Worm and The Laidly Worm to name but two.4
What has been noted to be different about English, and these Northern tales, is that, unlike many of the European tales, the hero is not seeking to win treasure or maiden fair, but has a more pragmatic aim, often to save the local area from some peril (as in the Sockburn and Lambton stories). 5,6
What is particularly distinctive about the Legend of the Lambton Worm, is that once the hero has slayed the dragon, he does not win maiden fair or treasure, in fact he and his family are cursed for several generations to come.
Unpacking the Worm
There are certain elements in the Lambton Worm tale that are worth unpacking.
Dragons and Worms (terms often used interchangeably in historic texts) can mean different things in different cultures and depending on who is using them (see Miss Jessel’s excellent post for more on Dragons in general). For the Medieval church, dragons often represented evil, but for many noble families they represented valour in fighting, so appear on many family crests.7 They have also been linked to natural and manmade catastrophes, water spirits, and remnants of ancient nature religions (of which more below).
Monster theory
Jeffrey Jerome in Monster Culture considers the monster to be a cultural body. The device of the monster can be used to present a warning (of lines not to be crossed), to reveal a truth, to represent the ‘other’ (both within society or external to it), or to embody a cultural moment (often a moment of change). In killing the monster, the hero reaffirms group identity and order. And of course, as any horror fan will know, even if you kill the monster, it may still return.8
The Legend of the Lambton Worm can be seen to contain many of these attributes.
Toxic Masculinity
In folklore, fishing on a Sunday can be seen as shorthand for profane behaviour, young Sir John should be in church attending to his Christian duty. One interpretation of the legend, suggested by Tom Murray and discussed in his interview with James Tehrani, an anthropological folklorist, is that the worm as a metaphor for toxic masculinity. It is Sir John’s own out of control behaviour that has put the community in danger, and only Sir John can defeat it, by reforming himself through Christian duty (going on a crusade) then defeating the very phallic worm on his return.9
This idea of toxic masculinity has something of a pedigree, in 1823, William Hutchinson suggested that worm tales, such as the Lambton Worm, could represent a folk memory of the disastrous Viking raids on the Northeast coast that took place in the eighth and nineth centuries. It could perhaps commemorate a local hero who protected his community from them, or more broadly, show the community dealing with the threat itself, without outside assistance. 10
Water beings and the old religion
Another interesting interpretation of the Lambton Worm is that the worm is a metaphor for the relationship between man and water, and that this is part of a global tradition. Veronica Strang11 sees the popularity of dragons in the Medieval period as linked to the changing relationship with water and nature, new technologies and new social and political organisation both controlled water (e.g., through irrigation) also commodified it.
The Lambton worm is set in the Medieval period, at this time Church felt it was facing an existential threat on two fronts: externally in the form of the Islamic world, and internally from lingering nature worship amongst supposedly Christain communities (evident in the churches concerted effort to rededicate pagan holy wells to Christian saints).
anonymus, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Strang projects that the tale of the Lambton Worm could be read as the story of a local lord who fails in his Christian duty, allows pagan nature worship to flourish in his community, and, metaphorically, poison the well. Only when he has taken up his Christian duty and defeated another set of ‘pagans’ by joining the crusade against Islam, can he return home and re-assert Christianity in his local community. Here then, the worm represents the ‘other’ or pagan, which must be defeated in order to restore the established order. [strang] This potentially also links into the worm’s ability to come back to life, until the wise woman offers her advice to Lambton on how to vanquish it for good, if there was a fear that old nature religion would keep on resurfacing if left unchecked.12
A Local tales for local people
Another important factor in the Legend of the Lambton Worm is that it provides a heroic and ancient pedigree for a prominent local family, the Lambton’s, setting up one of their ancestors as the hero of the hour, protecting his community. It also incorporates tangible local landmarks – Worm Hill in Fatfield, Washington – further fixing the legend to the local imagination.
Lambton Castle, early nineteenth century, public domain
Jamie Beckett13 has identified the Legend of the Sockburn Worm as a potential inspiration for the Lambton Worm. The Sockburn Worm is attached to the ancient and once powerful Coyners’ family and is a much older tale but running along similar lines. Sir John Conyer’s defeats the dragon and saves the day with his trusty falchion sword. Visible reminders of Conyers bravery and chivalric pedigree remained for all to see in the ‘greystone’ marking the worm’s burial place and the Conyers’ Falchion, still extant today and held in the Treasury at Durham Cathedral (it forms part of the ceremony of enthroning new Bishop’s of Durham to this day).
Beckett sees the rise of the Legend of the Lambton Worm growing out of this tale, and coinciding with the declining fortunes of the Conyers family in the seventeenth century, and the rise of the ancient but not previously powerful Lambton’s from that period onwards. 14
The Lambton Worm and the Radical Politician
Folktales and legends morph and change over time. The Legend of the Lambton Worm is no different. One element of the tale that I certainly grew up believing, was that the Worm wound its tale around Penshaw’s Monument. I’d never heard of Worm Hill or Fatfield. So why is Penshaw’s Monument (or Penshaw’s Folly) come to be intrinsically linked to the Legend of the Lambton Worm?
The simple answer is that in 1867 C.M. Leumane wrote a very catchy tune about the Lambton Worm, forever linking it with Penshaw:
This feorful woorm wad often feed On calves an’ lambs an’ sheep, An’ swally little bairns alive When they laid doon to sleep. An’ when he’d eaten aal he cud An’ he had has he’s fill, Away he went an’ lapped his tail Ten times roond Pensher Hill. [Cj]
John George Lambton Portrait, after Sir Thomas Lawrence. Print after 1850 (author’s collection)
The Penshaw Monument, visible for miles around, is a Greek Temple on a hill in Penshaw Village Co Durham. It was built by public subscription in 1844/5 in honour of John Lambton, 1st Earl of Durham, who died a few years earlier in 1840.
John Lambton was born in 1792, he was Byronically handsome, rebellious, and had suffered many tragedies in his life (his first wife, Harriet, who he married for love, in 1812, died only three years later, they had three children who all pre-deceased him). While he was undoubtedly a tragic and romantic figure, what endeared him to the local population was his politics.
Known as Radical Jack, he was MP for Co Durham from 1812, pursuing radical Whig politics, he was in favour of a number of very progressive reforms such as secret ballots, fixed term parliaments, universal suffrage. Following the shocking Peterloo Massacre in 1819, where a large crowd of unarmed people, campaigning for parliamentary reform, were violently attacked by the cavalry, resulting in many deaths and injuries, Lambton controversially criticised the actions of the establishment in attacking and killing innocent people. He was later instrumental in the passing of the 1832 Reform Bill. All of this made him terrifying to the establishment and beloved of the working classes.
Such was his reputation, that by the 1820’s and 30’s at least three chapbooks existed that told the tale of the Lambton Worm, with the inferred compassion between the contemporary John Lambton defending the poor from political and social oppression, and his Romantic and heroic namesake ancestor, protecting the poor from a dangerous worm, in the distant chivalric past.15
Such was his popular appeal, that a lasting monument, funded by public subscription, was erected in his honour on Penshaw Hill. Tens of thousands of spectators watched as it’s foundation stone was laid in a Masonic Ceremony by the 2nd Earl of Zetland.16
Penshaw monument by Lenora
In conclusion
I am drawn to Veronica Strang’s interpretation of the Worm as a metaphor for the church suppressing lingering elements of nature religion in its congregation, whilst fighting off ‘pagan’s abroad. This would seem a good fit if the legend was of Medieval or earlier origin. However, if the tale was created later, then Jamie Beckett’s view that these type of Legends were used by prominent families to establish their pedigree in the dim and distant past, then the legend of the Worm might be best interpreted as a public relations exercise by a family on the rise.
Perhaps more likely, is that it may contains elements both these theories, and others, with the most recent and most popular written iterations of the legend, from 1785 and onwards, being designed to give prominence to the powerful Lambtons, and to handsome, radical, John 1st Earl Lambton, in a fashionably Romantic and nostalgic way.
Perhaps it is appropriate that the worm is still slippery enough to both elude and fascinates us today, like all good folktales, it is alive and well and no doubt, continuing to evolve through the ages with each retelling.
There is undoubtably a lot more that could be said about the Legend of the Lambton Worm, its origin (ancient or otherwise), and its deeper meanings. For anyone interested in finding out more about the Lambton Worm (and other worms, dragons, and water spirits), I have provided a list of excellent sources below.
You can hear The Lambton Worm (C.M. Leumane, 1867) arranged and performed by Geordie Wilson on YouTube, via the link below.
Notes
The Lambton Worm composed in 1867 by C. M. Leumane
Jamie Beckett, The History of the Lambton Worm and Sockburn Worm
Robert Surtees et al, The history and antiquities of the county palatine of Durham 1816-40
Jamie Beckett, The History of the Lambton Worm and Sockburn Worm
Icy Sedgwick, The Lambton Worm and Penshaw Monument
Jacqueline Simpson and Jennifer Westwood, The Lore of the Land
Icy Sedgwick, The Lambton Worm and Penshaw Monument
Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, Monster Culture
Tom Murray, Tracing the Cultural History of the Monstrous Lambton Worm
Veronica Strang, Reflecting nature: water beings in history
ibid
ibid
Jamie Beckett, The History of the Lambton Worm and Sockburn Worm
Simpson, Jacqueline, Westwood, Jennifer, 2006, The Lore of the Land: A Guide to England’s Legends, from Spring-heeled Jack to the Witches of Warboys
Strang, Veronica, 2015, Reflecting nature: water beings in history in Waterworlds : anthropology in fluid environments. New York: Berghahn Books, pp. 247-278. Ethnography, theory, experiment. (3).
Surtees, Robert, Taylor, George, Raine, James, pre-1850, The history and antiquities of the county palatine of Durham 1816-40
There is no mythical creature more enduring in literature, myths and ballads or whose image both fictional or imagined has struck terror in the hearts of so many people from around the world, as that of the dragon.
It is not known when the idea of a ‘dragon’ entered the consciousness of people but texts from both the Sumerians and Ancient Greek civilisations contain references to such a creature[1]. Indeed, the word dragon comes from the Ancient Greek, drakōn and was originally used for any large serpent[2]. Dragons may come in all shapes and sizes but the one thing they have in common is their long serpentine torso.
The way in which the character of the dragon has been represented has changed over time, its appearance and nature adapting to the environment and culture in which it was created. In China, the dragon came to symbolise both imperial power and the emperor whereas in the Middle East, dragons were viewed as evil (transferring the characteristics of the poisonous and deadly snakes common in the region onto its mythical counterpart). In other regions, the feeling towards them was more ambivalent, for example in Ancient Greece, they were sometimes depicted as benevolent towards humans. [3].
In general, in Northern Europe and Britain, dragons were portrayed negatively, a belief which only intensified under Christianity when they came to represent an embodiment of evil, something to be destroyed at all cost. The legend of St George and the dragon typifies this belief, symbolising Christianity’s defeat of paganism and the old beliefs[4]. In stories and ballads, dragon slaying became almost a rite of passage for any brave young man or knight seeking to prove his worth (as well as save some terrified villagers and their livestock). The reward aside from fame, was often wealth and/or the hand of a nobleman/king’s daughter. It is interesting that despite their fearsome reputation, the dragons are nearly always defeated even when it is at the expense of their slayer.
This leads on to the question of what exactly are dragons?
Recognising a dragon!
St George and the Dragon, Newcastle War Memorial, image by Lenora
As has been said before, the traits of dragons varied from country to country, so too do their physical appearance. In Asia, dragons are depicted as more serpentine whereas in Northern Europe, they are often shown as composite beasts i.e. composed of different parts of different animals[5].
If asked for a description, most people (in Europe) would describe a dragon as a gigantic creature with massive fangs, four strong clawed legs, a pair of powerful wings, a ridge of razor-sharp spikes along its entire torso, a barbed tail and a mouth from which deadly fire erupts. Although this is the image that in general people are the most familiar with and the one that commonly appears in heraldry, books and films, it is not the only one that exists in literature and oral traditions. There are a number of variations across countries and regions. Some are not even immediately recognisable as dragons but which do fall under the classification of dragon.
Here is my short guide to the more unusual types of dragons. It is not complete, there are just too many variations to include but if you are like me and find the whole subject daunting then it may just give you some clarity.
Wyverns: A Biped Dragon with Poisonous Breath
There are different views on the origin of the word wyvern. One interpretation is that it came from either the Middle English word wyver or from the Anglo-French word wivre taken from the Latin, vipera – meaning viper, adder or asp. The second school of thought claims that after the word was reintroduced into Medieval Latin, it took on a different meaning, that of light javelin. So, the meaning of viper and light javelin became melded to reflect the shape of the creature, creating a new type of flying biped snake[6].
Wyverns are described as having only two legs which end in eagle’s claws. Their wings extend from where their front legs would have been. Some descriptions have their front limbs forming the wings and in others the limbs are not visible. All descriptions depict the leathery wings similar to those of a bat, with a claw protruding from either the top of the wing or half-way down. Their tail is another distinctive feature, ending in either a diamond or arrow-shaped tip. Often drawn as a knot or turned in on itself, it carries a powerful sting which is fatal to humans. Rarely are they described as breathing fire, rather their breath is said to be poisonous and, in some stories, it is told that they pollute the earth over which they walk, causing fungus to grow (one explanation for fairy rings) and leaving distorted animals such as flounder fish in their wake[7]. They are said to always be hot – images of wyverns and sculptures found on medieval buildings usually show them with their mouths open[8. Wyverns occur in numerous tales. Some people believe, based on imagery, that Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia Regum Britanniae, was describing wyverns when he spoke of the prophecy that Wales would fall to the Anglo-Saxons[9],
“Woe to the red dragon, for his banishment hasteneth on. His lurking holes shall be seized by the white dragon, which signifies the Saxons whom you invited over; but the red denotes the British nation, which shall be oppressed by the white. Therefore shall its mountains be leveled as the valleys, and the rivers of the valleys shall run with blood.”[10]
Another myth recounts how in the distant past, a “huge, coiling and writhing monster with a humped back and undulating neck”[11], took up residence in Llyn Cynwch in North Wales. People fearful of its presence avoided the lake. This beast (from its description recognisable as as a wyvern), terrorised the surrounding area, eating livestock and on occasion an unlucky villager. Eventually, the locals decided they had had enough and decided to put an end to the wyvern’s reign of terror. Many tried and failed, killed by either the creature’s poisonous green breath or by the deadly sting in its tail. A warlock from Ganllwid decided to use archers who would be positioned at a safe distance. Unfortunately, his plan failed, the wyvern could sense when the archers were close and would hide beneath the water. One morning a young shepherd from Meredydd, noticed the wyvern lying on the bank of the lake, sleeping under the hot morning sun. Seizing the opportunity, he ran to Cymmer Abbey where the monks on hearing the shepherd’s news, gave him a magical axe which they had in their possession. Returning to the lake, he was relieved to see the wyvern still asleep and with a powerful blow, severed its head from its body[12].
Many more stories of wyverns exist in other countries. Often in Northern Europe, no distinction is made between four and two legged dragons.
Images of lindwurms can be seen as early as the eleventh century in Sweden, incised on runestones[13]. Although their descriptions can vary, in general they are shown as large wingless creatures with serpentine bodies, a dragon’s head, scaly skin and two clawed forearms. Its limbs used not to bear the weight of its body but to pull itself along the ground. Some believe that its name is derived from the Old High German word for flexible. Their shredded skin was believed to have magical abilities and could increase a person’s knowledge about nature and medicine. They were said to feed on cattle and human corpses, often invading a churchyard in order to eat the remains of those buried there[14].
A tale from Klagenfurt, Austria, in the thirteenth century, recounts how the villagers blamed a lindwurm for the severe flooding they were suffering. A duke offered a reward to anyone who could kill the creature. A group of young men decided to try their luck. Fixing a bull to a chain, they lowered it into the river. The lindwurm taking the bait, grabbed onto the bull, allowing the men to pull it up on to the bank and kill it[15].
Even as late as the nineteenth century, the belief in lindwurms in Sweden persisted, especially in the province of Småland where people claimed to have seen them first-hand. The folklorist, Gunnar Olaf Hyltén-Cavalius in 1884, became a figure of ridicule when he put up a reward for anyone who could bring him a lindwurm, dead or alive[16]. No-one did!
Wyrms: A Wingless and Legless Dragon
The Lambton Worm By Unknown author – English fairy and other folk tales. By Edwin Sidney Hartland, Pforzheimer Bruce Rogers Collection (Library of Congress).Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8250993
Wryms (worms) look exactly how they sound. They are simply wingless and legless dragons. Despite the fact that they lack appendages, myths recount their dangerous nature and the terror they inspired.
There are many stories centred around these wyrms including the famous tale of the Lambton Worm.
Set in the county of Durham in the North East of England, it tells the story of John Lambton who one Sunday morning, decided to go fishing in the River Wear. While fishing, instead of a fish he caught to his horror a hideous looking worm-like creature. Thinking he had snared a devil, he dropped it into a well. Years passed and John went off to fight in the Crusades. During this time, the creature presence had poisoned the well. Eventually it had grown to such a size that it slithered out of the well, coiling itself around a local hill (either Worm Hill or Penshaw Hill). It stayed there for awhile, devouring livestock, taking small children and preventing cows from producing milk. Finally, it decided to make its way to Lambton Castle. All those who attempted to kill it were despatched quickly. Its strength residing in the fact that every time a piece of its body was chopped off, it would reattach itself, making it near impossible to kill. On his return, John was horrified to discover what had happened during his absence and was charged with the task of killing the beast. John sought counsel from a local wise woman. She told him to wear armour covered in spikes but warned him that in order to avoid his family being cursed, he needed to kill the first thing he saw afterwards. Making his way to the hill where the wyrm resided, he confronted the creature which coiled itself around him, impaling itself on the spikes, allowing John the opportunity to cut the worm to pieces and float them away in the river – so the worm could not reassemble itself. He then blew a horn alerting his father of his success. His father in his excitement, instead of releasing a dog to be killed, ran to his son. John refused to kill his father and so his family was cursed [17].
The Tatzelwurm (sometimes called a bergstutz) is a mystical creature found in the Alpine regions. It is said to be a relative of the dragon and lindwurm. Small in size, its physical appearance is rather strange with its snake-like abdomen, two paw-studied forelimbs, a reptile’s body and a head resembling a big cat[18]. The legends say that Tatzelwurms lived in tunnels and caves dug into rock and that although it was in general a shy creature, it could be dangerous and aggressive, preying on both humans and animals. It was believed that when a Tatzelwurm crawled through sand, it turned the sand into glass due to the extreme heat of its body[19].
A Swiss tale tells of how one Tatzelwurm was killed. On Mt Pilatus, a Tatzelwurm caused chaos by burning stables and killing cattle. No-one had the courage to face it. The only person who was willing to risk their life was the convicted killer, Heinrich von Winkelried who had nothing to lose. In return he was promised his freedom if he killed the monster. Using his sword to carve a sharp point at the end of a tree trunk, he confronted the beast. When the Tatzelwurm opened its mouth, Winkelried pushed the point of the thorny trunk into its mouth. With the beast in agony, Winkelried killed it. Unfortunately, when he raised his sword in victory, a drop of the Tatzelwurm’s venomous blood fell onto his hand, killing him instantly[20].
In a similar vein to Big Foot, the Loch Ness Monster and the Yeti, sightings of the Tatzelwurm had been reported as recently as the 1980s, in South Tyrol and Aosta in the Italian Alps.
Knuckers: A Sea Serpent with Tiny Wings
Olaus Magnus’s Sea Orm (knucker), 1555 Source: Ellis, R. 1998. ”The Search for the Giant Squid”. TheLyons Press. Public domain.
Knuckers were considered to be a type of water dragon found in Sussex, England. Its habitat were the knuckerholes – a very deep (believed to be infinitely deep) pool. Their name comes from the old English word nicor, meaning ‘water monster’. They are mentioned in the Old English epic poem, Beowulf[21].
Knuckers have been described as possessing a giant slithering sea serpent’s torso, cold eyes, a deadly hissing mouth, four legs, tiny wings[22] and as having a fondness for shiny objects such as glass or marbles.
Legends of knuckers, centre around Lyminster, Lancing, Shoreham and Worthing.
The most well-known story concerns the Knucker of Lyminster. There are two versions of the tale. The first involves a knight-errant who agrees to kill the beast in return for the hand of the King of Sussex’s daughter. He is victorious and returns to claim his wife. In the second version, the Mayor of Arundel offers a reward to anyone who could slay the creature. A local farmer’s boy, Jim Pulk (or Puttock) accepts the challenge. After baking a huge poisonous pie, he transports it on a horse and cart to the knucker’s hole. The greedy knucker eats the pie, horse and cart and while it is dying, the boy cuts off his head (in some versions the boy also dies). A slayer’s slab reputed to be the grave of the knucker’s slayer can be found inside Lyminster Church[23].
Guivres (also known as vouivres) are a dragon common in the legends of Medieval France. They were described as highly aggressive and dangerous with a breath that causes diseases. Interestingly they have one major weakness – naked humans. It was said that if you confronted the guivre wearing your birthday suit, it would blush and turn away![24]
Guivres were believed to live in woods, forests, lakes and pools, anywhere that was damp and isolated[25]. They were described as a monstrous reptile with the head of a dragon and horns protruding from its forehead. They were also said to be extremely greedy[26].
The book, The Drac: French Tales of Dragons and Demons, contains a tale adapted from a French legend which describes a female vouivre. She is said to have dazzling green scales which emit a sound when she flies and to wear a crown of pearls around her head and a gold ring on her tail. It claims that this vouivre preferred to live in a cave, which she only left for a short period of time, so she could bathe[27].
Amphiptere: Bi-winged Serpent
Stories of amphipteres (also spelt: amphithere, amphitere, phipthere[28]) can be found in Europe, Africa, Asia and the Americas. Although descriptions of them vary considerably, on two-points there is consensus: they have no legs but do have a serpentine shaped body. Some descriptions portray them as scaly; a few as having a body completely covered in feathers; while others state that they had light-coloured feathers, a body similar to a lindwurm’s, feathered bat-like wings and a wyvern-like tail[29]. In Egypt they were believed to guard Frankincense trees, defending them against anyone who wanted to harvest the trees’ precious substance[30].
So, there you have it – my brief guide to dragons. Although, there are many differences between dragon types, they do share a few traits in common, aside from their serpentine bodies – that is their aggressive nature and preference for a solitary life. I hope that this guide will help you to identify them – just in case you happen to come across one! Still, whereas the differences might be important for an observer, I would think for the people in the tales and legends, when you are being eaten by a large serpentine creature, it doesn’t really matter whether it has two or four or no legs!
On a sidenote and just for accuracy sake, Daenerys Targeryen wasn’t actually the Mother of Dragons, but rather the Mother of Wyverns – I guess that didn’t sound quite so catchy!
Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Wyverns! Emilia Clarke in HBO’s Game of Thrones, created by David Benioff and D. B. Weiss for HBO 2011-2019
Bibliography and Further Reading
Ogden, Daniel: Dragons, Serpents, and Slayers in the Classical and Early Christian Worlds: A Sourcebook, Oxford University Press, 2013
Rose, Carol: Giants, Monsters, & Dragons: An Encyclopedia of Folklore, Legend, and Myth, W. W. Norton & Company, (Reprint) 2001
Shuker, Karl P.N: Dragons: A Natural History, Simon & Schuster, 1995
[4] For more information on this subject look at Daniel Ogden’s, Dragons, Serpents, and Slayers in the Classical and Early Christian Worlds: A Sourcebook
[5] Carol Rose, Giants, Monsters, & Dragons: An Encyclopaedia of Folklore, Legend, and Myth
Across Europe and America, if you visit a museum with an Ethnography section, you may come across a display of shrunken heads, or Tsantsas, from South America. The heads are no larger than a man’s fist, with lips and eyes stitched up, threads hanging from them, and framed by long black hair. If you haven’t seen one in a museum, then you’ve likely seen one depicted in popular culture, the movies Beetlejuice and more recently Harry Potter both feature shrunken heads in a horror/comedy setting.
But how did shrunken heads from the Amazon basin find their way into the museums and collections of Britain, Europe and the USA and how did interaction with western societies influence and change this indigenous tradition?
Who made them?
Tsantsas were created by the Shuar, Achuar, Awajun/Aguaruna, Wampis/Huambisa, Candoshi-Shampra, who are now collectively known as SAAWC. Europeans historically referred to this group of peoples as Jivaro, however, this became synonymous with being uncivilized or savage, so is considered offensive in Ecuador [1].
These groups lived in the Amazon, in small villages often based on family groups. They subsisted primarily from hunting, fishing, raising pigs and gardening. They also traded with other indigenous groups, and later with European settlers.
The Shuar’s primary claim to fame is that they successfully thew off the yoke of the Spanish Conquistadors in 1599, earning themselves a legendary reputation for fierceness and independence. This love of independence is reflected in the structure of their society, which was based on family groups and existed without any centralised authority [2].
Family group c1901. Smithsonian Institution. Bureau of American Ethnology, No restrictions, via Wikimedia Commons
More than just a war trophy
It is fair to say that even now the popular view in the West is that all headhunting cultures took heads as war trophies. And while some did, this is a reductive view, for the SAAWC peoples the head of an enemy killed in combat was much more than simply a brutal material symbol of victory. The power of Tsantsas came from harnessing the power imbued in them from the dead man’s soul for the benefit of the warrior’s family. The process of obtaining and preparing a Tsantsa was complex, time consuming and resource intensive, it was also fraught with danger. This meant that the practice of headhunting was not taken lightly, nor one practiced frequently by SAAWC peoples.
SAAWC peoples believed that the soul of a man was made up of separate components the Arutam and the Muisak. The Arutam was the soul-power, the spirit, power, and knowledge of the man. A man became Kakaram through killing and this strengthened his Arutam, this power was obtained through raids on other tribes to obtain Tsantsas. So, the best Tsantsas, the most powerful, came from a man who had killed a lot of people and therefore had strong Arutam. However, taking the head of such a man (and it invariably was a man, as a woman was not thought to be possessed of a strong Arutam), a powerful enemy warrior, possessed of such power, required careful rituals, or else his Muisak, his avenging soul which came into being at the point of death, could wreak havoc on his killer [3] [4].
Objets dAmazonie (réserves visitables du musée national dethnologie). Dalbera from Paris, France, CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
How were they made?
The skills involved would be passed down from father to son [5]. The process was both practical and ritual. To ensure the head could be transported away from the enemy village quickly, the skull, brains, muscle were removed, making it lighter to carry. This skin ‘bag’ was then filled with hot sand and pebbles repeatedly until it shrunk to the size of a man’s fist [6]. Shrinking the head was the beginning of the ritual process of trapping power in the artefact.
A series of rituals and feasts were held, the first of which was a binding ritual. It was crucial to trap the Muisak in the head before it could escape and seek revenge. The Muisak would try and escape through the mouth, so it was vital to sew up the lips of the decapitated head quickly. Similarly, eyes were sewn shut to prevent it from seeing, and the skin was blackened with charcoal [7] [8]. Once the Muisak was trapped, the owner could begin to use the soul- power of the Tsantsa, and transfer it to others, through a series of ritual feasts.
The feasts could take place over several years, this allowed the owner and his family to grow enough food to feed the many guests that would be expected to attend. The purpose of the feasts was to harness the power of the individual warrior’s Arutam (his skills and knowledge} and pass them on to the women of the owner’s family, so that they would be more productive. The final ritual would expel the Muisak from the head, rendering the physical head less valuable to the village. Sometimes the warrior would keep the head, but more often than not the head, once divested of its spiritual power, would be discarded, or traded away [9]. As the whole ritual process associated with creating and utilising a Tsantsa was a lengthy one, and required extensive resources, it was not done often.
The Shuar themselves have emphasised that it is not the head per se that interests them [10], it was the soul-power of the warrior, which was contained in the decapitated head, that was their object in creating Tsantsas. However, by the end of the nineteenth and early twentieth century the production of tsantsas escalated rapidly. Now women, even children might find themselves targets of head-hunting raids.
So, how, and why did this tradition change?
Guns for heads
In the late nineteenth century, Europeans began to encroach on Shuar lands in search of rubber and cinchona bark, which was used to make Quinine, and this led to more interactions between the Shuar and neighbouring tribes and westerners. Quickly trade began between the groups, the Shuar providing settlers with much needed pigs, deer, salt and occasional Tsantsas, in return for cloth, machetes and guns. The dynamic changed when the settlers began raising their own livestock, the Shuar still wished to trade for goods such as machetes and guns, which made their lives easier, (they did not make their own metal) but the only thing the settlers wanted now was Tsantsas [11][12].
A trade had rapidly grown up around Tsantsas with North American and European Museums, collectors, and souvenir hunters all eager to snap up these curious tribal artefacts. Because the numbers of Tsantsas produced for ritual purposes was so limited, demand soon outstripped supply.
To meet this demand for Tsantsas, the Shuar and other tribes, massively increase in head-hunting raids, often using the guns they so keenly traded for. Raids involved hundreds of people, and now encompassed the murder of women and even children, who would not have previously been victims as their soul-power was considered lesser than a man’s. Frances Larson notes that the going rate for one gun was one Tsantsa, and commented that the Tsantsas on display in museums show more of the history of “white man’s gun” as an economic incentive for the Shuar to kill [13]. Tsantsas produced for trade would not be ritual Tsantsas, they were produced specifically for the open market.
This trade in tribal curios led to many fake shrunken heads being created, with some reports of the bodies of the poor-dead in morgues being used to create Tstantsas, along with the heads of countless monkeys and sloths [14]. Some of these fakes even ended up in distinguished museums in North America and Europe. Charlie Morgan of the Wellcome Collection, estimates that up to 80% of Tsantsas on display could in fact be fakes [15].
The Holy Grail of Ethnography
From the enlightenment onwards western society has been obsessed with cataloguing everything, from plants and animals to humans. However, in the nineteenth century this drive to understand the world soon became a tool for justifying an ethnocentric world view. The gap created by the end of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade in the early nineteenth century, was filled the European Imperial Project. Imperialism often wore a paternalistic face, civilised western nations claimed to be improving the lives of less advanced races who were unable to govern themselves.
This Imperialist project was quick to co-opt science to support colonialist expansion. In a similar way that the pseudo-science of phrenology began as a genuine endeavour to understand how the brain worked but ended up being used to justify eugenics and racism, so ethnographic hierarchies of people (with white Europeans at top of the evolutionary tree, and brown and black races at the bottom) were used to promote a race theory which justified the ‘superior’ races colonising less civilised races. The fall-out from this is still being felt today.
The position of Shuar peoples, never having been colonised meant they fell into that Holy Grail of Victorian Ethnography: the untouched tribe. A tribe in need of being studied and civilised.
Education, entertainment, exploitation
In the nineteenth century and early twentieth century, Human Zoos or ‘ethnological expositions’ were extremely popular. These exhibits would have people from traditional societies displayed in a ‘natural setting,’ ostensibly for the education of Western spectators, but in reality, as a way contrasting ‘primitive’ peoples and societies unfavourably to the more advanced nations of the West [16].
People are still drawn to the exotic and the ‘other.’ Museum visitors today, when faced with Tsantsas, often experience a sense of horror and an underlying feeling of cultural superiority, in that the viewer, is perhaps grateful that they do not belong to a culture that could produce such unnerving artefacts, that they themselves live in a ‘civilized’ culture where these things do not happen [17].
A review by Peter Gordon in 2003, reinforced this view as he found that visitors to the Pitt Rivers Museum often viewed the Shrunken heads for entertainment purposes, using words like ‘gruesome’ ‘barbaric’ and evoked ‘a freakshow element’ [18]. This led the museum to re-evaluate their display and whether it was achieving its intended aims to teach visitors about how other cultures treated their dead enemies.
This is in part because Tsantsas have come to represent an entire culture, this is all many people will ever know of the SAAWC peoples. Head-hunters have become synonymous with primitive and savage practices that the march of human progress has suppressed. However, this is a distortion of the rich symbolic meaning behind these sacred ritual objects.
Should the Tsantsas head home?
At a time when museums are being challenged to de-colonise their collections and address their imperial past, the history of the trade in shrunken heads is a timely reminder of the impact European colonisation had on the indigenous cultures they encountered.
Greater involvement and dialogue with indigenous cultures whose artefacts, particularly those that constitute human remains, are in western museums has changed the landscape of many museums. Museums, such as the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, have now removed their displays of Tsantsas, and have reconsidered how they present information about indigenous cultures. This moved has been a polarising one, with some people welcoming the change and others against it.
The debate over the role of Western museums in curating artefacts from the colonial past, especially human remains, is a highly fraught area, with excellent arguments on both sides. There is a vocal lobby for the for the role of museums as conservators of our shared past, and educators, and equally strong lobby against that, and that the views of other cultures and their struggle to regain control over their own identities and heritage should take precedence. And of course there is also the problem of identifying real Tsantsas from the many historic fakes on display.
The issues of repatriation of cultural objects is a very controversial area, with genuine fears of great museum collections being broken up and lost forever. Use of modern technologies, such as digitised collections, contextualisation of collections and most importantly, involvement from colonised cultures could be one way to build a bridge between the rights of those cultures that were colonised alongside the valuable role of museums to protect and educate using artefacts from our shared past. I suspect this is an argument that will continue for many years to come, and may never have an outcome that will please everyone.
The last word
But what of the people whose ancestors made these artefacts, what are their views? Currently SAAWC peoples are engaged in a political and cultural fight for survival against the pressures of mining and the oil industry, sacred objects created by their ancestors, are potent symbol of cultural unity, and many now want them returned. Federación Interprovincial de Centros Shuar-Achuar now represent the interests of the SAAWC peoples.
The last word should go to Shuar themselves, Indigenous leaders Miguel Puwainchir and Felipe Tsenkush:
“Our ancestors handed over these sacred objects without full realising the implications” [19]
“We don’t want to be thought of as dead people to be exhibited in a museum, described in a book, or recorded on film.” [20]
My primary inspiration for writing this article was the chapter on Tsantsas in Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Found, by Frances Larson, a fabulously witty, erudite, and thought provoking book.
The Haunted Palace 