From fact to folklore, Janet Pereson & the Witches of Wallsend

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Cunning folk, cunning woman, Deleval, Ecclesiastical Courts, England, Janet Pereson, Newcastle, North East, North East Folklore, Sir Francis Blake Deleval, trials, Wallsend, Witchcraft, witches, Witches of Wallsend

The Wallsend Witches, revisited

In anticipation of Halloween I decided to revisit an old post of mine from 2013. Way back when I first started writing this blog I wrote about the fairly obscure local legend of the Wallsend Witches.  A gothic tale of horrible hags, revolting rituals and a dashing Delaval, all played out in the picturesque ruins of Old Holy Cross church, Wallsend.  The tale is found in print in several Victorian Table books and seems to have been oft retold in the eighteenth century by Sir Francis Blake Delaval (1727-1771) of Delaval Hall.

Holy Cross Church, Wallsend.

The gist of the tale is that a scion of the Delaval family was riding home late one night and noticed light emanating from Holy Cross Church.  Upon investigation he came across a band of hags performing a diabolical ritual upon a disinterred corpse.  Brave Delaval then apprehended the ring leader and brought her to trial and to the stake at nearby Seaton Sluice – but not before the accused had tried to make an aerial getaway on some enchanted plates.  For the full version of the tale, originally recounted in Richardson’s Local Table Book of 1838-46 but in this case taken from North-Country Lore and Legend, Monthly Chronicle (April 1888), click here: The Wallsend Witches: a tale for Halloween.

Having initially dismissed the tale as a combination of colourful folklore and florid Victorian Romanticism, I was surprised to come across an actual report of a Wallsend woman accused of witchcraft during the sixteenth century.

the pointing finger

Talismans & Charms used in folk magic.

I first came across this case in A History of Northumberland volume XIII which provides an extract from an earlier source: Depositions and other ecclesiastical proceedings from the courts of Durham,extending from 1311 to the reign of Elizabeth.  After a little digging I managed to get hold of a copy of the depositions, published by the Surtees Society in 1845. Here was discussed the case of one Janet Pereson of Wallsend, accused of witchcraft in about 1570.

Janet Pereson was accused by two people. One, a farmer called Robert Durham of Walshend, aged 72, who said ‘He hath heard saye that Jennet Pereson uses wytchecraft in measuringe of belts to preserve folks frome the farye’.  And the other one Catherine Fenwick, aged 20, the daughter of Constance Fenwick who accused Janet of taking payment for using magical charms to cure a little boy by the name of Benjamin Widdrington. Catherine went on to claim that ‘she knoweth not whether she is a wytche or not’. Despite the possibly malicious intent of the accusations, Janet herself was not accused of practicing malificent magic, rather, the accusations appear to indicate that she was some kind of local cunning woman or wise woman.

Cunning woman or witch?

16th Century image of a witch and her familiars. Via Wikimedia.

While cunning folk would seem to be broadly speaking, forces for good, such ‘white witches’ did not escape censure and in fact their brand of magic, whilst not obviously malevolent in intent, was viewed by many as a threat to the very souls of those who sought their aid.

Title Page of 7 Ed of Malleus Maleficarum. 1520. Via Wikipedia.

In 1487 notorious women-haters Heinrich Kramer and Jacob Sprenger wrote of such cunning folk in their infamous book The Malleus Maleficarum:

 although it is quite unlawful… bewitched persons… resort to wise women, by whom they are very frequently cured, and not by priests and exorcists. So experience shows that such cures are affected by the help of devils, which is unlawful to seek

Based on the information provided in the deposition, Janet’s case would seem fall into this category.   The accusation was recorded thus:

The said Pereson wyfe said the child was taken with the fayre, and bad hir [the child’s mother] sent 2 for Southrowninge [south-running] water, and then theis 2 shull not speke by the waye, and that the child shuld be washed in that water, and dib the shirt in the water, and so hand it up on a hedge all that night, and that on the morrow the shirt should be gone and the child shuld recover health – but the shirt was not gone as she said.

Robert Thompson, the Vicar of Benton, had the following to say about Janet:

Dicit that he herd one wedo Archer doughter called Elizabethe Gibson, saye that Jenkyn Person wyfe heled hir mother who was taken with the fayre, and gave her 6d for her payment and that the said Jenkyn Pereson wyfe took 3d of Edmund Thompson for a like matter.

Despite official unease over the practices of cunning men and women, they  were usually tolerated when they were performing helpful actions.  And,  Janet comes across as quite honest – she did not not steal the shirt left out over night (either that, or she really believed the fairies would take it). So what was going on?

Hidden motives

Digging a little deeper, Janet seems to have been accused of witchcraft after her husband, William, and son, Jenkyn, were charged with stealing a horse from Robert Thompson, the Vicar of Benton [1]. Whether any or all of the accusations were true or not, it would seem someone was out to get the entire Pereson family.

Sixteenth century court scene. Source Unknown.

As has been pointed out by many writers on historical witchcraft, witchcraft accusations could often stem from long-standing local disputes or social anxieties, focusing on those seen as a threat to social order, either by virtue of their anti-social behaviour, illness, deformity or poverty.  This element could be a factor in Janet’s case, on initial reading, if the horse theft allegation against William and Jenkyn Pereson was true, it may indicate that they were a troublesome family.  Staying under the radar of officialdom was probably the safest course for a cunning woman, but the allegations against her husband and son could have brought Janet’s practices sharply into focus as well.

Shakespeares three Scottish Witches. Source unknown.

One important factor in Janet’s case can be found in the footnote of the Depositions. The witchcraft  accusations against Janet appears in a series of Exceptions against the witnesses to a tithe Suit relative to the Living of Benton. Tithe disputes were very common in pre-modern England, especially after the Reformation, and hinged over payment of church dues [2]. All the allegations against Janet and her family seem to have arisen as part of this tithe dispute. As Jo Bath points out, Constance, the mother of Katherine Fenwick (Janet’s accuser),  was a the one engaged in this acrimonious dispute with the Pereson family [3] and the Vicar of Benton seemed to have been willing to add his accusations to the pile. Perhaps this dispute, compounded with any other real or imagined anti-social behaviour by the family, was the last straw?  Or, maybe, Constance simply was ready to use any means at her disposal to win the argument, whatever the cost.  The case certainly shows how neighbourhood disputes could easily escalate into allegations of witchcraft.

Janet’s fate

Heron Prison Pit, Black Gate Newcastle. From an original image by Barabbas 312. Wikimedia.

Unfortunately, the texts that I have seen do not provide the outcome of Janet’s case – I would be interested to hear if anyone has this information.  In the Surtees volume, a Janet/Jennet Pearson appears in relation to another case in Dunston in 1586. While differences of spelling were common at the time, it is hard, nevertheless to tell if this is the same woman or simply another with a similar name.

Broadly speaking, in England when cunning folk fell foul of the law, the were usually tried in the Ecclesiastical Courts rather than secular courts.  Allegations of providing charms, love potions, enchantments or even the of finding lost goods, could all wind a local cunning person in such a court, and this is what happened to Janet, as her case is recorded in the Depositions and other ecclesiastical proceedings from the courts of Durham.

The 1563 ‘Act agaynst Conjuracons Inchantments and Witchecraftes’ focused mainly on black magic and offered a penalty of death for anyone that ‘practise or exercise [of] any Witchecrafte Enchantment Charme or Sorcerie, whereby any pson shall happen to bee killed or destroyed’ they would be put to death.’  However, cunning folk were not overlooked and the Act goes on to say:

That yf any pson or psons shall from and after the sayd first daye of June nexte coming, take upon him or them, by Witchecrafte Enchantment Charme or Sorcerie, to tell or decleare in what Place any Treasure of Golde or Sylver shoulde or might bee founde or had in the Earthe or
other secret Places, or where Goodes or Thinges lost or stolen should be founde or becume, or shall use or practise anye Sorcerye Enchantment Charme or Witchcrafte, to this intent to provoke any pson to unlaufull love, or to hurte or destroye any pson in his or her Body, Member or Goodes; that then every suche pson or psons so offending, and being therof laufully convicted, shall for the said offence suffer Imprysonment by the space of One whole yere wthout Bayle.

Janet was tried in or around 1570, and her alleged actions would seem to meet the criteria of the recent legislation.  While the outcome of Janet’s trial was not recorded, it would be possible, that if found guilty, she could have been imprisoned (rather than burned at the stake – the purported fate of the captured Wallsend Witch).  Although it’s worth noting that imprisonment could in itself be a death sentence, due to the dreadful conditions in most prisons at that time.

From Fact to folklore

Contemporary Pamphlet about the North Berwick Witches. C1590. Via Wikimedia.

Having revisited the story of the Wallsend Witches and found in it a grain of historical truth, in that Wallsend did in fact boast at least one real-life alleged Witch, the tale of the Wallsend Witches takes on a new aura.  One in which real historical events evolve over time to become folk-lore – of course it would be hard to prove that Janet Pereson’s case is the ‘true’ origin of this tale. Nevertheless, it is appealing to think it forms the core: that as living memory of her tale faded, it began to incorporate such elements as the fate of the North Berwick Witches (burned at the stake in 1590) along with more fantastical elements of established folklore (such as that witches were thought to be able to use wooden platters to fly).

The story appears to have come down through the ages at first in folk-memory,  then, perhaps, permeating different levels of society though Sir Francis Blake Deleval’s constant retelling, eventually being embellished with the real location of Holy Cross Church, Satanic necromancy and a Delaval as hero, and ultimately being collected as a colourful piece of local lore, by Richardson in his Local Table Book of 1838-46.  

So, it would seem that however florid a tale may become with the telling and re-telling, sometimes there is a kernel of truth in it!!

You can now hear me talk about the Wallsend Witches folklore and fact, on the Voices from the North East podcast, available from anchor.fm/voicesfromthenortheast , Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts:

Sources and notes

All images by Lenora unless otherwise stated.

Bath, Jo, Charmers, Enchanters and Witches: True tales of Magic and Maleficia from the North East [3]

Honeybell, F, Cunning Folk and Wizards In Early Modern England, University of Warwick MA Dissertation, 2010

https://archive.org/stream/TheMalleusMaleficarum/MalleusMaleficarum_djvu.txt

Raine, James, Depositions and other ecclesiastical proceedings from the courts of Durham,extending from 1311 to the reign of Elizabeth Vol 21, published by the Surtees Society, 1845 [1]

http://www.wallsendhistory.btck.co.uk/Campaign/Witches%20at%20Wallsend

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tithe_Dispute [2]

The Arthur’s Seat Coffins – shades of Burke and Hare?

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1836, Arthur's Seat, bodysnatchers, burke and hare, coffins, Edinburgh, fairy coffins, folklore, Lilliputian coffins, magic, memorial, Menefee, miniature, National Museum of Scotland, seventeen, Simpson, sympathetic magic, West port murders, witches

Edinburgh Castle viewed from the Grassmarket.

Edinburgh. The elegant New Town, the Athens of the North, home to writers, philosophers and surgeons – the cradle of the Scottish Enlightenment.  But entwined with this respectable façade there is also the Old Town, with its narrow wynds and closes, rife with tales of squalor, plague and sudden death.  And looming in the distance, the ancient extinct volcano called Arthur’s seat.

A Strange Discovery

Salisbury Crags and Arthurs Seat.

Late June, 1836, a group of lads out rabbiting made their way up the North East flank of Arthur’s Seat. Poking about in the undergrowth they came upon a small cave or recess, blocked by three slate slabs.  Intrigued, they removed the slates and found within, 17 miniature coffins laid out in three rows – two rows of eight and a top row, apparently just begun, comprising one coffin.  Boys being boys, as opposed to trained archaeologists, they then began to pelt each other with the mysterious little coffins.  Despite this rough treatment, enough of the coffins made it down from their resting place and into safer hands.

The Arthur’s Seat Coffins

The find was described by The Scotsman newspaper, at the time:

” [Each coffin] contained a miniature figure of the human form cut out in wood, the faces in particular being pretty well executed. They were dressed from head to foot in cotton clothes, and decently laid out with a mimic representation of all the funereal trappings which usually form the last habiliments of the dead. The coffins are about three or four inches in length, regularly shaped, and cut out from a single piece of wood, with the exception of the lids, which are nailed down with wire sprigs or common brass pins. The lid and sides of each are profusely studded with ornaments, formed with small pieces of tin, and inserted in the wood with great care and regularity.”

The discovery of the Arthur’s Seat coffins gripped the public imagination as both local and national newspapers began to speculate as to who put them there? How long had they been there? What was their purpose?

Media speculation and public fascination

16th Century woodcut of witches. Public Domain[?]

At some point shortly after discovery the boys had relinquished their treasure and the coffins eventually went on display in a private museum, run by Robert Frazier an Edinburgh Jeweller.  Although sealed when originally found, they were soon opened and it was  discovered that each neatly made coffin, contained a carved wooden figure, individually dressed – care had clearly gone into the construction of the strange artefacts.  It was noted that some of the coffins in the lower rows appeared more decayed, some of the grave-clothes were completely missing, and this seemed to infer that they had been laid down over a considerable period of time.  Theories were quickly developed as to the possible meaning of the ‘fairy ‘coffins.

The First newspaper report was in The Scotsman, 16 July 1836, which while managing to maintain an air of rationalistic superiority at the very idea of such superstitious nonsense as witchcraft or demons, at the same time seemed to revel in giving the paying public exactly the sensationalism that they wanted:

“Our own opinion would be – had we not some years ago abjured witchcraft and demonology – that there are still some of the weird sisters hovering about the Mushat’s Cairn or the Windy Gowl, who retain their ancient power to work spells of death by entombing the likenesses of those they wish to destroy.”

Sensing a good story, other newspapers followed suit offering their own, slightly more restrained, theories:

The Edinburgh Evening Post suggested the coffins could be an example of a tradition, found in Saxony, of symbolically burying those who died overseas.  While the Caledonian Mercury suggested the origin was a tradition for family members to provide a ‘Christian Burial’ to sailors lost at sea.  [1]  This theory was supported, in the 1970’s, by Walter Havernick of the Museum of Hamburg who also proposed that the Arthur’s Seat Coffins represented a stockpile of such charms, stored there by a merchant for later retrieval.[2]  However, this would seem to me to be rather an extreme measure to take in storing merchandise that did not appear to have any real monetary value, in addition to which, the place of concealment was not even weatherproof resulting in damage to some of the coffins.

Some coffins show signs of deterioration – a sign of age or just weathering?

The National Museum of Scotland boasts many examples of charms against witchcraft that have been found in Scotland, charms were in use as late as the nineteenth century.  Nevertheless the theories that the coffins were connected either with witchcraft or honorific burials for those who died abroad or were lost at sea, are hard to evidence in Scotland’s known folk traditions. [3]

Charms on display at the National Museum of Scotland.

Until recently though, two things did seem to be agreed upon: the coffins appeared to have been placed there over a period of time (differences in deterioration of individual coffins seemed to support this theory) and their most likely purpose was some sort of honorific burial.  These conclusions were supported by the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland (later the National Museum of Scotland), who were gifted the remaining eight coffins in 1901.

The West Port Murders and the Day of Last Judgement

One of the most compelling recent theories is that proposed by Professor Samuel Menefee and Dr Allen Simpson.  They studied the coffins in the 1990’s and although their published findings are hard to locate online, their work is quoted from extensively by Mike Dash in his detailed article on the Coffins, available on the Charles Fort Institute website (CFI).[4]

Details of the Arthur’s Seat coffins – tiny corpses both dressed and undressed.

Menefee and Simpson were able to identify that one or at most two individuals made the coffins (based on stylistic differences in coffin shape) and the tools used suggested the maker was a shoemaker, rather than a carpenter, as a sharp knife and not chisel was used to hollow out the coffins.  The tin decorations were of the type used in shoemaking or leather-making further strengthening this theory. Their findings also indicate that the figures themselves were probably originally toy soldiers dating from the late eighteenth century.  Perhaps the most important revelation from their study relates to the thread used in the clothing.  Three ply cotton thread was used to sew the grave-clothes for one of the figures, this thread was not in use in Scotland before 1830.  Other figures using one or two ply thread may have been earlier, but as Mike Dash suggests the date range could be as short at 1800-1830 – so it would seem that the infamous Scottish weather was to blame for the deterioration of some of the coffins, rather than the passage of time.

In fact Menefee and Simpson’s theory supposes a date after 1830 and they draw attention to the number of coffins in place as being a significant indicator that the placement of the coffins was event-driven, rather than part of a long-standing folk tradition. Dash provides the following quote from their work:

“It is arguable, that the problem with the various theories is their concentration on motivation, rather than on the even or events that caused the interments.  The former will always be open to argument, but if the burials were event-driven [..] the speculation would at least be built on demonstrable fact.  Stated another way, what we seek is an Edinburgh-related event or events, involving seventeen deaths, which occurred close to 1830 and certainly before 1836.  One obvious answer springs to mind – the West Port Murders by William Burke and William Hare in 1827 and 1828.” [5]

Burke and Hare. Image Source National Museum of Scotland.

Burke and Hare made a living out of death, selling bodies to the anatomist Dr Robert Knox a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh.  They began their careers as opportunists following the death of Hare’s lodger, Old Donald.  Old Donald died owing a substantial amount of rent, so Hare and his friend Burke decided to sell his body to the local anatomists to recoup the loss.  So profitable was this enterprise that their initial opportunism soon blossomed into a full-scale murder spree, tallying sixteen victims before they were caught.  While Hare escaped the hangman’s noose by turning kings evidence, Burke was hanged for his crimes on 28 January 1829 and his body sent for public dissection.

Mort safe in Grey Friars Kirkyard.

What made both the work of the anatomist surgeons and the murders carried out by Burke and Hare so dreadful to people at the time, was they were in effect denying the deceased the chance of salvation at the Last Judgment.  Christians at the time held a strong belief that the dead would literally rise up on the final day of judgement.  So, if a loved one’s body was dissected and destroyed it was on the one hand a horror in the physical sense, but on the other hand, a deeper metaphysical horror at the spiritual consequences of the destruction of the body.  People went to great lengths to protect their departed relatives from this fate, as the mort-safes in Grey Friars Kirkyard attest.

Menefee and Simpson’s study suggests that the event that triggered the interment of the seventeen coffins on Arthur’s Seat was the West Port murders of Burke and Hare.  They propose that the coffins were a symbolic burial for those whose bodies were destroyed because of the actions of Burke and Hare.  A way that the dead could still stand for their last judgment. So although their scientific analysis of the material used to make the coffins explodes one theory (of their antiquity) they do support the long-held view that they represent honorific burial.[6]

Conclusion

So, were the coffins evidence of satanic rituals, witchcraft, protection for sailors on the high seas, or mock burials for those who died abroad?  Or a reminder of the grisly crimes of Burke and Hare?

It would seem that one of the earliest theories, that the coffins represented honorific burials, might not have been too far off the mark, even if the motivation for them was event driven rather than an ancient tradition.

If the crimes of Burke and Hare are the inspiration behind the Arthur’s Seat Coffins, some questions still remain: who made the coffins – a relative of one of the victims or someone who knew Burke and Hare and wished to make amends?  If they are related to the West Port Murders, then, as Min Bannister of the Edinburgh Fortean Society points out, why are they all male figures when the victims included twelve women?  Could this simply be because the offering was a token gesture and not meant to represent the actual individuals?  Is it also possible that the single coffin at the top represents the first ‘victim’ old Donald, whose death by natural causes gave Burke and Hare the idea for their terrible crimes?  Chances are we will never know for sure, but perhaps that is part of their enduring fascination…

The Arthur’s Seat Coffins are on display at the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh.

Sources and notes

Images – unless otherwise credited all images by Lenora.

http://www.nms.ac.uk/explore/stories/scottish-history-and-archaeology/mystery-of-the-miniature-coffins/ [1] [2] [3]

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/edinburghs-mysterious-miniature-coffins-22371426/

http://blogs.forteana.org/node/97  The Miniature coffins found on Arthur’s Seat by Mike Dash [4] [5] [6]

 

The Wallsend Witches: a tale for Halloween

Tags

delaval and witches, Holy Cross church, Legends of wallsend, Newcastle Witches, North East Witches, Sir Frances Blake Delaval, Starlight Castle, Wallsend, Wallsend Witches, witches

The Wallsend Witches

Witches Sabbath by Goya

Wallsend is a small town in the North of England.  It is easily overlooked – just another post industrial town that has lost its heavy industry and been taken over by call centres and service industry jobs.  But Wallsend has a long history.  The Roman’s called it Segedunum when they built their fort at the end of Hadrian’s Wall (end of the wall – Wallsend – get it?).   Through the centuries farming gave way to salt panning, glass-making, coal mining and shipbuilding.  For the Roman’s, Wallsend was the end of the world, the border between civilisation and barbarianism, and in such a place anything can happen.

Halloween seems an appropriate time to share one such dark tale – a tale of witchcraft and necromancy.  The following extract is taken from the ‘Monthly Chronicle’ for April 1888 and it describes, in wonderfully florid Victorian prose, the supposed encounter between one of the famously colourful Deleval family and the infamous Wallsend Witches.

Witches at Wallsend.

The adventurer… is said to have been returning home from Newcastle after nightfall. When turning, up the road past Wallsend, at the foot of the eminence on which the old church stands, he was surprised to observe the interior of the edifice brilliantly lighted up. Being, of course, curious to know the cause of this untimely illumination, he rode to the gate of the burying-ground, left his horse in charge of a servant, and walked forward to a window, where, like Souter Johnnie’s drunken crony “Wow, he saw an unco sicht.”

Holy Cross 1813 (1)

Upon the communion table, at each corner of which was placed an inverted human skull containing some inflammable substance that burned brightly, he saw extended the body of a female, unconfined, and partly unrolled from the winding sheet, while around it, apparently occupied in the preparation of charms, sat a number of withered hags, one of whom was at that instant employed in cutting with a knife the left breast from the corpse. The beldam who operated as dissector, and who, with stubbly beard, ugly buck teeth, red fiery eyes, and withered, wrinkled skin, seemed the likest imaginable counterpart of one of Macbeth’s witches, handed the severed breast to one of the other hags, who went off with it in the direction of the belfry, where she was lost to sight. Delaval, who believed he saw before his eyes only a set of detestably wicked old women, fit to be burned at the stake for their dealings with the foul fiend, as well as for their desecration of the consecrated     building, determined that he would make an effort to stop their proceedings. So he applied his strength to the door of the church, burst it open, and rushed in, to the utter consternation of the assembly. Each of the hags endeavoured to save herself by flight. Some climbed up to the roof, and took their departure through the openings in the belfry. Others managed to get out at the door or the windows. But Delaval succeeded in laying fast hold of the beldam in whose hand the knife still gleamed, and managed to tie her hands behind her back with his pocket handkerchief, in spite of her hard struggles and horrid curses.

When Delaval had taken a hasty look at these devilish preparations for love and hate, charms and incantations, he hastened off with his captive, and bound her on horseback behind the servant. He kept her securely until she could be brought to trial, whether at the assizes, the sessions, or the baron’s own court tradition sayeth not; but certain it is that she was fully convicted of being a witch, as well as a sacrilegious person, and sentenced to be burnt on the seashore in the vicinity of Seaton Delaval.

And now followed the most marvellous part of the story – so marvellous, indeed, that we must beg our readers to take it, as we ourselves do, with a grain of salt. When the sentence was about to be carried into execution, the witch requested to have the use of two new wooden dishes, which were forthwith procured from the neighbouring hamlet of Seaton Sluice. The wood and combustibles were then heaped on the sands, the culprit was placed thereon, the dishes were given to her, and fire was applied to the pile. As the smoke arose in dense columns around her, she placed a foot in each of the utensils, muttered a spell, cleared herself from the fastenings at the stake, and soared away on the sea-breeze like an eagle escaped from the hands of its captors. But when she had risen to a considerable height, one of the dishes which supported her lost its efficacy from having been, by the young person who procured them, dipped unthinkingly in pure fresh water; and so, after making several gyrations, the deluded follower of Satan fell to the ground. Without affording her another chance of escape, the beholders conveyed her back to the pile, where she perished amidst its flames.

Extract from:
Monthly Chronicle; April 1888.
North-Country Lore and Legend

Folklore or fact?

Sir Francis Blake Deleval, after Joshua Reynolds

OK – first things first – apologies to any real-life witches/pagans reading the above tale with its stereotypical hideous hag-like witches – history and folk-lore do tend to give witches a bad rap, I’m afraid!

It seems quite plain that unlike the historically attested Newcastle Witches the Wallsend Witches belong to folklore rather than fact.  The tale as quoted above was reported in the Monthly Chronicle of 1888.  The Monthly Chronicle cited the most famous teller of the tale as Sir Francis Blake Deleval (1727 -1771) although it notes that even in his day the tale was well established.

Sir Francis belonged to that family of originals, the Delevals, who seemed to easily attract tall tales and legends; and himself was famous amongst other things for accepting a bet to build a castle in a day – Deleval won the bet and Starlight Castle still stands in Holywell Dene, in ruins now, a testament to Deleval hubris.  Sir Francis was also a noted theatrical and practical joker and one can imagine him regaling his drinking companions with a tale of supernatural derring-do accredited to one of his ancestors.  He was also a bit of ladies man and the idea of scaring the petticoats off some of his fashionable lady friends might have also appealed to him!

Holy Cross Church, Wallsend

There are some obviously fantastical elements of the tale: the witch flying off on wooden plates – I mean, REALLY? I can just imagine a condemned witch about to be executed asking someone to just pop to the next village and get her some new tableware and some witch-finder general type just saying ‘righto pet, I send someone to Ye Olde Collectibles right away’…can’t you?)

However even the ‘historic’ elements of the tale seem suspect, as Alan Fryer points out in his article on the Wallsend Witches.  It seems unlikely that even in an earlier age a Deleval would have had the legal remit to order a capital punishment on a witch.  And of course, in the main, witches were hanged in England not burned.  Perhaps it owes some of its embellishments to the tale of the Berwick Witches who were burned just across the border in 1590 – part of the confession of Agnes Sampson involved diabolical shenanigans in a church.

Holy Cross Church, Wallsend

Despite its historical implausibility, the tale of the Wallsend Witches stands out as a relic of a less industrialised and disenchanted age.  An age where the Lord of the Manor was the dashing hero of the hour, upholder all things decent, and wicked witches practiced the dark arts in derelict churches and could make their escape on crockery – I leave the reader to judge which of these elements they think the most unlikely!

Holy Cross Church can be approached either from a neatly kept housing estate, or via the grounds of Wallsend Old Hall.  The latter way offers the most interesting route, winding along the course of the burn, under a canopy of old trees, then up the steep steps, hemmed in by hawthorn and brambles, towards the old church itself.  You can still find a riot of nature and wildlife following this track even so close to the heart of the town. It’s not difficult to imagine that to traverse it by moonlight with dark branches casting spidery fingers across your path,  foxes barking in the undergrowth and perhaps a mysterious light up ahead…you might, perchance, meet with the Wallsend Witches.

 

Happy Halloween!

 

You can now hear me talk about the Wallsend Witches, folklore and fact, on the Voices from the North East podcast, available from anchor.fm/voicesfromthenortheast , Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts:

 

Notes on images

1. Illustration of Holy Cross Church in 1813 from http://www.sandmartyn.freeserve.co.uk/wallsend/wec.html
2. Joshua Reynolds, Sir Francis Blake Deleval, Wikimedia Commons
3. Jack O’Lantern by Toby Ord 2003, Wikimedia Commons

All other photographic images by Lenora.

Sources

Monthly Chronicle; April 1888, North-Country Lore and Legend: Witches at Wallsend
http://northumberlandpast.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/the-witches-of-northumberland.html
http://www.sandmartyn.freeserve.co.uk/wallsend/wec.html
http://wallsendhistory.btck.co.uk/Campaign/Witches%20at%20Wallsend

Canewdon: the village where witchfinders feared to tread…

Tags

Aleister Crowley, Canewdon witches, Cunning men, essex hauntings, Essex Witches, George Pickingill, James Murrell, matthew hopkins, witches, Witchfinders

“The Witch Country”

There is more to Essex than TOWIE!

For many people when asked what they know about the county of Essex, the most common responses are TOWIE, Essex girl jokes (What did the Essex girl say after the doctor told her she was pregnant? Is it mine?), Jodie Marsh, girls in miniskirts and white stilettos dancing around their handbags and Jamie Oliver cooking up school lunches whilst chattering away in his Estuary English patter. Negative stereotypes have left Essex as almost a poor relation to other counties in England a reputation which it definitely does not deserve! Essex is rich in history with over 14,000 listed buildings, the oldest Roman remains in Britain, a unique housing style known as weatherboarding (which was adopted in America and is now known as the New England Style), the oldest surviving wooden church in the world and the rumoured burial place of King Harold II.

There is a darker side of Essex which has almost been forgotten, away from the chocolate box villages and the dubious delights of the seaside town of Southend. It is a county steeped in a tradition of witchcraft which has spanned centuries. Essex was the starting point in 1644 of the worst witch hunt ever initiated in England, led by the witch-finder General Matthew Hopkins, with its inhabitants suffering indescribable horrors at his hand; the birthplace of James Murrell one of England’s greatest “cunning men” and; Canewdon, a small relatively nondescript village which was believed to be a centre of witchcraft for an area which became known as “The Witch Country”.

The village of Canewdon

Located in the Rochford District on the Crouch Estuary, the village is sited on the highest hill of coastal Essex. Its name derives from the Saxon meaning “hill of Cana’s people”. Local tradition has it that a camp near the village was used by Canute during the Battle of Assandun.

Even today Canewdon has a lonely feel to it. Surrounded by the mudflats and marshes of the Thames Estuary it is easy to imagine how isolated and insular the community must have been in the past.

Mudflats at the Crouch Estuary, image via Wikimedia

Dominating the village is the 14^th century Parish Church of St Nicholas. The church stands on a ridge overlooking the River Crouch, its most striking feature being the 15^th century tower which was built to commemorate Henry V’s victory at Agincourt.

Canewdon Church, image by Miss Jessell, edited by Lenora

A number of ghost stories abound in the area giving it the reputation of being one of the most haunted places in Essex. Most reports centre on the church, in particular around the church porch, graveyard and west gate car park. The most widely seen apparition is that of a grey lady with a poke bonnet and no face who has been spotted floating on moonless nights from the church’s west gate towards the river. Another popular story refers to a headless ghost seen in the church who has a tendency to pick unwary victims up and deposit them in a nearby ditch. Locals also reported in the 1980s that a man on a motorbike was chased by a small demonic entity that was just as fast as the bike.

A tiny demonic entity

Many of these ghosts are believed to be the spirits of witches who wander the earth unable to rest due to injustices committed against them when they were alive.  If so, then historically speaking there would only be a miniscule pool of potential candidates to choose from, as unlike many other places in Essex, in Canewdon only three cases of witchcraft were ever recorded as being brought to trial.

The Canewdon Witch Trials

The notorious Matthew Hopkins steered well clear of Canewdon – was he afraid…?

When you mention witches, most people would immediately think of Pendle, Berwick and of course Salem. Very few would name Canewdon; to be honest most people who live in Essex have never even heard of it. This is probably due to the fact that it had no sensational witch trials which could capture the public’s imagination; the village wasn’t even visited during Matthew Hopkins’ witch hunts. It is hard to imagine that if the connection between the village and witchcraft practice was as deeply rooted as folk memory claims how it managed to escape Hopkins’ attention. There are a number of possibilities: maybe land travel was too difficult due to the extremely isolated nature of the place; maybe the village was too poor to afford Hopkins’ services; maybe the witchcraft association does not go back as far as many people believe; was the link so strong that the villagers did not want outside interference and that witchcraft was silently accepted or were the witches considered too powerful to risk offending?

Traditional image of witches dancing with devils. Public domain.

It is very difficult to precisely date when Canewdon became synonymous with witches.  The three witchcraft trials span the short space of ten years. In 1580 the spinster Rose Pye was accused of bewitching to death Johanna Snow, a twelve month old child at Scaldhurst Farm. She pleaded not guilty and was acquitted but died in jail probably because she was unable to pay the fee needed to secure her release. In 1585, Cicily Makyn was also charged with practising witchcraft and given five years to mend her ways. In 1590 the ‘Goodwife’ Makins of Canewdon was indicted for witchcraft, as this trial occurs five years after the one involving Cicily Makyn it is safe to assume that they were one and the same, allowing for medieval flexibility with spelling.  It appears that Cicily did not heed the warning to reform and as punishment was excommunicated. So only two women in Canewdon were ever charged with witchcraft, one found innocent and the other found guilty and excommunicated but (although a severe punishment in Medieval England and regarded as damning the soul to everlasting torment in hell) not imprisoned or hanged. Why the leniency? Did they believe witches could be reformed?

“Three of cotton and three of silk”

One saying referring to Canewdon states that there will always be six witches in Canewdon, three of cotton (lower classes) and three of silk (upper classes). The use of the word cotton does help to date the saying as cotton only become widely available in Britain in the first half of the 19th century during the Industrial Revolution. Before that wool would have been the material of choice for the lower classes. It does seem that about this time stories of witchcraft do seem to resurge. Does this mean that for two centuries, the link was broken? Or simply that nothing had happened that would have been noteworthy to outsiders. I personally feel that the latter explanation seems more plausible as otherwise how would it explain the presence of two men whose powerful personalities and fearful reputations brought the village and surrounding area to the attention of the outside world. I think it very likely their decision to practice in this area and their success was largely down to the strength of belief in witchcraft and magic which the locals held, which had been built up over generations.

The “Cunning Man” of Hadleigh

James ‘Cunning’ Murrell, image via http://www.teamhadleigh.org

James Murrell was born the seventh son of a seventh son in Rochford in 1780. In 1812 Murrell moved to Hadleigh, Essex and set up business as a shoemaker. Somehow about this time he met a witch/wizard called Neboad from whom he learnt about the craft. His natural skill in the art led him to give up shoe making and become a full-time ‘cunning man’. His fame grew as a cunning-man of unequalled ability and he was sought out by both local people and wealthy aristocrats from further afield. It was said that he would always ask people if their problem was ‘high or low’ i.e. did they need material or magic help. Material help would involve the use of herbal potions to combat ills. To tackle supernatural forces, Murrell would summon good spirits or angels to fight the bad ones. He was an expert in astrology and was consulted on a wide range of issues including finding lost objects, clairvoyance and his ability to cast and break other witches spells.  For instance one legend refers to his using a potion to send a ‘burning sensation’ to a gypsy woman who was believed to have cursed a girl. The potion when heated exploded and the next day the body of the gypsy was found burnt to death and the girl cured 1. Many stories about Murrell were passed down by word of mouth and storytelling creating a legend around a man who was said to be the greatest witch/cunning man who England had ever seen.

His connection with Canewdon was also a strong one.  The villages lie about nine miles from each other. It was reputed that Murrell was once engaged in a contest with a Canewdon witch to prove who was the most powerful. Commanding her to die, the witch immediately fell down dead. This ability to control other witches appears in another story.  According to the legend the Canewdon villagers petitioned their vicar, Rev William Atkinson “to let Murrell exercise his whistling powers and make the witches confess themselves by dancing round the churchyard.” The vicar refused to give in to their demands as he knew such an exercise would reveal his own wife to be a witch 2 (his wife Mary Ann and her sister, Lady Lodwick were believed by many to be part of a coven in existence prior to 1860). Apart from emphasising the traditionally believed link between the church and witchcraft these stories also confirmed for many Murrell’s position as Master of Witches.

Despite a commanding personality and the powerful aura that seemed to surround him, Murrell appears to have used his skills to help the people who came to him. His fees were modest and even in old age when he had in general given up practising his arts he would if a person was in dire need still provide assistance. You get the feeling that he was respected and even liked (albeit with more than a tinge of caution), not so with another Master of Witches, who was reputed to have more sinister intentions.

George Pickingill

George Pickingill, image via Wikimedia

George Pickingill along with his wife, Mary Ann and children moved to Canewdon sometime between 1864 and 1868. Often seen carrying his famous blackthorn walking stick, he was described as

“a tall, unkempt man, solitary and uncommunicative. He had very long finger-nails, and kept his money in a purse of sacking“. 3

Believed to be a hereditary witch, he performed many of the same services as other ‘cunning folk’ such as providing herbal remedies and finding lost objects but he was also believed to have used darker, malevolent magic to curse people. He was famed for his control of animals especially horses and legend has it that he had the ability to work at a superhuman rate possibly with the aid of his imps (familiars). It was claimed that many locals were terrified of offending him for fear of falling sick, for which the only cure was a touch of his walking stick. A touch of his stick was also believed to be able to stop the threshing machines.

Although the famous saying implies that there were only six witches in the village, many locals believed the number to be nine with many more of silk than cotton. These malevolent witches were not believed to know each other’s identities but were all under the control of one wizard or Master of Witches i.e. Pickingill who could summon them at will by means of a wooden whistle. It was also rumoured that he controlled nine covens established in Essex, Hampshire, Hertfordshire, Norfolk and Sussex that had been set up under his guidance.

Many of the darker stories about Pickingill come from the writer, Charles Lefebure. Lefebure claims that Pickingill sold his soul to the devil, was visited by black magicians from all over Europe and engaged in nocturnal orgies in the churchyard with his witches and kin. One legend goes that a young vicar newly appointed to the Parish was determined to put an end to this nightly revelry. On hearing noises he ran outside carrying a riding whip, only to be greeted by the sight of thirteen white rabbits. 4

Pickingill famously wrote “The Pickingill Papers” about the history and anthropology of Wicca and much more. Aleister Crowley was also thought by many to have been one of his students.  Many modern-day Wiccans separate themselves from the Pickingill tradition due to the perceived dark and satanic nature of his practices.

For others Pickingill’s reputation for evil practices was ridiculous. They instead regarded him as simply adhering to the traditional practices of the cunning folk and a man who was “in his later years more interested in caging (sic) beer and getting a rise out of the people than anything else.”5 Whether or not you believe in either Murrell or Pickingill abilities is in many ways irrelevant, what is important is the indelible mark they have left on the history and folklore of this part of Essex.

A walk around the tower

Various legends have grown up surrounding the church and witchcraft these include the belief that if a stone falls from the tower it means that one witch has died and another has taken her place in the coven, that there will always be witches as long as the tower stands and that a novice witch seeking a coven should perform a dance to summon the devil.

Canewdon Church Tower, image by Miss Jessel edited by Lenora

One other myth has numerous variations.  All of which can be seen to contain a subtle warning to take care when walking around the tower as you can never tell what might happen! It is believed that depending upon how many times you go round and in what direction you are bound to have a supernatural encounter e.g. anyone who walks around the tower at midnight will be forced to dance with witches; if you walk around the church witches will appear and sing to you; if you run around the tower backwards three times you’ll see a ghost at the top of the tower; if you run three times anti clockwise a portal will open and you will go back in time; if you walk around seven times on Halloween you’ll see a witch and thirteen times you will become invisible and if you run anti-clockwise round it on Halloween, the Devil will appear. All of this has made the church very popular, so much so that the police now cordon off the area to prevent investigators and ghost hunters from swarming the village at Halloween.

The tradition continues…

Canewdon Churchyard, image by Miss Jessell, edited by Lenora

Over the last fifty years, many people have become fascinated with the story of Canewdon.  Numerous articles have been published about the village, many debunking the myths that surround it.  One writer Claire Smythe in her article on Canewdon stated that the village was one of the last places that traditional belief in witches survived. She discovered during her investigations that the last six witches were documented to have lived around the 1880s. One was believed to possess imps and “bewitch wagon wheels”, another to inflict lice on those that annoyed her and a third to “fix people with glaring eyes” to prevent them from entering the church. One tradition which continued well into the twentieth century was that as Canewdon witches had the ability to bewitch wagon and cart wheels anyone who took a bicycle into the village would get a puncture. Smythe seems to have suffered a similar fate as she recounts that when she left the church

“after having had a look at the carved witches’ cat and the old altar tomb where it is said the children used to listen to the Devil rattling his chains – I found that my car had its first puncture for over five years.” 6

People visiting the church have witnessed strange phenomena including figures standing under the church portal and orbs in the church. One visitor claims to have been terrified when he saw women dancing in the churchyard after taking a walk around the tower.

Orbs at the Church gate, Canewdon 2007, image source unknown

Not surprisingly the ubiquitous Yvette Fielding and the “Most Haunted” team investigated St Nicholas.  They claimed to have felt the presence of Matthew Hopkins, which is strange as according to all records he never visited the village.  Maybe his ghost was lost or he had decided to make up for his negligence when he was alive!

I did not experience anything supernatural when I visited the village and church one Monday afternoon. The only thing which struck me was how isolated, empty and strangely unwelcoming the village felt. The church itself also had an unsettling atmosphere intensified by the sheer weight of silence (we were the only two visitors) which seemed to hang heavy around it. Unlike in other churchyards where I love to amble, investigating and reading the headstones, I felt no desire to linger. Maybe ‘witches’ still live in Canewdon, probably not, but wandering around it was easy to imagine that the tradition has not yet been broken and that the enigmatic James Murrell was correct when he predicted that the village of Canewdon would be populated with witches forever.7

Notes

1 Maple, Eric (December 1960). “The Witches of Canewdon”. Folklore Vol 71, No 4.

2 Old George Pickingill and the History of Modern Witchcraft

http://www.pickingill.com/

3 Old George Pickingill and the History of Modern Witchcraft

http://www.pickingill.com/

4 Old George Pickingill and the History of Modern Witchcraft

http://www.pickingill.com/

5 Old George Pickingill and the History of Modern Witchcraft

http://www.pickingill.com/

6 Canewdon by Claire Smythe in ’50 Strange Stories of the Supernatural’

7 Witches of Canewdon, http://www.strangeuk.com/witchcraft/item/17-witches-of-canewdon

References

Cunning Murrell: The Facts, http://www.hadleighhistory.org.uk/page_id__198_path__0p3p.aspx

James “Cunning” Murrell, http://m.teamhadleigh.org/hadleigh-castle-tour-menu/hadleigh-castle-landmarks/estuary/james-cunning-murrell

Canewdon Church, Essex http://www.hauntedisland.co.uk/haunted-churches/canewden-church-essex

Canewdon, Claire Smythe, “50 Strange Stories of the Supernatural” (edited by John Canning)

James Murrell  http://ghe.myfreeforum.org/archive/james-murrell__o_t__t_2211.html

Old George Pickingill and the History of Modern Witchcraft http://www.pickingill.com/

The Witches of Canewdon, Eric Maple, Folklore Vol 71

Canewdon, http://www.hiddenea.com/essexc.htm

Witches of Canewdon, http://www.strangeuk.com/witchcraft/item/17-witches-of-canewdon

Widow Eliza Frost Lodwick (1784 – 1861), The wife of Jeremiah Kersteman Lodwick, http://www.deadfamilies.com/Z3-Others/Lodwick/Lodwick-Eliza-Frost-01.html

Essex Witch Trials, http://www.witchtrials.co.uk/years.html

Witchfinders: A Seventeenth-century English Tragedy, Malcolm Gaskill

Essex – Paranormal Database Records http://www.paranormaldatabase.com/essex/esspages/essedata.php?pageNum_paradata=2&totalRows_paradata=411

Mother Shipton: Yorkshire’s Nostradamus

Tags

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

Old Mother Shipton

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

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

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

The legend is born

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A talent for prediction

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Henry buys a well

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

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

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

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

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

The Truth behind the legend…

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

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

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

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

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

A Folk-memory of a cunning woman?

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

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

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

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

Notes

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

Sources

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

The Daylight Gate by Jeanette Winterson

Tags

Alice Nutter, Demdike, Jeanette Winterson, Lancashire witches, Lancashire witchtrials, Malkin Tower, Pendle Witches, Review of The Daylight Gate, The Daylight Gate, witch trials, witches

A review by Lenora

The Daylight Gate by Jeanette Winterson

I first came across the Pendle Witches in Robert Neill’s novel ‘Mist over Pendle’ (Published 1951). At the time I really enjoyed Neill’s version of events but I recall that the witches, Alice Nutter in particular, were not viewed particularly sympathetically. A lot has changed since Neill was writing: feminism for a start and a much greater understanding of how the socio-economic and political climate can trigger events such as witch trials.  With this in mind I was looking forward to reading Jeanette Winterson’s take on this most famous of English Witch Trials.

Background to the trials

The Pendle trials occurred in 1612 under the reign of James I of England (VI of Scotland). They were the first in England to be officially documented and set a precedent for allowing the testimony of a child to be accepted in court (previously the testimony of children had been considered unreliable).  In this case however it proved crucial to the case and for many its effect was devastating.

James was a monarch known for his interest in witchcraft:  he believed the Berwick Witches had tried to sink his ship in 1590; he wrote the  anti-witchcraft tract ‘Daemonologie; and he wasn’t above personally supervising the torture of women accused of witchcraft. Add to this feverish brew the Catholic lead Gunpowder Plot of 1605 (after which many of the accused fled to Lancashire) and you have a recipe for a paranoid and bigoted realm with both king and government ready to purge the land of witchcraft and popery.  The Daylight Gate examines both of these themes and how they become interchangeable – Thomas Potts has come to Lancashire hunting for witches whilst Roger Nowell is searching for fleeing Catholics.

The Daylight Gate

Although Winterson uses real historical characters and events (such as the meeting at Malkin Tower on Good Friday which set events in motion); she also creates an effective fictional back story for Alice Nutter that via the alchemist and occultist John Dee and his assistant Edward Kelley, links her to Old Demdike.  This helps to provide a reason why the well to do Alice was accused along with such a motley crew of broken and abused women of the Demdike and Chattox clans – and why she was at Malkin Tower on that fateful night. The tale also uses magical realism such as when the Demdike’s, holed up in Malkin Tower,  brew up spells and make severed heads speak in macabre scenes reminiscent of Macbeth.

However effective this is for the purposes the fictional story, for me this creates a historical problem.  Winterson portrays vividly and vicerally how brutalised and abused these women were, trapped by their gender and their poverty in a harshly misogynistic world; she effectively shows how that real seventeenth century world was far more dangerous than any imagined threats posed by witches.

Nevertheless by making these women into practicing witches possessed of real demonic powers,  I feel that in some way she is detracting from the historical reality of the suffering of thousands of ordinary women (and a surprising number of men) who found themselves wrongfully accused of, and executed for, witchcraft.  It might have been interesting to look further at what drove some of these individuals to admit ‘guilt’ and to claim they had called upon The Dark Gentleman to obtain unholy powers – to examine why these disgarded and dis-empowered women would to try to claim the right of fear or respect from their neighbours at such a terrible price… however I suspect that this would have been a different story entirely.

Despite this caveat, I really enjoyed the book and I found the ending very moving.  Winterson’s prose was beautiful and spare.  Her descriptions of the most graphic events such as rape and torture were not voyeuristic but were rendered more brutal by the matter of fact language; the settings of Pendle and Malkin Tower were wonderfully dark and ominous; the sense of the net closing in was palpable. And the ending: a tragedy already written in the blood of real people.

Jeanette Winterson’s ‘The Daylight Gate’ is available to purchase from Amazon:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Daylight-Gate-Hammer-Jeanette-Winterson/dp/0099561832/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1364137870&sr=8-1

as is Robert Neill’s ‘Mist over Pendle’

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mist-Over-Pendle-Robert-Neill/dp/0099557037/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1364137870&sr=8-2

Footnote on the Pendle Witches

Following the 400th anniversary of the witch trials there were calls for the accused to be pardoned and a statue of Alice Nutter was also erected in her home of Roughlee.

BBC news: Statue of Pendle witch unveiled

Burnley Express: Appeal for Queen to pardon Pendle witches