York Page 4
Special note was always made of any execution where the strength of the crowd was considered to be great, usually referred to in the records as ‘a large concourse of spectators’ and this proved to be the case with the considerable number of people who came to witness the hanging of George and Maria Merrington on Tuesday, 13 April 1649. The execution of the couple took place at the St Leonard’s gallows and proved to be a great attraction. The murderous pair had killed William Rex a little over a month before on 9 March, before concealing the body in a shallow grave in their kitchen. They were taken to the execution site in a cart from York Castle at 7.30 a.m., guarded by the Sheriff’s officers and a troop of dragoons. The magnitude of people clearly caused a great difficulty in negotiating the castle gate, owing to the, ‘… great multitude of people with whom that street was crowded from top to bottom, so that nothing could be seen but a forest of hats’, though by all accounts this ‘forest of hats’ was removed as a mark of respect as the condemned couple passed by. However, as the pair progressed to the gallows, Fossgate became so crowded that one woman had her leg broken in the crush and another young man broke his thigh bone. The crowds persisted into Walmgate bar, where the cart was forced to halt because the Merringtons had fainted, however, revived by a glass of mint water supplied by the obliging landlady of the Golden Barrel, followed by a glass of wine each, they were taken on to the gallows at 9.20 a.m. and were subsequently hanged before ‘thousands of spectators’.
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‘one woman had her leg broken in the crush’
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We can only speculate as to why the demise of certain criminals drew more of a crowd on some occasions than others – sometimes the notoriety of the crime committed affected the draw, or even something as simple as the weather. The executions, in August 1537, of Sir Robert Aske and Lord Hussey for their involvement in the Pilgrimage of Grace, a religious insurrection led against Henry VIII, drew what was described as a ‘large concourse’ and a ‘large number’ of spectators, while it was estimated that on 28 March 1587 some 8,000 people witnessed the hanging of Frederick de Alcyonius, Richard de Aldrich and William de Malcolm, who had been found guilty of ‘petty treason’. (Unfortunately, there are no surviving records of the North-Eastern Assize circuit for the Tudor period, so we do not know what their crime was, although petty treason or ‘petit treason’ was an offence under common law which involved the betrayal of a superior by a subordinate, for example the murder of a master by his servant). Whatever their crime, the full penalty of the law was carried out and after the execution all three were beheaded and quartered, with their heads being displayed at Micklegate Bar.
There was, however, another post-execution option available for the disposal of the deceased’s body, and that was for the corpse to be given over to surgeons to be ‘dissected and anatomized’ – a practice which was formerly prohibited by the Roman Church but was once again permitted after the Reformation. As medical research grew so too did the need for cadavers, and in England, by the 1700s, the bodies of executed criminals and the ‘unclaimed poor’ were given over to feed the increasing need. Sentence of dissection also afforded an additional deterrent aspect as the prospect of being given over to the anatomists for bodily desecration after death was, to most, as horrific to contemplate if not more so than actually being hanged. Indeed, in some cases public feeling against the practice was so strong that bodies were frequently ‘saved’ from the surgeon’s table by a surge of angry crowds intent on snatching the body away post execution, ensuring an intact Christian burial.
However, this was a sentiment far from the mind of Ebenezer Wright who, before he was hanged on Saturday, 30 March 1833 for arson, had kept the body of his late wife hidden under their bed for two days before selling her to the anatomists in order to save on funeral costs! Wright, along with his accomplice Norburn, was found guilty of firing a stack of straw and hay after both parties turned King’s evidence against each other (Wright harbouring a suspicion that Norton was conducting an extramarital affair with Mrs Wright). Subsequently, both were tried and convicted on their own evidence; Norburn assisting Wright in his revenge attack against a Mr Oxley, a solicitor who had previously brought a case of assault against Wright. Norton latterly received a reprieve, but Wright, perhaps in fateful retribution for the callous treatment of his wife’s corpse, made up the triple execution – also executed were one Thomas Law, convicted of aggravated highway robbery, and Mary Hunter – which drew an estimated crowd of 4,000 to 5,000 on that day.
A Terminal Profession – York’s Celebrity Hangmen
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In York the position of hangman was usually filled by a convicted felon who had been pardoned sentence of death on the condition that he accepted the job. This was the case with Thomas Hadfield, who gained notoriety as the hangman who officiated at the flamboyant execution of Dick Turpin – rather ironically, Hadfield himself had been reprieved from sentence of death having been found guilty of highway robbery.
However, York’s most infamous hangman must have been the twice sentenced, twice reprieved William ‘Mutton’ Curry. A convicted sheep-stealer, hence the ovine sobriquet, Curry’s repeated sentence of death had been commuted twice to transportation and in 1802, while being held in York Castle awaiting his enforced passage to Australia, he was prevailed upon to accept the vacant position of hangman. Curry was known to be partial to a drop of gin (hardly surprising given the nature of his forced employ) and this consequently led to some less than professional executions. On one occasion, Curry was so drunk The Times reported that, ‘The executioner, in a bungling manner and with great difficulty (being in a state of intoxication), placed the cap over the culprit’s face and attempted several times to place the rope round his neck, but was unable.’ It took the assistance of the gaoler and the sheriff’s officers to complete the job before the incensed and increasingly hostile crowd, who ended up demanding Curry’s own execution. Another time, clearly the worse for drink, Curry actually ended up falling through the trap door himself!
Between April 1853 and August 1856 there were no executions at York, however, a new executioner had to be found in order to hang twenty-eight-year-old William Dove who, after six attempts of administering strychnine, had finally succeeded in murdering his wife. On Saturday, 9 August 1856, an estimated 15,000 to 20,000 strong throng of spectators witnessed Thomas Askern, imprisoned for debt, carry out his duty as the new hangman. Askern held the position until 1868, performing the last public execution, that of Frederick Parker. While Askern was said to be the last hangman to hold a provincial post anywhere in Britain, this did not detract from the fact that he was incompetent at his job, botching many executions and leaving many of his unfortunate ‘clients’ to dangle at the end of the rope suffering unnecessarily.
Transportation: An Enlightened Alternative to Execution
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For those lucky enough not to receive the death penalty, transportation was an alternative punishment for both major and petty crimes, and was exercised in Great Britain and Ireland from the 1620s until well into the 1800s. Those sentenced at quarter sessions held elsewhere in Yorkshire would be detained along with those who were likewise sentenced at the York County Assizes, remaining in York Gaol while awaiting shipment.
The Transportation Act of 1717 made transportation to America the punishment for serious crimes and continued until 1776, when the Declaration of Independence made transportation to the American colonies no longer viable. However, even following the American Revolution sentence of transportation was still handed down, with male felons being held on prison ships, or prison hulks, permanently moored off the south coast of England (the preference being to hold female prisoners in local gaols). Forced to look elsewhere, the British Government opted to utilise the newly claimed colonies in Australia and from 1787 the new territory provided a penal repository for those sentenced to seven years or longer.
The Half Moon Court in the County Gaol, where criminals awaiting t
ransportation took their exercise – their graffiti can still be seen.
An example of a prisoner’s graffiti from the County Gaol.
Later in the Victorian period, transportation was replaced with penal servitude, a term of imprisonment that usually included hard labour and was served on native soil, and ranged from a term of three years to life. After the 1853 Penal Servitude Act was passed, only long-term transportation was retained, and the sentence of transportation was finally abolished in 1857.
CHAPTER FOUR
ARSONISTS
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English law terms arson as a common law offence dealing with the criminal destruction of buildings by fire, typically the crime of maliciously, voluntarily, and wilfully setting fire to the building, buildings, or other property of another or of burning one’s own property for an improper purpose; such as to collect insurance.
Probably the most notable incidence of arson in York was the blaze that devastated York Minster, which took hold in the early hours of Monday, 9 July 1984. While the cause of the fire has never been conclusively proven, it was attributed by some as ‘divine retribution’ in the light of the appointment of controversial clergyman the Right Revered David Jenkins as Bishop of Durham – UFO involvement was even suggested! However, the Yorkshire Fire Brigade concluded that rather than being divinely directed or influenced by extra terrestrials, the most likely cause of the fire was a lightning strike shortly after midnight, probably due to the sultry weather the region was experiencing. However, this was not the first time York Minster had been ravaged by fire.
In 1068, two years after the Norman Conquest, the good people of York rebelled against the new regime. While the uprising was initially effective, on the arrival of William the Conqueror the rebellion was severely quashed, and the city was ravaged as part of his ‘harrying of the North’, with the first stone minster badly damaged by fire.
Construction of a new minster was undertaken by Archbishop Thomas in around 1080 and it was this cathedral that was to become the York Minster we know today; the Norman origins of which were once more revealed after the minster was again seriously damaged by fire, but this time by deliberate arson in 1829.
On Sunday, 1 February 1829, Jonathan Martin was among those attending evensong at the minster. Martin was the product of an unsettled and staunch upbringing; emotional trauma experienced in his early life, combined with a probable skull fracture sustained at the age of twenty-one when he was attempting to desert the navy after having been press-ganged, makes it possible that Martin suffered some mental instability. On that February evening he initially became agitated by what he thought was a buzzing sound coming from the organ. After service was over he hid in the church by concealing himself behind one of the monuments, emerging afterward into the minster’s empty darkness. Martin then proceeded to stack prayer books and cushions and set them on fire, in turn igniting the woodwork in the choir, before promptly escaping through a window.
Around 6 a.m. the following morning, choristers on their way across the yard saw sparks rising from the cathedral roof and as they got closer they noticed that the frost on the ground had melted. On feeling the heat radiating from the stone work and seeing the glow emitting from inside, they ran to raise the alarm. By 7 a.m. church bells all over the city were ringing out to summon additional firefighting assistance, and even though fire engines were in early attendance the cathedral roof was beyond saving. Limited firefighting capabilities and the ferocity of the blaze forced the evacuation of those fighting the fire, as the melting lead from the roof poured from the mouths of the gargoyle water spouts, the supporting limestone pillars cracked, and shortly before noon, the first cross-beam fell from the roof with the others collapsing in quick succession. (The minster’s nave is the widest in England, and the over-ambitious span of the Norman columns proved too great to be vaulted in stone and so it was roofed in wood – a marvel of medieval engineering but susceptible to combustion.)
Though the choir was entirely destroyed and filled with blazing timbers, it was now at least possible to contain the fire, although it was after midnight before the blaze was finally extinguished. The minster was filled with scorched rubble and the floor of the choir partly collapsed. The Clerk of Works, John Browne, when directing the clean-up operation, discovered that the columns of the nave extended far beneath the collapsed floor. Further excavation and investigation revealed the true extent of the Norman crypt, the undercroft, which today houses the minster’s museum.
In the aftermath of the fire, attention turned to cause and apportioning blame – the contents of a series of what were initially taken as anonymous letters received over the previous year warning of divine judgment on all clergy now seemed to point strongly to the possibility of arson. Closer inspection of the crazed correspondence revealed the letters were signed with the initials ‘JM’ and included an address!
An illustration of York Minster after the fire. (Courtesy of York Museums Trust, York Art Gallery)
The authorities wasted no time in calling at No. 60 Aldwark, Jonathan Martin’s home in the city, but having fled the scene immediately after setting the blaze he was not at home. When questioned, the neighbours’ statements proved rather enlightening as they described someone who seemed to be obsessed with divine retribution. Further investigation confirmed that Martin had previously escaped from the Gateshead Asylum, where he was being held for threatening to shoot the Bishop of Oxford.
An immediate warrant for Martin’s arrest was issued, and on 5 February he was apprehended near his family home near Hexham, and made no attempt to resist being held or to protest his innocence, instead stating that he had been carrying out God’s will.
It was clear that Martin was ‘mentally disturbed’, though whether his upbringing and early experiences had any bearing on his mental condition we can only surmise. By any standards Martin’s family were unusual. Jonathan was one of twelve siblings, his father, Fenwick Martin, was a fencing instructor while his mother Isabella seems to have been responsible for instilling religious fervour. One younger brother, John, became a famous painter, while the elder brother, William, dedicated twenty years of his life to the development of a perpetual motion machine. Jonathan seems to have been profoundly affected by his mother’s strictures concerning hell, and from the age of eight he experienced visions and was convinced that thunderstorms were a divine punishment for his own unconscious sins.
After witnessing the murder of his sister by a neighbour at a young age, and being press-ganged into the navy for six years (sustaining a serious blow to the head as previously mentioned), Martin became a Wesleyan preacher in 1814, but his views proved too strong. As a non-conformist he believed all prayer should come from the heart rather than recited from formal liturgy, and published pamphlets condemning the clergy as ‘Vipers of Hell’. Martin was eventually committed to the West Auckland Lunatic Asylum for the threatened assassination of the Bishop of Oxford, before his transfer and escape from the Gateshead Asylum.
Martin was committed for trial in York on 31 March 1829. His defence was conducted at his artist brother John’s expense by Henry Brougham, who had gained some measure of notoriety in defending Queen Caroline in the divorce proceedings instigated by her husband George IV. The money spent on legal costs was wasted as Jonathan simply agreed with everything the prosecution put forward, while apparently smiling a great deal. In a courtroom so full that even the lawyers were not always able to find a seat, a detachment of yeomanry were present throughout the trial as the vehemence of public feeling against Martin ran so high there were concerns the accused might be lynched.
Portrait of Jonathan Martin by Edward Lindley. (Courtesy of York Museums Trust, York Art Gallery)
On 2 April, the presiding judge declared Martin not guilty on the grounds of insanity; it had taken the jury just seven minutes to decide that his actions were those of one of unsound mind, much to the dissatisfaction of the baying public gallery. Martin was sent to the Bethlehem Royal Hospi
tal – ‘Bedlam’ – for the rest of his life, dying nine years later, on 26 May 1838, aged fifty-six.
York Minster was fully restored within three years of Martin’s arson, although the minster did suffer a further major fire in 1840, when a careless workman left a candle lit while working in the south-west tower.
Female Fire Starters
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Saturday, 30 April 1649 saw the execution of two convicted female arsonists, hanged with fourteen men and five other women, all of whom had been found guilty at the Lent Assizes that year – their crimes ranging from rebellion, infanticide, attempted murder and murder by crucifixion!
Twenty-nine-year-old Grace Bland had set fire to her mistress’s house in Clifton on the outskirts of the city and burnt it to the ground. Clearly an ill-fated property as it was in this same house where two years previously the Drysdale sisters had poisoned their sweethearts with drinks laced with oxalic acid.
In company on the gallows with Grace that morning was twenty-eight-year-old Ellen Nicholson, who had been found guilty of wilfully setting fire to her master’s house and destroying all the furniture and belongings contained therein, as well as the adjoining outbuildings, four horses, three cows, two calves, three stacks of wheat, two of barley, four of hay and two of straw.
This multiple execution of twenty-one felons necessitated two sledges to transport seven men apiece and two carts for the condemned women. A strong guard of fifty-four dragoons and Sheriff’s officers accompanied the prisoners on their last journey, but on entering Castlegate they were forced to stop for some time in view of the mass of people who had gathered to watch. Joining in one voice to sing psalms on their way to execution, arriving at the Tyburn at 10.10 a.m., within five minutes ‘twenty-one lifeless corpses were hanging suspended between heaven and earth’, witnessed by thousands.