Tyburn: London's Fatal Tree Read online

  Evidence of the centrality of the spectacle at Tyburn in popular culture is shown by a mass of popular expressions used to refer to the executions carried out there and elsewhere in the London area. A hanging day was a ‘hanging match’, a ‘Paddington Fair’ or Tyburn Fair. To hang was ‘to swing’ or ‘dance the Paddington frisk’. To travel in the cart from Newgate to Tyburn was ‘to go west’. The gallows was the ‘three-legged mare’ or the ‘deadly nevergreen’. There were innumerable euphemisms for death by hanging. These included ‘collared’, ‘frummagemmed’, ‘scragged’, ‘tucked up’ or ‘turned off’. A ‘Tyburn check’ was a rope and a ‘Tyburn tippet’ was a halter. The importance in popular culture of the rites surrounding hanging is confirmed by the extensive use of slang words for it. The ordinary people enjoyed the spectacle and gave it a prominent place in their communal culture; it provided a welcome break from everyday drudgery.

  Hanging sessions at Tyburn took place after the eight annual sittings at the Old Bailey. Sometimes there was a postponement so that the felons from two sessions could be dealt with on the same occasion. This provided a more salutary spectacle, or so the authorities believed. It also provided more entertainment for the crowd.

  A period of several days – typically at least a week – elapsed between the prisoner being sentenced and the execution itself. During this time rumours, sometimes wildly exaggerated ones, would spread around London about the criminal and the nature of his or her crime. The writers and printers would get to work retelling these crimes and where the reality was not considered lurid enough, they made liberal use of their imaginations to sensationalise the stories and therefore, as they hoped, to sell more copies. Some prisoners who enjoyed the good life and had money to spend, passed their last few days sharing their quarters with friends and relations, abandoning themselves to uproarious feasting, drinking and general junketing. Prisoners who were particular celebrities might entertain members of the public. The latter had bribed the turnkeys well so they could boast to their friends that they had made the acquaintance of the prisoner during his last days. Other condemned felons spent their last few days in belated soul-searching and spiritual introspection, attempting to shrive themselves of their sins and preparing for the awful fate ahead of them.

  Newgate had little to offer those who wanted to engage in peaceful meditation during their last days. The place was extraordinarily noisy. Inmates moaned, argued, shouted; some screamed dementedly. Warders bellowed orders, chains and manacles clanked, hinges creaked and great wooden doors clanged shut, the reverberations echoing to and fro down cheerless stone passages. Hucksters bawled their wares; prostitutes plied their trade; prisoners with money called out for more beer; others shouted insults at passers-by and sometimes urinated on them. The stench of Newgate was pestiferous. For some condemned prisoners, the prospect of going out into the fresh air, even if only to ride to Tyburn, must have come as something of a relief.

  On the last evening the chaplain would offer the prisoner the final sacrament and at midnight a bell was tolled in the tower of St Sepulchre’s Church, close by Newgate. This part of the ritual was the result of a bequest whereby St Sepulchre’s had been given an annual sum of £50 for the purpose of paying the bellman. The benefactor, whose munificence must have been regarded as something of a mixed blessing by the condemned inmates of Newgate, went by the name of Robert Dow. This practice started in 1604 and involved the handbell being rung loudly within the precincts of the prison itself, accompanied by the following cry:

  All you that in the condemned hole do lie,

  Prepare you, for tomorrow you shall die;

  Watch all and pray; the hour is drawing near,

  That you before the Almighty must appear.

  Examine well yourselves; in time repent,

  That you may not to eternal Flames be sent.

  And when St Sepulchre’s Bell in the morning tolls,

  The Lord above have mercy on your souls.

  As day dawned, the prisoner, most likely quaking with abject terror, possibly suffering from a severe hangover, perhaps prudently already drunk but in a few cases apparently indifferent, would be taken to the Press Room where his irons were struck off. Then he dressed for the occasion. The choice of apparel was the prisoner’s. Some went to their deaths wearing finery specially bought for the occasion, although many chose to don a funerary shroud which symbolised contrition. Some, the more hard-nosed, wore a simple garment such as a cheap nightshirt, seeking to thwart or at least frustrate the hangman, one of whose perks it was to sell the clothing the condemned prisoner had worn on his last public appearance. A cord was then bound round the arms, the elbows being pinned in such a way that the arms and hands had some freedom of movement. Handcuffs were left on those prisoners thought to be particularly slippery. A halter was placed around the neck by an official quaintly known as the ‘Knight of the Halter’. The Under Sheriff would make a ceremonial demand for the condemned prisoner to be given into his custody and, when he was handed over, issued a formal receipt for the body as if it was already dead.

  From the seventeenth century, most of the condemned felons rode in a horse-drawn cart to Tyburn while a well-to-do prisoner, if in possession of an extrovert personality, might ride in his own carriage or hire a grand conveyance for the occasion. Where two or more prisoners were to be hanged on the same day, the rich prisoner might graciously offer his fellows a ride in the coach. For many this might be the first time they had ever climbed into such a conveyance – except for the purposes of robbery, perhaps. The cart was sometimes draped in black. The ride to Tyburn provided a spectacle and, to emphasise the supposedly salutary lessons to be drawn from the sight, there was a rule of precedence. When multiple executions took place at Tyburn, the felons who sat in the front seats of the first wagon were those convicted for the most serious crimes. Significantly these were major offences against property and therefore highwaymen and those who had robbed the mail often rode in the front rank. Although the purpose of the authorities was to impress the watching multitude with the punishment meted out for such serious offences, the effect was the very opposite. The treatment accorded by the crowd to those who rode in the front ranks encouraged them to see themselves as popular and glamorous heroes which, in most cases, they were. Far from being shamed by their valedictory public appearance through the streets to Tyburn, it is clear that some felons took considerable succour from their brief time in the limelight. Those who were especially popular with the crowd would be besieged with requests to provide a lock of hair or any other souvenir of the occasion.

  Robert Dow’s bequest also allowed for the tolling of the great bell in the tower of St Sepulchre as the procession formed up outside Newgate Prison. The procession always set off with an escort. It was led by the City Marshal and an Under Marshal who commanded a force of constables and soldiers armed with pole weapons, often described as ‘javelins’. Sometimes the procession had literally to force and fight its way through drunken, jeering or hostile crowds. The result might be broken heads and noses streaming blood. On other occasions the crowd might be so incensed by the sight of a prisoner whose crime was considered particularly heinous that they would rush the procession and try to seize him with a view to a lynching. A guard of as many as 200 soldiers might therefore be needed in anticipation of trouble. The hangman would ride in a cart in advance of the main procession because he had various preparatory arrangements to make. The chaplain also rode in one of the carts along with the condemned prisoners. He was there in an often futile attempt to persuade the prisoner to atone for his sins and thereby prepare himself for the afterlife. The Ordinary’s job was understandably greatly sought-after because his purpose was frequently other than purely spiritual. He had probably spent the previous weeks gathering material for the broadsheet he wrote purporting to contain the last confession of the condemned prisoner. These sometimes appeared on the streets several days before the execution! In the case of notorious prisoners, they sold extreme
ly well and brought the Ordinary a very handsome profit.

  From the official point of view, the presence of the Ordinary was not just symbolic. It indicated the involvement of the Church in the punishment of sin and recognised that although the prisoner’s physical life was about to be terminated, his soul could still be saved even at this late hour. Prisoners with influence could have a priest of their own choice with them on their last journey. The coffin allocated to each prisoner was carefully placed in the cart in which he was to make his last journey. On occasions, family and friends of the condemned felons also rode in the procession but this usually only occurred where the prisoner had influence.

  All along the route, large numbers would turn out eating, drinking and making merry as well as shouting, jostling for a good view, quarrelling and sometimes fighting among themselves. Hawkers would be out in large numbers along the way and at Tyburn, selling everything from pies, baked potatoes and sweetmeats to the broadsheets containing the supposed valedictory confessions of the condemned prisoner or prisoners. There was also a trade in human flesh because prostitutes would be touting their wares among the carefree revellers. Pickpockets and cutpurses were everywhere, pickings being rich in the densely packed crowds. Youthful pickpockets were known as ‘Tyburn blossoms’.

  The mood of the gathering partly depended on the nature of the crimes which the condemned prisoners had committed, as did the number of spectators who were attracted. All, however, hoped for good entertainment. A prisoner considered a hero would bask in the adulation and good wishes of the crowds, admired perhaps because he had done those things which they themselves were afraid to do. However, a felon whose crimes aroused the crowd’s ire might be assailed by a rain of stones, rotting fruit and vegetables and excrement. So the people stood and watched, most at street level, others on rooftops or poking their heads out of upstairs windows and they cheered or jeered as they considered appropriate.

  The behaviour of the watching crowds along the route was not always predictable. A fifteen-year-old youth called Joseph Harris who was condemned to death for stealing two half-sovereigns and some silver was so terrified that he had to be lifted into the cart at Newgate. The authorities allowed his father to travel with him. He did so, cradling his son’s head in his lap. The crowd watched in silence, all sense of derision and mockery replaced by simple compassion, as the cart passed containing the pitiful youth and his weeping grey-haired father. Although the common impression is of crowds flocking to gloat at the pain and misery of the condemned felons, there were some, admittedly a small minority, who went in order to pray for the souls of those being executed. The crowds were not totally callous. There is a story of an orange-seller in the crowd at Tyburn who was knocked down and robbed by footpads. He was carried off to a nearby alehouse to have his injuries attended to and remained there for a few days being visited by literally hundreds of people solicitous for his welfare. This contrasts very sharply with the changing mood which coursed through the crowd when a procession to Tyburn was brought to a sudden unexpected halt because the hangman, William Marvell, was arrested for debt. Against a background of derisive and scoffing comments from the crowd, Marvell was hustled away. The procession continued, albeit no longer with Marvell at its head, until it reached Tyburn. There a bricklayer in the crowd volunteered to carry out the executioner’s duty but he was seized and beaten up severely. As something of an anti-climax for the expectant crowd, the prisoners were taken back to Newgate and their sentences commuted to transportation.

  Jonathan Wild, when he was at the height of his power, loved to regale and possibly terrify the people watching a procession to Tyburn with tales of how one or more of the prisoners passing by were there because of his relentless thief-taking efforts. This is probably one of the reasons why the crowds gave him such a torrid time when he made the same journey some time later.

  The journey was one of about three miles but no sooner had a start been made than the entourage would halt outside St Sepulchre’s, where the bellman would ring his handbell sonorously. He would then intone the following speech:

  All good people, pray heartily unto God for these poor sinners, who are going to their death, for whom this great bell doth toll. You that are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears; ask mercy of the Lord for the salvation of your souls through the merits, death, and passion of Jesus Christ, who now sits on the right hand of God, to make intercession for as many of you as penitently return unto him. Lord have mercy upon you! Christ have mercy upon you!

  The bellman would conclude by exhorting the crowd to pray for the souls of those soon to die after which he presented colourful nosegays to the condemned prisoners. Something likely to assist the chance of escaping would probably have been better appreciated.

  The procession would then resume its slow journey, stopping at one or more inns and taverns along the route to allow the condemned prisoners to take some refreshment. Another regular place for a halt was outside the hospital at St Giles-inthe-Fields where ale was available for the main participants in the spectacle. The story is told how on one occasion a solitary prisoner being conveyed from Newgate to Tyburn loftily spurned the offer of wayside drinks. He rather self-righteously informed all and sundry of his utter rejection of strong drink. The procession continued on its way and reached Tyburn where the hanging duly took place. If only the man had taken his drink, he would have lived to tell the story because a reprieve arrived a few minutes after he was hanged! This story may well be apocryphal because it is told about many other places of execution. Tyburn lore assures us that many prisoners took full advantage of the hospitality on offer. They were certainly encouraged to do so by the publicans along the way because where prisoners were allowed to get off the cart and enter their premises, they brought hordes of well-wishers with them and business boomed. The practice of allowing prisoners to drink may also have been for more rough-and-ready humanitarian purposes. The drinks acted as something of an anodyne to the terror that was obviously felt by most prisoners.

  Depending on their personality and character, some prisoners seemed to revel in their temporary stardom and waved to friends in the crowd and blew kisses or made lewd suggestions to pretty girls among the bystanders. Others, however, huddled in the bottom of the cart trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, suffused with terror and shaking like aspens. Prisoners of this sort attracted nothing but scorn from the crowd. Some prisoners apparently believed that even at this stage a reprieve might be possible and so they tried to slow the procession down. Even without their efforts, the journey could easily take at least three hours. Occasionally a prisoner would try to escape. If he was popular with the crowd they might do all they could to assist him. If he was disliked, he would find his way barred and would be quickly retaken.

  At Tyburn itself, a crowd would be waiting and the food and drink vendors would be doing a roaring trade, as would the thieves and pickpockets. Seats could be hired on viewing platforms known as ‘Tyburn pew openers’. Admission prices were carefully adjusted to take account of the fame and notoriety of the felon or felons being dealt with on that occasion. The most famous of these grandstands was known as ‘Mother Proctor’s Pew’ after its original owner and it would fill up very early if the occupants thought they were in for a good show. This structure had proved to be an excellent investment. First used in 1724, in 1760 when Earl Ferrers was executed it had netted its owner an estimated £5,000 or something approaching £450,000 in today’s prices. He was a star attraction despite the revulsion evoked by his behaviour. The theme of overcharging for these grandstand seats was a constant one until executions at Tyburn ended but, grumbling or not, patrons continued to pay the prices asked. In 1758 Dr Henesey delivered an apparently endless last speech from the gallows. It drove the spectators to distraction. They wanted to see him swing! A wave of fury coursed through the crowd when a reprieve was announced and a riot broke out in which the viewing stands were demolished. Their owner, protesting at the destruction, narr
owly escaped being hanged herself!

  The area around the gallows could become unpleasantly crowded as those devotees of a good hanging who had accompanied the procession jockeyed for a good view with those who had the fore-sight to get to Tyburn early. Tensions would build up in the crowd and a great cry of ‘Hats off! Hats off!’ went up as the procession made its way to the foot of the gallows platform. This was not intended to be a mark of respect for the condemned prisoner but rather a demand that those near the front should take their hats off so that those at the back could get a better view. Excitement and anticipation led to further roars as the hangman stepped forward and the condemned prisoners ascended the gallows. A few minutes might then pass while the hangman and his assistants placed nooses around the prisoners’ necks and, as became the practice, put hoods or bags over their heads. Large numbers of people could be milling about on, or close to, the scaffold at this point because friends and relatives wanted to offer the condemned prisoners last-minute moral support. The Ordinary might be fussing about, getting on everybody’s nerves, trying to extract juicy tit-bits from eleventh-hour confessions that would see the light of day in further broadsheets to be touted around the streets later. A homing pigeon was released when the entourage reached Tyburn to let those at Newgate know of the procession’s safe arrival.

  In one sense this was theatre. A convict by the name of Paynes, about to be hanged for murder, was enthusiastically applauded by the crowd when he unceremoniously pushed the Ordinary out of the cart. He then pulled off his own boots, declaring loudly that he was going to honour his mother and to confound the old proverb about not dying with one’s boots on! William Borwick, taken to Tyburn because he had murdered his wife, had the crowd in fits of laughter when he looked critically at the rope, felt it and tugged it with some care. He then told the onlookers that he hoped it was strong enough because he hated to think it might break. If it did, he would fall to the ground, fracturing some bones and might be crippled for life! Condemned robber Tom Austin, while waiting on the scaffold, was asked whether he had anything he wanted to say. His reply, which must have surprised those who heard him, was that he could see a woman in the crowd who had some curds and whey. These were one of his favourite comestibles. To a roar of approval from the crowd, he said that he wanted to know if he could buy a penn’orth because he wasn’t sure when he was going to have a chance to try them again.