Migoz2
Senator
Yes, I did. Nice touch.
And the breastfeeding episode is beautifully done. Great pathos without any melodrama.
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Hanged for Shoplifting, Being a True History of Mary Jones’ Sad Life and Death
- Thread starter Praefectus Praetorio
- Start date
And the breastfeeding episode is beautifully done. Great pathos without any melodrama.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Fully documented in the historical records that she breastfed her babe in the cart on the way to Tyburn.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
While there are, naturally, no images of poor Mary Jones, here is a print made August 16, 1787, almost exactly 16 years after she was arrested.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Why not?And they were actually allowed to search under her skirt???
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Setting Off to the Place of Execution
From the prison gate they made their slow and bumpy way west on Snowhill street. Even in the still early morning, in the waking City, many were aware of the events of the day and paid close attention to the carts and javelin men, clogging the already busy street. Through the ruins of the old “New Gate” in the ancient Roman wall of London, they left the City proper. Just after, they performed the customary stop at St Sepulchre-without-Newgate, where the bell would be tolled, and the minister chanted,
“You that are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears; ask mercy of the Lord for the salvation of your souls.”
As the procession resumed their slow march, the minister raised his voice to exhort the audience,
“All good people, pray heartily unto God for these poor sinners who are now going to their death, for whom the great bell tolls.”
A short, slow way down Snowhill Street brought them to busy Fleet Market, where Holbourn Bridge once crossed the New Canal (the Fleet River having been contained and directed). In the busy market, many looked up to see the death march, and more than a few admired the fair skin and naked breasts of the young girl. Rude comments flew, causing Mary to blush with shame. Abby finished feeding about then, and Mary hunched over in an attempt to modestly conceal her breasts.
The origin of the name, "Holbourn" is unclear, but may derive from the Middle English hol for "hollow", and bourne, a "brook", referring to the River Fleet as it ran through a steep valley to the east. By the time of our story, the street was paved (more or less) and quite narrow and inconvenient at first, but crossing Shoe Lane, it widened to a very broad and dry surface called Holbourn Hill.
As the carts went along Holbourn Hill, they passed St. Andrew Holbourn. The medieval St Andrew's survived the 1666 Great Fire of London, but was already in a bad state of repair and so was rebuilt by Christopher Wren.
In this busy spot, more attention was drawn to the procession as people leaned out of upper windows to watch the condemned go by. Louder and more sustained jeers arose and more obscene shouts rained down, especially on Mary, her large, breasts jiggling as the cart bumped along, stirring men especially to taunt her. With her arms bound behind, she could not cover herself and rather tried leaning forward to hide. The guard who removed her dress saw this and heard the voices in the crowd wanting to see better.
“Now, now, ye slattern,” he said, “Doncha go hiding thems beauties. Ye wanted them uncovered. Now’s time to flaunt them to the world.” He reached behind her and tied a short length of rope to that binding her wrists. He brought it down to the bottom rail on the side of the cart and cinched it short, pulled her arms down and back, and forced her to sit up. Laughing at the effectiveness of his handiwork, he then took the noose rope and did a half hitch on the upper rail holding her neck back.
Those who were watching applauded his work and even a few pennies were tossed his way. Now Mary sat bolt upright. With her elbows pulled back this meant her lovely, full breasts were thrust up and out, making a lascivious display for all to see! The Rev. Wood was deeply offended and felt pity for the girl, but knew he had no place to object.
Passing Chancery Lane, the route changed its name to High Holbourn and entered one of the important and powerful areas of London with the Inns of Court on both sides. Here the influential and wealthy lawyers worked and resided. Just beyond the intersection on the left as the carts proceeded was Staple Inn, one of the Inns of Chancery. It dates from 1585. It survived the Great Fire of London and has a distinctive timber-framed façade, cruck roof, and an internal courtyard – still standing today. Further on, also on the south side of High Holbourn was Bartlett's Buildings described as "a very handsome place, graced with good buildings of brick, with gardens behind the houses…” and that it was a region "very well inhabited by gentry, and persons of good repute."
Here, the crowds grew larger. Hangings at Tyburn only happened eight or nine times a year now and so had become important sources of “innocent” merriment for London’s populace. To watch the carts go by, to hurl abuse at the condemned and even, watching not to get a thumping from the javelin men, throwing objects such as rotten fruit, dead rats, or even small stones in an attempt to score a solid hit on the sinners was considered great fun by the youth. The sight of a beautiful, red and gold-haired young girl, stripped to the waist, with bigger and better breasts than most would ever see in their lifetimes, seemed to incite even more reckless language and actions. Mary received more than her fair share of the abuse.
At first, the Rev. Wood, sat near, trying help to shield her. But soon, he realized that doing so, exposed Abby to being in the line of fire. Looking around, he saw that the guards in both carts had moved away from the prisoners to avoid being hit. Reluctantly, he also retreated to the farthest part of the cart and held the baby, protected in his arms, leaving her poor mother fully exposed to the ire of the mob. A few tears ran down his cheeks.
Moving beyond the Inns of Court, at the intersection of Drury Lane, infamous for its collection of Brothels and Theaters, the road changed names to Broad St, St. Giles. Here, an old counselor who lived in Holbourn was accustomed every execution-day to give his clerks a half-holiday, sending them to see the show, and giving them this piece of advice: "Go, ye young rogues, go to school, and improve!"
For reasons not fully understood, there was often a calmer, gentler atmosphere in St. Giles for the condemned. Perhaps this neighborhood, reputed to contain many lawbreakers, was more sympathetic to the plight of the prisoners. No one knows, but today, there was a noticeable lull on entering Broad Street.
At the Alms House in the center of St. Giles, the short connector, Broad Place, branched off to the South. It would very soon split in three, King Street, Monmouth Street, and St. Andrew’s Street, where Edward was raised.
Edward Dennis had passed this place many times on the way to Tyburn and commonly thought nothing of it. Today, however, he was pensive. He noted the watchhouse on the corner, where his old “uncle” Howard Todd had worked. And looked longingly down the side road toward the place where he had been born and raised. His father had died several years ago, with the feud unresolved. Todd, the former watchman of St. Giles, had died last year. Thus, his connections here were all gone. For some reason that he didn’t understand, transporting sweet Mary Jones to her hanging, made his thoughts go to his own sweet mother, Rebecca. He had no reason to make a connection, but he felt a twinge of sympathy for the young mother who was about to die, even as he thought of his own. Ned tried to suppress the emotion; as hangman, he couldn’t pity the condemned, only do his job. But memories of his mother’s often wistful eyes merged inexplicably, with those of Mary.
A little way on, the procession passed, on the left, St Giles-in-the-fields, the third and final church that lines the route of the Tyburn procession (though still around a mile from the site of the gallows). The building is also the youngest of the three. Though the 18th-century design rests on much earlier foundations, at the time of Mary’s execution this ecclesiastical stripling had stood for only thirty-eight years. the present structure (in the Palladian style) was finished in 1733. The first recorded church on this site was a chapel of the parish of Holborn attached to a monastery and leper hospital founded by Matilda of Scotland,
The City Marshal halted the procession in front of the Bowl Inn, a final “watering place” for the condemned. Patrons at the tavern would offer to buy a drink for them, known as a "St Giles Bowl". Those who accepted climbed down and enjoyed the alcoholic refreshment. Mary, tied tightly to her seat could not. Her guard, a common and cruel man, intentionally left her there while enjoying the drink himself. When the drinks were downed, the prisoners remounted the carts, while the guards and the Ordinary with Abby stayed on the ground and moved to the side of the road with the mounted men. When all was in place, the Marshal instructed the procession to continue.
St Sepulchre - Captain John Smith, the reputed lover of the Indian Princess Pocahontas, lies buried here .
Staple Inn - The name derived from once being the “wool staple”, where wool was weighed and taxed. Staple (in French, étape; in german, stapeln), as well as its cognate, stable, is derived from the Latin, stabulum. But this wonderfully versatile Latin word may also mean dwelling, hut, tavern or brothel! Staple was a key element in the entire medieval system of trade and its taxation. Staple ports were where certain imports must be unloaded, weighed, and taxed. Staple would also be the building in which this activity was done. While the trade term has mostly died out, the meaning remains when indicating key commodities, staples.
The Road to Tyburn - For 300 years, doomed convicts had made the journey from where the Old Bailey now stands to the place of their demise, near the present site of Marble Arch. The spectators themselves are dead and buried, and most buildings that lined the way long since leveled. But beneath the stratum of 18th-century bricks and bones, millions still trace the same path today, albeit for different reasons. For between St Paul’s station and Marble Arch, the Central Line follows the last journey of Mary Jones and her innumerable doomed predecessors almost exactly. In 2016/17 over 280 million passenger journeys were recorded on the line.
From the prison gate they made their slow and bumpy way west on Snowhill street. Even in the still early morning, in the waking City, many were aware of the events of the day and paid close attention to the carts and javelin men, clogging the already busy street. Through the ruins of the old “New Gate” in the ancient Roman wall of London, they left the City proper. Just after, they performed the customary stop at St Sepulchre-without-Newgate, where the bell would be tolled, and the minister chanted,
“You that are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears; ask mercy of the Lord for the salvation of your souls.”
As the procession resumed their slow march, the minister raised his voice to exhort the audience,
“All good people, pray heartily unto God for these poor sinners who are now going to their death, for whom the great bell tolls.”
A short, slow way down Snowhill Street brought them to busy Fleet Market, where Holbourn Bridge once crossed the New Canal (the Fleet River having been contained and directed). In the busy market, many looked up to see the death march, and more than a few admired the fair skin and naked breasts of the young girl. Rude comments flew, causing Mary to blush with shame. Abby finished feeding about then, and Mary hunched over in an attempt to modestly conceal her breasts.
The origin of the name, "Holbourn" is unclear, but may derive from the Middle English hol for "hollow", and bourne, a "brook", referring to the River Fleet as it ran through a steep valley to the east. By the time of our story, the street was paved (more or less) and quite narrow and inconvenient at first, but crossing Shoe Lane, it widened to a very broad and dry surface called Holbourn Hill.
As the carts went along Holbourn Hill, they passed St. Andrew Holbourn. The medieval St Andrew's survived the 1666 Great Fire of London, but was already in a bad state of repair and so was rebuilt by Christopher Wren.
In this busy spot, more attention was drawn to the procession as people leaned out of upper windows to watch the condemned go by. Louder and more sustained jeers arose and more obscene shouts rained down, especially on Mary, her large, breasts jiggling as the cart bumped along, stirring men especially to taunt her. With her arms bound behind, she could not cover herself and rather tried leaning forward to hide. The guard who removed her dress saw this and heard the voices in the crowd wanting to see better.
“Now, now, ye slattern,” he said, “Doncha go hiding thems beauties. Ye wanted them uncovered. Now’s time to flaunt them to the world.” He reached behind her and tied a short length of rope to that binding her wrists. He brought it down to the bottom rail on the side of the cart and cinched it short, pulled her arms down and back, and forced her to sit up. Laughing at the effectiveness of his handiwork, he then took the noose rope and did a half hitch on the upper rail holding her neck back.
Those who were watching applauded his work and even a few pennies were tossed his way. Now Mary sat bolt upright. With her elbows pulled back this meant her lovely, full breasts were thrust up and out, making a lascivious display for all to see! The Rev. Wood was deeply offended and felt pity for the girl, but knew he had no place to object.
Passing Chancery Lane, the route changed its name to High Holbourn and entered one of the important and powerful areas of London with the Inns of Court on both sides. Here the influential and wealthy lawyers worked and resided. Just beyond the intersection on the left as the carts proceeded was Staple Inn, one of the Inns of Chancery. It dates from 1585. It survived the Great Fire of London and has a distinctive timber-framed façade, cruck roof, and an internal courtyard – still standing today. Further on, also on the south side of High Holbourn was Bartlett's Buildings described as "a very handsome place, graced with good buildings of brick, with gardens behind the houses…” and that it was a region "very well inhabited by gentry, and persons of good repute."
Here, the crowds grew larger. Hangings at Tyburn only happened eight or nine times a year now and so had become important sources of “innocent” merriment for London’s populace. To watch the carts go by, to hurl abuse at the condemned and even, watching not to get a thumping from the javelin men, throwing objects such as rotten fruit, dead rats, or even small stones in an attempt to score a solid hit on the sinners was considered great fun by the youth. The sight of a beautiful, red and gold-haired young girl, stripped to the waist, with bigger and better breasts than most would ever see in their lifetimes, seemed to incite even more reckless language and actions. Mary received more than her fair share of the abuse.
At first, the Rev. Wood, sat near, trying help to shield her. But soon, he realized that doing so, exposed Abby to being in the line of fire. Looking around, he saw that the guards in both carts had moved away from the prisoners to avoid being hit. Reluctantly, he also retreated to the farthest part of the cart and held the baby, protected in his arms, leaving her poor mother fully exposed to the ire of the mob. A few tears ran down his cheeks.
Moving beyond the Inns of Court, at the intersection of Drury Lane, infamous for its collection of Brothels and Theaters, the road changed names to Broad St, St. Giles. Here, an old counselor who lived in Holbourn was accustomed every execution-day to give his clerks a half-holiday, sending them to see the show, and giving them this piece of advice: "Go, ye young rogues, go to school, and improve!"
For reasons not fully understood, there was often a calmer, gentler atmosphere in St. Giles for the condemned. Perhaps this neighborhood, reputed to contain many lawbreakers, was more sympathetic to the plight of the prisoners. No one knows, but today, there was a noticeable lull on entering Broad Street.
At the Alms House in the center of St. Giles, the short connector, Broad Place, branched off to the South. It would very soon split in three, King Street, Monmouth Street, and St. Andrew’s Street, where Edward was raised.
Edward Dennis had passed this place many times on the way to Tyburn and commonly thought nothing of it. Today, however, he was pensive. He noted the watchhouse on the corner, where his old “uncle” Howard Todd had worked. And looked longingly down the side road toward the place where he had been born and raised. His father had died several years ago, with the feud unresolved. Todd, the former watchman of St. Giles, had died last year. Thus, his connections here were all gone. For some reason that he didn’t understand, transporting sweet Mary Jones to her hanging, made his thoughts go to his own sweet mother, Rebecca. He had no reason to make a connection, but he felt a twinge of sympathy for the young mother who was about to die, even as he thought of his own. Ned tried to suppress the emotion; as hangman, he couldn’t pity the condemned, only do his job. But memories of his mother’s often wistful eyes merged inexplicably, with those of Mary.
A little way on, the procession passed, on the left, St Giles-in-the-fields, the third and final church that lines the route of the Tyburn procession (though still around a mile from the site of the gallows). The building is also the youngest of the three. Though the 18th-century design rests on much earlier foundations, at the time of Mary’s execution this ecclesiastical stripling had stood for only thirty-eight years. the present structure (in the Palladian style) was finished in 1733. The first recorded church on this site was a chapel of the parish of Holborn attached to a monastery and leper hospital founded by Matilda of Scotland,
The City Marshal halted the procession in front of the Bowl Inn, a final “watering place” for the condemned. Patrons at the tavern would offer to buy a drink for them, known as a "St Giles Bowl". Those who accepted climbed down and enjoyed the alcoholic refreshment. Mary, tied tightly to her seat could not. Her guard, a common and cruel man, intentionally left her there while enjoying the drink himself. When the drinks were downed, the prisoners remounted the carts, while the guards and the Ordinary with Abby stayed on the ground and moved to the side of the road with the mounted men. When all was in place, the Marshal instructed the procession to continue.
St Sepulchre - Captain John Smith, the reputed lover of the Indian Princess Pocahontas, lies buried here .
Staple Inn - The name derived from once being the “wool staple”, where wool was weighed and taxed. Staple (in French, étape; in german, stapeln), as well as its cognate, stable, is derived from the Latin, stabulum. But this wonderfully versatile Latin word may also mean dwelling, hut, tavern or brothel! Staple was a key element in the entire medieval system of trade and its taxation. Staple ports were where certain imports must be unloaded, weighed, and taxed. Staple would also be the building in which this activity was done. While the trade term has mostly died out, the meaning remains when indicating key commodities, staples.
The Road to Tyburn - For 300 years, doomed convicts had made the journey from where the Old Bailey now stands to the place of their demise, near the present site of Marble Arch. The spectators themselves are dead and buried, and most buildings that lined the way long since leveled. But beneath the stratum of 18th-century bricks and bones, millions still trace the same path today, albeit for different reasons. For between St Paul’s station and Marble Arch, the Central Line follows the last journey of Mary Jones and her innumerable doomed predecessors almost exactly. In 2016/17 over 280 million passenger journeys were recorded on the line.
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Great writing, captivating prose! Lines like this one stir my heart:
ecclesiastical strippling? Love it
ecclesiastical strippling? Love it
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
The Tower of St. Sepulchre
St. Andrew Holborn
Staple Inn 1886
Staple Inn courtyard today
Past Staple Inn (on the far left) looking ahead to Bartlett's Buildings
St. Giles in the Fields (2012)
St. Andrew Holborn
Staple Inn 1886
Staple Inn courtyard today
Past Staple Inn (on the far left) looking ahead to Bartlett's Buildings
St. Giles in the Fields (2012)
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Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Recalling some readers reactions in Rebecca and some of the comments here, I feel compelled to, in all seriousness, issue this warning. Though I adore a fervent readership, I must tell you that this story will now become even darker and more pathetic. Up until, now, Mary has been spared significant abuse. That is changing, and will change rapidly. The story is not only intended to be historical, it shall be accurate and graphic. It should be no surprise that Mary will be hanged and will die. There will be no alternative ending, no Bobby Ewing waking up in the shower, no Dickensian Christmas!
This is your last chance to get off the train!
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
And let's not forget another children's song, with references to female prisoners "Here we go round the Mulberry bush" one origin of which is that it relates to the Mulberry bush in the middle of the female exercise yard at Wakefield gaol in Yorkshire. It died, but it's progeny will be replanted; mulberries don't really like the British climate.
Migoz2
Senator
Ancient history to a youngster like you, Barb.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
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Dallas. The show that gave us the great male chauvinist line from J.R. Ewing - "Now don't you worry your pretty little head, darlin' "
Don't you worry that pretty little, brunette head, Barbara darlin'.
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Dallas. The show that gave us the great male chauvinist line from J.R. Ewing - "Now don't you worry your pretty little head, darlin' "
Don't you worry that pretty little, brunette head, Barbara darlin'.
Bet he didn’t get many girls with a lame line like that, did he?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
He was a multi-millionaire oil tycoon. He got lots of a certain type of girl (a lot of them like you, I'd guess)
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Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Duh, Yes!View attachment 858902 is that what you think of me? One of THOSE girls?
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Migoz2
Senator
Another one of dubious origin. Of course mulberries are fine trees, not bushes. James VI and I In letters of 1607-8 asked the nobility to plant 10 000 mulberry trees to support an English silk industry to rival that of the continent. Silk production didn't take off in England, though, perhaps because black mulberries were planted and not white, which produces finer silk.
As to 'Here we go round', Thomas Hardy (born 1840) knew the game as 'All around the gooseberry bush', other 19th century records include 'bramble bush' (1849), holly bush (Notts. 1894), 'ivy bush' (Norfolk 1894), though admittedly a lady born c1814 said she remembered 'mulberry bush'. And across the pond 'Here we go round the prickly pear' (T S Eliot, no less, b. St Louis 1888) and 'barberry bush' (MA 1882, MO c1900) Dancing around trees (or bushes) certainly goes back a long way, medieval paintings, even prehistoric pots, show people doing it. I can well believe the women in Wakefield Prison danced around that tree singing that song, but whether it originated there is another matter.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
The Madding Crowd
The pause in St. Giles was always the “calm before the storm” for the condemned. Just after the Bowl Inn on St. Giles Road, things really heated up. These processions, which occurred only eight times a year, were held to be among the capital’s most exciting events. Raucous crowds gathered on the remaining route to Tyburn and in the doorways and the windows of houses with a view (some let out for this purpose.) Cheering and shouting vied with preaching and jeering, and during the hour it took to cover the remaining mile, the spectacle of impending death would unite the metropolis in an outpouring of heightened emotion.
The bend at the end of St Giles Road is marked today by the concrete totem of Centre Point. The path soon turned west on Oxford Street which fed into Tyburn Road. A change in the urban landscape would, at this moment, have made itself felt to the procession. For it had reached Oxford Street, a region that was at the edge of the capital.
Today, on Britain’s biggest high street, the bustle, noise and sheer magnitude of human traffic most closely recapitulate that of the heaving crowds who turned out for the excitement of an execution. Up to this time, most onlookers were casual inhabitants or random passersby, who stopped to hurl insults at the criminals. After leaving St. Giles, the crowds lining the road had come out to watch the spectacle. All class of people, many very rough, they were there to make sport of the victims.
The cavalry escort was usually more than enough to prevent any rush on the carts, but they did not have the means to suppress the mob's hurling of insults and projectiles. The horsemen rode as far to the edge of the road as possible to avoid being struck themselves. For this reason, all who could, abandoned the prisoner’s carts, and walked alongside the horses, leaving the crowd an unobstructed view and target in the carts. Several of their number felt pity for the victims; John Wood, as he held Abby protectively, had tears streaming down his cheeks at his helplessness. It all was part of a dark ritual of cruelty deeply ingrained in the blood-lust of the mob, and none could do anything to stop it.
Now, the projectiles came far faster and with more force than earlier. The same disgusting objects, dead vermin, rotten food, and even excrement were hurled. But now young toughs began to test their aim with small sharp stones and rocks, selected to cut and hurt. Among these was Tommy Nose(I), 18, an apprentice in a tanner’s shop. He stood on the south side of Oxford with a handful of stones he had spent all morning collecting just for this moment. He was known among his mates as having the strongest and truest arm and today, he wanted to test it with living, human targets.
As he saw the lead cart come around the corner onto Oxford, he readied a stone in his hand and watched for the prisoner carts. Seeing the first he looking to pick his target. He focused on the tall figure of Richard Thompson, with his broad back to Tommy. A swift cock of her arm and the boy sent the hard rock flying. Its aim was true. It caught Richard between the shoulder blades and he jumped and cried out in pain. Tommy grinned broadly through her uneven teeth and reached for his second stone. Looking up, that cart was almost past, so he glanced at the third.
Against the dull, drab faces and clothes of the males condemned, the fair pink skin of Mary’s torso stood out like a beacon. Tommy did a double-take as he realized this very pretty girl was naked to the waist. With his pockmarked face, an embarrassing stutter, and little social graces, Tommy had been rejected by most girls he’d tried to meet. And now, here was this beautiful angel, displaying herself to him. A little closer and he could clearly see her large and firm breasts, capped with bright coral nipples. All thoughts of tormenting others in the procession evaporated as he focused all his attention on the young, vulnerable girl.
Aroused by the thought of hurting those lovely breasts, Tommy rushed his next throw. His aim was good but not perfect and it grazed off her right flank just at her waist, leaving a small cut, evidenced by drops of blood. He was a bit surprised that she hadn’t jumped and reacted more. He swore to himself he'd get a better reaction with his next shot. He threw his next when Mary was almost directly in front of him. This time his aim was true and strong, landing right in the middle of her left nipple, still tumescent from suckling, sinking deeply into the soft flesh and making a cut in the skin. Drops of bright red blood appeared, contrasting with the fair, pink skin. Mary screamed in pain, but her bonds kept her from jumping or protecting herself in any way.
Tommy readied his third shot, determined to land the hardest blow yet, and make this slattern jump from pain. But, as he drew back his arm and the cart had moved just beyond him, he spied the ropes holding her in place and the tight noose keeping her upright. The boy threw down the rock in disgust.
While Tommy was a cruel and unfeeling young man, he had a sense of fair play. The lad had always hated cock throwing. He craved a test of skill, a fair chance between hunter and hunted. Having Mary tied and unable to dodge his shots revolted him.
Proud of his skill, yet feeling sympathy for the pinioned girl, Tommy joined the crowd behind the carts in following the march to the hanging. He wanted to see the lovely, sexy girl meet her fate.
Throngs of people lined the route as Oxford Street changed to Tyburn Road and the procession wound its way westward. A hundred and ten years earlier, the road was an elevated path through farm fields and mire on either side. Then the new development of King Square appeared to the left stretching south. By Mary’s time it had been renamed Soho Square; the central garden and some buildings were owned by heirs to the Dukedom of Portland's great London estates.
The rapidly expanding populace of the great city moved relentless west, filling in these areas. Forty-five years ago, the area west of Soho was developed into the newly fashionable suburbs of Grosvenor Square. Development there continued south and west, eventually to Green Park and Buckingham Palace. On this day, the northern expanse on the right was partially filled in with modest, lower-middle-class homes of the Marylebone neighborhood which would stretch before too many years to a future Regent’s Park.
This development had changed the quiet country lane into a packed thoroughfare with crowds heading for the hanging and worrying the condemned on the way. Mary, beautiful, sexy, and vulnerable, continued the choice target of the horde’s bloodlust. If the procession had not been surrounded by mounted and armed soldiers, it is quite possible that the mob would have seized the girl from the cart and, in their cruel fury, torn her limb from limb; preceding which, the men would surely have perpetrated indignities too vile to mention.
The above is not intended to mean that all were without sympathy. It was a broad cross-section of London society that attended hangings. Bloodlust, curiosity, support for justice, maudlin arousal – many reasons drove people to the spectacle. For many, it was simply to be where so many others were, to be part of something much bigger than themselves – the primal urge of belonging to the mob. Therefore, we can be sure that there were many in the crowd who looked on poor Mary with pity and even love. However, each one was alone and dared not express such feelings, while surrounded by so many calling out in the vilest and most violent terms for cruelty to the girl. There is a record of some in the press having tears staining their cheeks.
The Place of Execution
On arrival at Tyburn around noon, near what is now Marble Arch, some three hours after they had left Newgate, the prisoners were greeted by an even larger crowd, of more than 50,000 people, who had come to watch the spectacle. A reader from today, transported back to that scene would imagine herself in the middle of a large county fair, missing only the rides and the bandstand blaring over-amplified music. Though estimated as three-to-one men, the attendance represented all ages and strata of society, from dirty street urchins to powdered and perfumed nobility, trailing retainers. Large, temporary bleachers were constructed on the north and west sides of the square for paying customers.
Amongst the crowd were hawkers selling food or strong beverage from carts or backpacks, others offering souvenirs and hats and fans and vinaigrettes to deal with the close air of the crowd in the heavy multi-layer clothing of the day. It has often been said that many pickpockets were operating among the crowd, despite the fact that it was frequently some of their number who were being hanged.
Perhaps most remarkable were the people selling copies of broadsides purporting to contain the prisoners' last dying speeches and the confessions of the condemned (bear in mind these were printed several days before they had been executed).
At the center of this cacophony of activity was the gallows. Three sturdy posts, a little over twelve feet high, supported a triangle of beams. The large structure had been known to handle the hanging of twenty-four at once. A ladder set against one beam allowed two of the Yeoman to climb up and move precariously around the triangle. Under Marshal Breaker had his men back the carts under two of the beams.
Historical Note:
Tommy Nose – He is the only purely fictional creation in the entire story. I perceived the need for his role to illustrate the casual brutality present in the crowd. Of course, no record of such a person would survive. He is invented out of whole cloth, but to me, he is one of the most real characters in the story. Similarly, there is no detailed record of a rock hitting Mary in the breast. However, given the circumstances, the incident was highly likely, and, if it occurred would not be reported.
Cock throwing - also known as cock-shying or throwing at cocks, was a cruel blood sport widely practiced in England until the late 18th century. A rooster was tied to a post, and people took turns throwing coksteles (special weighted sticks) at the bird until it died. Cock throwing was traditionally associated with Shrove Tuesday.
Marylebone - The area drew its name from the church of St. Mary at the Bourne (bourne meaning stream) which was passed through Norman French as Mary-la-bonne and at last to its current spelling. The stream was the Tibourne which would give its name to the gallows crossroad. The “river” Tiburn eventually split in two to enter the Thames, creating Thorney Island, where Kings early built a Palace and an Abbey in the Westminster district and they are known and seen today as Westminster Abbey and the Palace of Westminster, the home of the British Parliament.
Vinaigrettes - were small decorative boxes that were used as an alternative method of carrying perfume and scents. The perfume, or aromatic vinegar, would be contained within these boxes (often made of Sterling silver) soaked in a sponge.
The pause in St. Giles was always the “calm before the storm” for the condemned. Just after the Bowl Inn on St. Giles Road, things really heated up. These processions, which occurred only eight times a year, were held to be among the capital’s most exciting events. Raucous crowds gathered on the remaining route to Tyburn and in the doorways and the windows of houses with a view (some let out for this purpose.) Cheering and shouting vied with preaching and jeering, and during the hour it took to cover the remaining mile, the spectacle of impending death would unite the metropolis in an outpouring of heightened emotion.
The bend at the end of St Giles Road is marked today by the concrete totem of Centre Point. The path soon turned west on Oxford Street which fed into Tyburn Road. A change in the urban landscape would, at this moment, have made itself felt to the procession. For it had reached Oxford Street, a region that was at the edge of the capital.
Today, on Britain’s biggest high street, the bustle, noise and sheer magnitude of human traffic most closely recapitulate that of the heaving crowds who turned out for the excitement of an execution. Up to this time, most onlookers were casual inhabitants or random passersby, who stopped to hurl insults at the criminals. After leaving St. Giles, the crowds lining the road had come out to watch the spectacle. All class of people, many very rough, they were there to make sport of the victims.
The cavalry escort was usually more than enough to prevent any rush on the carts, but they did not have the means to suppress the mob's hurling of insults and projectiles. The horsemen rode as far to the edge of the road as possible to avoid being struck themselves. For this reason, all who could, abandoned the prisoner’s carts, and walked alongside the horses, leaving the crowd an unobstructed view and target in the carts. Several of their number felt pity for the victims; John Wood, as he held Abby protectively, had tears streaming down his cheeks at his helplessness. It all was part of a dark ritual of cruelty deeply ingrained in the blood-lust of the mob, and none could do anything to stop it.
Now, the projectiles came far faster and with more force than earlier. The same disgusting objects, dead vermin, rotten food, and even excrement were hurled. But now young toughs began to test their aim with small sharp stones and rocks, selected to cut and hurt. Among these was Tommy Nose(I), 18, an apprentice in a tanner’s shop. He stood on the south side of Oxford with a handful of stones he had spent all morning collecting just for this moment. He was known among his mates as having the strongest and truest arm and today, he wanted to test it with living, human targets.
As he saw the lead cart come around the corner onto Oxford, he readied a stone in his hand and watched for the prisoner carts. Seeing the first he looking to pick his target. He focused on the tall figure of Richard Thompson, with his broad back to Tommy. A swift cock of her arm and the boy sent the hard rock flying. Its aim was true. It caught Richard between the shoulder blades and he jumped and cried out in pain. Tommy grinned broadly through her uneven teeth and reached for his second stone. Looking up, that cart was almost past, so he glanced at the third.
Against the dull, drab faces and clothes of the males condemned, the fair pink skin of Mary’s torso stood out like a beacon. Tommy did a double-take as he realized this very pretty girl was naked to the waist. With his pockmarked face, an embarrassing stutter, and little social graces, Tommy had been rejected by most girls he’d tried to meet. And now, here was this beautiful angel, displaying herself to him. A little closer and he could clearly see her large and firm breasts, capped with bright coral nipples. All thoughts of tormenting others in the procession evaporated as he focused all his attention on the young, vulnerable girl.
Aroused by the thought of hurting those lovely breasts, Tommy rushed his next throw. His aim was good but not perfect and it grazed off her right flank just at her waist, leaving a small cut, evidenced by drops of blood. He was a bit surprised that she hadn’t jumped and reacted more. He swore to himself he'd get a better reaction with his next shot. He threw his next when Mary was almost directly in front of him. This time his aim was true and strong, landing right in the middle of her left nipple, still tumescent from suckling, sinking deeply into the soft flesh and making a cut in the skin. Drops of bright red blood appeared, contrasting with the fair, pink skin. Mary screamed in pain, but her bonds kept her from jumping or protecting herself in any way.
Tommy readied his third shot, determined to land the hardest blow yet, and make this slattern jump from pain. But, as he drew back his arm and the cart had moved just beyond him, he spied the ropes holding her in place and the tight noose keeping her upright. The boy threw down the rock in disgust.
While Tommy was a cruel and unfeeling young man, he had a sense of fair play. The lad had always hated cock throwing. He craved a test of skill, a fair chance between hunter and hunted. Having Mary tied and unable to dodge his shots revolted him.
Proud of his skill, yet feeling sympathy for the pinioned girl, Tommy joined the crowd behind the carts in following the march to the hanging. He wanted to see the lovely, sexy girl meet her fate.
Throngs of people lined the route as Oxford Street changed to Tyburn Road and the procession wound its way westward. A hundred and ten years earlier, the road was an elevated path through farm fields and mire on either side. Then the new development of King Square appeared to the left stretching south. By Mary’s time it had been renamed Soho Square; the central garden and some buildings were owned by heirs to the Dukedom of Portland's great London estates.
The rapidly expanding populace of the great city moved relentless west, filling in these areas. Forty-five years ago, the area west of Soho was developed into the newly fashionable suburbs of Grosvenor Square. Development there continued south and west, eventually to Green Park and Buckingham Palace. On this day, the northern expanse on the right was partially filled in with modest, lower-middle-class homes of the Marylebone neighborhood which would stretch before too many years to a future Regent’s Park.
This development had changed the quiet country lane into a packed thoroughfare with crowds heading for the hanging and worrying the condemned on the way. Mary, beautiful, sexy, and vulnerable, continued the choice target of the horde’s bloodlust. If the procession had not been surrounded by mounted and armed soldiers, it is quite possible that the mob would have seized the girl from the cart and, in their cruel fury, torn her limb from limb; preceding which, the men would surely have perpetrated indignities too vile to mention.
The above is not intended to mean that all were without sympathy. It was a broad cross-section of London society that attended hangings. Bloodlust, curiosity, support for justice, maudlin arousal – many reasons drove people to the spectacle. For many, it was simply to be where so many others were, to be part of something much bigger than themselves – the primal urge of belonging to the mob. Therefore, we can be sure that there were many in the crowd who looked on poor Mary with pity and even love. However, each one was alone and dared not express such feelings, while surrounded by so many calling out in the vilest and most violent terms for cruelty to the girl. There is a record of some in the press having tears staining their cheeks.
The Place of Execution
On arrival at Tyburn around noon, near what is now Marble Arch, some three hours after they had left Newgate, the prisoners were greeted by an even larger crowd, of more than 50,000 people, who had come to watch the spectacle. A reader from today, transported back to that scene would imagine herself in the middle of a large county fair, missing only the rides and the bandstand blaring over-amplified music. Though estimated as three-to-one men, the attendance represented all ages and strata of society, from dirty street urchins to powdered and perfumed nobility, trailing retainers. Large, temporary bleachers were constructed on the north and west sides of the square for paying customers.
Amongst the crowd were hawkers selling food or strong beverage from carts or backpacks, others offering souvenirs and hats and fans and vinaigrettes to deal with the close air of the crowd in the heavy multi-layer clothing of the day. It has often been said that many pickpockets were operating among the crowd, despite the fact that it was frequently some of their number who were being hanged.
Perhaps most remarkable were the people selling copies of broadsides purporting to contain the prisoners' last dying speeches and the confessions of the condemned (bear in mind these were printed several days before they had been executed).
At the center of this cacophony of activity was the gallows. Three sturdy posts, a little over twelve feet high, supported a triangle of beams. The large structure had been known to handle the hanging of twenty-four at once. A ladder set against one beam allowed two of the Yeoman to climb up and move precariously around the triangle. Under Marshal Breaker had his men back the carts under two of the beams.
Historical Note:
Tommy Nose – He is the only purely fictional creation in the entire story. I perceived the need for his role to illustrate the casual brutality present in the crowd. Of course, no record of such a person would survive. He is invented out of whole cloth, but to me, he is one of the most real characters in the story. Similarly, there is no detailed record of a rock hitting Mary in the breast. However, given the circumstances, the incident was highly likely, and, if it occurred would not be reported.
Cock throwing - also known as cock-shying or throwing at cocks, was a cruel blood sport widely practiced in England until the late 18th century. A rooster was tied to a post, and people took turns throwing coksteles (special weighted sticks) at the bird until it died. Cock throwing was traditionally associated with Shrove Tuesday.
Marylebone - The area drew its name from the church of St. Mary at the Bourne (bourne meaning stream) which was passed through Norman French as Mary-la-bonne and at last to its current spelling. The stream was the Tibourne which would give its name to the gallows crossroad. The “river” Tiburn eventually split in two to enter the Thames, creating Thorney Island, where Kings early built a Palace and an Abbey in the Westminster district and they are known and seen today as Westminster Abbey and the Palace of Westminster, the home of the British Parliament.
Vinaigrettes - were small decorative boxes that were used as an alternative method of carrying perfume and scents. The perfume, or aromatic vinegar, would be contained within these boxes (often made of Sterling silver) soaked in a sponge.