Executioners

by Phil Clarke

  For those who could not, or would not pay the inflated prices, there were other ways of ensuring one had an uninterrupted view of the proceedings. One could hire a ladder to see over the crowds or if you were particularly fortunate, there were the perfectly positioned houses surrounding Tyburn that provided a fantastic view. One of these houses was used by the sheriff and under sheriff of Middlesex and their respec­tive guests. It must have been akin to a modern-day royal box at the theatre. As for the friends and family of the condemned, they would often force their way to the front and stand at the foot of the gallows while those behind would prepare to shout, ‘Hats Off!’ when the procession pulled in. Far from a mark of respect, this ensured that one got a clear view of the execution and those that failed to heed the call would often have their headwear knocked off and thrown about the crowds. Inane games such as these helped to pass the time while they waited for the paraded prisoners to arrive.

  The Main Event

  Depending on the level of ‘traffic’ that hindered their progress, the procession of carts carrying the doomed surrounded by mounted javelin men reached their final destination at about midday. The gallows were now in plain sight. Fuelled by numerous ales consumed along the journey, the stars of the show endeavoured to steel themselves on seeing the giant contraption that would publicly and eternally silence them. The convoy of carts trundled over the uneven cobbles; the gallows getting closer and looming larger with every passing second. On reaching the scaffold, the team of executioners would go straight into their preparatory routine backing the carts up underneath the relevant crossbeam while the assistant execu­tioner earned his fee in scaling the 5.5 metres (18 foot) high structure and perching precariously upon the top strut to receive the noose-less ends of the rope that had been coiled about the prisoners’ bodies. These were thrown up to him to ensure there was little or no slack afforded to the condemned once they cleared the crossbeam.

  The ordinary or prison chaplain who had travelled with the prisoners in the cart would then pray for their souls, reciting the 51st Psalm, which was commonly known as the Neck Verse. In the Middle Ages, it was customary to commute the sentence of those who could repeat the first verse of this psalm as literacy was a rare attribute of that time. As levels of education improved it became necessary to amend this ruling and many of the severe crimes were excluded from absolution.

  Up to this point the stars of the show – the condemned – milked the attention for all it was worth with clever witticisms and parting words or violent acts. Either way it added to the spectacle. The crowd who flocked to Tyburn on the 4 May 1763 witnessed one of the more vicious acts performed at this morbid theatre, when Hannah Dagoe was escorted to the gallows. On reaching the scaffold, this wild Irish woman managed to free herself from her restraints and launched herself at her executioner, Thomas Turlis, striking him on his chest with such force that it almost knocked him down. She dared the hangman to do his job and when he failed to speedily dispatch the harridan, she finished off the final act by throwing herself out of the cart, resulting in an instant but gratifying death for the crowd. One would have expected a far deeper sense of grief and shock from the likes of Dagoe and the countless others condemned to wear the Hempen collar, but it is clear that many were certainly up to treading the boards of the gallows theatre and entertaining the masses with one last performance.

  Once the final bow had been taken, it was time for the hangman to take centre stage, often to a volley of insults and missiles thrown from the crowd. The executioner pulled the white night cap over the face of the condemned in order to hide the ghastly contortions they would soon be making as they struggled at the end of the rope. The carts were then whipped away by the execution team, removing the ground from beneath the prisoners. The fall was just enough to cause a slow and agonising death by strangulation and there is every reason to believe that the pain felt was of the very worst, as this short drop method did nothing to affect the sensory pathways but simply caused the rope to press upon the jugular vein and carotid arteries. This pain was widely known, as even the friends and relatives of the dying would often turn executioner and advance on the gallows to pull down on the legs of their loved ones, quickening their passing.

  If the twisting, contorting bodies continued to dance without any sign of assistance, then the execu­tioner added his considerable weight by hanging from the legs of his victim. The victims themselves did what they could to prevent a time-consuming death. On Wednesday 3 October 1750, gentleman highway­man James Maclean endeavoured to provide himself with a quick death by kicking off his shoes and jumping into the air with his knees to his chest, effecting a sudden jerk of the rope in order to quickly snap his neck. It worked, and for the last time Maclean robbed the people – this time of a long drawn-out death.

  The After Show party

  Once the prisoner had been allowed to hang for the proper amount of time (normally no less than half an hour) and an official pronouncement of death had been issued, there would often be a fierce scramble for the deceased. This fervent throng surrounding the just-dead would more than likely include the executioner, who did his best to make sure he acquired what was legally his. One of the rare perks of the hangman’s job was his right to the dead man’s attire. This often prompted the condemned man or woman to dress in their worst clothing so as to not provide their executioner with anything valuable to sell. (Hannah Dagoe actually stripped and threw her clothes to the crowd!) The more astute dressed in their best clothes in an attempt to appease the man who was responsible for their deaths. Earl Ferrers, the first nobleman to be hanged at Tyburn, took to the gallows dressed in the suit he was married in.

  The execution team speedily cut down the corpse and stripped the body before the scaffold area was stormed. The man who executed Reverend James Hackman knew how sharp he had to be to ensure his property did not disappear into the wrong pocket. On 19 April 1779, the clergyman released his handkerchief as a sign for the cart to be whisked away, but instead of whipping the horse, the hangman jumped across and snatched up the discarded fabric, preventing it from being pinched by the crowd.

  In keeping with the disturbingly licentious atmos­phere that existed among the baying horde at a Tyburn hanging, many fought to the foot of the gallows to make contact with the dead. In these unenlightened times, it was believed a dead body, as well as the acoutrements which accom­panied it, held curative powers. The sick lurched forward to wipe their sores with the death sweat from the executed. Touching the still warm skin was thought to heal disease. Those sufferers who could not get to the sick-swarmed body often made for the gallows themselves, as even a strip of wood from the structure was thought to be equally powerful in restoring health.

  Headaches were considered no match for the hanging rope or ‘anodyne necklace’ as it was nick­named. This was the property of the executioner who sold sections of it to believers. The reasoning behind such beliefs finds as much solid ground as the floundering legs of the hanged, it appears that the only true way of curing a headache by the halter was to be hanged by it! Thankfully, faith in such macabre methods dwindled and the only lasting tribute to survive is the phrase: ‘money for old rope’ that was coined from this practice.

  The Deceased

  Not all those at the front row of executions were there for entertainment reasons. As we have seen already, the friends and family of the condemned would flock to the fore to provide a mercy killing if death was not instantaneous, but they also had another reason for their close proximity. While the hangman would strip the corpse of its clothes, relations would take possession of the body and whisk it away for proper burial.

  This seizing of the body became all the more important for the families midway through the eighteenth century with the passing of the ominously titled Murder Act of 1752. Among its clauses it per­mitted ten corpses a year hanged at Tyburn to make their way to Surgeon’s Hall for dissection, the first being seventeen-year-old Thomas Woolford on 22 June of that year.


  The doctors sent out messengers to claim the bodies freshly cut down from their ropes, and would have to fight for the cadavers with the relatives who, the majority of them God-fearing, believed that only an undamaged body could be resur­rected into the after­life. There were, however, many unconcerned by such religious convictions. It was not a rare occur­rence for the more poverty stricken to help out the surgeons with their annual quota of corpses by selling their dead loved ones to them for anatomisation.

  The Curtain Falls

  By the second half of the eighteenth century, the reign of the Tyburn gallows was coming to an end. The riotous and unruly crowds that packed the streets on ‘hanging day’ had taken their toll on the area and the voices of its detractors were becoming louder. The ever-present, ever-passionate mob brought severe traffic congestion, as well as real danger of violence to Tyburn and the surrounding wards, which were now fast-becoming fashionable places to live. The residents of the district clearly had enough clout behind their complaints and soon managed to force the once permanent fixture out of this newly trendy neigh­bourhood. On the 7 November 1783, the last execution at Tyburn took place. The highwayman John Austin was disected in the same manner as the gallows. Austin by way of Surgeon’s Hall, and the gallows by a carpenter who dismantled the structure to make stands for the beer butts in the cellars beneath The Carpenter’s Arms pub.

  Having been ousted by the elitist residents, the official execution site for London moved to a more fitting location: that of Newgate Gaol. This brought an end to the celebrated tradition of the 4-kilometre (21⁄2-mile) journey, including the courage-providing pub stops as the prisoners were kept no more than a stone’s throw from their eventual place of death. The gallows were built directly outside the debtor’s door in a funnel-shaped street the authorities hoped would help minimise the size of the crowds. While this location was indeed a smaller space than at Tyburn, it did not always prevent the masses from congregating. In 1807, the hangings of popular criminals Haggerty and Holloway attracted more than 40,000 citizens of London – a number too great for the area outside the gaol. Many onlookers hoping to catch the sight of a public execution were themselves crushed and trampled to death. Yet from its inauguration on the 9 December 1783, it was considered a success and public executions continued outside Newgate until 1868, when a report by the Capital Punishment Commission proposed private death penalties and a bill quickly became law on 29 May of that year. All further executions would take place behind prison walls. Since its departure from Tyburn in 1783 to the eventual closure of Newgate prison in 1902, a total of 1,118 men and forty-nine women were hanged on the gallows. The last unfortunate ‘star’ publicly executed was Fenian revolutionary Michael Barrett for his part in the bombing of the Coldbath Fields Prison at Clerkenwell, which killed a dozen and severely injured many others in an attempted prison break.

  The remains of Michael Barrett lay undisturbed for thirty-five years in a lime grave inside the walls of Newgate prison. However, when the prison was demolished in 1903, his grave was moved to the City of London cemetery where it has remained un­disturbed. Today the grave is a place of Irish pilgrimage and is marked by a small plaque.

  The Journey to Tyburn

  The last day of a condemned prisoner’s life was often a celebrated one. Pomp and ceremony surrounded those on their journey from their place of incarceration at Newgate Gaol to the fatal Tyburn gibbet. This 4-kilometre (21⁄2-mile) trip down the capital’s narrow cobbled streets took anything up to three hours to complete, as their passage was hindered by thousands of eager voyeurs seeking to catch a momentary glimpse of the convicts destined to die. The day was a happy one for law-abiding citizens for the hanging day was deemed a holiday, and incurred much merriment and frivolity.

  For the unlucky stars of the show, the fateful day began bright and early in the morning after what must have been, at best, a fitful night’s sleep. At around seven o’clock the prisoner was escorted from his cell to the Press Yard, still manacled at the wrists and ankles. In this room at Newgate the blacksmith removed these unwanted accessories and the executioner of the day, known as the Yeoman of the Halter, bound the prisoner’s hands in front of him to allow him or her the opportunity to pray at any point during the remaining hours. At this stage, the rope – this primitive weapon of mass destruction – was placed around the prisoner’s neck and the excess was coiled around the body like a deadly snake. Once the rope was in place, the condemned was ready to be placed in whichever mode of transport was provided for the terrible trip to the scaffold.

  Taxi to Tyburn

  The manner in which the prisoners made their journey developed over the years. In the beginning, the condemned were unceremoniously dragged by horse across the hard cobblestones and through the filth and feculence of the street. However, this tech­nique was soon scrapped because many never made it to their destination.

  This harsh treatment was soon replaced with the less extreme ox-hide or hurdle, which was akin to a sledge fixed behind a horse. Murderess Catherine Hayes endured this means of transport on Monday, 9 May 1726. Such an apparatus must have still ensured the prisoner’s last trip would be a bumpy one but at least they did not die en route!

  The hurdle made way for a horse-drawn cart, which came with several advantages for all con­cerned. Aside from affording a more comfortable ride, the cart also allowed for more prisoners (along with their respective coffins) to be transported to the gallows in a shorter space of time, thus speeding up the process. While this may not have been popular with the bloodthirsty crowd, the cart did make the prisoner more visible to the hordes, providing the condemned with an improved mobile stage from which to be seen. The captivated crowds on 16 September 1771 would have witnessed shoplifter Mary Jones in the cart – with her young baby along for the ride!

  There was one other mode of transport that was available to these convicted travellers. This was the mourning coach, the eighteenth-century version of the modern funeral car. A black horse would draw this carriage shrouded in black cloth to the scaffold but it was not a free ride. As well as paying the ultimate price for their crimes, if they wished for the seclusion and shelter of such a vehicle then they had to pay further. Those rich enough to cover the cost of the coach opted for this means of transport to protect them from the more vitriolic crowds and also as a boost to their image, much as many modern-day stars use blacked-out limousines. One such celebrity criminal was Jenny Diver. Her real name was Mary Young, but she had been given this sobri­quet by her gang on account of her pickpocketing skills. On Wednesday 18 March 1741, she made the journey to Tyburn in a mourning coach dressed all in black with the Newgate ordinary, or prison chaplain, Reverend Boughton, for company. It was to him that Jenny, overcome with remorse and faced with the reality of her fate, confessed the sins of her forty years inside this private coach.

  The Procession

  As well as the ordinary, the prisoners were accom­panied by other players in their downfall. This pro­cession was led by the city marshall and included the hangman himself along with his aides and a troop of mounted guards equipped with javelins that sur­rounded the prisoner to prevent escape and to protect them from the masses. The convoy left Newgate and stopped outside the nearby St Sepulchre’s Church, where a bell rang to sound the fate of the condemned. It continued until the deed had been done. The minister chanted the following in order to appeal to any piety within both the prisoners and the crowd:

  You that are condemned to die

  Repent with lamentable tears.

  Ask mercy of the Lord for salvation of your souls.

  All good people, pray heartily to God

  For these poor sinners who now go to their deaths

  For whom the great bell tolls.

  People outside the church offered the condemned nose­gays (small posies of flowers) for the rest of their journey. While this must have been welcomed by many, those chosen to die that day were probably looking forward to something a little stronger.
/>   Pub Crawl

  After passing by St Sepulchre’s, the spectacle would then head down Snow Hill and over the Fleet Ditch by way of a stone bridge before ascending the incline at High Holborn. It would then find itself on St Giles High Street, upon which stood St Giles-in-the-fields Hospital – originally a chapel linked to a twelfth- century infirmary charged with the care of lepers. Thanks to Queen Matilda, the wife of Henry I, a charitable gift was granted to the prisoners. They were provided with a ‘parting cup’ of ale. This bequest soon became a tradition and the records state that it was rare for the condemned to refrain from partaking of a swift pint. One recorded exception of abstention is steeped in irony. Turning down the offer, this Tyburn-bound teetotaller was promptly taken to the gallows and executed where, minutes later, a reprieve arrived for him. If he had drunk that one free pint, his neck would have remained intact!

  The free drink at St Giles-in-the-Fields Hospital was eventually discontinued in 1750, but was soon pro­vided by the Bowl Tavern, which stood between St Giles’ High Street and Hog Lane. This was not the only place that offered the gift of alcohol to the con­demned. Another stop was frequently made at the Mason’s Arms in Seymour Place, and in its cellars the prisoners were shackled to chains on the walls. There are some instances of further stops along this route. It must have ensured many prisoners arrived at their destination well and truly intoxicated. This would often have included the executioner himself, knowing the shortcomings of many that held the post. This convention helped to guarantee the mood remained upbeat. Jokes were made by the condemned regarding their state of affairs and it was common for many merry miscreants to offer to pay for their drinks on the return journey! This is reflected in Jonathan Swift’s poem of 1727 about one Tom Clinch who, ‘. . . stopt at the George for a bottle of sack, and promis’d to pay for it when he’d come back’.