May the Lord have mercy on my soul.
The hour of my departure come,
I hear the voice that calls me home.
At length, Oh Lord, let troubles cease,
and let Thy servant die in peace,
but in mine innocence I trust,
I bow before Thee in the dust.
And through my Saviour’s blood alone,
I look for mercy at Thy throne.
I leave this world without a tear,
save for the friends I held so dear.
To heal their sorrows Lord descend
and to the friendless prove a friend.
The Winton Child Murder
Execution Of Minnie Dean
(by a special reporter )
Invercargill, August 12
The sheriff having notified those who were allowed to witness the last moments of Minnie Dean that we would not be admitted to the precincts of the gaol later than 7.30 this morning we were there at 7.15, and thus had three quarters of an hour to contemplate our awful position and surroundings. We learnt from the gaoler that the condemned woman had slept from 11 o’clock last night until 3 this morning and that she then rose and wrote a letter to a friend, saying that when it was received she (the writer) would be in the presence of her Maker. The minister who has so faithfully attended her since the sentence of death was passed on her over seven weeks ago arrived shortly after we did, and entering the poor woman’s cell sat with her, allowing her hand to rest in his until the sheriff entered at three minutes to 8 and formally demanded her body for execution. It will be remembered that in the lower court when she had her husband beside her at the first inquiry, and when her nerve was at a very high pitch, she would often clasp and hold fast to his hand. This seems to have been one of her greatest consolations — to hold the hand of some other person, or have her hand held by them. The warder who stood beside her while she stood on the drop says she held his hand tightly until he wanted to withdraw it just before the bolt was about to be drawn, and then she immediately relaxed her grasp and freed herself for the fatal drop. When the doctor arrived and learnt she had not partaken of any breakfast or refreshment this morning except a sip or two of tea he recommended that she be given some spirits. Accordingly whisky and water were taken to her, but, as we saw afterwards when inspecting her room, she had left it untouched. At this visit of the doctor’s she said, ‘For goodness sake, doctor, get it over quickly.’ At her trial it was stated she was addicted to drink, but here she has been seven weeks and three days, with liberty to have stimulants of whatever nature she might desire, and even requested at times to accept of them, yet she steadfastly refused to taste one drop.
At three minutes to 8 the gaoler, accompanied by the doctor, the sheriff, and the hangman, proceeded to the condemned woman’s cell, when the sheriff formally demanded from the gaoler the body of Minnie Dean for execution. The gaoler having formally complied with this request, the sheriff turned to the hangman and said, ‘Executioner, do your duty.’ The upper part of Minnie Dean’s arms were then strapped to her sides, her elbows bent, and hands brought round and crossed in front. The gaol bell then commenced tolling and the procession left the cell for the scaffold. First came the doctor and gaoler, next the minister, and then the condemned woman with a warder on each side of her, followed by the hangman and the sheriff last. In this order they walked slowly a distance of about 50 yards to where the gallows was erected, the minister reading a portion of the Presbyterian form of burial service, including Psalm xc, 1–9; 1I Corinthians v, 10; John v, 25–29; Deuteronomy xxxii, 29. At the first glance we got of her, I was struck, as I always was in court during her trial, with her dignified carriage and bearing — head erect (uncovered, of course), thin, fine, iron-grey hair, nicely brushed, neatly parted in the middle, and fastened in a knot behind. A dark-shaded maroon blouse: a skirt of warm-coloured, darker check-pattern woollen material and neat leather slippers completed her visible attire. As I have already said, she walked erect and dignified to the foot of the broad sloping steps up which she had to ascend to the scaffold. Here she managed to drop one hand sufficiently to lift up the front of her skirt free from her feet, and ascended the steps more gracefully than I have seen many a woman ascend the stairs of a modern first-class hotel. She walked straight on without a halt to the drop-door, gave a scrutinizing glance, first at the gallows and its belongings, then at the half dozen people standing below, a contemptuous, loathing look at the hangman, and placed herself in a position to facilitate his work as much as possible, and took a few long breaths while he was adjusting the rope and placing the white calico cap over her head and face. The sheriff then asked her if she had anything to say, to which she replied, ‘I have nothing to say, except I am innocent’; and then said ‘Thank you’ to the sheriff. She began to sway backward and forward a little, and was heard to say under the cap by those standing close beside her, ‘Oh, God, let me not suffer!’ At two minutes past 8 the bolt was drawn, and the body dropped a distance of 7 feet, 9 inches out of sight to all but those who had ascended the scaffolding with her, and could look through the trapdoor, for the lower part of the scaffolding was enclosed with canvas. There was not a shake or tremor of the rope or twitch of the body, and the way the head hung over on one side, almost touching the shoulder, showed that the spinal cord was completely severed, and death must have been instantaneous; and we all felt devoutly thankful that the actual death had been so painless to one who had faced her end so bravely.
To comply with the law the body had to remain hanging for one hour, and we had to remain within the precincts of the gaol for the same period. During this time we inspected the room the ill-fated woman had just left, after occupying it continuously for seven weeks and three days since the death sentence was passed on her by Mr Justice Williams. It was a nicely lighted room (for a gaol), 12 foot by 10 foot, with a fireplace, a small neat wooden bedstead, a table, two wooden stools, a strip of carpet, a Bible laying on the table, a small vase with violets and snowdrops on the mantelpiece. The whisky and water which had been sent to her by the doctor’s orders was untouched, and a small lock of her fine, soft, iron-grey hair, evidently cut off that morning, was neatly tied and placed on the mantelpiece for somebody.
The gaoler told us Minnie Dean was a native of Edinburgh. Her father was an independent gentleman, and her mother had died when she was very young. Mrs Dean had stated more than once to her attendants that she would prefer hanging to penal confinement. She had said to the Reverend Mr Lindsay, whose faithful services have already been referred to, that her sentence was a just one in view of the evidence, but stated that she was innocent so far as the charge of murder with intent and forethought. The gaoler, too, told us she had filled up her own burial certificate, as she knew her husband was not familiar with all the necessary details. The husband saw her on Saturday afternoon for the last time. It is understood that Minnie Dean has left a written statement, which will be forwarded to the Government.
During the execution a boy fell from the roof of an adjacent building to the ground, a distance of 30 feet, and fractured his skull.
I may mention that on Saturday afternoon, by the kind permission of the sheriff and gaoler we were (to harden us for the terrible ordeal of this morning) shown the gaol yard, the gallows, and other preparations, which were then about completed, and permitted to have an interview with the hangman, Tom Long, an old soldier, nearer 60 than 50 years of age, and reported to be so addicted to intemperate habits that he has to be kept under lock and key to ensure his sobriety when wanted to perform his awful duty. He was most communicative, and seemed to take great pride in explaining to us how expert he was at his profession (having hanged over a dozen in this and the other colonies, but never a woman before), and how simple the operation was likely to be. He showed us the rope he had brought with him, and with which he had hanged the last man executed in Auckland, and pointed out the advantages it possessed over the rope the authorities here had provided. We were taken o
n to the scaffold and shown how simply and certainly the awful trapdoor upon which the culprit stands drops when he draws the fatal handle, the length of the drop, the rigidity of the scaffolding, the way the condemned would be strapped at the arms before leaving the cell and at the legs at the scaffold, and further minor explanations (which it was rapidly becoming sickening to listen to) regarding those he had hanged before, all of which though really had the effect of making us feel better prepared for our coming duty, more especially when we learnt from the officials the great self-control the condemned woman was able to exercise. For instance, when the minister, the Reverend George Lindsay, of St Paul’s Presbyterian Church, who has so faithfully attended her daily since her conviction, last Friday broke to her as kindly as it was possible to do the news that there was no chance of her sentence being commuted, but that she would have to be hanged, she remarked she hoped she would not be a coward, but would face it like a brave woman. When the sheriff, at a later period, told her that her friends had applied for her body after execution, and that the authorities had granted their request, and it would be placed in a coffin and taken to Winton, she broke down for a moment or two, but afterwards considerately thanked him for the kind manner in which he and all the other officials were carrying out their very unpleasant duties, and regretted so much that she was the cause of it all, but would try and face it bravely. On Saturday, when the doctor visited her and shook hands with her, she met him with a smile, and in the course of conversation said she hoped they would allow her a glass of stout before leaving her cell to ascend the scaffold.
The scaffold, which was erected in the concrete yard where the prisoners exercise, and in view of all inmates, must have made an awful impression on one at least (Keown) who is awaiting his trial for murder.
Mr Josiah Hanan
22 August 1895
Mr Hannah: Dear Sir, — I know that in you I can place trust and that you will act for me in every way as though I were present. I will leave it to you to do the best you can with the manuscript I have left and for my husband’s sake to make it as profitable as possible. It will require a deal of revising for my brain and memory has been all but gone indeed for weeks after I received sentence I could not put three consecutive words together. The composition and spelling so very defective. I have satisfied no morbid curiosity. My aim was to exonerate myself not to criminate anybody. I would like to tell Dean to give Mrs McMally Fruiter Dee Street 30s in the event of anything. My husband’s death before any returns for the book give the proceeds to William Milne, Farmer, Mataura. The instruction in footnote is that if statement meet with approval it be forwarded to you. You to receive 10 per cent of the proceeds. 5 pound to be handed Mrs John Taylor Grassmere I think her Christian name is Bridget. I trust in you to do your best remember me and that the hand that now is writing will ere you receive this be cold in death. I thank you for the attention and kindness you have shown me and if I am here today the fault has not been yours. If I only knew where my children were or what was to become of them I could be at rest and say Gods will be done. I also want you for my daughters’ sake to have it publicly contradicted about my being a drunkard. There are three Hotelkeepers in Winton and I know that they would be quite willing to sign their names to that effect that if I was a drunkard I did not get the drink from them. Goodbye may every success be yours. May you live to a ripe old age and may your end be peace for long ere this time tomorrow I will be cold in death. God bless you.
M. DEAN
Reverend Lindsay leans forward in his chair. ‘What is your opinion? It should surely see the pages of some journal, or indeed a book?’
I take the stack of pages that is the manuscript, and begin to glance through them. Almost immediately my eye falls upon the name Rasmussen, and then Maddern, and also Macdonnell. ‘She proclaims her innocence?’
‘Yes, she does.’
‘I see.’ From the little I have read, I can see the policemen are not cast in a generous light. ‘Rest assured, Reverend, you have fulfilled your duty by the woman.’
‘Then I can leave it now to you?’ he asks.
I nod, unable to find voice. For how do you tell a man who carries the final wish of a condemned soul that his task is in vain? ‘I will do my utmost to see this published,’ I say, hoping he will not detect my uncertainty, for the colony’s legal as well as political establishments have spoken and they are unlikely to allow themselves to be contradicted. The last statement of Minnie Dean’s has no hope of ever being published.
Of that, at least, there is no doubt.
Wanganui Herald
11 November 1908
ACCIDENTS AND FATALITIES
Burned To Death (per United Press Association)
INVERCARGILL, November 9
Charles Dean, an old pensioner, who lived alone at a house at East Winton, was burned to death on Saturday night or Sunday morning. Early on Sunday morning it was noticed that Dean’s house was a smoking ruin, the body being found among the debris. Dean, who leaves no family, was the husband of the notorious baby farmer, Minnie Dean, who was hanged some years ago.
Afterword
The Eastern Cemetery in Invercargill is a quiet and gentle haven, beautifully kept, and a fitting resting place for so many souls.
Buried within its perimeters are many characters from this story. Ellen Ann Milne lies with her two children not far from the graves of Christina Kelly and her husband John, as well as many Kelly descendants, and also many from the Niven family. They are easy to locate, and each headstone bears a poignant inscription.
Along the Tay Street boundary there is no stone or marker other than a row of tall trees. Someone looking could easily be forgiven for assuming nothing, or no one, is there. As in death, so in life, for this is in fact what is known as Free Ground, a mass grave containing the remains of two thousand, one hundred and thirty-four children and paupers, a testimony to a time when infant mortality was high and few people cared about the poor, or about unwanted babies.
Dorothy Edith Carter and Eva Hornsby are two of those children.
Rest in Peace.
Author’s Note
The Day She Cradled Me is a work of fiction, and therefore should be read as such.
It began from an interest in a woman whom I imagined had spent her days travelling about on trains, poking hatpins into babies. I read Lynley Hood’s 1994 book, Minnie Dean, Her Life and Crimes, which only piqued my interest further, and was rapt when she very kindly offered me access to her research notes. From there I read Minnie Dean’s last statement, outlining her version of events surrounding her murder convictions. I read police reports; testimonies; accounts of her character that were warm and kind. The more I read, the more I could imagine how she — and many of those who came into contact with her — might describe her life differently from the way it has commonly been reported.
From there I contacted the Greenock Library to verify details of the births, deaths and marriages, addresses and neighbours of her family. I travelled to Invercargill, visited all the relevant sites, and even wandered about The Larches. I believe I read every book written on her, and spent many long hours trawling through genealogy websites, searching for traces of her.
It was always my objective to create a story that adheres as much as possible to the facts. There is much in this novel that is invented, but all the letters, newspaper reports and advertisements have been reproduced verbatim, except in the instance where I have changed a person’s name for easy identification. The court inquests and trial are also straight from detailed newspaper accounts — though it should be kept in mind that in those days, despite the reports being detailed, they provided only testimony answers. I have inserted the questions.
I also took the liberty of condensing the time frame involved with the trial summations from two days down to one. With regard to other aspects of the book, it is perhaps easier to say what is not factual.
I do not know if Minnie’s father was abusive.
I c
ould not find evidence about which school she attended (papers have perished), but it is entirely possible that it was Mr Murray’s. Likewise I could find no record of Minnie on a ship’s passenger list; however, the birth of Ellen Ann (previously a mystery) is recorded in Launceston, Tasmania, with the father Frederick McPhee listed as a surgeon. (There is no further record of him there, or indeed in Greenock, but I suspect Minnie followed social protocol, so I used his name and character to account for Ellen Ann’s father.) I am also not certain as to the identity of Isabella’s father; according to the Launceston Historical Society, however, mine is the most likely scenario.
Miss McKillop is fictional. Mrs Todd was real, but her second cousin and brother-in-law in Tasmania were not.
I have assumed Minnie’s sisters died of cholera, as this was prevalent at the time.
Everything at the beginning of the book — that is, up to page 56 — is authentic to Minnie’s account, except for the episode in Clarendon where Minnie alleged in her manuscript that Eva Hornsby fell to her death. My recreation of her life in New Zealand is based on her own statement, as well as other sources, including newspaper references and books.
Reverend George Lindsay was a real person; his wife was Jessie, they had three sons and had lost one earlier. He attended Minnie daily while she was in jail, and was present at her death (though I do not know if he attended any of the trial). Also, he did lead his church in a prayer for her not long before her execution. All other aspects of his life are imagined, including his relationship with the Dicksons, who are fictional.
Mrs Dryden’s account of Mrs Hornsby is fundamentally as she gave it to the police, but I have made one crucial addition: she did not say she witnessed any baby shaking.
The Day She Cradled Me Page 31