Olde Yorkshire Punishments E-Book

Howard Peach

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 200

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2008

Beschreibung

This fascinating volume explores the darkest aspects of crime and punishment in Yorkshire over the centuries - a history by turns gruesome, intriguing and strange. From the stocks, joug and branding iron to the prison cell, galley - and noose - every punishment that could befall the criminals of Yorkshire is included in this volume. Some are horrific; some, like the nailing of ears to the pillory, bizarre; and some, like the little girl who died in 1856 'through fear of whipping by the school mistress', heartbreakingly sad. Containing notorious villains such as Charlie Peace and Eugene Aram, true-life cases, underworld institutions such as 'flash houses', and the extraordinary histories of executioners such as 'Mutton' Currey of York, who once was so intoxicated that he tried to hang the officiating priest instead of the condemned, this book has much to surprise and entertain the reader. With sections on Church scandals, why bull baiting was a legal requirement and the use of the Sharp Maiden - the guillotine - it will delight anyone with an interest in Yorkshire's penal history.

Leseprobe

OLDE

YORKSHIRE PUNISHMENTS

OLDE

YORKSHIRE PUNISHMENTS

HOWARD PEACH

First published in 2008 by The History Press

Reprinted 2008, 2010, 2012

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2013

All rights reserved

© Howard Peach, 2008, 2013

The right of Howard Peach to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUBISBN 978 0 7509 5255 2

Original typesetting by The History Press

Contents

Preface and Acknowledgements

1 Historical Background

2 Religious Penalties

3 Social Sanctions

4 Corporal Punishment

5 Prisons and Transportation

6 Capital Punishment

7 Chiding Children

8 Royal Reckonings

9 Changing Attitudes

Select Bibliography

Preface and Acknowledgements

The germ of this book lay in a few casual jottings intended as the basis of a magazine article – until my notes became so copious that I realised I was staring at potential chapters!

None of us – archbishops, arch-criminals or ordinary citizens – needs reminding that crime and punishment are timeless matters, engaging often the emotions as well as the critical faculties. Rarely has there been a trade-off between severe punishment and falling crime rates, except for the temporary expedient of locking up blackguards. There is little evidence to support the idea that there ever was a golden age of minimal crime. Our own times could hardly be cited, as recently (2007) some prisoners have just been released to accommodate others – and Yorkshire has the sad reputation of being the worst county for burglaries and car crime.

Penalties and retributions have to be viewed in their historical and social context. National events, civil turmoil, economic hardship, new personalities often demand scapegoats as well as reformulations of the law. Parochial judgements by manorial courts or local justices have sometimes served to flavour national trends; many have considerable curiosity value. Time was when Kings and Queens had the power of life and death over their subjects, especially those with political ambitions. As one or two monarchs met a certain comeuppance here in Yorkshire, their fate adds an ironic perspective.

By highlighting some of the inexhaustible appeal of this vast subject from across all three Ridings, I have tried to show how Yorkshire has responded to issues of law and order. Some punishments have been unique and historic, like William the Conqueror’s Harrying of the North and the Halifax gibbet. Other institutionalised sanctions (stocks, prisons, fines) will, of course, readily find echoes elsewhere. And there are plenty of examples of local courts and other authorities exacting unique and occasionally eccentric punishments.

I hope readers will find the following account useful and informative. May it lead to further exploration and reflection for us all.

For kindly providing illustrations, or for allowing me access to take photographs, I am most grateful to the following – Bankfield Museum, Halifax; Bar Convent, York; Black Swan Inn, Leyburn; Christopher Ketchell; Doncaster Library; Halifax Library; HM Prison, Armley; HM Prison, Hull; Humberside Police; Hull City Archives; Hull Museums; Langbaurgh on Tees Borough Council; Leeds Central Library; the Marquess of Salisbury; National Coal Mining Museum, Wakefield; National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children; North Yorkshire Police; Punch Ltd.; Ripon Museums; Rotunda Museum, Scarborough; Ryedale Folk Museum; Selby Library; Wakefield Museum; Whitby Gazette; Whitby Literary and Philosophical Society; York Central Library; York City Art Gallery; York Museums; Yorkshire Archaeological Society.

chapter one

Historical Background

The Romans had a relatively advanced system of law in which plaintiffs and defendants met in local magistrates’ courts. York (Eboracum) had a basilica for courts of law, while at Aldborough (Isurium Brigantum) an aristocratic local (ie native Brigantian) council ran the judicial system. Justice, often harsh, was enforced with full state backing.

During Saxon times territorial hundred courts developed with folk moots led by a bailiff. Crime was held to be ‘against the peace’ of the community. Adult freemen in groups of ten (tythingmen) were answerable for one another’s behaviour. This so-called View of Frankpledge was continued into Norman times. The office of shire reeve (sheriff) also developed during this period. He was empowered to call up a local militia to put down serious challenges to public order. Punishments included stocks and the pillory, and, especially for runaway servants, whipping and branding. At Otley a quagmire was traditionally used to drown female thieves, though with what judicial authority is unknown.

Danish wapentakes (amalgamations of hundreds) raised soldiers, levied taxes and maintained law and order. Wetwang in the East Riding had a Viking name, Vertvanger, meaning ‘place of justice’. A later Viking punishment was ‘Ordeal by Fire’, taking place in churches, like an earlier Ripon Minster. Watched by a congregation, the accused had to carry a hot metal rod for nine paces. If after three days binding the wound showed signs of healing, innocence was declared. In 1215, however, the Church decided that ordeals were superstitious and priests were forbidden to take part.

The Normans used the county as an administrative unit with the sheriff as Crown deputy. In later times his duties included attending assize judges, issuing and executing writs, custody arrangements and examining accused persons in preparation for court appearances. Sometimes organised representations were made to the sheriff by groups acting for accused persons. Thus, in 1293, twelve ‘good men and true’ from Wistow, near Selby, met in York to plead for the life of John Thorp, who had slain William Belle of Gateforth in alleged self-defence, not ‘malice and hatred’.

From 1166 circuit justices met in county court sessions at York Castle. Their concern was more serious offences referred to them by local wapentake courts or the sheriff.

The Statute of Winchester in 1285 confirmed localities’ responsibility for law and order. Towns had to appoint constables for ‘watch and ward’, i.e. night and day patrol. Under ‘hue and cry’, persons seeking to make an arrest could call for immediate help; and under the Assize of Arms fifteen to sixty-year-old men could be issued with weapons to keep the peace. Executive high constables in each hundred were to conduct inspections. Over succeeding centuries they gradually became collectors of fines.

Lords of the manor held two types of manorial court – the court baron, dealing with ‘stones, bounds and stakes’ (ie their own property, services and duties); and the court leet, concerned with day-to-day matters like trespass, straying animals, street refuse, market tolls and law and order. These proved to be durable institutions. On 19 November 1657 the Ilkley Court Leet fined William Harrison of Wheatley the sum of 10s for causing an affray and drawing blood from Christopher Laycock. On 9 October 1663 the twelve members of the jury of the ‘Court of the Rectory Manor of Patrington’ (ER) fined James Addam 6d for not giving the proper weight of bread; James Mattock was fined 4d for leaving manure in the street, and Edward Barnard had to pay 4d for leaving a ditch undug. The lord of manor was responsible for investigating crimes, property or public order offences and for meting out justice, including fines, corporal punishment – even hanging. Until it achieved borough status in 1847, Bradford dispensed justice through its manorial court leet and baron, exercising jurisdiction over markets, weights and measures etc.

Traditionally, the court leet, under the lord’s steward, appointed a constable to serve for a year. Carrying a staff as symbol of authority, this generally reluctant official reported offenders to the manor court, and where necessary, the quarter sessions. In Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing he was satirised in the character of Dogberry.

Originally, at least, he was unpaid, unwilling, untrained – and unfortunate. His unremitting duties amounted to social drudgery. Moreover, he attracted additional duties: maintaining the stocks and pillory; attending to pumps and wells, pinfolds and beacons and collecting rates and taxes. From 1591 he was liable to assist churchwardens in ensuring church attendance. In sixteenth-century Harrogate the constable also supervised the cutting of peat for fuel and the chopping of evergreens for feeding farm animals. Recognition of his functions brought fees and gratuities. In seventeenth-century Cherry Burton (ER) he received 2s for the arrest of every ‘rogue’ (vagrant), but was himself fined by his JP for any lapse of duty. Neighbours neglecting to help were also penalised. In 1607 Richard Seamer was presented to the Yarm Quarter Sessions for failing to assist constable John Robinson in the apprehension of certain vagabonds. Some escort duties were onerous. John Lyon, constable at Seamer in the early nineteenth century, had to lock up serious offenders overnight, then walk, or otherwise convey them, to York Castle for trial.

Drawn mainly from the ranks of tradesmen, craftsmen and journeymen – not from the professions, nor publicans, cripples, illiterates or ‘persons without property’ – most constables struggled to combine their two jobs. Henry Watkinson, constable of Ilkley in 1596, tried to continue his living also as a leather stamper. But some eventually profited: it was said that in 1760 Charles Campbell, constable and tea dealer, virtually ran the economy of Skipton.

Not every constable emerged from his year unscathed. In 1656 at Askrigg George Freer was attacked by eight men who then kidnapped his rate collectors. On 4 January 1643, as a diversion from their Civil War duties, a group of Roundheads from Broadfield ‘arrested’ Michael Green, constable of Emley, releasing him after two days. No wonder that some parishes, like early nineteenth-century Hawes, sometimes failed to recruit a suitable constable.

Not surprisingly, men chosen sometimes paid others to officiate for them. Nevertheless, the parish constable, as he became, until the nineteenth century remained the pivotal official in the day-to-day administration of law and order, answerable to his local justice of the peace.

A town required several constables. By the eighteenth-century Beverley had eighteen under the control of the mayor, recorder and JPs. Watch boxes remained on the streets of Hull until 1836 when Harry Lee, last of the greatcoated head constables, retired.

From 1361 the loose organisation of parish constables within each wapentake was augmented by justices of the peace, royal appointees responsible to the county sheriff. Recruited from the landowning class, they held quarter sessions in the market towns, their main responsibilities being to deal with more serious cases beyond the scope or reach of the manorial courts – such as murder and riot. They also fined constables for such neglect as failing to remove vagrants, or allowing escapes.

Their role was extended in 1368 to wage regulations, and in Tudor times to the summary jurisdiction of petty sessions. From 1531 they were concerned also with Poor Law and workhouse regulation.

Considerable dignity attached to the historic office of the Ripon wakeman, a title of Saxon origin. Originally accountable to the Archbishop of York for keeping watch from curfew to dawn, the wakeman blew his horn at 9 p.m. before shutting the town gates. Assisted by four constables, he was empowered to arrest strangers or malingerers met during the hours of darkness. Householders who had paid 2d a year for each door in their homes were eligible for compensation against burglars. Believed to have begun in 1285 ‘to abate the power of felons’, the system lasted until 1604 when James I’s charter granted local government to a mayor and corporation. Hugh Ripley, the last wakeman became first mayor and chief magistrate, chosen from twelve aldermen. Night watchmen continued to serve Ripon until 1875.

Inscribed boldly over the stonework of the Town Hall is the legend ‘Except Ye Lord keep ye Cittie Ye Wakeman waketh in vain’. At 9 p.m. every evening the hornblower, dressed in eighteenth-century costume, still blows his horn at each corner of the market-place obelisk, and in front of the nearby Wakeman’s House.

Elsewhere, many burgesses sought to cast off irksome manorial dues and services, wanting their own markets and court – privileges to be gained through royal or archiepiscopal charters. As early as 1127 Archbishop Thurstan conceded a charter to Beverley, which in return for annual payments granted the right to establish guilds and make bylaws, free from tolls and interference. A further charter of 1359 empowered twelve keepers (governors) to be responsible for punishing wrongdoers; and by a charter of incorporation of 1573 the town became entitled to a council of thirteen, including the mayor, and the right to its own system of courts, prisons, recorders and policing arrangements.

Ripon Town Hall.

Wakeman’s House.

Some towns – like fifteenth-century Beverley and Ripon – became special liberties with their own JPs. York and Hull were governed by merchant aristocracies represented by a mayor, aldermen, council and an elected sheriff. Some towns, like Knaresborough, developed a variety of courts. The sheriff’s tourn of the honour court, a grand court leet, was obligatory for all tenants at Easter and Michaelmas, and lasted up to the nineteenth century. The Wednesday customary court, held every three months in the castle, dealt with trespass, assault, fence breaking and other minor felonies. Between times the borough court sat on alternate Mondays in the toll booth (on the site of the present Town Hall) which has cells for overnight prisioners.

Local courts have been held in some curious places, including pubs such as the Bingley Arms, Church Lane, Bardsey, near Leeds, reputedly amongst our oldest hostelries. A pillory stood conveniently opposite the church. Birstall’s Black Bull, near Batley, had an upper room with a built-in dock and magistrates’ box.

Ecclesiastical courts exercised vast influence. From Howden’s Moot Hall the Bishop of Durham dispensed justice up to and including the death penalty. At Selby the abbot’s steward directed justice within the town. At Bridlington the prior, as lord of the manor, until 1537 held his court leet at the Bayle, exercising jurisdiction over commercial life including the Assize of Bread and Ale for the regulation of markets and fairs.

Thus across Yorkshire there developed a variety of local authorities with powers for maintaining the King’s peace. From 1539 the establishment of the King’s Council of the North confirmed York as the regional judicial centre. Set in King’s Manor, it lasted till 1641. In general the supreme figurehead, a Crown representative, was the lord-lieutenant, one for each Riding by 1760. His original roles were to co-ordinate the militia, to liaise with sheriffs and keep records of county sessions, and to serve as head of the magistracy, recommending and supervising JPs.

Eighteenth-century courtroom, Guildhall, Beverley.

This Tudor church courthouse, Ripon, was the archbishop’s manor court until the seventeenth century when it became the Liberty Gaol for felons, especially debtors.

Justices allowed themselves considerable discretion. In Victorian times some petty sessions were held in the home of the local magistrate, to which accused persons were brought. Henry Jubb JP of Moorgate, Rotherham occasionally dismissed a drunk and disorderly case if the singer agreed to join the church choir!

Many local courts lingered on for decades after being overtaken by changes in national administration. Ilkley’s courts baron and leet provided a basis for administration until 1893, while the Howden Halimot enjoyed its jurisdiction until the Law and Property Act (1925). An interesting survival is the Danby Court Leet which oversees Lord Downe’s estate on the North Yorkshire moors, meeting in October in Danby Castle and imposing fines for local offences like misuse of land, straying animals and trespass. Common-right holders are fined 2d for unacceptable absences!

Before the eighteenth century custodial punishment was rare (except for houses of correction from Tudor times for persistent vagrants).

The Industrial Revolution brought social turmoil to towns, with frequent breakdowns of law and order. The problem had been partly recognised by the Riot Act of 1714 which ordered the dispersal of a crowd following due reading by a magistrate. By the late eighteenth century the question of crowd control was showing the serious inadequacies of urban policing. Elderly night watchmen bearing lanterns and rattles were no match for determined villains. Halifax could call on but two constables, two deputies and a night watchman. A single set of handcuffs, or even the ‘snitcher’ favoured by some Yorkshire constables – a double length of rawhide attached to a wooden handle which could be twisted and pulled tight over an offender’s wrists – was useless against a hostile mob. The militia had to be called out to deal with riots, particularly in West Riding towns after 1750.

Some infringements of the law brought disproportionately severe penalties for convicted persons. Some 200 offences carried the death penalty: stealing goods worth 40s from a house, or 5s from a shop, or anything from a person assaulted. So outrageous were some punishments that magistrates felt obliged to undervalue stolen goods so as to limit the strict applications of the law. It took a Lancashire cotton manufacturer’s son, Sir Robert Peel, as home secretary, to introduce in 1823 bills for the abolition of hanging in respect of over 100 crimes.

But for many ordinary citizens, prosecutions were too few and often feebly pursued. The proliferation of unresolved crime saw a mushrooming of self-help groups, such as the Wakefield Society for Prosecuting Felons, 1786, assisting the constable with burglaries, arson, rustling and ‘cutting of tenters or taking wool out of yards’. A similar group was started in Beverley two years later. At Heptonstall a Prosecution Society begun in 1816 survived until 1909, bringing private actions when the local constabulary seemed inert.

Ideas grew for a rates-assisted professional force. But powerful voices argued against mobilising illiterate workers to uphold the law: to arm the poorest, as the clerk of the peace at Wakefield pointed out at the time of the Luddite mill-breaking (1812-14), would be disastrous. There were fears that such a militia might be partial towards a popular uprising, and might not obey orders.

However, the success of the organised Bow Street Runners in London reduced street crime, and in 1829 Peel established the Metropolitan Police Force with agreed rules of professional conduct. The discredited watch was abolished and seventeen districts were provided with a hierarchy of officers ranging from superintendent to ‘bobbies’ or ‘peelers’.

Progress in Yorkshire was uneven. Sheffield had been quick to see the advantages of a full-time force, appointing in 1818 a surveyor and deputy, with five sergeants, sixteen day policemen and fifty-six night watchmen, all in resplendent blue uniforms. From 1828 at Doncaster Thomas Tyme, gaoler, doubled as a police officer at 100 guineas a year, with additional help. During the 1820s Keighley’s Poor Law officials, health officers and night watchmen were augmented by salaried constables.

A notice for the Snaith Association for the Prosecution of Felons. (courtesy of Doncaster Library)

Impetus to the establishment by watch committees of salaried officials was given by the Municipal Corporation Act of 1835. A Royal Commission of 1836 confirmed that the old routine of ‘watch and ward’ was ineffective. In the same year Beverley had appointed new constabulary ranks based on the Metropolitan model, and Hull under Andrew McManus had four inspectors, two assistant inspectors, nine sergeants, and seventy-one constables. In Leeds there was continuity, with the superintendent of the night watch appointed as head constable, and four colleagues continuing as inspectors.

Further to the 1839 Rural Constabulary Act local stations were built in the smaller towns, mostly with lock-up provision. Yet there was resistance. At Yeadon in 1849 plans to hire a constable at 15s a week were withdrawn as unnecessary, a threat to customary liberties and certain to add to the burden of existing rates for the poor, the highways, the Church…

But the tide was irresistible. By the County and Borough Police Act of 1856, it became mandatory for committees and JPs to organise professional constabularies. Ex-military men were appointed as chief constables: Col. Charles Augustus Cobbe for the West Riding, Capt. Thomas Hill for the North Riding, and Lt-Col. Bernard Granville-Layard for the East Riding. Divisions were run on military lines and petty sessions organised in appropriate townships.

Recruits had to be literate and not less than 5ft 7in in height. Early uniforms consisted of a frock-coat tunic, white trousers, greatcoat, cape and a ‘pork-pie’ hat. Helmets came in during the 1860s.

For most recruits there was only immediate on-the-job training. For many years reports were propagated of offences by the new breed of officers. Drink was a widespread problem. Respect had to be earned. In 1857 an officious bobby was beaten and paraded naked around the Wibsey (Bradford) alehouses by a jeering mob. The Otley Conduct Book revealed that in July 1875 one constable was fined 10s for using ‘insubordinate language and threatening to knock his sergeant’s eyes up’. Five years later, for the offence of allowing an inebriated prisoner to enter a Guiseley inn, an officer was reduced to the rank of third-class constable.

Some were too zealous. In 1891 a Bridlington constable was unhappily discovered up a ladder at midnight, peering into a bedroom window! He was subsequently placed on a different ladder – at the foot of a list of second-class constables – and removed to another station.

More serious disturbances showed that even an experienced force sometimes seemed but ‘a thin blue line’ stretched to breaking point. Disturbances at Lord Masham’s Ackton Hall Colliery in 1893 resulted in strikes, lockouts and a mass picket. After scuffles, and with troops of the South Staffordshire Regiment on standby, the Riot Act was read; rifles were raised and two workers were shot dead. In the history of West Riding folklore the Featherstone Massacre remains an inglorious and bitter milestone.

Over time, views on behaviour and sanctions change, especially with shifts in authority. It will be appropriate to turn next to religiously inspired developments.

An early Victorian policeman, West Riding – at entrance to Ripon Police Museum.

Selby Police Force, 1890. (courtesy of Selby Library)

Bobbies’ batons. (courtesy of Ryedale Folk Museum)

chapter two

Religious Penalties

Church courts

The influence of the medieval church was pervasive, especially through the various institutions of the Archbishops of York. Archbishop Thurstan (1114 – 1128) held courts in such towns as Otley, Patrington, Sherburn, Ripon and Beverley using the customary sanctions of stocks, pillory, fines, prison – even hanging.

At Ripon the canons’ court treated offences like Sabbath breaking, defamation and matrimonial disputes. Borough courts, presided over by the archbishop’s steward, settled such secular matters as tolls and markets, vagrancy and sanitation. Local consistory courts dealt with tithes, moral offences, doctrine, pew rights, brawling on Church premises, blasphemy, abuse of churchwardens… all commonly punished by fines and ritual penances (of which more later). Refusals to comply could bring excommunication – i.e. exclusion from divine worship and participation in the sacraments.

Further control over parishioners’ lives was exercised through archdeacons’ visitations when churchwardens presented lists of blasphemers, adulterers, scolds, drunkards, cohabiters, unlicensed schoolmasters, midwives and surgeons. Each was obliged to do penance, pay fines or otherwise redeem sins on pain of excommunication. The general climate of belief certainly induced many to ponder their plight. Fears were stoked by church-rood paintings of hellfire punishments on Judgement Day. Frescoes like those rediscovered in St Peter and St Paul parish church, Pickering concentrated impressionable minds on the martyrdoms of John the Baptist, St Edmund and Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, done to death at his own altar in 1170. The perpetrator-in-chief of this last wicked deed was Hugh de Morville, former constable of Knaresborough Castle (where he and his fellow conspirators sought sanctuary). Part of his penance was to build the church of St Thomas Becket at Hampsthwaite, Nidderdale.