Oxford: Crime, Death and Debauchery E-Book

Giles Brindley

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 474

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 1996

Beschreibung

In the city of Inspector Morse, when it comes to crime, truth may be stranger than fiction. This walk through the dark corridors of Oxford's past is populated with footpads and prostitutes, murderers and conmen, thieves and philanderers. Giles Brindley has searched the archives of the university, the Public Record Office, the Centre for Oxfordshire Studies and others to collect more than 100 accounts that paint a picture of Oxford's seedier side. Using contemporary court records and newspaper accounts, he brings together crime stories dating from 1750 to about 1920, including: infamous murders, hangings and dying confessions, grand and daring thefts, escapes from the county gaol, suicide in the name of love, and great drinking deaths.

Leseprobe

OXFORD

CRIME, DEATH & DEBAUCHERY

OXFORD

CRIME, DEATH & DEBAUCHERY

GILES BRINDLEY

This book is dedicated to all those who have the courage to follow their heart and the strength to keep their head while others pooh-pooh.

First published in the United Kingdom in 2006 by

Sutton Publishing Limited

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

© Giles Brindley, 2006 , 2013

The right of Giles Brindley 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.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7509 5423 5

Original typesetting by The History Press

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

1. Fighting, Rioting and Duelling

2. Theory is Better than Practice

3. Country Sportsmen

4. Sex, Politics and Religion

5. Love’s Labours Lost

6. Watery Grave

7. Murder, Death and Suicide

8. Speaking in Tongues

9. If at First You Don’t Succeed, Give Up before You Get Caught

10. No Place to Hide

11. Students, Fellows and the University

12. A Little Knowledge is Dangerous

13. Watchmen 4, Drapery Miss 0

14. Trials, Punishments and Larking Around

15. Body behind the Toilet

16. Mother’s Ruin for Father

17. How to Win Friends and Influence People

18. In the Hunt for Medals

19. To Kill a Mocking Rat

20. The Town vs Gown Question

21. The Gentleman’s Secret Identity

22. The Early Days of Mobile Banking

23. Working, Robbing and Other Professions

24. Policemen’s Punchline

25. The Sky’s the Limit

26. Fraud, Fire and Oddballs

27. To Outsmart a Quack

28. Death through Insecurity

Conclusion

Bibliography

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There are many people without whose support and belief in this project it may never have come into being. They include Sarah Bryce, Michelle Tilling, Jane Hutchings, Helen Bradbury and Simon Fletcher at Sutton Publishing for help, advice and editorial expertise. I owe a lot to Liz Soar for support, encouragement and advice over more years than I care to mention. Thanks are also due to Christina Lindeholm for constant support and as a reader of most of the text; Darren Ravenscroft and Caroline Dalton for useful discussions at a very early stage; Steven Fisher and Mark Murray for housing me during many weeks spent researching at The National Archives in London; Henry Ashton for the use of a new and expensive laptop, for those applications which my own could not handle. Thanks go to several people for the loan of digital cameras.

I am eternally grateful to the many friends and loved ones who have believed in this work from the start and helped in one way or another. Particular thanks must go to Monika Umbrath for her unwavering and constant support even in the final frustrating months of this project; Simon Bailey, Keeper of the Archives at Oxford University, for his help, patience and kindness in granting permission to refer to those documents held in the Bodleian Library from which several stories are taken.

Thanks also go to Carl Boardman and Mark Priddey at the Oxfordshire Record Office for all their help, especially relating to the use of images from the records they hold and their generous permission in allowing them to be reproduced.

Several people provided a great deal of help in relation to photographing the court rooms in County Hall, the Town Hall and Convocation House, and in kindly granting permission for those images to be published herein. The people concerned include Nick Evans and the hallkeepers at County Hall; Sue Scarrott, Owain Pearce and the hallkeepers at the Town Hall; Reg Carr, Ronald Milne and, in particular, Steve Rose from the Bodleian Library.

Thank you to Rosey Wheeler, formerly of Oxford Archaeology, for discussions about the Castle gaol site; Nancy Edwards from MN Associates for setting up a visit to the Oxford Castle site; and Mike Davy from GDG Management for showing me round and likewise for his subsequent support. Special thanks go to Malcolm Graham and Stephen Rench at Oxfordshire Studies for their generous help and guidance concerning the illustrations published in this book.

Overall, thanks go to the helpful, supportive and kind staff at The National Archives, the Oxfordshire Record Office (part of Oxfordshire County Council) and Oxfordshire Studies.

While every reasonable effort has been made to clear copyright material, if any copyright has been inadvertently infringed please write to the author care of the publisher.

INTRODUCTION

Where there are people there is crime. Similarly, the increase in sophistication in society is mirrored by the increase in diversity of criminal activity. The history of Oxford as a city and a seat of learning is documented in hundreds of books, but little has been written concerning Oxford’s criminal past. This book covers a wide slice of Oxford history from its earliest days to the twentieth century; in the main, it spans the years 1632–1849. It charts the diversity of criminal activity in Oxford while it grew into the university city we know it as today. It also covers the areas that were once outlying villages, but are now very much part of the city as a whole, such as Cowley, Iffley and Littlemore. The stories drawn on come from the Assizes, the Quarter Sessions and the University Court, and rely heavily on additional information gleaned from Jackson’s Oxford Journal.

Many years have been spent elbow-deep in paper while sitting in the Public Record Office (now The National Archives) in London, as well as the Oxfordshire Record Office, Oxfordshire Studies and the Bodleian Library. The purpose of this introduction is to give an idea of the background to the aspects of life and, in particular, crime which run through this book, without getting bogged down in detail.

COURTS

The courts of Oxford are numerous. Those to which this book mostly relate are the Assize Court, the Quarter Sessions and the Chancellor’s Court. The Assizes were usually held twice a year and tried the more serious crimes committed locally, such as murder, though from their introduction in the twelfth century until the arrival of the Quarter Sessions in the fourteenth century, they dealt with most cases. The Oxford Assize circuit encompassed several counties which lay close to Oxford, such as Berkshire, Gloucestershire and Herefordshire, and was presided over by a judge of the High Court who travelled through the counties in turn. The Quarter Sessions were originally meetings of the Justices of the Peace. The Oxford Sessions were presided over by a recorder as judge. During the thirteenth century the jurisdiction of the town centre courts rose and they were usually held in the Shire Hall on the Castle site. In 1577 they were moved to the Guild Hall and from 1752 to the old Town Hall, on the site of the current Town Hall. In 1841 they were moved again, to the newly built County Hall on the edge of the Castle site. The Quarter Sessions finally moved to the present Town Hall when it was opened in 1897.

County Hall, New Road, built in 1841 on the Castle Gaol site. (Giles Brindley)

County Hall Court Room, which is still used for the coroner’s court. (Giles Brindley)

The Town Hall Court Room was used by the Magistrates of the Assize from 1897 to 1969 and the Quarter Sessions until 1985 when all court activities moved to the Court House in St Aldate’s. (Giles Brindley)

The Town Hall, St Aldate’s, opened in 1897. It was built on the site of the old Town Hall, 1752–1896. (Giles Brindley)

The ‘Domus Conversorum’, purchased by the council in 1550 and used in conjunction with the neighbouring Guild Hall (built 1292–3), was replaced by the old Town Hall in 1752. (Oxfordshire County Council Photographic Archive – OCCPA)

The University Court held jurisdiction over those who were matriculated by the institution. This covered not only students, but a large number of tradesmen as well. In essence it operated under canon law, but later followed common law to bring it into line with the changing times.

Front gate of the Castle gaol on New Road at the end of the nineteenth century. (OCCPA)

Oxford Castle mill and stream from the south. The Norman tower of St George in the Castle gaol can be seen in the background. (OCCPA)

The court was usually presided over by the Vice-Chancellor, with Proctors acting for the defence and prosecution. If a defendant was very unlucky when being sentenced, he or she might have their matriculated rights withdrawn or possibly be banished from Oxford, but there was none of this hanging malarkey.

PUNISHMENT

It is not intended to go deep into sentencing and punishments, but to explain and highlight some of the common themes. At one time court proceedings were used as a last resort when a dispute could not be settled, usually financially, away from the court house. Certainly many cases throughout history were assessed in terms of monetary value as reflected in the levying of fines as punishment. At one point a crime valued at 12d or more was considered a capital one and therefore punishable by death.

In fact, most offences, including treason, murder, robbery, larceny, rape and arson, initially were considered to be capital offences. Taking out an eye, disabling a tongue, or slitting someone’s nose were added later, to be joined by burglary, witchcraft, damaging forests, sacrilege, letter-stealing and the theft of animals. At one point the list of capital offences topped 200, though in more recent times it was rationalised to just a handful of offences.

In Britain a death sentence generally meant hanging and that was the execution of choice from about the fifth century. Other methods, such as burning at the stake, beheading, firing squad, drowning, boiling alive and hurling from cliffs, have been used at one time or another. Over the centuries hanging was conducted from trees, the back of carts and later from purpose-built gallows. Hanging was initially a public spectacle, but after centuries of tried and tested use it finally moved behind closed doors, allowing the condemned at least some dignity.

Executions were usually a public affair attended by great crowds. The gallows were built up to provide a clear view and prisoners often gave a final speech before the sentence was carried out. (ORO)

Reprieve from a death sentence became a distinct possibility once people were needed to colonise the new territories of America and the West Indies from 1615 and Australia from 1787. When transportation to America ceased in 1776, overcrowding in prisons led to the introduction of floating prisons (hulks). It was not until 1867 that transportation was abolished altogether. From 1718 non-capital offences resulted in seven years’ transportation; capital offences resulted in fourteen years’ transportation; and those who, for example, managed to break out of gaol while awaiting transportation often received a life transportation sentence.

The most curious of all crimes was perhaps self-murder (suicide), for which the deceased was convicted and the usual burial rights withheld. Initially suicides, as well as other criminal burials, were performed at crossroads. This seems to derive from the belief that this would confuse the ghost of the deceased and prevent him or her returning to haunt their home. The practice was abolished in 1823, though normal burial rights were still not observed. This often meant burial after 9 p.m. (curfew) without the burial service being read.

Having been executed you still were not safe. Once anatomy became a student pastime, the bodies of murderers, among others, were taken to the schools to be sliced and diced under the guise of the advancement of science and learning. One of these schools was beneath the Ashmolean in Broad Street. The students were only allowed one body from time to time and demand far outstripped supply. Grave-robbing and swiping bodies as they were cut down from the gallows were commonplace. Even the students were not too aloof to do the dirty work themselves, though it was easier to pay a townie to do it.

PRISONS AND SUCHLIKE

Criminals, suspect or otherwise, as well as the poor, were lodged in one institution or another. These included the Bocardo prison, the Bridewell, St George’s Tower, the debtors’ prison, the houses of correction, the workhouse or house of industry and the city and county prisons.

The Bocardo flanked the original North Gate by St Michael’s, at the end of the Cornmarket. The county gaol was on the Oxford Castle site. Prisoners were also confined in St George’s Tower, which was Norman in origin, and the round-house on the same site, which was used as a debtors’ prison. The houses of correction contained a treadwheel and were located towards the back of the Castle site, close to the Norman tower. Oxford also had a city prison, since gone, located at Gloucester Green. The main workhouse for those who could not support themselves was located in Jericho, not far from Worcester College and close to the Radcliffe Infirmary, and later one was opened in Cowley. There was a workhouse in Headington and mention of others, such as the one in Holywell Parish.

POLICING

This was undertaken at various times by, among others, watchmen, parish constables and policeman. All three were there, in essence, to prevent crime, but there were subtle differences in the formal nature of their position. Watchmen were there to watch and guard, to preserve the peace. In effect, they prevented crime by their presence rather than in active policing. They were often badly paid and relied on those with more to lose to throw some extra cash their way. Constables were intended to preserve the peace and prevent the committal of crime with the power of arrest. It was not until the middle of the nineteenth century that policemen as we know them really come into effect, with more of a formalised structure to their work and organisation.

TRADE AND PRIVILEGE

Usually only freemen had the right to trade within the boundaries of a city and there were three ways to become one: by paying for it after, in theory, being recommended by the craft guild you were joining; by being born the eldest son of a freeman (younger sons could join by paying a reduced fee); or the hard way, by serving a seven-year apprenticeship, which was how the majority were admitted as freemen.

The fourth way to trade was for the privilegiati, who could operate without even serving an apprenticeship. They normally came from trades that were useful to the University, such as bookbinders, hairdressers and tailors. Since they were matriculated by the University and subject to its court, they were often known as matriculated tradesmen. By about 1520 a fifth of the tradesmen had matriculated via this route.

When it came to shopping, it should be remembered that walking into a shop and parting with cash is a relatively new concept. For a large part of history goods were ordered and the bills were paid at a much later date. This often meant settling up at the end of the year for all one’s expenses. For this reason the system was open to abuse and was the downfall of many. Students ended up having to settle bills termly and the visit of one’s father could spell disaster when accounts were scrutinised.

MEDICINE

Medicine has not always involved dancing round trees at midnight with feathers in one’s hair. As early as 1800 quackery and fluke chance were on their way out. The 1850s marked a turning point, when public funds were ploughed into the investigation of communicable diseases. For most of history medicine was a scary subject. At best, if patients were not being poisoned with medicines containing mercury, arsenic or phosphorous, the medical profession was bleeding them, applying leeches, administering laxatives or even purging them with emetics. If they were lucky, they might have been left alone to rely on prayer or a ‘change of air’. If the disease did not kill them there was a chance that the doctors would. The rule of thumb seemed to be not to get ill or if you did, die quickly before you received unwanted ‘attention’.

The Anatomy School at Christ Church, 1821, where dissection was performed in the basement. Anatomy lectures were originally conducted in the Bodleian and later at the Ashmolean on Broad Street. (OCCPA)

TOWN OR GOWN: WHICH CAME FIRST?

Is the town a by-product of the University or is the University only there because of the town? What is certain is that Oxford would not be Oxford without both, or a few riots between them. Not to generalise, but there are those who would say that the students consider the town to be a playground and that everyone else be regarded as ‘local people with their local ways’. On the other hand there are those who would consider that the town’s inhabitants think the students are a bunch of over-privileged, under-worked layabouts, who should wash, get a job and stop rowing up and down the river at 5 a.m. In effect, both survive because of and in spite of each other.

It should be noted that heads of houses have been referred to as ‘Warden’, whether provost, principal, rector or otherwise. No disrespect is meant by this simplification.

Skelton’s reduced engraving of the original Plan of Oxford taken by Ralph Agar in 1578. (OCCPA)

1

FIGHTING, RIOTING AND DUELLING

SOCIAL STANDING

In 1235 Henry Le Ferur was dragged by Adam Feteplace, trader and several times Mayor of Oxford, into the latter’s house and beaten. Henry charged Adam with assault and the robbery of a gold ring. Unfortunately the judge stated that the charge Henry made in court was not exactly the same as the one he had made at the time of the assault; Adam was acquitted of all charges. However, the jury concluded that Adam had beaten Henry and thrown beer in his face . . . hardly what you would expect from a former Mayor.

TIT-FOR-TAT

Considering the tender age of some of Oxford’s undergraduates, especially during the early history of the University, it is hardly surprising that it was often handbags at five paces. Ferriman Moore, a Balliol scholar, was charged in June 1624 with assaulting John Crabtree of the same college. Moore pleaded not guilty, but was convicted of homicide and manslaughter, having stabbed his fellow college member in the stomach. Moore pleaded the benefit of his status as clergy and applied to the King for a pardon.

It appears that during a snacktime in college the two had squabbled. Then, as now, there was often some fierce marking of territory between graduates and undergraduates. Crabtree, 20, a graduate, chastised Moore, 16, for presuming to drink with him, threatening him, kicking and then pulling Moore around by his hair and ears. Moore had left the buttery and headed for his rooms, but Crabtree followed. A brawl ensued and in the confusion Moore stabbed the other man.

The magistrates took pity on Moore, and his punishment was reduced to burning in the hand – quite common at the time – because Moore had pleaded his status as clergy. Since the magistrates expected a full pardon to follow, and because they feared the student may leave his studies, the sentence was reduced to nothing.

It did not work out as quite expected, as Moore presently disappeared. A year later he mysteriously reappeared and recommenced his studies at Exeter College.

RETURNING THE FAVOUR

During the Civil War Oxford was a royalist stronghold, but not before the parliamentarians were driven out soon after the royalist victory at Edgehill in October 1642. As the soldiers left, one of the London troopers, marching down the High Street, let rip at St Mary’s (the University church) and in particular at the statue of Mary above the porch, blowing off her head and that of baby Jesus.

But favours came from both sides when, later, some Christ Church aristocrats stopped the coach of the elderly Lady Lovelace (a Whig) outside the Crown and pulled her from it, calling her an ‘old bitch’. Even the Dean of Christ Church was forced to express displeasure with the students.

INCIVILITY IN CIVIL WAR

During the early years of the Civil War, when Oxford was held by the royalists, one Captain Hurst was executed by firing squad in December 1643, by order of the King, for having stabbed a superior officer during an argument. The sentence was carried out in Mr Napper’s ancient Great Barn, which stood across the road from his house, Holywell Manor.

DEAD MAN’S WALK

In 1645, towards the end of the Civil War, Cromwell routed a party of the King’s troops near Islip Bridge; 200 soldiers and 400 swordsmen were taken at this crushing defeat and the rest fled to Bletchington Park. Cromwell followed and besieged them there. The governor of the Bletchington Park garrison was Colonel Francis Windebank. Against his better judgement, but at the request of his wife and other women, Windebank made a deal and surrendered. Bletchington Park was one of several outposts that were intended to keep Oxford supplied and protected from sudden attack. The colonel was allowed to return to Oxford with his colours to report the surrender to Prince Rupert who, having just been humiliated at Islip, was rather less than pleased with the news. Windebank was brought before a court martial and taken to the meadow wall of Merton College and shot. To this day the path is known as Dead Man’s Walk.

NORTH–WEST DIVIDE

Battle commenced between Exeter and Queen’s colleges in mid-February 1665, between those from the north and those from west, which was unusual as battles were fought normally between north and south, but each to their own.

MONMOUTH VS YORK

Charles II died in 1685 and two men stood to gain by being crowned king: his illegitimate son, the Protestant Duke of Monmouth, and his brother, the Catholic Duke of York. Less than two years before, in 1683, tension was running high in Oxford, as elsewhere. In April 1683 it was only two months before the Rye House Plot (the plan to assassinate Charles and the Duke of York) would be uncovered.

One night in that April a flashpoint was reached in Oxford. In a pub in Magpie Lane both students and locals sat drinking, in separate rooms of course. The locals toasted Monmouth so the students toasted York. It was all too much for one student who yelled from the other room asking why the townsmen were so rude. This inflamed one of the students, Mr Taylor, who stood up and ripped off his coat and said he would fight any of them. Taylor was cooled down, but the locals continued to toast Monmouth. Eventually the students thought it would be a better idea if they left.

The bill was paid and the students walked out at 8.45 p.m., but the townies did not leave it there. The students were followed at close distance down the High Street with the locals yelling ‘up Monmouth’. Unfortunately one student innocently going in the opposite direction was clubbed by the townsmen, who cried out ‘kill him, kill him!’. With the mob hot on his heels, the poor student, having been freed, ran for cover in a cutler’s shop. Several attempts were made by the city authorities to remove the ringleaders, but without success. Mr Chartlett, a Deputy Proctor, was a no-nonsense type of man. He spied the mob at Carfax at 10 p.m. and went for the ringleader Will Atkyns. Despite Atkyns’s protest that Chartlett had no warrant, the Deputy Proctor clapped hands on him and hauled him off.

The 300-strong mob supposed that Atkyns would be taken to the Bocardo prison and they besieged the building. But Atkyns had been taken to the Castle gaol instead. While Chartlett tried to make it through the outermost wicket gate of the Castle, the mob were at the Bocardo screaming that they would rescue Atkyns and they would have the Proctor’s blood.

Chartlett had made it through the first and was now at the second wicket gate with Atkyns. By now the mob had realised their mistake and were heading for the Castle. Faced with a locked gate, Chartlett worked frantically to open it, while at the first gate a gentleman from London, a passer-by, kept the mob at bay with his sword. The gentleman may have fought a valiant rearguard action, but over his head projectiles were flying. While working on the lock, Chartlett was being pelted with stones. Possibly it was some consolation that Atkyns was also receiving his fair share of the battering. The mob broke free at the first gate, but Chartlett had managed to unlock the second and succeeded in closing the door on the rampaging masses, having dragged his prisoner inside with him.

The Bocardo prison, demolished in 1771, abutted the North Gate at the end of Cornmarket Street. The tower of St Michael’s Church rises above the gate. (OCCPA)

The riot continued outside. Some tried to climb in over the walls, others just screamed that they would liberate Atkyns and have the Proctor’s and Vice-Chancellor’s blood to boot. Chartlett was now well and truly stuck inside, but managed to smuggle out a note to the Vice-Chancellor asking for help. Meanwhile, Atkyns was merrily telling his guards that he would see all the University members hanged. So keen was Atkyns that he said he would even see to it personally. For his services he offered to charge the very reasonable rate of 2d for each hanging.

At 1 a.m., in the dead of night, the Vice-Chancellor with men from Jesus College turned up at the Castle and rescued the Proctor, arresting numerous members of the mob as they went. Several men besides Atkyns stood charged with riot at the next Assizes on 4 September 1683, but the jury threw out the charge against them and all the men went free.

ARROGANCE BEFORE A FALL

Dalton, a junior Fellow of All Souls, was returning from a hunting trip in October 1705 when he met a policeman. Such was his pride that he would not lower himself to move for the policeman and tried to force the man aside as they came into contact, but lost out. As the policeman walked away, Dalton, pride dented, turned around and shot the constable in the back. But the policeman was a big, powerful man and ignoring the wound went up to Dalton, took the gun, arrested him and sent Dalton to gaol to await his trial.

PISTOLS AT DAWN

Sir Cholmly Dearing, formerly of New College, and Mr Thornhill were very close friends. Well, they were close until they had a falling out over a ‘matter of honour’. On 17 May 1711, only two weeks after the bust-up, it came to a head. The gentlemen met to duel with dagger and pistol. In this theatrical rendition the first act was also the last. Mr Thornhill was the first to shoot and blew a hole clean through Sir Cholmly. The runner-up in this competition only survived until 3 p.m. that afternoon. Death must have come as a shock for Sir Cholmly and also for his two young sons who survived him. But most of all it would have been a great shock for the woman who had been destined to be his second wife only days later. And this was probably not the final blow-out with friends that Dearing was looking for in the run up to his own wedding day.

DRUMMING UP SUPPORT

Accompanied by a drummer, an officer from the Dragoons was beating up support for volunteers on the Oxford streets one night in August 1715. They were booed and hissed as they went about their business, but carried on until finally they were surrounded. The pair were cornered by a pumped-up mob, which consisted mostly of students. The mob jeered and jostled the soldiers, yelling out ‘down with the Roundheads’. The two men were heavily outnumbered, but forced their way out and pushed on towards the Angel Inn with cries of ‘God save the Duke of Ormond’ echoing in their ears. The good duke at the time was the University’s Chancellor. As the troops neared the doors of the inn, out came a gentleman, sword drawn and ready for combat. He put the fear of God into the officer who, under threat, was made to sheepishly call out ‘down with the Roundheads’. But this token did not buy the soldiers’ freedom, it only served to draw an even larger crowd, who continued the chant. With such large numbers, those who would otherwise not have dared get involved soon joined in. Out stepped a tailor, a well-known Roundhead, to gather evidence against the rioters. He was known locally as ‘My Lord Shaftesbury’ on account that he, like the Earl, was physically deformed. This was a particularly bad move on his part as he was instantly recognised and jumped on; though it did take a little heat away from the battered soldiers.

The would-be informant was driven down the street, buffeted and pushed towards the East Gate, presumably to shove him outside the city and shut the gate behind him. The tailor saw his ‘saviours’ as they rode through the gate and into town. He grabbed the bridle of the first horse, which only served to give the mob a stationary target to flog. The stranger was indignant and asked what the hell was going on. The crowd replied the man was a Roundhead and the rider coolly said, ‘Please, carry on.’ The crowd took great pleasure in this, but presumably the tailor did not.

Despite the fact that attention had been drawn away from them, the Dragoons were still overwhelmed by force and were being pelted with eggs and rocks. The authorities were forced to step in. The crowd was told that if they did not stop they would be reported to the King himself. Ignoring this the mob stoned on – seemingly mobs do rule and strangers are not always kind.

The East Gate, now demolished, lay at one end of the High Street. Outside the city walls Longwall Street leads off to the right behind the trees. (OCCPA)

Two weeks later a group of Dragoons came upon ‘four students of note and distinction’. Not much distinction was made and the only note that would have been heard would have been ‘ow, ow’, as the soldiers gave them a sound beating. It was only when the Vice-Chancellor and others stepped in to rescue them that the students were saved from some rough justice and from being torn to pieces by the miffed Dragoons. It would appear that the score line was one apiece, but the Vice-Chancellor used his power to take the soldiers to task and had all the Dragoons sent away from the city.

Seemingly this was the end of the episode, but it was the Dragoons who would have the last laugh. The final blow was dealt to the University in September 1715 when the Chancellor, the Duke of Ormond, was impeached for high treason and crimes against Parliament. The great man fled for his life to France and Parliament issued a declaration that if he did not surrender himself by the 10th he would be considered guilty and a traitor. It was a bit of a toss-up: he did not return, which left the University perplexed; and they had no Chancellor, although Ormond had not resigned. It was a sticky matter, but it was resolved when a letter was received from Ormond’s brother. The communiqué signified that Ormond finally had resigned, which happily allowed the University to elect his replacement, presumably too happy to notice that its former Chancellor had just been condemned as a traitor.

BAYONET PRACTICE

In June 1716 a scuffle between students and twenty or more soldiers led to the soldiers being beaten and students running away with the soldiers’ swords to Exeter College. The army officers gave orders that soldiers should carry their bayonets fixed and if anybody, townsman or student alike, offered them the least affront, they should stab them.

BIRTHDAY PARTY

On the Prince of Wales’s birthday at the end of October 1716 the lights, as was custom, were displayed in house windows to celebrate the day. Soldiers quartered in the town were told by their major to smash windows where there were no lights. This they happily did, kicking off in the parish of All Saints, smashing windows as they went and throwing burning brands of fire through windows, as well as letting rip with their guns. They abused the Vice-Chancellor and the Mayor, and blew a hole clean through the mace bearer’s hat. The carnage was only stopped when their colonel, lodging at the Angel Inn on the High Street, ordered the soldiers back to their quarters. It was a miracle they had not managed to kill anyone by shot or by fire, least of all that they did not burn the whole city to the ground.

BOG HOUSE RULES

Antiquity Hall, so-called because antiquaries including Thomas Hearne used to meet here, was owned sometime before 1718 by Geoffrey Ammon. He was an ingenious man, well respected for his knowledge of history, geography and heraldry, and was often consulted there by antiquaries as well as students. He was a merry chap, but one night a dispute arose over the bill and Ammon threw a bottle at the offending Exeter student. The bottle cracked the student across his temple. The student staggered out to the bog house where, rather ignominiously, he died. Ammon was charged with murder, but found guilty of manslaughter instead lived to tell the tale for several years to come.

Antiquity Hall in Hythe Bridge Street, 1817. The building was the meeting place for many of the city’s antiquaries, and the site of a fatal dispute in the early eighteenth century. (OCCPA)

WORLD CAVES IN

Cuthberth Ellison of Corpus Christi College, who was described as a sad, dull and heavy preacher, was preaching in February 1719 at St Mary’s. One of the University Proctors, also present, happened to see some students out in the street. The Proctor left the church and drove the errant students back inside, but he put the fear of God into them so much that they fled into one of the galleries. This caused uproar, as their status did not allow them to be there. Such was the noise and disturbance that people all over the church started yelling that the church was falling down. Panic reigned and the congregation fled in all directions, some jumping out of the galleries, others stomping on anybody who got in their way during the confusion. But not Mr Ellison; as the last of the walking wounded left, he continued to drone on until his sermon was finished.

In a more bizarre incident, sixteen years previously, during Lent an afternoon service was being preached by Mr Stradling, of Christ Church, in the church of St Peter-in-the-East. Several young boys got up into the church tower and proceeded to throw stones down onto the church roof. This so much alarmed the congregation that they stampeded, screaming that the church was collapsing. They had fair trashed the small church in their panic to escape injury. Ironically Mr Stradling was in the middle of his sermon preaching on the end of the world.

HALL OF INFAMY

Battle commenced on the front quad of St Edmund Hall in June 1723. The protagonists were Mr Walter, a gentleman student, and Sam, the college’s assistant butler. They were fiercely locked in combat when Mrs Felton, the Warden’s wife, arrived on the scene. Coincidently Mrs Felton was related to Mr Walter, but it was only with great difficulty that she parted the two combatants. The fight was by no means over and Dr Felton and Mr Cread, the Deputy Warden, were forced to add their weight in order to quell hostilities. Walter did not appreciate this intrusion, especially not from Cread, and Walter, who had armed himself, began throwing plates at Cread. Walter narrowly missed the Fellow’s head, yelling out that it was only yesterday that Cread was a poor servitor at Queen’s. Nothing like a bit of upper-class snobbery. The feud was eventually quashed, but it left ill-feeling on both sides of the divide.

Discipline at the time was a little free and easy or at least the students’ morals were. It turned out that Mr Rice, described as a ‘Welshman of ill character’, had ‘entertained’ a young lady in his rooms the previous evening. The girl stayed until morning, but Sam had discovered this and gone straight to Dr Felton to drop Rice in it. Sam informed Dr and Mrs Felton of the young lady’s presence and it was this betrayal that seems to have been the starting point for the outbreak of hostilities. This was a big issue at the time, because women were a no-no in college, except for a few bedmakers and the Warden’s wife. New College went so far as to have a statute that basically implied the bedmakers should be so repulsive that no student would want to sleep with them. Sam’s betrayal of Rice so much offended Walter that the student had resolved to take the assistant butler to task – after all Sam was a mere servant. On the morning in question, Sam had left college to find a Proctor to search and drag out the girl. But before one could be found Rice and others, who perhaps included Walter, had helped the young lady to escape by smuggling her out of the college.

HAPPY FAMILIES

In his will Thomas Myn, a joiner, had left all his possessions to his wife, Ann, that upon her death they should be distributed among his wider family, much to the annoyance of his siblings, John, Susan and Hesther Myn. It was April 1726 and the siblings were intent upon taking possession of the items before the widow’s death. John entered and commandeered the house his brother had built next to Magdalen Parish Church.

The matter was decided in court in favour of the widow Myn and with five bodyguards she went to claim the house on 1 April. John was not at home, but his wife was and she was armed with two pistols with four bullets each. As the party entered the house she let rip at them, but neither pistol went off and she was bundled out of the building. Ann Myn left the five men in charge of the house that evening as she went away.

Returning later that night at 1 a.m. John Myn, in the company of another man, climbed over the garden wall and broke into the house. After blowing out the candle that was lit in one of the rooms, John stabbed Edward Hastings, one of the guards, through the heart. The poor man, a former soldier with a wife and children, died instantly. Myn then moved through the house and came upon another guard, Richard Taylor. Myn made a frenzied attack, repeatedly stabbing Taylor, inflicting several wounds to the stomach. Taylor was a widower and must have thought of his four children as he lay there, bleeding profusely.

The next morning John Myn’s wife was arrested as an accessory and committed to gaol. Richard Taylor died a few days later from the multiple wounds he had received. Ann Myn promptly issued a reward of £10 for the apprehension of her brother-in-law.

On 20 April John Myn was apprehended at Coleshill near Faringdon. Word was sent to Oxford and a coach was dispatched to convey him back to the town. He arrived at 3 p.m. on the 21st and was committed to the Castle gaol to await trial at the next Assizes – if he survived that long. Myn had been shot several times before he could be taken. He died of his wounds that very night at 9 p.m. while he sat alone in his cell in the Castle gaol. His body was taken out and buried the next night in Magdalen Parish churchyard.

FUN OR FIGHT?

Copley, Pennington and Bowles, gentlemen commoners of Queen’s College, were regulars at Mr Bugge’s coffee shop in St Clement’s. Bugge’s wife and unmarried sister were considered to be very loose, which is maybe why the students all went there. The men drank all day on New Year’s Eve 1727. They left – perhaps the gentlemen did not get the action they were looking for, but they must have been high on caffeine. They proceeded to try and grab the maid of Mr Allen, a barber, who was walking down the street in St Clement’s. Mr Allen was beaten to a pulp when he stepped in to stop them running off with her. Failing once again to obtain a woman, they attacked an apprentice to Mr Hyeron, the barber in St Peter-in-the-East, beating him about, perhaps because he was the first moving target they came across. The matter was referred to the University authorities by the town as ‘a cause for concern’. Maybe they thought the students should have been working rather than chasing women.

A WARM CONTEST

As entertainment goes, St Martin’s Parish was in for a treat on 23 April 1766. Two ‘brisk’ widows of the parish, one a haberdasher and one a midwife, had fixed their affections on the same man, whom they both intended to make their future husband. One having been favoured with a visit from her lover, her rival was livid. Having found her foe, the women set to with their tongues, lashing each other with words, which rapidly became fists. Both received a battering and were left to display the marks of the other’s resentment. No report was made about which side was victorious, but one of the combatants was forced to retreat, leaving the object of her affections in the possession of her antagonist, who readily claimed her prize.

FROM THE RICH TO THE POOR

In September 1766, when inflation was high, the cost of basic provisions had gone through the roof and food was being exported, the huddled masses heard that a wagon was to leave Oxford secretly in the dead of night. On the 23rd a group stopped a wagoner at St Giles’s on his way from the Holywell Mill. The group slashed some of the flour bags he was transporting and finally let him go.

The next night a huge mob assembled at Carfax. Having stolen the miller’s cart, they removed flour from Holywell Mill. And, with 120 sacks of flour, they distributed it among the populace at large.

The mob then went to the Castle Mill, but found little there and left it alone. At Osney Mill the miller cleverly struck a deal. Rather than have them swipe his goods, he agreed to sell his wheat at a low price. The next night the miller kept his promise. Similarly other businesses were compelled to sell bacon, cheese, butter, fish, ducks, chicken, candles and even soap at reduced prices that were fixed by the mob. Friday 26th saw Mr Butler, a London wagoner, relieved of his load of butter. This was sold for him at 4d a pound, though it is not stated whether he actually received the proceeds.

The tree-lined street of St Giles’s, 1833, which led to Oxford’s North Gate, with St Mary Magdalen in the distance. (OCCPA)

An early nineteenth-century view of Osney Bridge and toll-house on Botley Road leading out of the city. The bridge collapsed in 1885. (OCCPA)

The city and University officials addressed the crowd and said they would redress the balance, but if events were not stopped, legal action would be taken. This being heeded, the city residents awaited the return of the wagoner with cheese from Burford fair. Thereafter they stopped wagons and forced their owners to sell their goods at the price the mob had fixed upon, threatening to stop any and all transport of provisions out of the city. The local paper stated that by an immediate cessation of exportation it was hoped to quell the unwashed masses.

JEALOUSY KILLS

Jane Harris had left her husband James in May 1821 and stayed for three weeks with Henry Hyatt, also of Headington and a married man. After that she had lived for a short while with her sister. It was from here that James had eventually collected his wife and taken her home. During his wife’s absence James had never complained to anyone, but was often known to be depressed.

On the evening of 8 September Jane was returning home from work, accompanied by her husband, when Hyatt came up to her and said, ‘Well, Jenny, how d’ye do?’ She replied she did not know. James was intimidated and challenged Hyatt to fight. Hyatt declined, but said he would fight James any other time. They parted company and the Harrises went home. When they arrived, James stormed upstairs, saying ‘I’ll go away’. Soon after he ran back downstairs, but Jane managed to make it to the door before him and lock it shut, so James jumped out of the window. James returned a quarter of an hour later and they both went to bed. He refused to speak to Jane all night, but appeared very agitated and upset. At 8 a.m. the next day Jane fetched some milk and, returning to James in bed, told him he should get up and have breakfast. James refused and shortly afterwards said that he had taken poison. Jane forced a cup from his hand; James said he had drunk nearly all the contents.

Despite medical assistance James finally died two weeks later on 24 September. The verdict at the coroner’s inquest was: ‘Died from poison, taken when in the state of mental insanity.’

OUT OF ORDER

In 1824 Mr Munday was the owner of the Oxford Herald newspaper, which had offices on the High Street. In September of that year he made his opinions concerning the Queen’s conduct freely known. For this disrespectful act, vengeance was sought by some of Oxford’s inhabitants. Shortly after dark on 18 September a large group of locals, fuelled with free drink courtesy of the candidates who had stood for positions of civic responsibility that day, gathered and proceeded to Munday’s house. They smashed his windows and hurled projectiles into the house, inflicting untold damage on the furniture and property inside.

When the mob went back for a second bite at the cherry the city magistrates were forewarned; the police were ready for them and quashed the night’s activities before they started.

The four ringleaders of the riots were tried on 19 October. All were found guilty and received sentences varying from four to eight months.

A CULT ABOVE THE REST

In 1825 a cult sprang up in Oxford, which was headed by one Mr Muloch. Muloch was a fanatical man who proclaimed that it was contrary to the laws of God for a man to marry. People believed him and many happily married men left their wives and families.

The deserted wives somehow had to fend for themselves, having lost their breadwinner. There were rumblings among the women of St Thomas’s where one of the discarded wives lived. It was all too much for these good and pious female citizens. Having taken great exception to Mr Muloch and his followers, the women learned that the men were holding a meeting on 6 October. Muloch was absent from the meeting at Mr Gardner’s house in St Thomas’s when the mob descended. The enraged women broke down the door, smashed the windows and destroyed the furniture. The men were beaten into the street where the rest of the parish joined in, hooting and pelting them with shit and anything else that came to hand. Beaten and clothes torn, the cult members were practically unrecognisable. One of their number, Mr Hunt the apothecary, was reported as faring worst than most, if that was possible. Hunt was eventually forced to take shelter in the Town Hall until the mob had been dispersed to avoid being ripped to shreds.

BEATEN FOR MODESTY

At 6 p.m. on 4 January 1826 Frederick Julienne, a 60-year-old carpenter, was found dying in Mr Lucas’s yard in the Parish of St Thomas. He was dragged to the house of James Allen where medical assistance was called for and duly given. But Julienne never recovered his senses and died later that day at 4 p.m. Not to waste any time, the body was taken to the Lamb and Flag and a coroner’s inquest opened. The hearing lasted until 8 p.m. the next day, when a verdict of manslaughter was returned against William Selstone, also a carpenter. Selstone was committed that very evening to gaol to stand trial four days later on 9 January.

It seems that Harriet Eeley, ‘a notorious prostitute’, who had lived with Selstone, had brought Julienne to her house on the night of Tuesday 3 January. This act upset Selstone so much that he ordered Julienne to leave, then proceeded to violently knock six shades out of Julienne, flooring him twice. The post-mortem revealed that there were large amounts of extravasated blood on Julienne’s brain, which had caused his death. Monday duly came and the grand jury threw out the charge of manslaughter and acquitted Selstone.

BETTER TO KEEP QUIET

Ann Cox, a smart young lady, was brought into court on 11 June 1830 charged with assaulting and violently abusing an old woman by the name of Mrs Baylis. Although the charge was proved, Cox managed to damn herself, for during her own defence she stated that she called Mrs Baylis ‘a damned old bitch’. During the incident in question, when Baylis had taken hold of her Ann had proceeded to deal a heavy slap across the face to the old lady. Ann was fined 10s plus costs and released.

A MAN OF LETTERS

Arriving at the subscription room at the Town Hall on the evening of 6 January 1832, Francis Stevens, a printer, announced to the assembled gentlemen that he hoped he did not intrude. Sitting down, Stevens rang the bell and called for a glass of brandy and water. Although not a member, Stevens considered that he had every right to be there since he was also ‘a man of letters’. Unfortunately the waiter, William Holmes, did not agree and refused to serve him as he was neither a member nor a guest of one. Stevens asked for a pint of beer or a glass of water, but the waiter again refused. Stevens demanded the waiter ask his master, Thomas Cowderoy, if he was not to be served.

Stevens left the room and returned with Cowderoy. Holmes told him to leave, Stevens yelled ‘I must, must I!’ and ran to the fire and seized the poker. Holmes and Cowderoy jumped on Stevens and threw him out. Stevens, feeling miffed, brought a case against Holmes and Cowderoy, which was heard on 16 January, at which the Mayor concluded that no more force was used in the expelling of Stevens than was necessary and dismissed the case leaving Stevens to pay 9s 6d in costs.

A PINCH AND A PUNCH

Mr Middleton, a Cutslow farmer, was returning home from market in Oxford in August 1834 and had stopped at the King’s Arms in Summertown to wait for his son. When he entered the pub there was only one other man there. Another soon entered, struck up a conversation and produced a curious lock, wagering that Mr Middleton could not open it. Middleton said that he wanted nothing to do with either of them. Both men pushed Middleton to bet. The waiter stepped in saying there would be no bets laid and took Middleton into the next room.

After waiting another quarter of an hour for his son Middleton left, followed by the two men, who had given the waiter a smack in the mouth for interfering. It was now after 7 p.m. A furlong from the pub, Middleton was accosted by one of the men, James Harvey, who was twittering on about being a friend, saying that he was going in the same direction and would walk with him. Middleton thanked him and told him to get lost.

Harvey kept with him and rubbed him up and down to find out whether Middleton had a wallet in his pocket. The farmer said that if Harvey did not leave him alone he was going to punch him. Harvey jumped on Middleton and both men fell to the ground. Middleton struggled free and got up, trading punches with Harvey; but the farmer was too much for the man and the assailant ran off into the fields. Middleton, not only a better fighter, was the faster man on foot and caught up Harvey 30yd across the field. Further blows were exchanged. Harvey, beaten, ran off and Middleton, despite being bruised and cut, turned back to Oxford expecting to meet him on the Water Eaton path. There Middleton waited and sure enough Harvey came, but saw his nemesis in time and ran away. Middleton followed in pursuit. Mr Cripp’s shepherd watched the chase. As the men drew closer, Harvey reached Cripp’s shepherd and was clobbered by the man. Middleton and the shepherd brought Harvey back to Oxford.

Under examination Harvey said his name was Jones, brother of ‘Sailor Boy’, the bare-knuckle boxer, though his pugilistic skills did not really bear this out. Harvey was promptly committed for trial.

BUMP AND GRIND

Harriet Whitlock went to the evening service at St Martin’s Church on Sunday 15 November 1835 and sat in a pew belonging to Mr Midwinter. Mr Nash, servant to Sir Joseph Lock, came up and told her to get out. She told Nash there was no room for him. He told her again to come out and then pushed past two or three other people, grabbed hold of Harriet’s wrists and hauled her out. She went to the pew-opener and told him what had happened. Returning with Harriet, the pew-opener insisted that she be allowed to sit in the pew, which Harriet did, next to Mr Nash, who stood on her feet and elbowed her throughout the service to the point where Harriet was ready to pass out. At trial on 16 November, in his defence Nash said that he thought it was his master’s pew and that Harriet had no right to be there. He was promptly fined 20s and costs.

FEMALE PUNCH-UP

Elizabeth Burleigh, a prostitute, was brought before the Mayor on 23 January 1835 for spitting in the face of another prostitute, Jane Owen. Using Jane’s head as a punchbag, Burleigh dealt Jane two black eyes before she walked off and proceeded to smash the windows of Owen’s house. At the end of the court case Elizabeth was convicted and fined 20s plus costs; but unable to pay, Elizabeth was sent to gaol for one month’s hard labour and bound to keep the peace and to stay away from Miss Owen on her release.

A WOMAN’S SCORN

To prevent his wife inflicting further injuries upon him, Joseph Biggers, of St Michael’s Parish, went to court at the beginning of April 1835. Among other things, she had thrown a knife at Joseph during dinner, which hit him in the face, slashing his lip. His wife Elizabeth had hissed that she wished it had cut his throat and killed him instead. On another occasion she had used him for target practice, throwing glasses as well as brass candlesticks at him. It was the last straw and Joseph called in the police to protect him. When Bossom, the policeman, arrived at the house, so violent was Elizabeth that he was forced to handcuff her and for the safety of all remove a cut-throat razor, which she had hidden inside her clothes. After eleven days on remand Elizabeth was found guilty and sent back to gaol until two sureties could be found to cough up £20 each to bind her for her good behaviour for twelve months.

AN OLD GRUDGE PAYS OFF

Edward Cooper, the University policeman, was patrolling St Aldate’s at midnight on 21 July 1835 when he heard a commotion coming from Folly Bridge. When he arrived, there were a dozen people in a circle, one of whom had stripped down to fight. Considering the time of night, it would have been more of a drunken punch-up than an ‘organised’ prize fight. Cooper told the men who he was and told the fighter to dress. The pugilist refused. Cooper looked for support and saw William Higgs, a watchman, some way off down the street and left to have a word with him; they returned together: Cooper went up to Stephen West, who had the fighter’s clothes, and told him to return them. West promptly told the policeman to leave or he would floor him. Cooper stepped forward and was immediately punched by West. With his nose bleeding, Cooper grabbed the man’s collar. West pulled the policeman’s truncheon from his hand and in a frenzied attack Cooper was beaten to the ground by the crowd.