Scottish Murders E-Book

Martin Baggoley

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

This chilling collection of murderous tales brings together forty-seven cases spanning two centuries, all of which were committed in Scotland. Among the shocking crimes featured here is the case of an Edinburgh baby farmer hanged in 1889; the controversial killing of a wealthy Glasgow spinster in 1908; the shooting of a Detective Inspector during a failed attempt to rescue a convict from a prison van in Glasgow in 1921; and the summary execution of a German POW at the hands of his fellow Nazi prisoners in Comrie, Perthshire in 1944. This well-illustrated and enthralling book will appeal to everyone interested in true crime and the shadier side of Scotland's past.

Leseprobe

For Harry and Jean.

CONTENTS

Title page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Case One 1814 Death of a Seaman

Case Two 1818 Raising the Dead

Case Three 1820 The Deadly Gaol Break

Case Four 1823 The Madam and the Phrenologist

Case Five 1829 The Abbey Murders

Case Six 1829 Giving the Doctor

Case Seven 1830 The Gilmerton Outrage

Case Eight 1830 Touched by Evil

Case Nine 1835 Death of a Sergeant Major

Case Ten 1839 The Thorter Row Murder

Case Eleven 1853 The New Vennel Outrage

Case Twelve 1855 The Body in the Loch

Case Thirteen 1857 The Oldmeldrum Murder

Case Fourteen 1862 A Dutiful Daughter

Case Fifteen 1862 Slaughter at Sandyford Place

Case Sixteen 1865 The Killer Doctor

Case Seventeen 1868 The End of an Era

Case Eighteen 1868 Truly Mad or Simply Bad?

Case Nineteen 1869 Robbery and Murder at the Blackhill Toll Bar

Case Twenty 1870 Murdered by her Pimp

Case Twenty-one 1871 Kleptomania, Murder and Attempted Suicide

Case Twenty-two 1883 A Deadly Poaching Affray

Case Twenty-three 1888 The Baby Farmer

Case Twenty-four 1889 Did they Hang Jack?

Case Twenty-five 1889 Murder on Goat Fell

Case Twenty-six 1890 Death at the Wedding

Case Twenty-seven 1892 Death by the Sword

Case Twenty-eight 1892 The Dismemberment of Elizabeth O’Connor

Case Twenty-nine 1893 The Mysterious Death of Cecil Hambrough

Case Thirty 1900 The Body in the Gladstone Bag

Case Thirty-one 1903 The House of Death

Case Thirty-two 1906 The Case of the Poisoned Shortbread

Case Thirty-three 1907 The Deserter

Case Thirty-four 1908 The Oscar Slater Case

Case Thirty-five 1913 Failed by the Parish

Case Thirty-six 1920 The Queen’s Park Murder

Case Thirty-seven 1921 The Prison Van Raid

Case Thirty-eight 1921 The Whiteinch Horror

Case Thirty-nine 1923 Addicted to Meths

Case Forty 1923 The Murder of a Coatbridge Newsboy

Case Forty-one 1925 A Racist Murder

Case Forty-two 1927 A Case of Matricide

Case Forty-three 1928 Duke Street’s Last Execution

Case Forty-four 1928 The Gang Fight

Case Forty-five 1944 A Nazi Atrocity

Case Forty-six 1947 The Bolfracks Tragedy

Case Forty-seven 1950 Murdered by a Motorcar

Plate Section

Copyright

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank the staff at the National Library of Scotland and the Newspaper Library at Colindale for the help given in writing this book.

In the early months of 1814, as the Napoleonic Wars were approaching their end, the Admiralty notified the Fleet that the Royal Navy was to be reduced in size. It was proposed that those seamen who had served the longest would be the first to be discharged and allowed to go home. However, once the order became known, many ratings decided not to wait for their official discharge papers, which led to a sudden and dramatic increase in the number of desertions. The authorities ordered that deserters must be halted and officers were therefore directed to use the strongest measures necessary to prevent men from leaving their ships in this manner. One ship for instance, the frigate Unicorn, had lost fifteen crewmembers, who deserted after being paid their wages at Stromness ten days before she arrived in Leith on 14 June 1814.

On 15 June, one of the Unicorn’s boats, which carried two midshipmen, Robert Wright and John Levit, accompanied by six ratings, was sent to the yard with rigging in need of repair. One of the ratings was William Jones, who, despite being a good sailor, could be awkward and cause problems for the ship’s officers. As soon as the boat docked, Jones sought permission to leave the yard but his request was refused. Later, he repeated his request, only to be turned down once again. In response, he turned to Midshipman Levit and said, ‘You know you cannot keep me,’ which was interpreted as a threat to desert.

Later that afternoon, the frigate’s captain ordered another boat to be sent to the yard and among its crew were midshipmen Andrew Carroll and Thomas White. On its arrival, Levit advised his fellow junior officers of the possible problems posed by Jones. Midshipman White approached Sergeant Murrell of the West Norfolk Militia, who was acting as sentry at the dockyard gates, to instruct him that none of the ratings off the Unicorn should be allowed to leave unless accompanied by an officer.

Jones made a third request to be allowed to leave the yard, but this was once more refused by Levit. Jones replied, ‘Here goes,’ and ran through the main gate and out of the dockyard. Levit gave chase, caught the fleeing seaman and ordered that he should be confined in the dockyard guardhouse. Following this incident, the midshipmen visited the nearby Britannia Inn, where they dined and drank a great deal of ale. When they returned to their boats at seven o’clock that evening, they were told that four men had deserted.

White immediately called out for Jones, who replied, ‘Here, Sir.’ He had been released from the guardhouse but did not abscond with the others. However, he too had been drinking and was lying on his side close to the edge of the quay. When ordered to lower himself into the boat, he refused and told White that he was waiting for a barmaid from the Britannia to bring him some bottles of ale to take back for his shipmates on the Unicorn. This act of insubordination enraged White, who responded by drawing out his cutlass.

Addressing Jones, the midshipman demanded, ‘Won’t you go on board Sir, when I desire you?’ Jones ignored him and joined in singing with those sailors who were already in the boat preparing to row back to the frigate. Angry at this further display of disobedience by the seaman, White struck him twice across the head with the flat of the blade. Jones rose to his feet but before he could say or do anything, the midshipman stabbed him once in the stomach. The wounded man staggered and fell to the ground and, as he did so, White stamped on his head. Jones fell off the quayside and as the tide was out he landed on some exposed rocks. Several members of the boat’s crew picked him up and laid him out in the small vessel, but he died later.

Twenty-five-year-old White was not court-martialled but stood trial at the High Court of Judiciary on 12 July 1814, at which he pleaded not guilty to murder, claiming Jones’s death was an accident. In court, powerful and hugely incriminating testimony was given by a number of respectable civilian witnesses, all of whom were local tradesmen who were in the vicinity at the time of the alleged murder. These included Leith bakers James Allen, David Thompson and John Bayne, carpenter Archibald Morrison and stocking-maker John Duff.

James Allen told the court that he shouted to White that he was a murderer and should hang for what he had done. White turned towards him, making threatening gestures with his cutlass and screaming that he would kill anyone who attempted to restrain him. He continued to shout that he had only been performing his duty as Jones was about to desert.

‘The wounded man staggered and fell to the ground’

White, who had been drinking for much of the afternoon, seemed to be confused and unsure what he should do next. He boarded the boat and made for the bowsprit, where the boatswain attempted to take the cutlass from him. White was able to struggle free but was threatened with a mallet by a crewmember. He jumped out of the boat and was eventually held down by the boatswain and a local innkeeper, Fowler Ferguson, who was able to prise the bloody cutlass from his hand.

White was escorted to the town’s council chamber to await questioning while attempts were made to treat the wounded man. However, Jones was beyond help and died a short time later. A post-mortem revealed that death was due to one deep stab wound to his stomach and it was clear that the weapon must have been plunged into the victim with great force.

The first defence witness was Rear Admiral William Johnstone Hope, who described the pressure placed on the shoulders of junior officers given with the task of preventing desertions by men under their command. Another officer, Lieutenant Kedger of the Unicorn, recalled an incident three years earlier off the coast of Spain, when Jones was punished for striking a Master of Arms, thus making the jury aware of the fact that the dead man’s disciplinary record was far from exemplary. The admiral and lieutenant spoke highly of the prisoner, who was said to have been an excellent young officer destined for a brilliant career with the Royal Navy.

The Crown had presented White as someone who acted with malice in a wholly inappropriate manner and who had used excessive and unnecessary violence against the deceased. However, midshipmen Carroll and Levit emphasised the disobedience of Jones on the day in question and his attempt to desert, which the defence believed put White’s actions in a different light. Credence to this was given by a Mrs Christie, the wife of the captain’s steward on board the Appelles, a sloop of war also berthed at Leith at the time. She witnessed the incident and told the jury that in fifteen years, she had never seen such blatant disobedience and despicable behaviour by a sailor.

Two ratings who served on the Unicorn named Baskin and Tough, both captains of the main top and therefore senior and experienced seamen in charge of a group of sailors, also appeared for the defence. They spoke highly of White, describing him as a just and humane officer who treated his men well. They insisted that he bore no ill-will towards the dead man and confirmed that three days before the alleged murder, White had spoken on behalf of Jones and prevented him from being flogged for being drunk on duty.

The jury returned with a verdict of guilty of culpable homicide and White was sentenced to be transported for fourteen years.

On the afternoon of Wednesday, 26 August 1818, a foot race took place before a large number of spectators at Clarkston, near Airdrie. The competitors were two local handloom weavers, William More and twenty-five-year-old Matthew Clydesdale, a married man with two children. Clydesdale was the victor and afterwards, the two runners visited John Smith’s tavern, close to the Clarkston toll bar, where they were joined by William’s brother John and a friend, John Rankin.

The four men drank heavily for several hours and although drunk, they were in good spirits, especially Clydesdale, who was keen to celebrate his victory. However, when they were asked to leave at two o’clock in the morning, his mood turned ugly after his demands for more alcohol were refused by the landlord. It was only with great difficulty that his companions persuaded him to leave and when challenged to a race by William, he appeared to regain his good mood. Eventually, the men reached Laigh Drumgelloch, close to Clydesdale’s home. They parted company but within a matter of minutes, William heard a cry of ‘Murder!’ coming from the direction in which Clydesdale had walked. Fearing his friend may have been the victim of a robbery by footpads, William ran in the direction of the shout, to offer assistance if it was necessary for him to do so.

A little earlier, eighty-year-old Alexander Love and his fourteen-year-old grandson, Alex, were preparing to leave home for the start of the early morning shift at Blackridge Pit, where both worked as colliers. They set off, each carrying his pick, and after walking a short distance they encountered Clydesdale, who was recognised by Alex as the youngster had attended the foot race earlier in the day. Alexander realised the man was very drunk and was in a belligerent mood. As they passed him, Clydesdale glared menacingly at Alexander and demanded, ‘What do you want?’ Wishing to avoid any trouble, the elderly collier replied, ‘Nothing, I am on my way to work.’ Without any warning, Clydesdale pushed Alexander to the ground and, grabbing his pick, began to strike him with it. He ordered Alex to kneel but the youngster refused and it was he who shouted ‘Murder!’ as he began running back towards home to seek help.

William discovered Alexander lying on the ground, moaning loudly. At first he thought he must have fallen and injured himself, as he could see nobody else. However, when he knelt by his side to tend to him, William realised he had been the victim of an assault as blood was flowing from his mouth and he noticed a number of head injuries. Hoping to attract more help, William shouted, ‘Here is a murdered man!’ After a few moments the silence was broken by the sound of someone, who had clearly been hiding in nearby bushes, running away in the direction of Clydesdale’ house. William did not realise that they were the footsteps of Clydesdale.

‘Here is a murdered man!’

Meanwhile, Alex had reached home and alerted his parents, William and Catherine, together with his grandmother, who cried out, ‘My man is killed!’ Despite nursing a sick child in her arms, Catherine ran with her husband to the spot where Alexander lay and found William More cradling the elderly man’s head in his arms. The two men carried Alexander home, where his distraught wife and grandson were waiting. Surgeon Mr Niven was called to the cottage and discovered that the injured man had suffered several deep wounds to the head and body. Each of these was a distinctive square shape, one quarter of an inch in diameter, and to the surgeon there could be no doubt that Alexander’s own pick had been the weapon used to inflict the injuries.

Clydesdale fell under suspicion almost immediately and the police visited his home a few hours later. He was not there but his lodger told the officers that their suspect arrived home in the early hours, claiming he had been attacked by two tinkers who attempted to rob him. He managed to escape, but not before suffering an injury to his knee. It was presumed that Alexander was able to strike his assailant at least once during the struggle. The lodger also informed the police that Clydesdale was in such a rage that he smashed the family cat against the floor with such ferocity that it was killed and he threw its body onto the fire.

Clydesdale’s description was circulated throughout the district and he was arrested soon afterwards. Alexander died on the following Sunday morning and it was for his murder that Clydesdale stood trial in early October, at which he entered a not guilty plea. In his opening address to the jury, the Crown barrister emphasised that it was in many respects a motiveless crime from which the perpetrator gained no profit. It was also clear that revenge was not the reason for the murder, which was committed simply because the killer was drunk and had lost all self-control. However, this in no way excused the crime, which should not be reduced in seriousness, for he was guilty of wilful murder.

In Clydesdale’s defence, it was argued that there was sufficient doubt to enable the jury to declare him innocent and an important point in his favour was that before he died, Alexander was unable to state categorically that Clydesdale was the man who attacked him. The only witness was young Alex, who, it was argued, may have been confused in his own mind having seen him earlier in the day at the foot race. Furthermore, Alex told the police originally that the attacker was wearing white breeches, whereas all the other witnesses swore that Clydesdale wore breeches of a different colour that night. This, it was claimed, cast doubt on the reliability of the youngster’s evidence and thus the jury could not convict the prisoner of murder.

The defence concluded by saying that all of the evidence pointed to Alexander being the victim of a planned robbery, committed by unknown footpads who had been lying in wait for the two colliers, who, due to their great age and youth, would have been incapable of offering any meaningful resistance. However, the jury was not persuaded by the defence’s arguments and convicted Clydesdale of murder. He was sentenced to death and it was ordered that he should be fed only bread and water as he awaited his execution, following which his body was to be handed over to Dr Jeffray, Professor of Anatomy at Glasgow University, for dissection.

Three other criminals were sentenced to death at the sitting: Mary Kennedy for uttering a forged bank note, and housebreakers James Boyd and Simon Ross. The four convicted prisoners were put in a single cell together and made a determined but unsuccessful attempt to escape, which led to them being put in irons. Kennedy and Boyd were later reprieved, which left Clydesdale and Ross for execution on Wednesday 4 November at three o’clock in the afternoon.

On the Monday before his hanging, the governor of the gaol permitted Clydesdale to drink a bottle of ale. The bottle was not taken off him and during the night, the condemned man smashed it and with a fragment of glass inflicted severe wounds to his arms and throat in a determined suicide attempt. He was found close to death by a warder when his cell door was opened in the morning and he was only saved by rapid medical treatment by the gaol’s doctor. This meant that he was fit enough to keep his appointment with the hangman the following day.

The last murderer to be hanged in Glasgow had been James Gilchrist in 1808, thus there was a great deal of excitement at the prospect of Clydesdale’s execution and a large crowd awaited his appearance outside the walls of the gaol. At two o’clock, his arms were pinioned and he spent some time in prayer with the chaplain. Also in the pinioning room was Simon Ross and his father, who had been allowed to see his son for a final emotional meeting. The two men were then led on to the drop and were soon dead. After being left suspended at the end of the ropes for an hour, their bodies were cut down. Ross’s corpse was buried, but Clydesdale’s was taken in a cart to the university, where it was to be dissected. On its journey, the cart was accompanied by a large number of people who hissed and booed it all the way to its destination. As it was being lifted out of the cart there was a loud cheer, for there was no sympathy for this brutal killer of an elderly man who had been incapable of defending himself.

What was not widely known was that Dr Jeffray had invited Andrew Ure, Professor of Natural Philosophy at the Anderson’s Institute, to perform a series of experiments on the corpse prior to its dissection, which involved using a galvanic battery to pass electricity through it. Professor Ure was following in the footsteps of Louis Galvani, who in the late eighteenth century had conducted similar tests on frogs, and also of Giovanni Aldini, who had later performed tests on the bodies of executed criminals at London’s Newgate Gaol.

At the time, it was believed by many scientists that life could be restored in some circumstances using this method and in particular it could possibly assist in the resuscitation of supposed victims of drowning. There was widespread interest and many of Professor Ure’s academic colleagues and members of the general public were crowded into the chamber to watch. What occurred next has become the stuff of legend and the following contemporary account, which was published in The Examiner, provides an accurate account of the four experiments performed on the body and their impact on those present:

On the 4th November last, various galvanic experiments were made on the body of Clydesdale by Dr Ure of Glasgow, with a voltaic battery of 270 pairs of 4 inch plates. The results were truly appalling. On moving the rod from the hip to the heel, the knee being previously bent, the leg was thrown out with such violence as nearly to overturn one of the assistants, who in vain attempted to prevent its extension! In the second experiment, the rod was applied to the phrenic nerve in the neck, when laborious breathing instantly commenced; the chest heaved and fell; the belly was protruded and collapsed, with the relaxing and retiring diaphragm; and it is thought that but from the complete evacuation of the blood, pulsation might have occurred! In the third experiment, the supra-orbital nerve was touched, when every muscle in the murderer’s face was thrown into fearful action. The scene was hideous – several of the spectators left the room and one gentleman actually fainted from terror or sickness. In the fourth experiment, the transmitting of electrical power from the spinal marrow to the ulnar nerve of the elbow, the fingers were instantly put in motion and the agitation of the arm was so great that the corpse seemed to point to the different spectators, some of whom thought it had come to life! Dr Ure appears to be of the opinion that had not incisions been made in the blood vessel of the neck and the spinal marrow been lacerated, the criminal might have returned to life!

Following these dramatic events, the dissection performed by Dr Jeffray before what remained of the audience was no doubt something of an anti-climax.

In April 1821, following a conviction for picking pockets in Ireland, the prisoner, who had given his name as David Bryan, was sentenced to be transported and was taken to Dublin’s Kilmainham Gaol to await a ship that would take him to New South Wales. However, Reverend Backer, a magistrate who visited the gaol regularly, believed that the prisoner fitted the description of a wanted man given in a recent edition of Hue and Cry, but who bore another name. This was twenty-year-old David Haggart, a fugitive from Scottish justice, who was declared an outlaw on 5 February 1821 and who was accused of murdering Thomas Morrin, a turnkey at the gaol in Dumfries, during his escape from the prison on 10 October 1820.

Haggart, although comparatively youthful and despite being born into a respectable family, was a notorious criminal. He was raised in the countryside surrounding Edinburgh, where his father was employed as a gamekeeper and dog trainer. As a child, Haggart often accompanied his father on shooting and coursing parties and when he was ten years old he abandoned his studies to work with him full time. However, he fell in with bad company and left home to live off his earnings as a thief and pickpocket, together with the prize money and proceeds of gambling he won from a fighting cock he owned.

In July 1813, when drunk, he enlisted in the Norfolk Militia, but despised army life and left after one year. He returned home and, intending to live by honest endeavour, began a six-year apprenticeship with millwrights and engineers Cockburn and Baird. However, he left after just two years and it was now, in his late teens, that he embarked on his life as a professional criminal in earnest. He visited fairs and race meetings in the south of Scotland and the northern counties of England, making a living from the proceeds of highway robbery, burglary and other serious crimes.

In January 1818 at Durham, under the name of Morrison, he was sentenced to death for an offence of burglary, but made his first successful escape from gaol, thus avoiding the noose. He was one of a group of prisoners who seized a turnkey, took his keys, bound and gagged the man, and afterwards scaled the wall. A few weeks later, on the 1st of March, he was recaptured at Leith, but after three weeks he got hold of a file, sawed through his leg irons, removed a large stone from the local gaol’s outer wall, and once again made good his escape. He was arrested for another burglary and was due to stand trial at Dumfries. It was whilst awaiting his appearance in court for that offence that the escape took place which led to the death of Thomas Morrin.

‘highway robbery, burglary and other serious crimes’

Now a free man, he travelled to Belfast, where he was betrayed for a large reward by a former cellmate who recognised him. Haggart was detained by the police but was able to escape from the courtroom he appeared in, after which he travelled throughout Ireland, living as he always did, by crime. It was at a fair in Castle William that he committed what would be his last offence. He picked the pocket of a pig-drover, but was seized by his victim and two of his friends. He was held in Downpatrick Gaol and although he was not able to escape, he and a number of other prisoners were able to barricade themselves in their block, preventing staff from regaining control for two days, during which, the male and female prisoners joined together in drunken debauchery.

On learning of Reverend Blacker’s suspicions, the Dumfries authorities ordered local police officer John Richardson to make the journey to Dublin. The officer knew Haggart well and on his arrival was able to confirm his true identity. Within a matter of days, Haggart was returned to Scotland and stood trial for murder on Monday, 11 June 1821. Thomas Hunter, Keeper of Dumfries Gaol, was the first to give evidence and he began by describing what was known as the ‘Cage’, which was located on the second floor of the building. Despite its name, the Cage was popular with prisoners, as it was well ventilated, contained a privy and the fresh air was in stark contrast to the dank atmosphere which permeated much of the institution. At noon on the day of the escape, there were three prisoners inside the Cage. These were Haggart and John Dunbar, both of whom were due to stand trial, together with John Simpson, who was serving a short sentence for vagrancy and who was due to be released the next day. The Keeper gave the men their meals and left them at 1.40 p.m., so was not present when the crime took place.

The next witness was John Simpson, as it was acknowledged by the Crown that he played no part in planning or executing the escape. He testified that Haggart had managed to conceal a large stone in a canvas bag, which he brought into the Cage, clearly intending to use it as a weapon. An adjacent cell contained a condemned prisoner by the name of Edward McRory, who had been convicted of assault and robbery and who was due to hang eight days later. Thomas Morrin was taking a bowl of soup to McRory, and Dunbar asked him to unlock the Cage as he wished to return to his own cell. Immediately Thomas did so, Haggart picked up the bag containing the stone and struck the unsuspecting turnkey several vicious blows to the head. Haggart removed the keys from the badly stunned man’s belt and rushed through the gaol towards the main gate, followed by Dunbar.

Mary Gracie was Thomas Morrin’s servant and was in the gaol’s kitchen. She told the court that she heard Dunbar ask to be allowed to return to his cell, the sound of the attack, and Simpson shouting, ‘Murder! Murder! Haggart is out and has killed Thomas.’ On stepping out of the kitchen, she was confronted by the fleeing prisoners. She saw that Haggart’s hands were covered with blood and he was holding the keys to the main gate. She screamed ‘Murder!’ and attempted to block their escape route but Haggart threatened her and she was forced to retreat into the kitchen and let them pass. She saw them open the main gate and flee. Dunbar was captured a short distance from the gaol but Haggart was able to flee the town.

Imprisoned for debt, Alexander Rae and John Jardine were the first to reach Thomas, who was alive and standing unaided. Nevertheless, Simpson appeared to realise how serious his injuries were and was in a very distressed state. He told the two prisoners, ‘Thomas has got his death and Haggart and Dunbar are off.’ In their testimonies, the two debtors confirmed that the turnkey seemed able to think clearly and told them, ‘Haggart did it.’ Within a few minutes Margaret Huddleston, who lived close to the prison and realised there was some kind of problem, ran to help. She also told the court that Thomas told her, ‘It was that Haggart.’

Surgeon Archibald Blacklock attended to the turnkey’s five head wounds. The most serious of these injuries was two inches long and had exposed the bone above his left eye. Although sensible and able to speak in the immediate aftermath of the attack, his condition soon deteriorated and he became delirious. Thomas died at ten o’clock that night and a post-mortem revealed he had suffered several skull fractures.

When he addressed the jury on behalf of the Crown at the conclusion of the evidence, the Solicitor General reminded its members of the number of witnesses who had heard the deceased state that Haggart was solely responsible for his injuries. Furthermore, there was the eyewitness account given by John Simpson. The evidence was such that a conviction for manslaughter or any other less serious charge was not acceptable and the only possible verdict was guilty of murder.

In his summary of the evidence, the defence barrister urged the jury to ignore the testimony of Simpson, the only eyewitness. His word, he claimed, could not be relied on as he had been a prisoner at the time and was thus a man of low character, and nobody should be sent to the gallows on the evidence of such a man alone. Furthermore, he argued it could not be said categorically by the witnesses, who were not medically qualified, that the dead man had been in full possession of his senses when he made the incriminating comments against Haggart. The lawyer continued by suggesting it was highly suspicious that the Crown had not called Dunbar to give evidence, despite his being present at the time and having planned the escape with the accused. He would therefore have been a hugely important witness but had been transported before the trial opened. This prevented the barrister from conducting a cross-examination, as it was Haggart’s assertion that Dunbar was in fact the murderer.

The jury was not convinced and, without leaving their seats, convicted Haggart of murder. He was sentenced to death and the judge warned him not to expect leniency as it was essential that those working in gaols should have the full protection of the law. Following his execution, his body was to be given to Dr Alexander Munro, Professor of Anatomy at Edinburgh University, for dissection and as he awaited his execution he was to be fed on bread and water only. There was to be neither a reprieve nor another escape.

His mother was dead and having bid an emotional farewell to his father on the Monday before the execution, Haggart spent much of his time reading the Bible. He spent a final and restless night in the lock-up having been taken there from Calton Gaol. On the morning of the execution, he shook hands with the magistrates and other officials who had assembled to witness the hanging. On the scaffold, he impressed the large crowd with his composure and his speech, in which he urged them to avoid ‘The heinous crime of disobedience to one’s parents, inattention to the Holy Scriptures, of being idle and disorderly and especially Sabbath-breaking,’ all of which he blamed for his criminal lifestyle and his shameful end. He knelt down to pray for a few moments before signalling that he was ready to meet his end. Seconds later he was dead.

On the evening of Saturday, 8 February 1823, solicitor’s clerk William Howat and surveyor Henry Kerr, who shared rooms in Broughton Street, Edinburgh, invited their friends Walter Grieve, Alexander Welsh and Mr Johnson to dine with them. After enjoying their meal, they were joined by another friend, Mr Wilkinson, and shared a bottle of whisky. When that was empty, they decided to go out on the town for some amusement. They were in a boisterous mood and were refused admission to Anderton’s Inn, their first port of call. A few moments later the young men knocked on the door of the Black Bull, supposedly a public house but in fact a brothel managed by Mary McKinnon.

The party was admitted and ushered into a room containing a bed and sofa, where they were soon joined by three young women, Elizabeth McDonald, Elizabeth Gray and Mary Curlie. The men ordered whisky, which they shared with the prostitutes, but decided to leave the premises after finishing their drinks, intending to continue enjoying themselves elsewhere. The women urged them to stay and of course to purchase more alcohol, promising the friends a good time in return. What began as good-natured banter quickly deteriorated into a fierce argument when the men continued to insist upon leaving the establishment. The men would later claim that the women blocked the door to prevent them from walking out, whereas the women said that the men became threatening and abusive.

Henry Kerr made his way to the kitchen, looking for another way out. He was followed by William Howart, who opted to stand quietly by the fire and keep out of the argument that was raging around him. Elizabeth McDonald rushed at Henry and grabbed him by the shirt with such venom that it was torn. She then forced him to the floor, screaming that the men must pay their bill. He protested that they had already done so, before rising to his feet and forcing his way past her. He met Grieve and Wilkinson in the hall but Elizabeth McDonald had followed him and struck Wilkinson on his head. He screamed, ‘You bitch! Why do you strike me?’ and he had to be restrained by the other men when he tried to grab hold of her. By this time, Mary Curlie decided to find Mary McKinnon, who had gone out earlier in the evening. When she learnt what was happening, the madam hurried back to the Black Bull with her companions Jane Lundie and Samuel Hodge, a local grocer.

‘You bitch! Why do you strike me?’

A few minutes later, a policeman was alerted by the fracas and entered the house. In the kitchen, the officer discovered Howart bleeding from a knife wound to his chest. James Stuart, an apprentice surgeon was on hand to offer treatment before the injured man was carried to the Royal Infirmary. Unfortunately, there was nothing that surgeon Robert Allen could do for him and Howat realised he was dying. He asked to make a deathbed deposition, which was taken two days after the stabbing by sheriff’s officer George Tait. Mary McKinnon, who was by then under arrest, was standing at his bedside. Howart described his attempts to avoid becoming embroiled in the dispute by remaining in the kitchen. He pointed out Mary McKinnon and swore that she had run into the kitchen and stabbed him in the chest without any warning and for no apparent reason.

At her trial, the accused woman protested her innocence and attempted to place the blame onto the dead man’s friend, Wilkinson. However, once all the evidence had been heard, especially the victim’s deathbed deposition, it became clear that her version of events could not be true. A number of the prostitutes told the court that all of the men became violent and they were compelled to take strong measures to protect themselves. McKinnon’s barrister suggested to the jury that if they were not satisfied someone else had been responsible for the stabbing, they might decide that his client had stabbed the victim in self-defence or to protect one or more of the other women. In these circumstances, they could convict her of culpable homicide rather than the more serious charge of murder.

The defence propositions were rejected by the jury and McKinnon was found guilty of murder. The prisoner fainted in the dock as the judge sentenced her to death and directed that afterwards her body be dissected. Once she had been revived, she was led from the dock screaming that she was innocent and begging for mercy.

She continued to claim that she was innocent of the crime from the condemned cell, insisting that she had seen one of the other women stab Howat. However, she was not believed and there was no reprieve. At a few minutes before eight o’clock on the morning of Wednesday 16 April, she dressed herself in a black silk gown, silk scarf, bonnet and veil. Although she vomited when the official party arrived to escort her to the scaffold, she quickly regained her composure

A crowd of 20,000 awaited her appearance at the head of Libberton’s Wynd. She sat in a chair provided for her for a few minutes while she prayed and the executioner completed his preparations. After rising to her feet, her bonnet was removed and a muslin cap pulled down over her face. She stepped on to the drop and immediately gave a sign that she was ready. Seconds later she was dead.

Local solicitor and enthusiastic phrenologist George Combe was permitted to examine McKinnon’s head and to make a cast before her corpse was dissected in front of a large number of spectators, who had gathered to witness the rare sight of a murderess being anatomised.

In the first quarter of the nineteenth century, phrenology was increasing in importance as it was believed that aspects of an individual’s personality could be gauged by taking measurements of his or her skull. Certain areas of the brain were thought to have specific functions and the shape and size of those areas were mirrored on the relevant parts of the skull. It was argued that by taking measurements of these, the strength or weakness of those influences on an individual’s character and behaviour would be revealed.

George Combe was an early proponent and he was particularly interested in examining the skulls of criminals, especially those who had been executed, as he believed it would be possible to use this information to predict criminal traits in individuals at an early age and take appropriate steps to minimise the damage they caused to society. In 1820, he co-founded the Phrenology Society of Edinburgh and was given access to the skulls of offenders, both dead and alive.

On Thursday 15 May, George Combe read a paper to a well-attended lecture on McKinnon’s personality, based on the measurements he had taken following her execution. He described her as being typical of the type of killer who would not commit a premeditated crime and was more likely to kill on a sudden impulse. He described the back of her head as being a ‘round cannon-bullet form’, which indicated that combativeness and destructiveness were major features of her character. Secretiveness, cunning and love of approbation featured large but conscientiousness, reflection and benevolence were present to a much lesser degree according to his measurements. Combe suggested, for instance, that the need for approbation was evident in the care she had shown in choosing what to wear during her final hours rather than pay attention to the Bible and her prayers.

The hamlet of Abbey was a close-knit community near to Haddington and on the afternoon of Wednesday, 28 October 1829, worried neighbours gathered outside the cottage in which Catherine Franks lived with her daughter, Magdalene. They had not been seen since making their regular call on Marion Inglis four days earlier to purchase milk. Their neighbours became concerned on hearing the hungry squeals of Catherine’s pig, which was housed in a sty in the garden. Finally, John Sorrie and Alexander Dudgeon decided to climb over the fence to investigate.

They found Catherine, whose throat had been slashed, on her back in the pigsty. Concerned for Magdalene, they rushed to her bedroom, where they found her body. Her killer had subjected the youngster to a terrible beating. Dr Thomas Hoden examined the bodies and confirmed that the throat wound was the cause of the mother’s death, while there were eight distinct injuries to her daughter’s head, and she died as a result of several skull fractures. From the state of decomposition, the doctor calculated they both died late on Sunday night or in the early hours of Monday morning. Magdalene’s bedroom had been ransacked, suggesting that robbery was the motive for the murders. The floor was covered in blood and a knife was found at the side of the bed. The police also noticed distinctive shoe prints in the blood, which appeared to have been caused by iron heels with a double rim and which must have been left by the killer.

‘The floor was covered in blood’

The mother and daughter had been popular members of the small community and their deaths caused a great deal of distress to their many friends. Catherine survived on a pension from the Earl of Wemyss, for whom her late husband James had worked as butler for many years. Magdalene was an attractive, kind-hearted and intelligent girl who was always willing to help her neighbours. Catherine’s other daughter, who was eleven years old and also called Catherine, lived with her maternal aunt, who was also named Magdalene, and her husband, Robert Emond, in North Berwick. This was an arrangement the sisters reached to ease the financial burden faced by Catherine in raising the girls.

As a matter of course, Inspector John Lloyd asked Emond, who was the victims’ nearest male relative, to visit the cottage to formally identify the bodies. The inspector warned him of the gruesome nature of the murder scene, but was surprised at just how reluctant Emond was to view the bodies. This led the inspector to wonder if this was a reaction brought about by a guilty conscience. The police officer’s suspicions were given added weight when he questioned Marion Inglis. She informed him that on the previous Sunday, when she last spoke to Catherine, she had accused her brother-in-law of stealing from her and of taking money from his wife. Inspector Lloyd decided to pay Emond, his wife and the younger Catherine another visit. The inspector learnt that on the previous Sunday, Emond and his wife argued following her refusal to give him some money with which to fund a proposed business venture. He beat her and attempted to throw her down a well in their garden. He was only prevented from doing so by a neighbour, who was alerted by the desperate woman’s screams and had rushed to her assistance. The neighbour told the inspector that as the couple argued, his wife screamed that she and her sister Catherine were aware he had been stealing money from both of them.

Emond’s wife later confirmed the argument did indeed take place and that afterwards, despite his apparent remorse, she insisted they slept in separate rooms that night and she was not therefore in a position to comment on his movements. Nevertheless, young Catherine told the inspector that she went to the room in which her uncle was said to be sleeping, in the early hours of Monday morning, to discover the bed had not been slept in and he was nowhere to be seen. However, she did see him return home several hours later in a dishevelled state.

This information meant that Emond was now the inspector’s leading suspect and a search of his home was made on the Wednesday afternoon, which led to a number of incriminating items coming to light. These were a vest and pair of trousers, which were damp and stained with blood, together with a shirt which Emond had attempted to clean but which still bore the impression of a bloody handprint, suggesting it had been grabbed by an individual bleeding heavily from a wound. Also discovered was a pair of shoes, which Emond’s niece had noticed he was wearing when he returned home on Monday morning and which she later saw him cleaning. He was shown all of these items and when told he was to be charged with the two murders, he sighed, ‘Oh God be merciful to me.’

The arrested man was born in Selkirk in 1795, where he was raised by poor but respectable parents. His mother and father ensured that he had a good education but he was a violent youngster, known to the other village children as ‘the fiend’. At fifteen he enlisted in the army, in which he served creditably and mainly in Ireland. Following his honourable discharge, he returned to Selkirk and opened a day school, but this venture was not a success.

He abandoned his idea of teaching as a profession and became a pedlar in worsted goods. It was then that he met his future wife, Magdalene Munro, known to everyone as ‘Highland Mary’. She was raised on the Duke of Gordon’s estate and as an adult turned to dealing in silk, lace and other fine materials. She built up a successful business and was reported to be worth several hundred pounds by the time she met Emond. Those who knew her were shocked when she agreed to marry him, as he was known to be thoroughly unpleasant and violent. Following their marriage, the couple settled in North Berwick, where he opened a grocer’s shop and his wife carried on with her own business. She was therefore of independent means and earned a great deal more than her husband, which was most unusual at that time. It was an unhappy marriage and she very soon began to suspect him of stealing her money.

Despite the growing evidence against him, Emond continued to claim he was innocent of the crimes and from his cell in Calton Gaol he wrote to his wife, insisting he was not responsible for the murders. In the letter he offers an explanation as to how the bloodstains came to be present on his clothes, but expressed the hope that the police would not be able to find the coat he was said to have been wearing on the Monday morning. He wrote:

My dear wife,

I am now confined in the Calton Jail charged with the murder of your sister and daughter, of which I declare to you I am perfectly innocent, though I have done as much as deserves the gallows. My dear Magdalene, I am sorry and even wish to take my own life when I think upon what I have done to you. I can’t get rest night or day. I confess that I am a great sinner and nothing hurts me more than to think that I am under suspicion of the crime of murder. I assure you that I am perfectly innocent of the crime laid to my charge and I hope God Almighty who sees into all things will be my advocate on the day of the trial. I am aware the people are inveterate against me, because the proof, in their opinion, is so much against me. I again, my dearest Magdalene, declare I am innocent, although at this time my mind is so much affected that I hardly know what I say. I have been examined before the Sheriff of Edinburgh several times but I think they can’t prove nothing against me. The public are aware I understand of the iron heels of my shoes corresponding with some marks in Mrs Frank’s house and with a bloody shirt found in my house, which you can prove was occasioned by the blooding of my nose, or you know better by the blood that flowed from your head the Sunday preceding that most horrid murder. I understand that the authorities in Edinburgh are anxious to discover my old coat, but I hope they never shall. My dearest wife, my name has been branded in Edinburgh by illiterate stationers and I suppose that even in North Berwick is held in as much dread as the notorious murderers Burke and Hare. I must allow suspicions are against me but that is nothing. I again implore you to banish from your mind the idea [that I am] a murderer of your sister and niece.

My love to all your friends, for friends I have none. Would that God take me to himself.