Giles Fenderlin: A Pact with the Devil

It is very often said that very little in life comes without a price.  Giles Fenderlin discovered this the hard way when he found himself in prison, awaiting execution because he had:

"...made a Covenant with the Devil for 14 years, written with the blood of his two forefingers, and afterwards kill'd his wife.”

The year was 1652. As confessed by Fenderlin himself, eleven years previously,  he had been serving as a soldier in Flanders. He and two companions had paid a visit to a Jesuit priest, during which the priest offered:

“to procure them a protection from the Devil, which should secure either of them from any hurt or danger, either by iron, steel or lead; or from any would by Gun-shot, stab, or cut by sword, dagger or knife.”

For soldiers who found themselves in danger of their lives, this was a heady promise indeed. Somewhat sceptical, however, the men said they would not agree until they had seen proof with their own eyes; accordingly, it was tested on both a cock and a cat – when both remained unscathed, the men were convinced, paying the priest forty-five shillings in return for a written covenant that was to protect them for the period of five years. 

Flemish Soldiers, 17th Century

Miraculously so it seemed, the deal worked well for Fenderlin, as, by his own admission,

“During the time that he remained a soldier in those parts, he never received any wound, notwithstanding he had often times been in several battles before the face of his enemy, when he hath taken 10,12, or 14 several bullets at a time out of his clothes, which did never enter his body or limbs, only leaving some blue spots upon his skin.”

So impressed was he with this, that in 1643 he renewed and extended the deal for a further fourteen years: either as a reward or because the priest was now certain he had his man hooked, this new arrangement consisted of a covenant with the Devil himself, drawn up and written with the blood of Fenderlin's own forefingers. The substance of this agreement was the same as before, only with the somewhat crucial addition that once the time was up, the Devil was to claim his own, taking Fenderlin's body and soul to do with what he wanted.

Signing a pact with the Devil

Despite the decidedly gloomy prognosis, there were benefits to this new agreement. Along with the protection from harm, the priest also presented him with a ring which contained a stone which:

“...by it if he came to any house where there was money buried, or conveyed into any private place, that he could by the direction of the ring find it out.”

Not just that, but if he were in danger, all he had to do was turn the stone of the ring downwards on his finger and then he would be transported away to a place of safety, up to forty or fifty miles, out of harms way.

The total paid for the ring and new was three pounds, seventeen shillings. The ring was only his for five years, however, and it was taken from him in 1648. This was, Fenderlin was sure, the cause of his downfall, for if he had the money to extend the arrangement with the ring, he would not have come to such a sorry state.

Quite what had led to Fenderlin killing the woman - he stated that although he lived with her, she was not actually his wife - is unknown. Sentenced to death for his crime, however, the man was in a bad way. He was tormented by an evil spirit that came to him at night, and had been so since the 5^th March. This spirit, in the form of a lawyer in a long gown, seemed to have one aim – to convince him to kill himself, either by hanging or cutting his own throat.

His state of mind might be brought into question, but a fellow prisoner also saw an apparition in the cell. According to this man, standing close to Giles Fenderlin was a spirit in the form of a bishop, identifiable by the white lawn sleeves it wore. Fenderlin, agitated, argued with the form, declaring that:

“If you come from God, you are welcome, but if you come from the Devil, I do renounce you; for you have no right nor interest in me: therefore depart from me, and get you to the lowermost parts of Hell from whence you came; for I do both renounce, and defy you.”

After spitting fire in Fenderlin's face, the apparition vanished, leaving the men once more alone.

A 17th Century Bishop such as seen by Fenderlin in his cell. 

The next night, they were also to get no rest. A loud thundering noise was heard up above; upon looking out of the window, what appeared to be a man was seen walking up and down in the yard below. Rob Bull, another prisoner, called out to the man, thinking him one of the servants of the house, but upon seeing the figure in full moonlight realised to his horror that although it looked as a man, it was lacking both head and arms. This was, it was declared, a familiar spirit, sent to further torment the unhappy Fenderlin.

Things only got worse with the following night, when three men of “honest repute” witnessed the appearance in the room of a form in the shape of a dog. The dog jumped at Fenderlin several times, but each time the man pushed it away, telling the others to keep away as it was Satan.

The next night, the last before he was due to be executed, several others were with the wakeful Fenderlin. Again, around midnight, it was reported that the prisoner was visited by more evil spirits – this was all according to Fenderlin however, as they were not witnessed this time by those with him. Indeed, one man ventured,

“Truly, I believe it is the guilt of your own Conscience, and nothing else; for we are all rational men, and cannot discern anything.”

Whatever the truth, it mattered little to Fenderlin. The last that is known of him was that:

“The said Giles Fenderlin was hanged in chains on Friday, being the 11^th of March, 1652, upon Leaven Heath, within a mile and a half of Naylon, [Nayland] where the aforesaid bloody murder was committed.”

Savage Magic: A Magical Must-Read.

There are very few books that would have me up until gone midnight, huddled in the cramped bathroom of a London Travel lodge. Savage Magic by Lloyd Shepherd, however, is one of them. 

[NB I'm not weird – the other half was out gathering beer to review for his blog, the kids were asleep and you have to snatch these opportunities with both hands.] 

This is the first review here at The Witch, The Weird, and The Wonderful, and there is not a better book to set the standard than Shepherd's tale of madness, magic and maleficium. The year is 1814, and Charles Horton, a water constable with the Wapping River Police, is left distraught when his beloved wife, Abigail, leaves him to voluntarily become a patient at Brook House, home for the deranged. His worries are only just beginning however, when he is contacted by top London magistrate, Aaron Graham. There are strange things going on at Thorpe Lee House in the Surrey village of Thorpe, and Horton is charged with getting to the bottom of these mysterious circumstances. 

Elizabeth Hook, the cook at Thorpe Lee House, has been dismissed, suspected of using witchcraft to harm the household, including Graham's estranged wife and daughter. Is she to blame, or are there more sinister forces at work? As Horton throws himself into dealing with the less than welcoming inhabitants, at Brook House, Abigail finds herself drawn to a mysterious and disturbed young woman, Maria, who appears to be in possession of strange abilities. The urgency increases when a series of gruesome and unexplained deaths leave Aaron Graham baffled and in a race against time as, all the while, a dark presence can be felt closing in on all concerned. What binds together the aristocratic members of a club called the Sybarites, the women in Brook House and the household at Thorpe Lee House? And, more importantly, will Charles Horton manage to figure things out in time?

 Brook House was a real house for the deranged, pictured here in 1800.

It was during a late-night browse that I came across Shepherd's page and instantly fell in love. With a book cover. My husband can vouch for that – he very indulgently looked as I waved the laptop in front of him and declared that  the cover of Savage Magic was the most beautiful cover I had ever seen in my life. Add the fact that the book promised magic, mystery and witchcraft and I was guaranteed to buy it. I don't tend to buy on impulse, but on this occasion, I was most definitely not disappointed. 

One thing that particularly leaps out about Shepherd's style is that it is so easy to read. Crisp, clean sentences conjure up the characters and their world effortlessly, and the only complaint I have is that once I picked the book up, it was incredibly hard to put it down! The colourful cast of characters is best left for the reader to discover, but this review wouldn't be complete without giving one a particular mention. Abigail Horton is one of those all-too-are female characters that are interesting in their own right. Her personality can be felt from the first moment we see her, her strength of character coming through loud and clear. She's intelligent, confident and witty without the fact being rammed down the reader's throat, and, most of all, she comes across as being real. 

Savage Magic is a well-written, vibrantly populated page-turner, but now to the nitty-gritty: does the magic element pass muster? I'm the first to admit to being picky when it comes to fiction dealing with a subject area close to my heart, and nothing could be closer than tales of magic and witchcraft. Savage Magic escapes the pitfalls that so many other novels fall into, however, and it is clear that Shepherd has done his research. There was no point where the story jars or throws the reader out, the careful blending of fact and fiction seamless, entertaining, and highly satisfying. 

River Police Headquarters at Wapping, 1891

If it wasn't already obvious, I would highly recommend Savage Magic, and it is on my re-read list – after Shepherd's first two novels, The English Monster and The Poisoned Island of course.  Check out Lloyd Shepherd on Twitter at @lloydshep, and at his Amazon Author Page.

Update: The Fourth and final book in the Horton series, The Devil and the Detective, is due out on April 21st, and can be pre-ordered here. It promises to be as fantastic as the rest of the series, so go and order your copy now! 

Lloyd Shepherd is also currently working on the exciting Riddle of the Sands project. Check it out, and if it captures your interest, you can pledge support in exchange for some exciting rewards and a dose of adventure here. 

Condemned at York: The Gruesome Crime of Isabella Billington

Treason, rebellion, arson and infanticide were just some of the varied crimes that were tried at the Spring Assizes at York in 1649. Fourteen men and seven women were found guilty and condemned to die, a total of twenty-one from across Yorkshire. 

York Castle, 1644.

The men were all found guilty on charges of treason and rebellion and sentenced to hang. Of the women, forty-three year old Jane Lickiss from Shipton had strangled her maid, Mary Lumley, whilst she slept. Emma Robinson from Masham, also know as “Fair Emma”, had poisoned Mary Wood, a fellow maid, due to jealousy between them. Hannah Meynell was charged with attacking George Meyers with the intent to kill him. Two women were guilty of arson; Grace Bland who set fire to the house of her mistress, and Ellen Nicholson from Selby, who likewise burnt her master's house to the ground. Twenty-seven year old Elizabeth Thomlinson was found guilty of murdering her bastard child. Thomlinson, Robinson and Lickess were hanged and then burned, the rest presumed hanged, with Meynell's body being given to the surgeons to be dissected.

By far the most fascinating and disturbing case tried however was that of Isabella Billington. Recorded in Records of York Castle: Fortress, Court House, and Prison, Isabella, aged thirty-two:

"...was sentenced to death for crucifying her mother, at Pocklington, on the 5th January, 1649, and offering a calf and a cock as a burnt sacrifice.”

"Isabella Billington" at York Dungeon.

(Some more recent sources say that she was burnt for her crimes, but this is not stated in the original account.) 

Just what the events were that led to this violent outcome have been lost, and the only reference to Isabella and her crime is that in the 1880 publication, Records of York Castle. Interestingly, she is not named as a witch, but the offering of a sacrifice suggests that this might well have been the implication drawn from her deeds. Isabella's husband was also found guilty of assisting in the grisly crime, and was sentenced to death along with her.

On Saturday 30th April, 1649, the condemned were processed to Knavesmire in York. The men were on sledges, with seven on each one and guarded by the sheriff's officers and a total of twenty-four dragoons. The women, however, were transported in two carts, fifteen dragoons guarding them on each side as they went along.

                     Knavesmire, York. A large part of the area is now York Racecourse. 

“On entering Castlegate that street appeared one mass of human beings, and the solemn procession was stopped for some time before it could proceed, the people were so closely jammed together. The whole of the twenty-one culprits joined as one voice in singing psalms from this street to the gallows.”

Isabella and her fellow condemned were not alone in meeting their fate at York; between 1379 and 1879, it is believed that at least five hundred and sixty four people were executed at York, through beheading or hanging. Knavesmire was the location of the gallows until the last execution there in 1801, when they were moved closer to York Castle. 

Stone to mark the location of the execution site at Knavesmire, York

Although Isabella was tried and executed at York, Pocklington itself was not a stranger to witches. Petronel Haxby was executed there in 1642, and Old Wife Green was, in 1631 “burnt for being a witch," both meeting their end in Pocklington Market Place. A Thomas Dobson was also buried on 24th March, 1643, apparently dying due to a bewitchment.

Pocklington Market Place today. 

The End of a Witch, or Spontaneous Combustion? The Tragic Fate of Grace Pett

You would be forgiven for thinking that tales of people spontaneously igniting are better suited to an episode of The X-Files than a witchcraft blog. In the strange case of Grace Pett, the sixty year old wife of an Ipswich fisherman, however, the two are not so very far apart at all.  

On the evening of 9^th April, 1744, Grace and her daughter had been celebrating the return of another daughter from Gibraltar. The women sat up talking and drinking well into the night, making the most of their reunion. At around 10pm, Grace retired to bed, the daughter who shared her room when Mr. Pett was at sea going with her as usual.  Midway through preparing for bed, Grace returned downstairs, something which was again not out of the ordinary in the household. Her daughter, exhausted by the day's celebrations and thinking nothing more of the matter, fell into a deep sleep. 

What happened in the following hours, no one could say for sure. Upon waking at around 6am, Grace's daughter found herself alone in the bed, with no sign of her mother. Concerned, she made her way downstairs, where a most gruesome sight awaited her.  

Grace's body was “burning with a glowing fire without flame”, and although her daughter attempted to extinguish the fire with two bowls of water, she was too late to save her mother. Grace's ankles and feet, sticking out of the fireplace, were the only parts of her untouched by the flames. It was reported that:

“the Trunk of the Body was in a manner burnt to Ashes, and appeared like an Heap of Charcoal cover'd with white Ashes, the Head, Arms, Legs and Thighs were also very much burnt.”  

During the investigation that followed, Grace's daughter insisted that she could think of no reason why her mother would have gone downstairs other than to smoke a pipe, of which she was in the habit. She also swore that although gin had been freely consumed the night before, Grace was not addicted to drink.  

A Mr. Love who had attended the coroner's inquest into Grace's death, reported in a letter to his brother that:

“...her Body was found quite burnt, lying upon the Brick-Hearth in the Kitchen, where no Fire had been, with the Candlestick standing by her, and the Candle burnt out with which she had lighted herself down.”

The floor under the body, along with clothes and a paper screen nearby were unscathed. There was nothing in evidence to explain how a fire had been produced that would be hot enough to reduce Grace Pett to ashes.  

After much investigation, a verdict of accidental death was returned, though just what form that “accident” had taken was decidedly unclear. 

There were some, however, who thought they knew the answer. For it turned out that Grace Pett was not well regarded in the area, and, with a reputation amongst her neighbours for being a witch, it was not long before rumours began regarding the real cause of her death.

A Mr Garnham lived at Purdis Farm, two miles outside of Ipswich. The welfare of his sheep had caused him great consternation of late, as they seemed to be stricken by a strange disease that caused them to “whirl around and cut sundry strange capers.” The animals eventually died of their unexplained ailment, and it was suggested to him that the sheep had been bewitched.  

Following the advice of his wife, Mr Garnham consulted Mr. Winter, the local cunning man from Ipswich who was held in high regard. Garnham was duly instructed to burn one of his diseased sheep alive, Winter assuring him that if he did so, the suspected witch would appear at the scene in great distress. The ritual would only work if those present remained silent, but if they did, the person guilty of bewitching the animals would be consumed, just as the burning animal was destroyed by the flames.  

Accordingly, a large fire was set up, though the sheep struggled so much that the plan was modified somewhat, with the poor creature finally being crammed into the oven instead. It was not quite big enough to taken the unfortunate animal however, and the bound feet remained hanging out.  

View of Ipswich from Bishop's Hill.

It was rumoured that the same night, as the sheep burnt, Grace Pett was seen making her way over Bishop's Hill towards Garnham's farm, clearly in great agony as she went. She then, according to the tale that spread, took herself home where she lay down in her own fireplace, only to be consumed by fire, all except for her feet and hands which, like the sheep's feet, were untouched.  

News of Grace's death spread quickly and the curious came from miles around to view the perlexing remains. But what really happened to Grace Pett that night? The coroner's report concluded that there was not enough fuel on the scene to reduce her body to ash, but that was exactly what seemed to have happened. Had the old woman, drunk too much, fallen foul of her enemies, or was something far more sinister at play? The truth, in this case, will probably never be known, but, as always, there is plenty of room to speculate. 

Because you can never miss an opportunity for a picture of Mulder and Scully. 

Bewitchment at Belvoir: The Flowers' Revenge

The imprisonment and eventual execution of the “Belvoir Witches” takes up only a small paragraph in the guidebook to Lincoln Castle, where they spent their last days in 1619. Their sorry fate however was not only the closing chapter to one of England's most infamous witchcraft cases, it also saw the end to the dynastic hopes of Francis Manners, Earl of Rutland, a man of great prominence favoured by James I.

The connection between the Earls of Rutland at Belvoir Castle and the Flower family of nearby Bottesford was not a new one; there are mentions of the family in the Rutland papers from the first half of the sixteenth century. Although once in good fortune, Joan Flower and her daughters Margaret and Philippa had since fallen on hard times, and to help relieve their situation the family were given work at the castle. Margaret especially was accorded particular favour, being given a live-in position where she had work in both the washhouse and with the poultry outside.  

Belvoir Castle, as it is today.

Although well in favour with the Sixth Earl and his wife, the Flower women were not popular with the other servants, and at some point words were spoken to the Countess that meant Margaret was let go from her service. What was said is unclear, but the young woman was not sent away empty handed – indeed she was given a feather bolster, a wool mattress, and the not inconsiderable sum of forty shillings. Joan Flower, however, took the slight to her daughter badly, a fact made worse when the Earl, a supporter of the Flower women before this point, also began to distance himself. His refusal to take the part of Joan Flower in an argument was the final straw, and Joan declared her intention for revenge.   

Whether coincidental or not, the Manners family began to suffer from bouts of unexplained sickness, with both the Earl and the Countess taken ill. More alarmingly, their eldest son and heir, Henry, Lord Roos, became unwell, suffering from convulsions and fits that caused great concern. Despite hopes for his recovery the boy's condition deteriorated, and, despite all attempts to help him he died in 1613, much to the grief of the Earl and Countess. Their hopes for the continuation of the family line were now fixed on their second and only remaining son, Francis, who inherited his brother's title of Lord Roos. Fears heightened as Francis was also showing signs of the same illness as Henry, and by some accounts Katherine, the Earl's daughter from his first marriage, was also unwell. 

Francis Manners, 6th Earl of Rutland

With close connections between castle and village and with the protection of the Earl and Countess removed, it was not long before the many enemies of the Flower women grasped the opportunity to strike against them. There were several accusations made against Joan and her daughters; along with rumours that they were to blame for the death of the Earl's son, it was revealed that Margaret was well known to take items from the castle home to the cottage where her mother and sister lived, which may have been the reason she was dismissed from service. There were also rumours of visitors to the cottage at strange hours, with talk of dissolute company and strange goings on taking place behind closed doors. Philippa Flower's infatuation with a man named Simpson was well known, as was his assertion that she had bewitched him into returning her feelings, so that he was powerless to resist her. 

It was only a matter of time, and Joan and her daughters were apprehended shortly before Christmas, 1618. Enough evidence was gathered against them, and  they set out on the journey to Lincoln where they would be tried at the next assizes. 

Three women set out, but only two were to complete the journey; in a strange twist that further heightened the talk of witchcraft, Joan Flower never arrived in Lincoln. On the journey she made a demand for bread and butter, seeking to use the old saxon trial by ordeal known as corsned to prove her innocence. This required the accused to swallow the bread (which was often consecrated); if they were successful, then they were innocent, but if they were unable to swallow it was proof positive of guilt. Joan failed the test; it was reported that the old woman choked on the food and was buried at Ancaster, leaving her daughters to travel on to their fates alone.

Dungeon at Lincoln Castle where the Flower sisters were held. 

The girls were convicted by the testimony of those who came forward to speak against them, and also by their own admissions. Having accepted the offer of the Devil to be of use to them in their endeavours, the women of the Flower family had received instruction in a variety of charms, curses and spells that could be used to carry out their plans of revenge. Despite keeping a pretence of friendliness towards the Earl and his wife, they had worked actively to harm his family.

Joan and her daughters had appropriated one of Henry Manners' gloves; this was rubbed against the back of Joan's spirit, Rutterkin, and placed in boiling water. When the glove was removed it was pricked several times before being buried in the yard, along with the wish that the young lord would waste away as the glove rotted in the ground, using a form of sympathetic magic that would be well known and feared by those who heard the tale. 

Philippa confessed that she had heard her mother and sister cursing the Earl and Countess, and that they had boiled blood and feathers together whilst saying spells and incantations. Margaret confessed to having two familiar spirits, and Philippa that she had let one suckle from her in return for obtaining the love of Thomas Simpson. Margaret also claimed that she was visited by devils in her prison cell, but became angry with them because she could not understand what they were saying to her.  

Front page of the pamphlet detailing the Belvoir case, 

published not long after the events. 

Margaret and Philippa were found guilty under the Witchcraft Act of 1604, by which causing death by witchcraft and communing with spirits were offences punishable by death. The sisters, apparently remaining unrepentant to the end, were hanged at Lincoln on 11^th March 1619 after being tried at the assizes.   

Their death was not enough to break the misfortune of the Earl, however, and further tragedy was to strike the Manners' family. In 1620 the earl's new heir and only remaining son, Francis, also died. Francis Manners remained convinced that witchcraft had been behind the death of his sons to the end of his days, and on his death in 1632 his tomb bore the inscription: 

"In 1608 he married ye lady Cecila Hungerford, daughter to ye Honorable Knight Sir John Tufton, by whom he had two sons, both of which died in their infancy by wicked practises and sorcerye"

Statues of the bewitched Manners boys 

from Bottesford Church

With no male heir remaining, the Earl was succeeded by his brother, George, who became the seventh earl upon his death. But were the Flower women really responsible for bringing Francis Manners' dynastic hopes to an end? In her book "Witches", Tracy Borman argues that Joan and her daughters actually fell foul of a sinister conspiracy headed by George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham. With his eye on marrying Katherine, the earl's only surviving child, it was rumoured that Villiers, favourite of James I, had the boys poisoned in order to remove them from the picture. 

Whatever his role, Buckingham got his wish; after a great deal of negotiation and scandal he and Katherine were married in 1620, and remained together until the Duke's murder in 1628. The death of her brothers and the fate of the women held responsible passed into popular legend, a chilling reminder of what happened to those who took part in 'wicked practises and sorcerye'.

The Duke and Duchess of Buckingham and their family. 

Dulle Griet: The Many Faces of Mad Meg

I came across the following painting in a recently purchased book, mislabelled as "The Witch." True, the woman does conform to several witch-related stereotypes; she is old, carrying a broom and dealing with demons. It  turns out, however, that "Dulle Griet" or "Mad Meg" is very likely not a witch at all. 

Dulle Griet, David Ryckaert III c.1650

So who was Dulle Griet? A familiar figure from Flemish folklore, she is best known as the peasant who led an army of women into hell. It is possible that she shares a connection with "Gret Sauermal", a woman who quarrelled with her husband and had the ability to enter hell and come back unharmed, due to her unpleasant and un-ladylike behaviour. 

In Ryckaert's depiction, Meg is shown beating back the creatures of hell with her broom. Her apron is overflowing with treasures that she has presumably just liberated from the underworld, a fact that is variously seen as a triumph for Meg or as overwhelming greed on the old woman's part, battling for more gold when she already has more than she can carry. 

Pieter Bruegel the Elder also captured Meg in his 1562 painting. She can be seen advancing towards the entrance of hell, while her female followers pillage a nearby house.  

Dulle Griet - Pieter Bruegel 

As with the first image, Dulle Griet is often labelled as a witch, and indeed Bruegel may have been passing comment on the witch hunts that were taking place across Europe. The ability to enter hell is certainly otherworldly, and demons are strongly linked to witches and witchcraft, and the painter may well have been making his views known on a central topic of the time. One suggestion runs that Bruegel was mocking the culture of magic and belief that the elite in Flemish society were desperate to drum out of the lower orders. 

There are, however, other fascinating interpretations regarding Meg's identity. It turns out that "Meg" was in fact a term used to refer to a woman who possessed the undesirable qualities of being quarrelsome or shrewish, and it has also been argued that Bruegel was observing on the perceived behaviour of women in the 16th century. It has been noted that during this time there were several powerful female monarchs on the thrones of Europe, adding to a general unease caused by the religious and societal upheavals of the period. Women were not, it has been argued, staying in their places, and Meg personified this concern. 

There are also links to several Flemish sayings that support this theory. The idea of a woman tying the devil to a cushion is pictured literally by Bruegel, and refers to a woman being either brave or domineering, or, in some cases, a combination of the two. The breast plate worn by Meg herself is also significant, as to "get into armour" meant to be angry or full of rage. These are typically masculine attributes, and it is arguable that Meg and her fellow women are usurping the role traditionally occupied by men. 

Detail of Dulle Griet

A more positive interpretation has been suggested more recently by Miranda Nesler. Nesler argues that Meg and her companions are actually on a mission to retrieve what has been stolen or squandered unwisely by mankind. Instead of "looting", in this more favourable interpretation, the women are engaged in slaying the demons that have kept the treasures locked away. Another modern interpretation suggests that Meg might be suffering from schizophrenia, citing her fixed expression and isolated, fearful dishevelled appearance. 

David Teniers the Younger was also drawn to the image of Dulle Griet. Here, Meg is shown wielding a kitchen knife, the significance of this highlighted by Liz Lochhead who has pointed out that the knife is the most common weapon used when a woman kills a man in a domestic setting. It could thus be seen as representing a woman being driven to drastic ends, unable to stand the life imposed upon her by a masculine-dominated society. 

.

Dulle Griet, David Teniers the Younger, c. 1645

The name "Meg" is also fascinating in itself. Meg or Margaret is a name shared by enough characters in both history and legend with the same negative connotations for it to be entirely coincidence.  Margot la Folle, or "The Mad" is Dulle Griet's French counterpart, and the Danish Queen, Black Margaret, was rumoured to owe her military victories to the Devil himself. The German Countess Rantzau, another Margaret, was so feared that she was locked into her coffin to keep her from returning after death. Large guns have also been given the name in Scotland, Ireland and Ghent. 

The ambiguity as to whether Meg has been successful or not in her mission to hell, and whether she is a woman liberated or condemned, continues in the work of Judith Schaechter. In this depiction, Meg stands on top of a plinth or pedestal that is made up of strange creatures and flowers. As in the earlier artworks, it is unclear whether Meg is returning victorious or, in a more sinister interpretation, being taken over by madness. 

Finally, there is the Ghent bar that takes its name from Mad Meg. The story claims that "Meg" was in fact the name given to Johanna, daughter to Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, when she was hidden with a bourgeois family in Ghent after it became clear that she had inherited her grandmother's tendencies towards insanity. Although it makes for a good story, I've found absolutely nothing to support this claim, and much against it, but am always willing to be proved wrong!

A Ramble in the Peak District: The Search for Doll Tor

Last summer was our first living in Derbyshire, and we spent the six weeks of the summer holidays exploring everywhere we could. My husband has a thing about stone circles (part of our honeymoon was spent checking out Stone Henge and the less well-known stones in the area) and so we found ourselves on a mission to discover a local circle - Doll Tor. 

To cut a long story short, we utterly failed to find it. True, we found several other interesting stones, including the Nine Ladies Stone Circle, but Doll Tor eluded us entirely. Now, nine months later, we decided to give it another go, and, after a few false starts, were finally successful.

Doll Tor or The Six Stones

The circle is located near the village of Birchover in the Derbyshire Peak District, and is made up of six standing stones. The helpful sign at the site tells interested visitors that:

This ritual monument was used by people who lived and farmed on the surrounding land in the Bronze Age between 3000 and 4000 years ago.

The stone circle was built around 2000 to 1500BC. The standing stones were set at the edge of a platform which was probably designed to stage seasonal and family ceremonies. The rites relating to death left buried deposits. Cremations, urns and other funerary goods were recovered from within the circle when it was almost completely excavated in the 1930s. Other ceremonies, such as seasonal celebrations or marriages, left no traces in the ground.

The first excavation at the site was actually in 1852 by Thomas Bateman, where he discovered that "a grave had been dug for the reception of three or four cinerary urns and as many 'incense cups'." He recorded the site as being twenty feet across, and that the discovered urns and cups had apparently been disturbed and broken by previous diggers. 

In 1993 the circle was "rebuilt", but incorrectly, and was finally returned close to it's original and current state in 1994 by the Peak National Park authority and English Heritage. 

Cairn at Doll Tor

As well as the original circle, there is also a low cairn that was added at the eastern side of the formation. Further burials and related artefacts were discovered here. This was excavated properly for the first time by the Heathcotes between 1931 and 1933. In the centre was a large flat stone, surrounded by a  rectangle of smaller upright stones. A grave was discovered under the central stone, and three other burials were also discovered. Cremation urns, scrapers, and two faience beads - one segmented and the other in the shape of a star - were also found, dating the cairn to the early Bronze Age. 

Layout of Doll Tor

What surprised us was how little known Doll Tor seemed to be - several people we asked along the way had never heard of it, and even a local farmer only knew what we were talking about when we explained we meant "the stone circle that is meant to be somewhere over in those woods." A few walkers came through while we were there, but we mostly had the place to ourselves, visitors to the area seemingly preferring the more well-known Nine Sisters across on nearby Stanton Moor. We enjoyed a lovely half an hour or so at the site, also exploring a nearby shelter and rolling our easter eggs down the hill in time-honoured tradition. 

Enjoying the spoils of egg rolling. (complete with my finger to the left, whoops.)

On our way down through the fields towards the woods that hide Doll Tor, we had passed the impressive Andle Stone, and on the way back up we stopped for a proper look.  Fifteen feet long and with a series of foot and handholds for those who fancy a climb and an impressive view (no, we didn't give in to temptation!) it is also known as the Oundle or Anvil stone, or, more imaginatively, the Twopenny Loaf. It is a natural formation made of gritstone rock, and a very striking feature, well worth a stop. 

The Andle Stone. 

We stopped for a play and a snack, and a venture round to the other side of the stone revealed the following inscriptions:

All in all it was a lovely day out, (marred only by our youngest projectile vomiting all over the car on the way home due to an over abundance of chocolate and a tendency towards travel sickness!) A return trip to the nearby Nine Ladies is definitely planned for the future, along with searches for other nearby stones. Who knows what we might come across next?

Going on a Tor hunt...