The Bromley Wizard and The Cheese Kettle

What would you think if, after an argument with your mother, your dairy maid fell ill and your cheese-making attempts ended in disaster? Some might put the matter down to coincidence and bad luck, but for Thomas Charlesworth of Abbots Bromley, Staffordshire, the answer was clear.

He had been bewitched.

Cheese Making

A farmer of sixty-five acres, Charlesworth had taken over the family property on his father's death in 1848, on the understanding that his mother, Elizabeth, would remain living there as long as she wished. This comfortable arrangement was upset in December 1855, when he married his cousin, another Elizabeth Charlesworth, a match of which his mother disapproved. She moved out in the following February but continued to visit, warning on one occasion that they should not attempt to make cheese or else it would “tumble to pieces.” The Charlesworths, however, did not heed her words, and several attempts at cheese making ended in disaster. Not only that, but the farmer, his wife, and the dairymaid fell ill from an unknown cause. 

Listening to his woes, and agreeing with his assessment that bewitchment was the cause, a neighbour told Charlesworth to seek out James Tunnicliffe, a local man known as the Bromley Wizard who “could do anything” and was well-known for his expertise in sorting such matters. Accordingly, on Saturday 26th April, Charlesworth and his wife made the four mile journey to Tunnicliffe's home. After hearing their story, Tunnicliffe said he would visit their farm the next day, but that he would have to tell his wife that he was going to see about some calves, as she did not like his “going about on that business.”   

He came as promised, pronouncing, (without seeing the animals, much less the maid and the kettle), that the cows were bewitched, as were the horses, dairy maid, wife and cheese kettle. There was nothing to worry about though, as he, Tunnicliffe, would rectify the situation if Charlesworth would only do as he instructed. This translated into a demand for money; Tunnicliffe initially charged three shillings six pence per cow (there were twenty-seven of them), and five shillings each for the maid, the cheese kettle and Charlesworth himself. Charlesworth's wife was not as badly bewitched as the rest, and she could be made well by having a piece of fabric taken out of her dress. He was also to send to a man named Conyway in London for a spell book. 

 Abbots Bromley Church

Tunnicliffe took lunch with the family and then returned to his home. On Monday, with no improvement to maid or cheese, Charlesworth went again to visit Tunnicliffe. The older man agreed to come the next day and see how things were, and after drinking some ale, Charlesworth returned home. Arriving there, he found himself feeling unwell, with pains in his chest and head. Shaking and shivering he retired to bed.  

When Tunnicliffe arrived the next day, he told Charlesworth to take some brandy, explaining that the reason for his sickness was that he had been engaged in battle with Old Bull of Yeaverley on Charlesworth's behalf, a man who dealt in witchcraft and had been employed by Elizabeth Charlesworth to bewitch her son. It would take more money to lift the bewitchment, three shillings six pence for the remaining animals, five shillings for the baby and another five for “good and chattels.”    

Impressed, and by this time convinced that his mother was the cause of all their ills, Charlesworth employed Tunnicliffe to also work as a labourer on the farm, perhaps to help the old man hide what he was doing from his disapproving wife. Both Charlesworth and his wife continued to suffer from sickness, for which Tunnicliffe gave various explanations; a man named Cotton at Longton had bewitched him (something Tunnicliffe sorted at the cost of a pound), and his mother had likewise engaged the services of Arnold from Bradley High and another man from Kingsley in her quest to torment him. On one occasion, the couple accompanied Tunnicliffe to Froghall Station, where they waited at an inn for him to return, during which time Mrs. Charlesworth experienced being shaken and scratched by forces she could not explain.  

Froghall Station, Staffordshire

Despite Tunnicliffe declaring his success each time, matters did not improve. This was, the wizard insisted, due to the determination of Charlesworth's mother, who was consorting with wizards as far away as Derby in order to achieve her terrible aims. Each time a new threat was discovered, Tunnicliffe would go off to do battle with the forces of darkness, and each time, Charlesworth's purse was a little lighter for it. 

On the farm, the situation worsened. Strange noises were heard throughout the house; winds blew down corridors, curious disturbances happened in the yard, the cows “lamented”, the horses “pranced” and the dogs made an awful racket throughout the night. A phantom dog was witnessed running into the house, appearing to be "all on fire”. The apparition ran through a closed door before vanishing, much to the consternation of all concerned. Charlesworth and his wife continued to experience strange bouts of illness and their infant daughter, Elizabeth was also taken ill, dying of unexplained convulsions. 

Matters finally came to a head when the Charlesworth servants made complaints against Tunnicliffe, blaming him for the unrest in the household. With his staff threatening to leave if Tunnicliffe remained, Charlesworth had no choice but to dismiss him, his own suspicions no doubt growing by this point. Tunnicliffe departed on the 16th February, upon which the strange happenings and symptoms experienced on the farm ceased. Encouraged to pursue the matter, Charlesworth went to the authorities, and Tunnicliffe was apprehended on 25^th February, charged with obtaining money under false pretences and drugging Mr Charlesworth.    

Talbot Arms, Rugeley

The case was heard at the Talbot Arms, Rugeley, six miles from Abbots Bromley. The room was large and crowded, and the general atmosphere was recorded as one of amusement, with much hilarity to be had at the expense of the Charlesworth's bewitched cheese kettle and their lamentable gullibility as they gave their version of events. Several servants and neighbours of the Charlesworth's also came forward to give evidence, no doubt glad to see Tunnicliffe get his comeuppance. 

The fact that the bouts of illness coincided so often with eating with or been served food by Tunnicliffe, was explained by the discovery of a parcel of "root and leaves" in Tunnicliffe's house. Bryonia dioica, as was explained by a doctor attending the trial, had “violent and irritating properties” and, in some cases, was known to cause death and miscarriage - the latter experienced not only by Charlesworth's cows, but also Mrs Charlesworth herself. 

Despite the overwhelming case against Tunnicliffe, it was not an entirely straightforward journey to conviction; a “false pretence” was part of the indictment, but, for that to be proven, it must be established that there was something real or factual to pretend to in the first place. Witchcraft was, by the passing of the 1735 Witchcraft Act, now legally not a recognised reality. This didn't help the prisoner in this case, however, and Tunnicliffe was found guilty at the next assizes, and sentenced to twelve months in prison.

General opinion was divided; while some derided Tunnicliffe for his actions and agreed he deserved whatever was coming to him, others were less sympathetic towards the Charlesworths, declaring that punishing Tunnicliffe served only to encourage people in clinging to superstition and credulity. There was also the suggestion that class played a part in the outcome, with one newspaper opining that:

“If James Tunnicliffe had had the wit to set up as a medium, and give seances to the aristocracy, he would have made a good thing of it, and would not now be picking oakum in gaol.”

 Bryonia dioica

The incident with Tunnicliffe no doubt left Charlesworth older and, one would hope, a great deal wiser; in the 1861 census we find him living with his wife and three daughters, with one hundred and eighty-four acres to his name, plus two labourers and one boy. How his cheese-making progressed there is no record, but he died in 1876, at the age of forty-eight.

Who was James Tunnicliffe? Born around 1796, he married Maria Birch in Abbot's Bromley in 1819, and the couple had several children together. His occupation is given as agricultural labourer in census returns, and brewer in the newspaper reports of the trial, where he is referred to as a beerhouse keeper of Thorney Lane. He died in 1874 at the ripe old age of eighty-one, but not before at least one more incident of scandal blackened his name, as related in the Staffordshire Advertiser, 28^th May, 1864:

“Assault On A Child. James Tunnicliffe, of Thorney-Lane, was charged with an indecent assault upon Elizabeth Jackson, of Abbots Bromley, a girl 13 years old, on the 20^th instant. The offence was proved against the old ruffian, who is 70 years of age, and figured a few years ago in the notorious witchcraft case, but as it was not of such a nature as to call for a heavy punishment, the bench convicted him summarily, and awarded him one month's imprisonment with hard labour.”

Thorney Lane, Hanbury

The Medium and The Doctor: What Really Happened to Doctor Todd?

Victoria Helen Duncan nee MacFarlane

The medium Helen Duncan is best known as the last woman to be successfully convicted under the Witchcraft Act of 1735. Imprisoned for nine months in 1944 after a police raid on a Portsmouth séance, her case attracted great media attention, and was instrumental in the eventual abolishment of the Witchcraft Act, and its replacement by the Fraudulent Mediums Act of 1951. An event that is related in several sources regarding Helen Duncan, however, took place in her early life, when she was around ten years old. Well-known by her classmates and locals in the Perthshire town of Callander as “different”, she had been told in no uncertain terms by her mother to keep stories of visions and visiting spirits to herself. On this occasion she forgot the warning. As recounted by her daughter, Gena Brealy in her recollections of her mother:

“There was the incident of the village doctor who had gone missing in a blinding snowstorm. The local people, fearing he had had a serious accident, organised a search party. Hearing her parents discussing this, Helen said, “Don't worry. He's not far from here. They'll find him.” As her father and mother looked at her, Helen realised she had again done what her mother had warned her not to do, so she quickly went out of the room.

The story had a happy ending however, as:

Within a matter of hours, a neighbour came to tell the MacFarlanes that the doctor had been found close by. His car had gone into a snowdrift just a few miles away. Neither parent mentioned this outcome to Helen, but she knew they had earmarked the incident as another “odd thing” about her.”

Loch Lubnaig

Noticeably different in tone is the account of the story given in  Nina Shandler's The Strange Case of Hellish Nell.  As in the version related by Brealy,  Helen, despite being warned by her mother in no uncertain terms to stop mentioning her visions and messages from spirit visitors, couldn't hold back when she had a vision of the fate of the kindly local physician, Dr. Todd. The tale differs however as now she went to warn the doctor that he shouldn't make his intended journey to Strathyre. Doctor Todd, although listening politely, declined to heed Helen's warning, leaving the young girl to worry the night away. In the morning, the alarm went up that the doctor was missing, but this time there was to be no happy ending.

“Men on horseback carrying torches gathered at the corner of Bridgend and Main Streets. Bracing themselves against the whipping storm, the search party began the slow trek towards the Pass of Leny. Nearing Loch Lubnaig, they strained to see through the swirling snow. No doubt, the rescuers would have missed Dr. Todd's car, if not for Nell's directions. The men shoveled furiously. Forcing the car door open, they pulled the doctor's frozen body out. Dr Todd was dead.”

 Aware of the tale as told by Helen Duncan's daughter, Shandler decided to favour the version told to her by Mr. Harvey MacNaughton, who had lived in Callander at the time. Considered by her to be the more reliable source, MacNaughton's version of events also tallied with those remembered by the village as a whole, and included the fact that seemed to prove the point:

“From that day forward, all Callander dubbed that curve in the road between Callander and Strathyre 'The Doctor's Corner.'”

Map showing position of Loch Lubnaig,

on the road between Callander and Strathyre

What then was the truth of the tale of the medium and the doctor? The answers, or at least some of them, can be found in The Dundee Evening Telegraph for 7^th May 1908 where an article fills in some much-needed details:

Dr. Todd, Callander, was killed on Wednesday while Mr. P. T. Smith, at present residing at the Dreadnought Hotel, Callander, was driving his motor car from Strathyre to Callandar with Mr. Todd and another occupant. The car bumped on a stone, and swerved to the side, going over the embankment of Loch Lubnaig.

All were thrown out of the car, and escaped with slight injuries, except Dr Todd, upon whom the car had fallen. It was seen that the doctor was seriously injured, and he died at one o'clock this morning.

A later report on the 18^th June in the same newspaper added the information that:

W. C. Gibson, road surveyor, deponed that there was no stone or any other obstruction on the road to cause the motor to turn to the side, and he thought from the position of the car that it had been travelling fast.

A verdict of accident, caused by careless driving, was returned at the hearing.

Grave of Dr. James Todd

The only matter that has not been cleared up satisfactorily therefore is that of the snow. Both Brealy's and Shandler's accounts refer to the appalling weather, yet it is not mentioned in the newspaper accounts, which even go so far as to say that there was no sign of there being anything adverse in the road - a fact that does not suggest an area greatly covered with snow! It is almost tempting, especially given the time of year that events occurred, to suspect a certain amount of over-embellishment taking place. 

It turns out however that there was indeed freak wintry weather across England and Scotland in April of that year. While it is difficult to determine for certain if the snow storms and freezing temperatures that buffeted the country extended into May itself, the memory of the bad weather could easily have combined with the fate of the doctor in local imaginations. 

Snowfall in Aberdeen, Scotland, 1908

Just under seven miles away from Callander, the corner on the A84 where Dr. Todd met his fate is still an accident hotspot today. Fittingly, the legend of the doctor is still going strong in various versions, such as the following warning to modern day drivers:

"The road was much improved during the 1980s, but still has the occasional hefty bend to keep the driver awake - such as the right-hander near the head of the loch - locally known as "Doctor's Corner" after a local doctor who didn't make it one night on an emergency call!"

Do as you Would be Done By: The Fate of the Bristol Cobbler

On Friday 28^th October 1743, The Derby Mercury contained a fascinating glimpse of life after the passing of the 1735 Witchcraft Act. Found under "Bristol" in the paper's “Country News” section, readers are assured that:

“Amongst all the uncommon Accidents Mankind have been amus'd with of late, none seems more to deserve the Attention of the Publick...”

There follows the story of a shoemaker or cobbler who lived in a place going from Horse Street to St. Michael's Hill in the city. He had, on several occasions, exchanged harsh words with an elderly woman who lived in the same area, calling her“Old Witch” and “Old Devil”. The reason for this animosity is not recorded, but it seems that the woman – one might say with good reason – did not take too kindly to being insulted in such a fashion. In retaliation, she is alleged to have sent a cat to his house, which marked the beginning of the end for the unwary cobbler.  

St Michael's Hill, Bristol

Being quite certain that he was not going to allow the animal into his house, the man did his best to cast it away again. Unfortunately, or so the story goes, the cat took exception to this ejection, and:

“The Cat catch'd his Finger, and held it so fast, that it would not let him go, 'till it was squeez'd to Death.”

Who did the squeezing is not recorded, nor is the woman's reaction to the loss of her supposed pet, but the cobbler's reprieve was all too brief. A short while after the incident he suffered from severe pain in his arm and shoulder, and, despite being dipped a total of nine times in the water at Sea Mills, his life was unable to be saved, and he died “in the utmost Agony and Pain.”

Sea-Mills, Bristol

The story, readers are assured, was handed to the paper by a “Gentleman of undoubted Veracity and Reputation”, the intention, no doubt, to establish that it was indeed the truth and not some superstitious nonsense dreamed up in the villages by those who still, it seemed, did not know any better. It would be fascinating indeed to learn the name of the gentleman who informed the paper of the story, and also the identity of the ill-fated cobbler, and I suspect that finding out will be on my research “To Do” list for the near future, along with a good many other "Need to Knows"!

What though of the story itself? The sending of a familiar to get revenge on an enemy was a regular, almost expected, feature of witchcraft cases during the 16^th and 17^th centuries, and despite the passing of the Witchcraft Act of 1735, such beliefs were still widely held. It is possible that the woman did indeed coax the cat towards the cobbler's house in an attempt to annoy him, or it may be that the animal was nothing to do with her and, rather than being an active participant in the feud, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone by this less than neighbourly-neighbour.   

Regardless of the identity of the cat, there is no need to look to malicious magic for an answer to the man's untimely demise. A cat bite, although rare, can actually be incredibly dangerous, much more so than a dog bite or that by another household pet. A cat bite turns infectious in around 50% of cases, and that infection can quickly spread through the blood and to internal organs, leading to an excruciating death like that experience by our cobbler if left untreated. Even with antibiotics and modern medicine, an infected cat bite is no laughing matter, and with 18th Century conditions and hygiene standards, it is unlikely that he would have stood much of a chance, especially given the severity of the bite described.  

 A somewhat friendlier depiction of 

an 18th Century cat.

Sea Mills, where the man was dipped, is now a suburb of Bristol, and rests towards the sea-end of the Avon Gorge, North-West of the city centre. In 1712, a Bristol merchant named Joshua Franklyn, built a wet dock at Sea Mills, to remove the need for larger ships to negotiate quite so far up the River Avon. The endeavour was short-lived however, and by the end of the 18^th Century the harbour fell into disuse. The benefits of bathing in sea water have long been documented, salt being credited with all manner of restorative properties.  Doctor Richard Russell (1687-1759) recommended the use of salt water for glandular diseases in his 1750 treatise, Dissertation on the Use of Sea Water in Diseases of the Glands, while William Buchan also espoused the health benefits in his 1769 Domestic Medicine. Where witches and demons are concerned, a salt water remedy is still an option today as a spiritual remedy for removing negative energy, such as that caused by ghosts and other unwanted spirits. The afflicted person sits with their feet in the prepared water, while the salt draws out the "black" energy.

It is interesting also that it was the afflicted man who was dipped in the water, rather than the suspected witch being dunked to ascertain her guilt (a practice that still continued unofficially despite the lack of support from those in authority,) reflecting a subtle change in popular belief or at least what people felt they could get away with. 

On that note, take heed from the end of the unfortunate cobbler from Bristol: Be careful what you say and to whom you say it...

Map showing St. Michael's Hill,(main road to the left) 

leading up towards the gallows where, a few years before, 

the “witch” would very possibly have met her own end.  

Accused:British Witches Throughout History

The end of 2014 was somewhat mixed; a month and a half of illness, two trips to the emergency department and a three day stay in hospital are parts I would rather not repeat. Amongst the drama, however, there was, I am now pleased to announce, some more positive news.

I have signed a contract with Pen and Sword Books to publish my book, Accused: British Witches Throughout History. This is a very exciting development, and one that would not have come about without first my writing this blog and secondly all the wonderful support from everyone reading it, so a very big thank you to everyone out there who has read and commented/emailed over the last few months, and I look forward to continuing throughout the coming year. 

Accused will embark on an in-depth exploration of Britain's most fascinating and notorious accused witches. On a journey from 14^th Century Ireland to 20^th Century Hampshire, the book examines the why, the how, and, most importantly, the who of these tantalising and evocative cases. My short-list of witches has been selected, and alongside continuing to blog here and at the wonderful A Covent Garden Gilflurt's Guide to Life and WhizzPast blogs, I'll be busy researching and writing over the next few months to bring together the fascinating and complex world of the accused.

And in case it wasn't obvious, I really cannot wait!

Visit to the Witch

Edward Frederick Brewtnall

Maggie Wall: Witch or Landmark?

 “Journeying westward and about a half mile from Dunning, we see over the policy wall on a rising ground among the trees, a monument of a kind not to be met with at every town.”

Perthshire Advertiser for 20^th September 1855

The monument in question is a fascinating sight indeed, and the source of much debate through the years. Constructed of stone and reaching twenty feet high, the structure is topped with a cross, whilst across the front for all to see is inscribed the intriguing declaration:

“Maggie Wall burnt here 1657 as a witch.”

Popular legend  has several explanations for the identity of Maggie. Some say she was a parlourmaid, accused of witchcraft due to an ill-advised tryst with the son of a local laird. There is also speculation that Maggie had an affair with the lord himself, Lord Rollo, and that the monument was erected either by himself or his wife in pity and remorse after her execution. Others believe her to have been a local healer, persecuted for her work, or one of several women who protested against the treatment of a local minister and punished for her outspokenness. The Saracen's Head pub in Glasgow proudly displays what is purported to be the witch's skull, though how it came to rest there is a matter for speculation in itself. 

 The skull of Maggie Wall

Enduring as local ideas may be, looking closer at the stories surrounding Maggie Wall reveals that matters are not as they seem. Often cited as the last witch to be burnt in Scotland, (a dubious honour that actually belongs to Janet Horne in 1722) there is actually no surviving record of a Maggie Wall, or Walls as she is sometimes known, in any of the documents relating to witchcraft accusations or trials in the period. 

What then is this monument supposedly erected in her name, and did Maggie in fact ever exist at all?

The monument was clearly in evidence from at least 1855 as described in the Perthshire Advertiser, and is visible on the ordnance survey map for 1866. The wooded area that used to surround the monument had the name Maggie's Walls in 1829, but there is no mention or evidence of the monument before the middle of the 19^th century.  

Perthsire historian Kenny Laing has put forward the theory that Lord Rollo ordered the monument to be erected after the witch was burnt on his land. He points out that as the local landowner he would have signed the papers sentencing her to death; one legend states that he had the monument erected when his wife was absent in order to repent of the shame he felt for sending Maggie to her fiery fate.

The Dundee Courier for 8^th March 1878 references a local minister, Dr. Wilson, who was certain that the whole story of Maggie Wall and her tragic end was a complete fabrication, though for what end is not stated. The reporter however is quick to point out that he at least would argue in favour of Maggie's name simply having been left out of the records, rather than countenance that an entire village had deluded themselves into believing the story to the point of erecting a monument to a person who never existed. 

Geoff Holder believes the monument is actually an 18^th century folly, and also that the name is an invention.  He points to the existence of a nearby field known as Maggie's or Muggie's Walls, suggesting this is the origin of the name painted on the monument.  He also maintains that the monument could not have been built earlier than the 18^th century.  

Holder reveals that a local schoolmaster, David Balmain, was a tenant of Maggie's Walls – Holder speculates that he may have built the monument in memory of two family members that were accused of witchcraft but escaped being charged in 1662, or that the idea of "Maggie" may have been used as a figurehead to stand for the many accused of witchcraft during the 17^th century in Scotland.  

Dr. Louise Yeoman also believes that the story was nothing but myth. She points out that not only does the memorial not fit with any others from the 17^th century, but that there were also no other memorials to witches, executed or otherwise. She and archaeologist David Connolly believe that the structure actually originated as a clearance cairn – i.e. a pile of stones that have been removed from a field  to enable greater ease when ploughing or using other tools in pasture or arable land – and was then topped with a cross from a later date. They likewise date the monument to no earlier than the late 18^th century.  

A Clearance Cairn

The question must also be asked why a monument was erected to Maggie and not one of the other women and men executed for witchcraft during the 17^th century. In 1662, six Dunning witches were arrested and tried by the local gentry, that including Lord Rollo and his brother. Three of these were executed, strangled and the burned in nearby Kincladie wood. Yeoman suggests that by the 19^th Century, the Rollo family, feeling somewhat shamed by the part their family played in the witch trials, may have been attempting to re-write history by putting up the monument.  

The 1650s were a time on general unrest in Dunning. Riots broke out in the defence of the Reverend Muschet, and the officials arriving to hold a synod with the intention of disciplining the minister were driven off by a mob of angry women. Some have speculated that Maggie Wall may have been involved in this dramatic event and made to pay the price for her part in the disturbance.

Archie McKerracher in Perthshire in History and Legend wonders if the events that led to her execution were so shameful that local officials and clergy determined to forget it, hence the lack of mention in records. This is unlikely however due to the plentiful records elsewhere. He also posts that perhaps Maggie fell victim to “unofficial” justice by her neighbours, a more plausible explanation for the absence of Maggie's name in the documents. 

Writing in 1988 he remarks that the words are given a fresh coat of paint every year and that a wreath appears on the monument, with the words “In Memory of Maggie Wall, Burnt by the Church in the Name of Christianity.”  

Perhaps Maggie existed and indeed met the fate legend has ascribed to her, the Perthshire monument the only evidence left with official records long since lost.  It may also be that the legend grew up instead from the name of the local field and woodland, stories created and shared until they became established fact. It would not have taken much for someone to paint the words on one day, confirming what had already passed into local legend and serving to keep the story alive into the following generations. 

Whatever the case, one thing is for certain - Maggie Wall is a prominent and enduring part of Perthshire history, inviting speculation, no doubt, for many years to come. 

Read it in the Papers: The Persecution of Susannah Sellick

Old newspapers are one of my favourite places to find stories, and a recent dip into the archives didn't fail to disappoint. Under the tantalising headline of Witchcraft, the following appeared in the Taunton Courier and Western Advertiser, 18^th July, 1860.  

At the Woodbury Petty Sessions on Monday, the 9^th int, Susanah Sellick, a respectable dressed woman, and healthy, complained that Virginia Ebdon, a lace-maker, had maliciously assaulted her at Colaton Raleigh on the 8^th June.

Map showing location of Colaton Raleigh

Sellick complained that, whilst tending her cow one day, Virginia Ebdon accosted and threatened her, during which the following exchange took place:

Sellick: “How you frightened me!”

Ebdon: “You wanted to be frightened for what you ha' done to me.”

Sellick: “I have'nt a doo'd nothing to you.”

With that, Virginia Ebdon attacked Selleck, scratching her face and hands with a sharp object. Blood was drawn multiple times, and Sellick professed a fear that the younger woman intended to kill her. 

A Mr Toby, acting for the Ebdons, told a different story. Virginia Ebdon had been looking after her grandfather's donkey; Sellick called her names and chased her with a stick until they reached where her grandfather was waiting, a version of events supported by Ebdon and the grandfather himself. 

At this, Sellick denied holding a stick over the younger woman, although she admitted to having a small umbrella stick with her that she used to drive the cow with. Despite the protestations of Ebdon and her grandfather, the court declared in favour of Sellick, and Virginia Ebdon was fined fourteen shillings to cover costs. The newspaper account ends with a lamentation that witchcraft is very prevalent amongst the illiterate in the "neighborough" of Colyton, Satterton and Woodbury.

Church of St John the Baptist, Colaton Raleigh 

where Susannah Bolt married Henry Sellick in 1808

The original reporting of the case in the Exeter and Plymouth Gazette on 14^th July has the intriguing additional postscript, revealing that Sellick had been assaulted in a similar fashion a few years previous. Indeed in The Exeter and Plymouth Gazette for 24^th April 1852, we learn that a Mary Pile and Walter Gooding were brought before the Magistrates for assaulting Susannah Sellick, a poor widow woman then aged seventy. Sellick stated that she was walking when she saw the defendants walking towards her, Mary Pile demanding:

“Why have you hurted my daughter?”

With that, she attacked Sellick, scratching her face badly. Gooding, meanwhile, was kneeling on the ground, in, it transpired, an attempt to drive a nail into the ground on which Sellick stood in the belief that this would break her power.  

Sellick was rescued by the arrival of William Shute, upon which Pile and Gooding quickly left, leaving Shute to help the poor woman. Shute also gave evidence, describing Sellick's bloodied state and distress at the unprovoked attack. Sellick insisted to the courts that she did not know Pile's daughter, and had most certainly never done her any harm.

In her defence, Mary Pile, aged forty-five, insisted that she was fully justified in attacking Sellick and that it was necessary for her to draw blood from the older woman because she had bewitched her daughter. Gooding, the husband of Pile's twenty year old daughter Amy, was also convinced that he had only done what was needed to help his ailing wife.  

Iron nail such as that used by Walter Gooding

The young woman herself was present in the courtroom and had, by her own account, been very ill throughout the last two years, a time through which she insisted that Sellick was often in the house. A fortnight prior to the attack, Amy Gooding told the Magistrates, she had been wearing a string around her neck, only to find it vanished one night when she was in bed. As midnight approached, suddenly a loud knock sounded at the door, then at the foot of the bed and, finally, against the foot-board itself. The young woman however could not move, a heavy weight against her chest keeping her from doing so. What transpired next is unrecorded, but when she awoke in the morning, the string was once more around her neck. After this incident, Amy Gooding insisted that “Susan Sellick was continually with her” and from that point on they could not keep a candle lighted in the house, as they were constantly extinguished by the apparent presence of the witch.  

The Magistrates' attempts to make the defendants see reason went in vain, and they ended with suggesting that they should visit the local clergyman to ask his opinion on the matter, no doubt in the hope that he would be able to talk more sense into them. Mary Pile was fined one pound and thirteen shillings, whilst Walter Gooding was fined one pound and three shillings, both including costs. The fines were paid on the spot, proving that the families involved were not without money. The Magistrates informed Sellick herself that if she had further trouble she should not hesitate to return, adding that this was the third case within as many months regarding assault on old women suspected of witchcraft.  

That Susannah Sellick was considered a witch by at least some in her home village of Colaton Raleigh and beyond, is clear, though what started this reputation cannot be more than guessed at. The small village is eleven miles from Exeter and only a couple of miles from East Budleigh, where Mary Pile and the Goodings lived. Colaton Raleigh had a population of 841 in 1850, while East Budleigh was decidedly larger, the three-part village totalling around 2,000 inhabitants. It is possible that Susannah Sellick spoke the truth when she said she had no knowledge of Amy Gooding, although there is much evidence that the families of the local area were closely intertwined; Virginia Ebdon's daughter Elizabeth married a Frederick Pile, and intermarriage between Ebdons, Sellicks, Bolts and Goodings can be seen throughout the period in question and beyond. 

  

East Budleigh, Devon

Susannah Sellick nee Bolt was born in 1783, making her seventy-seven at the time of the second attack by those suspecting she was a witch. Henry Sellick was a farmer, with five acres to his name, a not insubstantial property for the couple. That she is mentioned as being well-dressed indicates that she was not in greatly reduced circumstaces, and there is no evidence that she was guilty of begging or otherwise bothering her neighbours, complaints that commonly accompany accusations of witchcraft.

As with many cases however the accused was a widow, Henry Sellick having died not long before the first incident. It is interesting to note that Mary Pile's husband had also died shortly prior to her attack on Sellick, the removal of the menfolk perhaps serving to reduce protection and also providing the freedom to act on long-held dislikes and suspicions. 

Whether Susannah Sellick had any further trouble from her neighbours is unknown, although one cannot help but hope that two court appearances and the injuries that led there saw an end to the persecution of the old woman.  She was buried at the age of ninety-six on 23^rd March, 1879 at Colaton Raleigh. Her sister-in-law and house-mate during her later years, Caroline Bolt, was buried a week later at the age of ninety. 

  

Lingering Legends: The Witch of Wookey Hole.

In the caves of Wookey Hole, Somerset, rests a witch. She was, as legend goes, turned to stone, many, many years ago, and has remained there ever since, trapped in the glittering limestone caves carved out by the River Axe. 

As with most tales, the details vary in the telling, but the basic legend asserts that there was once a witch who tormented the local villagers of Wookey Hole. She worried their cattle, spoilt their butter, and generally made a nuisance of herself, striking terror into the hearts of those she lived amongst. This unnamed witch had an especial hatred towards young lovers, and delighted in using her powers to destroy any fledgling relationship that came to her attention. One young man, his love affair in tatters, was so affected by the experience that he swore never to love again, taking, in his desolation, Holy Orders and dedicating his life to the Church.  

After years of such treatment, the villagers appealed for help against the terrible woman who plagued them. As chance would have it, the Abbot of Glastonbury sent a Father Bernard to their aid, the self-same monk who had take the cloth so long before when the Witch foiled his own plans of romance. 

Prepared and with the support of the people of Wookey behind him, Father Bernard pursued the Witch to the caves, following her into the darkness as she fled before him. There they did battle, and eventually Father Bernard triumphed, the Witch's ill-gained magic no match against his prayers and chants. With an incantation and the wave of his hand, the Witch turned to stone, petrified into the shape that has drawn visitors ever since. 

The Witch at a distance

Other variations add that the Witch was once crossed in love herself; discovering her lover to have been unfaithful she retreated, heartbroken, to the cave, whereupon she called upon the Devil to help her. Promising her soul in exchange for his assistance, she accepted the deal, and was given her magical powers in return. Not satisfied with cursing her perfidious lover, she continued to upset relationships throughout the area, until the brave monk stopped her once and for all. Some tellings also have the monk sprinkling the Witch with Holy Water at the crucial moment, further highlighting the triumph of good over evil. 

Although there is evidence that the caves have been in human use for 45,000 years, and apparent reference to the caves is found in writings from Clement of Alexandria in 3AD, the stalagmite formation now known as the Witch is first mentioned by William of Worcester in 1470 where he suggests that it may be described as “the figure of a woman, clad and holding in her girdle a spinning distaff.” The first recorded naming of the Witch herself, however, was a poem by Dr Henry Harrington, The Duke of York's physician, published in 1756, where we are told:

In anciente days tradition showes,

A base and wicked elf arose,

The Witch of Wokey hight.

There are various mentions of the Witch of Wookey throughout the years that followed, ranging from the Reverend Shaw's 1788 dismissal of the legend as “silly tales", to his fellow clergyman, Richard Warner's reporting as fact their cave tour guide's assertion that:

 “The cavern had never had but one inmate, an old witch who had been turned years ago into stone, by a parson, as she was cooking a child, which she had stolen from the village." 

He then went on to record that the guide's own grandmother had memories of the Witch, along with the acts of maleficium she visited upon the unfortunate villagers.

Illustration from Drayton's Polyolbion 1612

showing the "Witch" of Ochy Hole outside her cave.

Hebert Balch, the pioneering archaeologist who, between 1904 and 1954, led extensive explorations into the cave system at Wookey, believed that the witch actually existed. In his 1912 expedition a skeleton of a goatherd was discovered, along with the remains of two goats, a milking pot, a knife described as sacrificial in nature, and a round stalagmite ball. He suggested that these were the actual very real remains of the woman who inspired the legend so many years before.  

The Witch of Wookey Hole

Now at Wells and Mendip Museum

Balch went on to link the story of the Witch to folk memories of events that actually took place prior to an evacuation of the cave around the start of the 5^th Century. He referenced the story of Yspadaddon Penkawr, chief of the giants whom it was foretold would die when his daughter married, an event he worked to prevent  at all costs. Kulhwch, either a cousin or friend of the mythical King Arthur, vowed to win her hand however, and was set a series of impossible tasks to carry out. Despite expectations he completed all apart from the final task, to bring back the blood of the black witch who lived "in the cave at the head of the Stream of Sorrow on the Confines of Hell". When several of Kulhwch's men had been driven back without success, Arthur himself stepped in to help his desperate friend. He went to the cave, where he slayed the witch, cutting her into parts with his dagger.  

Balch also discovered a socket had been made in the Witch's chest, and the remains of a wooden stake were found on the floor beneath. He speculated that this could be evidence of a monument to a real sacrifice, carried out to an Underworld deity, citing the presence of human bones nearby that had been broken in the same manner as animal bones for eating.  

Eschewing the more familiar companion of a cat, there is even evidence of the witch's dog. A little "bowl" has been uncovered at its side, and bones discovered in the dirt around the figure. It has been suggested that it was tradition at some point in the caves' long history to bring bones for the dog, in order to appease his mistress. 

The Witch's Dog

The Reverend Thomas Scott Holmes however had another explanation for the Witch.  In his 1886 The History of the Parish and Manor of Wookey,  He postulated that the “witch” or “wych” actually refers to the cave itself, and described the cavern from which the Rive Axe flows. He suggested that “Wookey” came from “wocob” or “wocor”, words that are linked to the Welsh “gogof” or “ogo” that mean cave.  

Interest in her legend and the caves where she makes her home has not diminished, as illustrated by the fact that the Witch of Wookey is once again in human form during daylight hours at least. She now welcomes visitors to the ever-popular cave attractions, including the recently opened Witch's Laboratory.