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. 

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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...

Third Time Unlucky: Elizabeth Francis and the Chelmsford Assizes

An accusation of witchcraft did not mean an automatic trip to the gallows, even at the height of the witch trials in the 16^th and 17^th centuries. Under the Witchcraft Act of 1563, causing death through any “witchcraft enchantment charm or sorcery” brought with it the penalty of death, but for the lesser offences of wasting or laming a person or wasting their goods, those convicted were to be imprisoned for one year and to stand in the pillory once a quarter for six hours. Death was the penalty for a second offence of this kind. 

Elizabeth Francis of Hatfeld Peverel in Essex, however, was convicted before the courts three times on accusations of witchcraft before finally meeting her fate. 

Elizabeth first enters the record in 1566 when the following indictment was recorded in the July assizes at Chelmsford:

Fraunces, Elizabeth, wife of Christopher Fraunces of Hatfield Peverel, indicted for witchcraft. On 8 Feb. 1566 she bewitched John the infant son of William Auger of Hatfield Peverel so that he became paralysed. Confessed; imprisoned for a year. 

In addition to the charge for which she was imprisoned, Elizabeth stated that she had entered the world of witchcraft when she was just twelve years old, under the tutelage of her grandmother, Mother Eve of Hatfeld Peverel. The old woman gifted her a cat – the same creature, incidentally, that Elizabeth eventually passed on to her sister Agnes Waterhouse, who became the first to be hanged for witchcraft in England after the same assizes in 1566. The cat, named Sathan, had done Elizabeth's bidding in return for bread and milk and a drop of blood, and she had used the animal to fulfil several desires.

Confession of Agnes Waterhouse,

sister to Elizabeth Francis

Elizabeth had first asked for wealth and goods in the form of sheep. These were duly granted, and she received eighteen in total. The creatures soon left (whether through magical means or meeting more earthly fates is uncertain) and Elizabeth turned her thoughts to matrimony. She fixed her attentions on Andrew Byles, a man of wealth in the area. Sathan was happy to grant this request, on the condition that Elizabeth allow him to abuse her beforehand. She gave herself to Byles, only for the man to refuse to marry her afterwards. Wanting revenge, Elizabeth instructed the cat to deprive her erstwhile lover of his goods; finding this not enough to satisfy her however, she went further, asking him to him to touch Byles' body, causing him to die. Suspecting she was pregnant, she turned to Sathan again for advice, taking the herbs he recommended to abort the pregnancy. 

Not put off by the first experience, Elizabeth then asked for another husband – Sathan promised her Christopher Francis. She duly gave herself to him and he honoured the agreement by marrying her, and a child was born a short while afterwards. The marriage was not the calm, happy match she had hoped for, and there was much swearing and cursing from both sides. When their child was six months old, in an attempt to rectify the situation, she willed Sathan to kill it. This was carried out, but still matters did not improve between husband and wife. Elizabeth therefore told the cat to lame her spouse – the cat showed itself in the form of a toad in the man's shoe, and when he touched it with his foot he was lamed and it could not be healed.

What occurred in the intervening years is unknown, but in 1572 Elizabeth was again before the courts:

Francys, Elizabeth, wife of Christopher Francys of Hatfield Peverel, indicted for witchcraft. On [?] Mar. 1572 at Hatfield Peverel, having been previously convicted of a similar offence, she bewitched Mary wife of William Cocks, miller, so that for ten days afterwards she was lame and infirm and despaired of her life.

In a footnote is added:

Let a new indictment be drawn, in which the recital will be clearer than in this. 

Whatever the cause for concern, when the redrafted indictment came to court in March 1573 it read:

Frances, Elizabeth, wife of Christopher Frances of Hatfield Peverel, yeoman, indicted for witchcraft. On 25 Mar. 1572 at Hatfeld Peverel she bewitched Mary wife of Nicholas Cocke of Hatfield Peverel, miller, so that she languished for ten days.

Guilty; to be pilloried and imprisoned for one year.

Despite it being a second offence, Elizabeth was treated as if it were her first, though whether due to the confusion over rewording or perhaps for giving evidence in the case against Agnes Francis who was also indicted at the same assizes for causing death through witchcraft is unclear. Escaping the death penalty, she served her sentence, returning to Hatfeld Peverel.

The next and final mention of Elizabeth Francis comes in April, 1579:

Fraunces, Elizabeth, of Hatfield Peverel, spinster, indicted for murder by witchcraft. At Chelmsford sessions, 8 Jan. 1579. Presented that on 26 June 1578 at Hatfeld Peverel, Fraunces bewitched Alice Poole, spinster, wife of Richard Poole of Hatfield Peverel, so that she died on 1 Nov. 1578.

Guilty; to hang.

In the pamphlet A Detection of Damnable Drifts, it is related that Elizabeth asked for some old yeast from Alice Poole, the wife of a neighbour. Upset when the woman refused her request, Elizabeth cursed her and “bade a mischief to come upon her.” Amidst a great noise a spirit appeared, in the shape of a small shaggy white dog. After telling the dog her problems she willed it to go and plague Alice Poole both in mind and body, which the dog promised to do. She did not hear from the spirit again, but learnt from neighbours that the other woman had been “grievously pained” in the head and was still in the same condition at the time of Elizabeth's arrest. 

Fate did not intervene this time, and Elizabeth would have met her end on the gallows at Chelmsford. 

Where is the Witch of Walkern?

Jane Wenham has been a favourite “witch” of mine since I first came across her case, and the last few weeks have been spent exhaustively researching her life and the trial that brought her such long-lasting notoriety. I've read every pamphlet, poured over parish registers in an attempt to trace every last family member until my eyes hurt, and driven my husband quietly round the twist with constant references and speculation. (Obsessive? Me? Never.)

With my chapter on Jane now finished I'm forcing myself to step away from the Witch of Walkern, but there remains one final mystery that I still haven't been able to quite solve to my satisfaction:

Where was Jane Wenham's final resting place?

There is an almost overwhelming amount of information on Jane's later life and the allegations made against her. Accused of bewitching Anne Thorn, a maid in the household of the Reverend Gardiner of Walkern, Jane came to trial at the Hertford Assizes in March, 1712. There she was convicted and condemned to death, and would have faced the gallows if not for the intervention of the judge, Sir John Powell and a subsequent royal pardon from Queen Anne herself. 

After her acquittal, Jane did not remain in Walkern. She went to live on the estate of Colonel Plummer of Gilston Park, and, after his death in 1720, was taken in by the wealthy Cowper family in Hertingfordbury, Hertfordshire. Several books and websites state that Jane died and was buried there, but finding the actual sources to prove it have been somewhat trickier than expected. 

Gilston Park, Demolished in 1851

In the course of my digging, I was glad to find I was not the only one to have had my curiosity piqued. In the Hertford Mercury and Reformer, 31^st December, 1887, an inquisitive reader wrote:

One can with little difficulty picture the village gossips, big and little, eagerly discussing the event, while the children mention her name only with bated breath; and how fast the youngsters would scamper past the abode of the witch in daylight, while not even the riches of a millionaire would tempt them to pass it at nightfall.

A country gentleman who had taken great interest in the case kindly allowed her to live in some rooms over his stables, and supplied her with food and appointed her as nurse to his children.

If any gentleman in the county has an old pamphlet in his possession concerning the Walkern witch, would he kindly give a few extracts? - J. J.

The following response was obligingly given a few days later:

The Walkern Witch

In answer to “J.J” (December 30^th), I have a book in my possession which I bought in Cambridgeshire in 1849, which was printed “at the Blackboy, Paternoster Row, 1712”, containing a full confutation of Witchcraft, more particularly of the depositions against Jane Wenham, of Walkern, who was condemned as a witch at Hertford, in which notions of witches are overthrown and the evil consequences of such doctrines are exposed by arguments proving that witchcraft is priestcraft. - S. W

J.J was clearly not satisfied with this however, returning with another query in March of that year. After giving a brief outline of the case for those who might not be familiar with it the writer concludes:

From this interesting note we gather the names of her benefactors, and also the date of her death, etc. The thought has struck me that possibly there may be a head-stone in Hertingfordbury Churchyard to her memory. Can any reader inform me whether such is the case? - J.J. Whitehall.

St. Mary's, Hertingfordbury

The exchange does not appear to have revealed any answers and spurred the interest of another ready who on 28^th July, 1888, decided to take matters into their own hands:

The Walkern Witch

Note – March 31^st – I cannot find that there is any record of the burial of Jane Wenham, known as the Walkern Witch, in the parochial registers at Hertingfordbury, nor does there appear to be any memorial of her in the churchyard there. I am somewhat disposed to think that she was not buried at Hertingfordbury, but she may have been interred at Walkern, where she lived when she was reputed to be a witch, or she may have found her last resting place at Gilston, as she was a recipient of the charity of Colonel Plummer, of Gilston Park. It would be satisfactory if someone would kindly search the registers for the year 1730 of each of these parishes to ascertain the facts. 

W. F. A

W.F.A is indeed correct; there is no record of Jane's burial in the parish registers for Hertingfordbury - nor for Walkern, Gilston or nearby Hitchin either. The registers are clear and legible and there are no gaps or suspiciously faded areas that could be hiding the elusive entry. One might almost be tempted to wonder if the rumours of Jane's abilities were true and she simply disappeared.

Half an answer at least, however, can be found in the Day Book of Sarah Cowper, daughter of the Earl who took Jane in. In an entry for 16^th December 1729, she recorded:

“Mr Squire the curate of Hertingfordbury gave me notice of the death of Jane Wenham, a poor woman become famous through the folly of her neighbours, being the last woman in England (or at least in this part of it) that was tried and condemned for witchcraft.”

She goes on to relate how Jane had been under the family protection for the last decade, with her brother paying forty shillings per year for her rent. A couple of years previous to her death, Jane, worried that the end was near, had starved herself of food in order to save enough money to pay for her burial when the time came. Being told by Sarah that it would be taken care of, the old woman was greatly reassured, also asking that a sermon be given that would clear her name once and for all of the slur that was still attached to it.

Sarah Cowper's Day Book

Although making such a promise, in the end the funeral had a different focus. As told to Sarah Cowper by the curate (implying that Sarah herself did not attend) we learn that instead of touching on matters of witchcraft and blame he:

“... made a practical discourse, concerning the nature and duty of a good life and the blessed consequences and reward that attend good people after death, Our Church was prodigiously crowded, the fullest that ever I saw it on any occasion, and there was the utmost decency during the whole service; no whispers, no noise or disturbance, no tendency in the least to mirth and laughter.”

He ended with begging Sarah's pardon for the change in topic, hoping that she would approve. There is little doubt that she would, given her own misgivings expressed in her diary that to try to clear Jane's name would do nothing more than provoke a riot. 

So Jane's funeral did indeed take place at St. Mary's Hertingfordbury. It is natural to assume that after the sermon in the church her body would then have been taken to the graveyard beyond and buried. Why then no record in the registers? Having been suspected of witchcraft in the past did not automatically exclude someone from burial in church ground – Anne Wagg of Derbyshire for instance was buried in the church yard at Ilkeston several years after accusations were made against her. An unmarked grave makes sense in order to deter vandalism and unwanted attention, but the complete lack of record in the parish registers remain a mystery.

Inside St. Mary's, Hertingfordbury

It is not only the whereabouts of Jane's earthly remains that stands unsolved. The website of the Walkern History Society has the following appeal:

Her portrait is believed to have been painted at the request of Lady Cowper, and was sold when the Cowper estate at Tewin Water was sold at auction in 1841. The Hertfordshire Mercury and Reformer on 2nd January 1841 reported “Amongst the paintings is a portrait of Jane Wenham, a native of Walkern, who was convicted at Hertford Assizes in 1713 [sic] of witchcraft and sentenced to be hanged, but afterwards reprieved. We are told that it was taken at the instance of Mr Cowper’s grandmother, who took great interest in the fate of the unfortunate woman, and was instrumental in obtaining her reprieve.” It was later reported that “the portrait of “The Witch” was sold for 18 guineas.”

Nothing more is known of the painting, and the newly formed Walkern History Society, who have recently been awarded £7400 from the Heritage Lottery Fund to promote the history of the village, would love to know of any leads that they could follow up. 

Please contact Dr Janet Woodall through the website at www.walkernhistorysociety.co.uk.

William, First Earl Cowper

Many thanks to the lovely people at Hertfordshire Archives and Local Studies who have responded to several emails in my quest to work out what became of Jane. 

My previous post on the Wenham case can be found here

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!"