To hell and back: surviving the gallows

A broadside reporting Mary Green's execution and revival

In 1819 Mary Green was found guilty of using counterfeit banknotes, a capital offence. Sentenced to death by hanging, Mary was executed on the morning of 22nd March on a scaffold constructed in front of the notorious Newgate Prison.

After “hanging the usual time” she was declared dead and her body released to friends for burial. To their astonishment, the “deceased” began to show signs of life. A doctor was quickly summoned and Mary was soon brought back to her senses.

Surprisingly, Mary appears to have suffered few lasting effects from her unfortunate ordeal. She is believed to have taken another name and started a new life in Canada. She died for the second, and final, time in Halifax, Nova Scotia, in 1834.

There are several other recorded instances of surviving the death penalty, the most famous tale being that of John “Half-hanged” Smith, hanged at Tyburn on 24th December, 1705. Capitally convicted for robbery, Smith was granted a reprieve while he was actually hanging on the scaffold. Having hung for 15 minutes or more, Smith was cut down and returned to life.

When asked what it felt like to be hanged, Smith reported seeing “a great blaze or glaring light that seemed to go out of my eyes in a flash and then I lost all sense of pain.” The pain, it seems, was reserved for his return to the living: “After I was cut down, I began to come to myself and the blood and spirits forcing themselves into their former channels put me by a prickling or shooting into such intolerable pain that I could have wished those hanged who cut me down.”

John Smith's story retold and updated for an 1820s broadside, complete with details of a fictional second hanging.

Smith apparently failed to learn his lesson – he was indicted for housebreaking at least twice more, narrowly avoiding the gallows each time.

Not every gallows survivor was as lucky as Mary Green or John Smith. A Mrs Cope of Oxford also lived through her death sentence in 1658, but this time the unsympathetic authorities simply insisted on mounting a second, more successful, attempt the following day. – Ken Gibb

Images:
An account of the extraordinary life and execution of Mary Green. John Johnson Shelfmark: Harding B 9/1 (30)(ProQuest durable URL)

A singular character. John Johnson Shelfmark: Harding B 9/1 (40) (ProQuest durable URL)

Copyright © 2009 Bodleian Library, University of Oxford. Reproduced with the permission of ProQuest. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.

Comments are welcome for sharing with other users, but regrettably the editors of Curators’ Choice are not necessarily able to respond to enquiries.

Fruit crate labels

The fruit crate label is one of the most vibrant and iconic examples of American advertising art and is closely linked to the development of lithographic printing in the United States. 

A 1920s peaches label

Crate labels originated in California in the late 19th century, when completion of the transcontinental railroads had made coast-to-coast shipping of fruit and vegetables possible for the first time.

Jazz Brand fruit label

As the produce was transported in wooden crates, labels were necessary to identify the contents and place of origin, as well as to attract the eye of potential buyers. In East Coast fruit markets and auctions halls these labels quickly became the growers’ most important advertising device and the more vivid and attractive the illustration, the more effective it could be.

Between the 1880s and the 1950s, millions of crate labels were produced for fruit and vegetable growers. Countless designs were printed by immigrant German lithographers who brought their skills to the United States.  As the fruit trade grew, so the fledgling lithographic industry grew with it.

Crate art reflects American social and political history through the years. Early images of luscious fruit and local orchards were replaced with illustrations encompassing nearly every theme imaginable, from the Old West, Gold Rush and dramatic landscapes to politics, music, children and beautiful women.

Crate label for Polkodot Brand citrus fruit

Paper labelling ended abruptly in the mid 1950s, when advances in packaging technology produced the more economical preprinted cardboard box. Large quantities of labels remained unused in packing sheds and printing houses, and these have formed the basis of a thriving collectors’ market. – Ken Gibb

Georgia peaches. John Johnson Shelfmark: Labels 11 (5) (ProQuest durable URL)
Jazz brand. John Johnson Shelfmark: Labels 11 (35) (ProQuest durable URL)
Polkodot brand. John Johnson Shelfmark: Labels 11 (22) (ProQuest durable URL)

Copyright  © 2009 Bodleian Library, University of Oxford. Reproduced with the permission of ProQuest. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.

Comments are welcome for sharing with other users, but regrettably the editors of Curators’ Choice are not necessarily able to respond to enquiries.

James Norris – an insane American.

James Norris: the insane American

“Rivetted alive in iron, & for many years confined, in that state, by chains 12 inches long to an upright massive bar in a cell in Bethlem.”

 

The sad tale of James Norris (mistakenly called William by the press) captured the attention of the public in 1814 when he was discovered in Bethlem Royal Hospital, mechanically restrained and in poor health, having been confined in isolation for more than ten years. Norris, a seaman from America, was originally incarcerated in ‘Bedlam’ for an unnamed lunacy and was, after a number of violent incidents, restrained in this extraordinary device designed specifically for him. No less than six members of parliament visited Norris during 1814, each maintaining that he was rational, quiet, and capable of coherent and topical conversation.

As a result of the publication of this image and the interest it generated in asylum reform, Norris was released from his restraints in 1814, yet remained confined in Bethlem. However, the conditions he had endured for more than ten years had so weakened his constitution that he died within a few weeks of his release, of either pneumonia or tuberculosis. The case of James Norris, and the public interest it created, was instrumental in the creation of the Mad House Act of 1828, which sought to license and regulate asylums for the insane, and to improve the treatment of the insane.

Three men were responsible for exposing the plight of William Norris, and eventually gaining his release: Edward Wakefield (1774-1854), member of parliament, reformer, and philanthropist, William Hone (1780-1842), political writer and publisher, and James Bevans, architect. These men were concerned by the condition and ill-treatment of patients in lunatic asylums and thus formed a committee with the aim of visiting asylums around the country and making reports on what they found. The illustration of Norris and its subsequent publication was part of an orchestrated drive by these three men to bring the issue of asylum reform to the public. The number of times the image was copied by different artists pays tribute to the vision of the committee. This particular etching by G. Cruikshank, was published in 1815 by William Hone, sketched from life by G. Arnald in 1814. – Liz Mathew

 

William Norris – an insane American

Human Freaks 4 (39) Proquest durable URL

 

Copyright © 2008 Bodleian Library, University of Oxford. Reproduced with the permission of ProQuest. Further reproduction prohibited without permission

Comments are welcome for sharing with other users, but regrettably the editors of Curators’ Choice are not necessarily able to respond to enquiries.

A brief guide to broadsides

From the 16th to the mid-19th centuries, the general public looked to the broadside for news of the latest sensational crimes, murders and executions. As one of the most popular forms of street literature, broadsides were the tabloid newspapers of their day, selling near the gallows on execution days for just a penny. Public hangings were virtually a form of entertainment, attracting large crowds eager for a grandstand view of the proceedings, and the broadside vendors were ready to shout their news the moment the accused was “launched into eternity.”

  

The execution of John Akrill

This example, entitled Some particulars of the execution of John Akrill, is typical of the broadside format. A single sheet of paper printed on one side, the broadside usually included an account of the crime, a woodcut illustration (in this example, a scene depicting the execution), a description of the convict’s final hours and his last dying confession. The latter was often given in the form of a cautionary verse, emphasising the sorrow of the convict and warning readers of the dangers of drink and bad company. John Akrill, the unhappy subject of this particular broadside, was sentenced to death in 1827 for the crime of horse stealing, one of nearly 500 offences at that time punishable by death.

 

While many thousands of broadsides were printed, the market was dominated by only a few printers. Profits depended on the printer’s ability to produce and sell broadsides quickly and cheaply, and production costs were kept to the bare minimum. Woodcuts could be reused as the occasion demanded, and stock illustrations of the gallows even had a removable section designed to accommodate the required number of hanging bodies!

The gallows

 

Broadsides were often prepared far in advance of the execution date and were notoriously unreliable, containing numerous printing errors and inaccuracies of all kinds. Many, if not all, of the gallows speeches and confessions reported were completely fictional, while some printers even reused entire texts, changing only the names.

 

 The John Johnson Collection of Printed Ephemera contains several hundred crime broadsides, all of which are being catalogued and digitised as part of the joint Proquest and Oxford University project, The John Johnson Collection: An Archive of Printed Ephemera. – Ken Gibb

 

Images:

Some particulars of the execution of John Akrill. John Johnson Shelfmark: Crime 1 (4) (ProQuest durable URL)

 

The last dying speech and confession of Thomas Howard. John Johnson Shelfmark: Crime 1 (97) (ProQuest durable URL)

 

Copyright © 2008 Bodleian Library, University of Oxford.  Reproduced with the permission of ProQuest.  Further reproduction prohibited without permission

Comments are welcome for sharing with other users, but regrettably the editors of Curators’ Choice are not necessarily able to respond to enquiries.

Image magic: the lure of the print shop

'Very slippy weather indeed!' Hand-coloured etching by James Gillray (1808).

Gillray’s depiction of an elderly gentleman losing his footing on an icy street is highly comic. Yet, apart from one yapping dog, his spectacular tumble goes entirely unnoticed by the crowd on the pavement; all eyes are fixed instead on the paper drama of the print shop window.

Print shops really did draw every eye in this manner in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Apart from the cheap woodcuts in chapbooks and broadsides, and the odd painted signboard, there was little accessible imagery in day-to-day life; the affluent might attend art exhibitions, or possess their own collections, but the print shop window was free to crowds of all ranks. It effectively doubled as a picture gallery, showcasing the latest portraits, caricatures of fashionable follies and biting satires for an audience hungry for the magic of the visual. One tourist to London observed that outside the most popular shops the ‘enthusiasm is indescribable when the next drawing appears…it is a veritable madness. You have to make your way in through the crowd with your fists’. Outside this particular shop a dandy with a monocle, a footman, an army officer, an errand boy and a coachman jostle for best position, whilst inside two clergymen pore over an impression titled ‘Catholic Emancipation’.

The print shop window in closeup

The shop depicted is the West End business of Hannah Humphrey (c. 1745-1818), the leading caricature print seller of her day. The prints that can be glimpsed in the windows are all earlier etchings by Gillray, for Humphrey had a profitable monopoly on the sale of his satires, and this print doubles as an advertisement for his work and her shop. Among the prints on view are medical satires (‘Taking physick’, ‘Breathing a vein’, ‘A gentle emetic’, ‘A brisk cathartic’ and ‘Charming well again’), political satires (‘A kick at the Broad-Bottoms!’, ‘The King of Brobdingnag, and Gulliver’, ‘Tiddy-doll, the great French-Gingerbread Baker, drawing out a new batch of Kings’) and personal caricatures (‘Two-Penny Whist’, which cheekily depicts Hannah Humphrey herself).

Humphrey’s premises at 27 St. James’s Street, which she opened in 1797, were in the heart of fashionable London and well placed to lure in passing nobility and gentry-the exclusive gentlemen’s clubs of Brooke’s, Boodle’s and White’s (frequented by the likes of the Prince of Wales) were just up the street. According to contemporary accounts, her shop was well appointed inside, with mahogany counters and showcases. She also loaned out portfolios for the evening. The rooms above the shop were where she lived with Gillray, who had been her lodger and close friend as well as her principal artist, since 1793 (which fueled much speculation that their relationship was more than purely commercial). 

It was also here that Gillray would make his farcical suicide attempt in 1811; suffering from severe depression after the failure of his eyesight (he produced his final print in 1809), he attempted to throw himself from an attic window.  The window, however, had iron bars across it, and Gillray got his head jammed – he was spotted by a member of White’s club and extricated, looking for all the world like one of his own cruel caricatures. – Amanda Flynn

 John Johnson shelfmark: Trade in Prints and Scraps 8 (74) (ProQuest durable URL)

Copyright © 2008 Bodleian Library, University of Oxford.  Reproduced with the permission of ProQuest.  Further reproduction prohibited without permission

Comments are welcome for sharing with other users, but regrettably the editors of Curators’ Choice are not necessarily able to respond to enquiries.

Miniature theatre

Explosion at the mill from The miller and his men

This magnificent explosion helps explain why The Miller and his Men was one of the most popular of the toy theatre plays. With twenty illustrated sheets, some paints, and a pair of scissors, a child could amass all the ingredients of a successful night at the theatre: an evil miller who doubles as the leader of a nefarious gang of thieves, a pair of lovers kept apart by said miller, and the gallant Count Friberg, who orchestrates the reunion of the lovers and the dramatic destruction of the mill. A picturesque windmill, late night smuggling scenes, and plenty of sword fighting keep the action building to the final crescendo that is the explosion.

 

This toy theatre set was published by Benjamin Pollack sometime around the end of the 19th century, but its beginnings may be traced to Covent Garden Theatre, October 21st, 1813 when Isaac Pocock and Henry R. Bishop’s stage version of The Miller was first performed to great acclaim.  Capitalising on the popularity of plays like this, theatrical print sellers first sold images of the actors and actresses in costume, but were soon selling smaller vignettes of entire scenes and then entire plays.  Accompanied by a condensed script, these miniature plays indoctrinated generations of British children into the wonders of the theatre during the 19th century. Miniature theatre enthusiasts included Charles Dickens, Winston Churchill, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Claude Lovat Fraser.

 

Characters from Pollock’s The miller and his men

Early toy theatre prints were made from engraved copper plates, the engravings often from sketches made at the theatre on the night. Sets, costumes, and even the actors’ likenesses were copied, and could often be recognised. Inexpensive lithography made the reproduction of these images even easier, and thousands of cheap litho sheets were sold “penny plain, tuppence coloured” during the Victorian era, along with paints, tinsel, card board, and an array of sundries to make as realistic a replication of the original drama as possible.   J. K. Green,  Arthur and Alexander Park, William G. Webb, Matthew Skelt and Benjamin Pollock’s father-in-law J. Reddington were only the most prolific of a host of publishers who made a living out of selling “plays and characters”.  The popularity of miniature theatres was waning by the end of the nineteenth century, although Benjamin Pollock and his daughters kept the art alive until his death 1937.  Today, when toy theatre has almost been forgotten, these vibrant theatrical documents provide us with insights into the world of early 19th-century theatre, and a glimpse into Victorian childhood. – Kathy Whalen Moss

 Images: Scene 11. Pollock’s scenes in the Miller and his men.  No. 9. John Johnson Shelfmark: Miniature Theatre 2 (61a) (ProQuest durable URL)

Pollock’s characters in the Miller and his men. Pl. 4. John Johnson Shelfmark: Miniature Theatre 2 (54a) (ProQuest durable URL)

 

Copyright © 2008 Bodleian Library, University of Oxford.  Reproduced with the permission of ProQuest.  Further reproduction prohibited without permission

Comments are welcome for sharing with other users, but regrettably the editors of Curators’ Choice are not necessarily able to respond to enquiries.