The Pen...shurst is mightier than the sword!

September 2, 2020

Just along the river, over the hill and through the picturesque flowing meadows, a rather special estate is nestled in a valley not far from the River Medway. Since it was not a great distance to reach this amazing historical fancy, we decided to take a sneaky little adventure in search of rainbow stones, haunting horrors and potential historical intrigues.

We prepared as always by packing our provisions and readying the crew. Charged with employing an experienced navigator, Audrey carefully selected Squishy Bear for the job, a masterful commander of the map. The route to this stunning seat accommodates all manner of ramblers and cyclists alike. Well trodden country footpaths lead almost unbroken, from Tonbridge, through Haysden Country Park, along the vast serene river and all the way up to Penshurst Place. It is a scenic saunter through the Kentish countryside, and a popular one.

Not much is known of the Penshurst Estate before the 13th century, when building work began on a manor house. An easy half days ride from London, Penshurst was ideal for hunting grounds and leisurely accommodation away from the city.

We began our adventure in Penshurst by wandering the church grounds, situated just beside the grand house. The village is brimming with period character, a quaint scatter of old homely architecture with a pub and a collection of shops and homes. According to local legend, a ghostly figure haunts the village, traipsing through the streets on his final journey to see his secret love, the Vicars Daughter! There has been a church on this same spot since at least 1115 AD, but recent Saxon discoveries in the vicinity suggest there may have been some form of religious structure on the site since the 9th century.

The first recorded priest of the church, Wilhhelmus, was appointed by Archbishop Thomas Becket. It would be his final public order before assassination just two days later at Canterbury Cathedral. The church of St John the Baptist at Penshurst has seen continued development through almost every age since the 12th century.

Amongst the throngs buried in its hallowed grounds are Earls, Viscounts, Knights, Leaders of the British Army and a Viceroy of India. Ghosts of the good and great reside here, alongside some of the more sinister deceased residents. The churchyard also houses one of the last remaining Dole Tables to be found in the country, a stone table once used to distribute money and food to those in need.

The church is set amidst the ancient manor house, guild house and rectory, all surviving wonders which have seen a turbulent tour of tragedy and triumph on their doorstep. Our wander took us through the churchyard and out to the spectacular estate beyond, boundless grounds with startling views of the magnificent Penshurst Place.

Visit Penshurst Place

Construction of Penshurst Place began in the 14th century. Sir John De Pulteney desired a country estate to add to his London properties and so had a Manor House built in 1341, much of the house remains today in its original state. Through the centuries, the house was developed with protective towers, curtain walls and ever larger and more luxurious chambers. King Henry IV’s third son, John Duke of Bedford owned the house for a time and in the mid 15th century he added the hall now known as the Buckingham Building.

Humphrey Stafford, the 1st Duke of Buckingham inherited the estate. He was the first of three successive Buckingham’s to own the property. The 3rd Duke enjoyed displaying his wealth and power. In 1519 he invited Henry VIII to Penshurst. With no male heir, Henry feared Buckingham as a threat to his throne and found an excuse to have him tried and executed, seizing the property for himself.

Henry VIII used Penshurst as a hunting lodge, and an excuse to visit his soon-to-be second wife, Anne Boleyn, since her home of Hever Castle was nearby. Sticking with the wives of Henry association, the house would later be gifted to Anne of Cleves, Henry’s fourth wife, in their divorce settlement before falling back into the hands of the monopolistic monarchs.

King Edward VI, Henry’s sickly son, gifted the house to his tutor and steward, Sir William Sidney. It would remain in this famous family until the present day. One of the most renowned members of this incredible family was the Tudor poet, Sir Philip Sidney. He was known for his works such as The Defence of Poesy, Astrophel and Stella, and The Arcadia. Philip Sidney was also a soldier and died at just 31, from a bullet wound inflicted during fighting for the Protestant cause against the Spanish at the battle of Zutphen. It is said that the apparition of Sir Philip still stalks the halls of Penshurst, perhaps musing a final powerful poem or lamenting his early jaunt to the grave?

The house continued to grow, seeing visitors such as Elizabeth I and the children of Charles I. It would remain a beacon of literary musings throughout the centuries. Penshurst opened to the public in 1947 and now boasts a visitor centre and cafe, as well as some stunning gardens.

We circled the great house, its astonishing architecture dominating the landscape. From various explorations of the estate during my various exercise adventures, I have noticed a great deal of intriguing monuments littering the land. A strange mound caps the hill, labelled on our trusty OS map, but with little further information as to what it may have been? A landscape folly? A natural phenomenon? A tomb? Nearby is a perfect circle of trees, and throughout the grounds are some incredible flora and staggering stumps. The entire area seems steeped in mythical properties, a fairytale panorama with ghostly greatness in every inch.

Audrey collected an engrossing array of magical twigs and enchanting leaves to add to her ever-growing collection of supernatural specimens. Still no sign of the elusive rainbow stone... perhaps they were hidden within the well-fortified walls of Penshurst Place?

We completed our investigations with a visit to the local pub, a perfect way to end the adventure sat beside an open fire, enjoying an ale or two and resting our weary feet. It had been a fascinating forage through the home of many ancient elites... their treasures are undoubtedly scattered in this lush landscape, and possibly their sinister spooky secrets too...

RITUAL REVELATIONS IN THE WEST KENT DOWNS - part 2

July 10, 2020

The next barrow sites were not a great distance as the crow flies, but a vast forest and dangerous highway separated us from the sacred monuments and with our loaded provisions and entourage of varying ability, we would probably not have been able to succeed on foot. First on the list was Addington Long Barrow. We loaded the car and made our way through winding country roads, cute village outposts and blissful scenic spaces until we discovered the sought-after side road, well off the beaten track.

Addington is another sub rectangular Long Barrow of the Medway Megalith style. It was probably built during the early Neolithic period and has since been vastly damaged, but is still recognisable as a significant prehistoric monument. The most troubling aspect of the Addington Long Barrow is the road which has been constructed directly through the centre of the mound. Collapsed kerb stones in the northeast of the structure would likely have been the space for deposition of human remains, though none were ever discovered within the tomb. The Long Barrow itself is on private land and is only visible from the roadside, but is still worth seeing, though severe caution is suggested when viewing from the narrow winding road.

The last of the substantial Medway Megaliths on the west side of the river in this incredible landscape is Chestnuts Long Barrow. This prehistoric monument is found very close to Addington, a mere 150 feet away. Chestnuts, though, is further into the aforementioned private land, engulfed by leafy trees and thick shrubbery and utterly impossible to approach without some questionable law-breaking. Keen to avoid invading private land or inviting potential criminal prosecution, we made the disappointing decision not to pursue this objective any further. Having established the monument was definitely not visible from the road and after enduring abuse from some of the roadside plant-life; we hopped back into the car and set a course for the final destination of our adventure.

By this point, Audrey had collected a number of intriguing stones for investigation. Though not the elusive Rainbow Stone she desired, these were certainly related artefacts and would offer vital information into the whereabouts of her target treasure.

Aylesford is a pretty little riverside village just northwest of Maidstone in Kent, with delightfully crooked old buildings and enticing traditional public houses. At the peak of the hill which adorns the historic village is a striking Norman church, wonderfully encircled by a charismatic gothic graveyard.

We were here on the hunt for a high-status late Iron Age cemetery located in the area. In 1886 the site was excavated by renowned antiquarian Arthur Evans, famed for his incredible discoveries in Crete at the Palace of Knossos, a ruin he excitedly exclaimed was that of King Minos mythical Labyrinth. The late Iron Age cremation cemetery in Aylesford was richly furnished with spectacular grave goods including bronze buckets, pans and jugs, as well as wheel-thrown Belgic wares from the 1st century BC. Discovery of this unique burial illustrated a high level of continental connectivity prior to the Roman invasion. The find was deemed so important that an entire culture, the Aylesford-Swarling culture, was named after it. There has been speculation that Aylesford was also the location of the Battle of Medway, a recorded clash between native Britain’s and invading Romans during their occupation of Britain, though there is no evidence to back up this claim.

We parked the car in an easily accessible, fee-free car park close to the village centre and set off on foot through the narrow rustic streets. The glorious sunshine had enticed throngs of leisure seekers into the communal village spaces, parks and bridges were swarming with families and friends enjoying all manner of refreshments.

We wandered along the river, onto the high street, past the historical buildings lining the narrow roads and we climbed towards the church. The views from the top of the hill were splendid, but we found our path restricted by the ‘no dog’ policy of the churchyard and had to skirt the most scenic areas and stick to alternative pathways. Despite our best efforts, and many dead-end streets and alleys, we were unable to locate the area of the cemetery. Our phone batteries had long since expired so we were wandering blindly through the village, which had its advantages but eventually proved frustrating. We gave up on the quest, satisfied with our explorations of the ancient village itself. Audrey collected some further stony specimens for her study and it was time to go.

Since we had been enjoying a period of detox, we celebrated with ice cold non-alcoholic beers and light snacks when we finally made it home. I made the mistake of checking precisely where the Iron Age cemetery was located... we had been just meters from a decent vantage point, if only we had followed the unpromising road at the peak of the hill a little further, perhaps we would have witnessed our goal. Ah well, something to try for next time!

Ritual revelations in the West Kent Downs

July 3, 2020

Following our recent pursuit of local prehistoric pleasures, we embarked upon an ambitious plot to uncover not one, not two but three Long Barrows and discover an elite late Iron Age burial ground... all in the same day! It would prove a tantalising, testing task.

In the wild picturesque West Kent Downs near West Malling are a cluster of ancient burial chambers, much damaged but still visible in the landscape if you know where to look. We had found the incredible sites via our trusty OS map and decided we had to see them for ourselves.

As ever, our dependable transport was loaded and provisions were prepared before we set out into the luscious green hills. Audrey had instructed us on her own particular interest in this adventure. She was on the hunt for the elusive Rainbow Stone. Rarer than diamonds and rumoured to be extremely well guarded, the Rainbow Stone has lured many an intrepid adventurer for as long as records have been kept. Thus far, all have failed in this quest, but with unique treasure hunting talents and a brave and fearless spirit, Audrey was confident that this journey would yield important results.

We made our way through the cute village of Trottiscliffe. Nearby, we were able to stow the car in a secure location supplied by the amazing National Trust. The parking was free and safe, but do be warned, the car park is quite small and fairly busy so you may find yourself waiting a short while for a free space to become available.

From here, rucksacks packed and boots laced, we set off expectantly on foot. Trekking excitedly through the stunning hills, atmospheric forests and ancient earthen pathways, we approached the first of the incredible monuments on our list, Coldrum Long Barrow.

The Coldrum Sarsens have been a point of heated discussion for many centuries. Suffering significant disruption and destruction through the ages, arguments have arisen about precisely what this megalithic structure may have been. Some argued it might have been a Henge site, whilst others tussled over the style of Long Barrow it may represent. Current consensus suggests the monument is a rectangular Long Barrow, an ancient burial tomb of the Neolithic Age in use from around 4000 - 3850 BC. Field systems were already existent in the area prior to the construction of the monument, indicating this area hosted some of Kent’s earliest farming communities. The tomb contained the bones of over 22 men, women and children of all ages from newborn to elderly. These have been proven to be family members illustrating the close familial community of the age.

We had not planned it as such but found ourselves at Coldrum Long Barrow just hours after the summer solstice. Though the stones are cordoned off by a small wooden fence, a gathering of cheerful revellers had set themselves amongst the heart of the monument, with tents, campfires and refreshments. No doubt they had situated themselves for a fully immersive experience of the solstice sunrise within this ancient spiritual space.

We skirted the monument, enjoying the magnificent splendour of the stones, but ultimately felt slightly uncomfortable and so we were unable to dwell there for too long. It was a little bit like accidentally wandering into someone’s house whilst they were sitting down for dinner. We smiled and offered awkward apologetic greetings before briskly moving along, out of immediate sight.

It was lunchtime and we were well prepared, we had packed a delightful picnic and leaving the stunning stones of Coldrum behind, we found a secluded picturesque space in the immense landscape to sit and enjoy our refreshments. From our serene space, we curiously scanned the many scatters of natural flint, whilst Audrey desperately searched for the ever-elusive Rainbow Stone. As yet, there was no sign of it, but Audrey felt we were getting closer. Our snack time over, we ensured our picnic area was clean and made for the car. There was still much to explore, and we only had half a day left to achieve our hopeful holiday holy grail

To be continued...

Wild and Wicked Whitby Wonders...

May 22, 2020

There is a destination whispered continuously through the curious circles of horror literature. This is a place steeped in history and legend, famed throughout the known world. We had to see for ourselves. Despite being less than an hour away, we had yet to explore the infamous seaside town of Whitby.

Famed for its Abbey and its associations with blood-sucking demons of darkness, Whitby has become a Mecca for those who enjoy the delights of gothic imagination. Twice a year Whitby hosts a Goth Festival. Heroes of the macabre, mechanical music and monochrome fashion descend on the town to share an appreciation of a subculture much evolved from its primitive beginnings.

Visit Whitby

The festival, however, would not be for another few months. We chose to venture into the town on an altogether more horrifying weekend… the Bank Holiday.

During the beautiful scenic drive, we mused with wide eyes and electrified minds. Approaching from the stunning North York Moors, we crossed the horizon and peered down upon Whitby. The town is sprawled across steep slopes falling to the mouth of the River Esk, where it empties into the North Sea.

The first evidence of settlement at Whitby appears in the 7th century AD when the Abbey was founded by the Christian King of Northumbria, Oswiu. It saw Viking raids and the rebuilding of monasteries as the town grew and grew. The name Whitby comes from the Old Norse meaning White Settlement. In later history, it became an important maritime centre, where famed figures such as Captain Cook would learn their seamanship. The architecture is delightfully quirky and traditional; the streets are narrow and windy, the views are to die for.

The gem of this great literary centre is, of course, Whitby Abbey. The Abbey ruin sits atop the East cliff as the town’s oldest monument. It was built as an act of thanks following the defeat of Penda, the pagan Anglo-Saxon King of Mercia. Its first Abbess was the royal princess Hild, who was later venerated as a saint. The Abbey was home to Caedmon, the earliest English poet, who cared for animals and was unaware of the gift of words until he miraculously dreamt the art of song. It would be destroyed and rebuilt over the centuries until Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries finally left it to ruin.

We had made the journey along with ArchaeoNana, to enjoy the seaside resort and see what all the fuss was about. As I mentioned, however, we chose the wrong day for a visit. The bank Holiday seemed to be an excuse for mass pandemonium in this little town. As with most coastal hotspots, the usual popular vendors of souvenir shops, ice cream parlours, fast food joints, penny arcades and public houses are prominent. On this day, all were utterly bursting at the seams.

Families crowded the narrow streets, gangs of adults filled the pubs, cars and busses clogged up the chaotic roads. Noise and smog suffocated the air. The searing summer heat did little to alleviate the claustrophobia of it all. Merely seeking suitable parking was beyond stressful. So far, not the incredible adventure we had anticipated.

Bram Stoker's Dracula

Fortunately, as we made our way up the 199 steps leading to the Abbey, the enclosed chaos began to evaporate and an open and relaxed atmosphere befell our party. Up here in the heavens, amongst the ancient ruins of the Abbey, it was a different world. The air was fresh, a serene quiet hung over the stone relics. We explored the historic building blocks perched upon the cliff edge. The views over the ocean were sublime, even the busy shuffle of life from the town below appeared as a quaint visual curiosity.

Throughout the ancient world, people have been drawn to this area for the luxury gemstone, Jet. Derived from wood of the Monkey Puzzle Tree, changed under extreme pressure. Jet has been used for jewellery and prized objects since at least the neolithic period.

Thanks to the timing of our visit, we witnessed an incredible immersive performance of Bram Stoker’s mesmerising literary success, Dracula. From within the walls of its inspiration, we followed the characters and tussled on that most epic of journeys. We cowered as Dracula pursued his blood lust. We cheered as Jonathon Harker escaped his clutches and Abraham Van Helsing assisted in defeating the demon.

Our final adventure of the evening came with a choppy boat ride out into the deep blue of the North Sea. The brief maritime excursion offered a viewpoint from which Dracula himself might have first appreciated the gothic splendour of this special site. The waters were particularly rough, it was a nervy journey for us, but one that Audrey found immensely enjoyable!

We squeezed into a small pub on the hill for a farewell drink, the place was rammed and not the most comfortable, but the beer was good and to my delight, we even caught a little of the bank holiday football.

Making our way back to the car, we joined the throngs of tourists leaving town. It was a slow and uncomfortable exit, but once out of town, the traffic eased and we enjoyed the glorious greens of the Moors as the sun set over the horizon and day was overtaken by night...

...into the realm of bloodsucking demons!

Off with their heads... A day at the Tower

April 16, 2020

Beneath delightful blue winter skies, seeking ancient historical mysteries, our merry little band entered through the gates of the most notorious building in all of Great Britain, The Tower of London.

It would be impossible to write a brief blog on the history of this incredible site. Built in the 11th century as a fortress by William the Conqueror, to establish his dominance over the island following invasion, the Tower and its surrounding structures have since been a royal residence, a prison, a mint, a stronghold and even a menagerie. Over 1000 years of turbulent tales are locked within its walls.

Emily organised our amazing visit as a wonderfully thoughtful gift, knowing that despite my years in the capital, I had yet to witness the famous fortress. My excitement was impossible to disguise from the moment of waking, right through until we consumed a final beer on the way home. The historian in me danced on clouds of delight, drunk on the abundance of chronicles connected to this Thameside treat.

There are countless blogs and websites dedicated to the intriguing tales connected to this little bit of land. Home to the Crown Jewells of Great Britain, it has produced stories of Kings and Queens, prisoners, tortures, punishments and executions; dark tales like that of the Princes in the Tower, mere children destined for the throne whose lives were cut short in the name of power; tales of Queens decapitated by ruthless Kings; tales of persecuted religious martyrs. The list is endless.

Tower of London Histories

As we wandered through the various Tower buildings, each with its own unique heritage, it was clear the histories locked in these walls were too numerous to fully explore. We could have spent a day in each room. Reconstructed bed chambers, chapels, dungeons, throne rooms and armouries appeared with each new step. Trying to consume it all was difficult. The tours are highly recommended, and by the sound of it, as hilarious as they are educational!

Characters such as Elizabeth I, Sir Walter Raleigh, Guy Fawkes, even the infamous Kray brothers were prisoners here. Unsurprisingly, tales of haunting are plentiful; the ghost of Anne Boleyn is thought to roam Tower Green and a cousin of Queen Elizabeth who starved to death in the tower is said to remain in the Queen’s House, these are just some of the spectres stalking this ancient pile.

For our part, we were fascinated by stories from before the famous White Tower was erected. Much of our intrigue emerged from fanciful mythology surrounding this particular hill by the Thames. As it happens, there is tantalising evidence of life at this location prior to William the Conquerors immense building project, it is perhaps a little less well known, but equally as fascinating.

Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae told of Brutus, a Trojan descendant who having been banished from Italy began a journey across Europe. Amassing a number of Trojan exiles and winning many battles, Brutus was visited in a dream by the goddess Diana who prophesied he would discover an island occupied by Giants and create a New Troy.

According to Monmouth, the island would take his name, from Brutus to Brittania. Brutus discovered Albion around 1170BC and ridding it of Giants became the first in a line of great kings. He searched the island for a suitable home and coming upon the Thames he chose a site, naming it Troia Nova (New Troy). The Welsh name for tower hill was the Bryn Gwyn, roughly translated as the white hill. It is here in this apparently sacred mound, that Brutus of Troy is said to be buried.

In a collection of Welsh folk tales called Mabinogion, is the story of the Giant Bendigeidfran, or Bran the Blessed, King of England. Bran led an invasion of Ireland, wading across the sea and laying over the islands as a bridge so his men could cross. He was fatally injured by a poisoned spear during the battle. On his death bed, he ordered his followers to decapitate him, and take my head and carry it to the Gwynfryn (White Hill) in London and bury it with its face towards France. Gwnfryn has been identified by some commentators with Tower Hill. The buried head is believed to have kept the island safe from invasion until none other than King Arthur himself ordered it to be exhumed, claiming no other force than himself was required to defend the island.

The custom of keeping severed heads has been recognised in Celtic cultures. They are thought to have believed the head housed the soul and so they would keep the heads of their enemies. The word Bran in Welsh means crow, and so the legend has attached itself to the presence of ravens at the Tower of London. Charles II was informed of a prophecy that if the ravens left the tower, the white tower would collapse and a terrible fate would befall the nation.

Flint flakes and deposits of worn pottery were discovered beneath accumulated layers of sand and gravel during excavations in the south-east corner of the inmost ward in 1955 and 1976. Towards the end of the prehistoric period, the river level declined, leaving a dry area. Here excavations revealed flint flakes and Iron Age pottery along with a shallow grave containing a skeleton of a young male, 13 – 16 years old. Radiocarbon dating of the skeleton revealed that it dates to no earlier than the beginning of the first century AD. The style and ritual of the burial suggest that the male died just before the Roman invasion of AD43. Pits and pottery of Iron Age date have been uncovered from sites around the Tower.

Much of the archaeology in this area has traditionally been focused on the Roman wall and was the result of refurbishment in buildings in the surrounding area between the 1930s and the present day. Sites produced a wealth of artefacts such as building material, sword scabbards, flints, Roman pottery sherds and even a sandstone sarcophagus with the skeleton of a child dated to the 4th century. The evidence led to the hypothesis a cemetery was in use during the 3rd and 4th centuries, just outside the city walls. In 1899, part of a structure which included a channelled hypocaust system was found some 16 feet south-west of the White Tower.

As our legs tired and our minds were full of wonders, it was time to escape the Tower and head for home. Not before a nice drink by the Thames of course, to look out over the river and try to arrange the mass of historical stories we had witnessed. The Tower has a gruesome and terrifying past, but it has remained at the centre of importance on our little island at the edge of the earth for as long as there has been a London. It was a true pleasure to experience it in an age where the majority get to walk out alive!

The 19th century Witch Trials - A British Library Investigation

March 30, 2020

My dearest Emily,

As we continue in this uncertain situation, I have been focusing my energy on the research of our collections at the Library. I stumbled upon some revealing documents regarding the attempts to quell the trend of witch hunting in India during the 19th century.

Belief in witches is an ancient tradition, as are the processes for discovering witchcraft and the often brutal techniques engaged to determine guilt or innocence.

Many of us are familiar with the infamous 17th-century witch hunts in Britain and America, events which spawned imaginative and gruesome literature and stirred a supernatural phenomenon intriguing worldwide audiences to this day.

Far from the glamour of fiction, the true war against witches was a horrifying affair. We look back with shame at the vile and unnecessary persecution of women during these periods. Cruel tortures all too easily excused through demonic accusation.

Whilst attitudes towards witchcraft in Britain had mostly altered by the 19th century, some of the countries engulfed by its Empire still experienced events with frightening parallels. The theatre of witch-hunting, sham trials, torture and murder, were prevalent throughout India.

A wealth of correspondence and reports in the India Office collections offer a unique insight into attempts by the British Government to stamp out these archaic practices. There are detailed proceedings of trials, first-hand accounts and correspondence between officers and officials attempting to control the issue.

Usually, villagers would seek advice from a local witch hunter, or Bhopa, who would identify the witch. The most common punishment for witchcraft in India was witch swinging. From the records available, it appears survival was rare. One report offered the following description:

“Without trial or being heard in defence, the supposed witch is seized, her eyes stuffed with red chillies and bandaged and ropes are tied firmly round her legs and waist. She is then taken to a tree and swung violently, with her head downwards, from about 9 O’clock to sunset each day, till she confesses to a falsehood or dies under the barbarous infliction. She is never loosed or unbound day or night.”

Many other indecencies and tortures were conducted, and even if the accused somehow survived these horrendous ordeals, they were exiled from their homes and branded a witch forevermore.

During a case in the Singhbhum district in 1822, an entire family of seven were violently murdered by an individual who claimed the head of that family was “in the habit of destroying people by witchcraft”. The suspect was soon detained, but in an event which surely did nothing to quell the fears of superstitious witnesses, the murderer suffered “sudden death as a consequence of epilepsy” just before his trial.

In 1842, a woman in Palachpoor was found to have been brutally murdered in the jungle close to her village, her head split open by a blow from a large stick. The chief suspect was her step son. When cross examined, he claimed she had been practicing witchcraft and had “eaten two buffaloes of mine and 10 persons of the village, including his brother’s wife and sister’s daughter”. The woman’s own daughter admitted in court that her mother had always been a witch, announcing “she used to bite people and they died in consequence”. Her younger son went further exclaiming “she had an evil eye.” It emerged that the unfortunate woman had recently reported her step son’s involvement in a robbery. In his fury, he forced her into the jungle and beat her to death. Despite this knowledge, the jury felt, because of the witchcraft accusation, a verdict of murder was unfair. A short prison sentence and hard labour was agreed upon.

During 1849, a lady called Eullal, in the village of Chapra, was accused of witchcraft by village leaders. They claimed her eye had fallen upon a villager named Koobla, who had contracted an illness and died 11 days later. A gathering of village officials concluded that Eullal was guilty and, once it had been agreed to distribute her possessions and properties amongst themselves, Eullal was seized and charged. She had chili paste rubbed into her eyes before bandages were applied to stop her evil glare afflicting further victims. Eullal survived this ordeal and was left tied to a tree. The villagers departed at around 6pm. By 9pm, Eullal was dead. It was argued a slave had killed Eullal, under the orders of the Thakere. A punishment of 25 Rupees was suggested by the Raja.

In 1856 in the Mewar region, Captain John Brooke wrote of “the atrocity of the practice of swinging women” as he reported an eight month pregnant woman who was accused by a Bhopa of being a witch and swung to her death. He sadly lamented “I would remark that there is little hope of the custom ceasing till it becomes dangerous to follow the profession of Bhopa”.

In 1864, the mother of a man was accused of witchcraft when his wound, despite being sewn up, issued blood. It had been a family member who made the accusation. The mother was seized, stabbed with the sword and thrown into the river under the accusations of witchcraft. Somewhat conveniently, the family members involved in the unfortunate woman’s demise received her money and property shortly after her execution.

In 1868, on the advice of a Bhopa named Munna, a woman called Kunkoo was accused of making an Indian Army private’s wife sick by witchcraft. The soldier and his brother encouraged action from villagers, who seized Kunkoo and forced her hands into boiling oil, then swung her for days. The soldier’s wife died from her ailment and the old lady was released, only to be found murdered in the forest shortly after. During questioning the brothers denied killing Kunkoo, instead blaming another villager, Nugga. When asked why he would have reason to kill the old lady, Private Bujjeea claimed “Nugga told me that she had eaten his uncle and his mother and a cow, so he killed her”.

These and countless other cases were reported by the British authorities in India, many more undoubtedly went unreported.

Whilst the reports clearly indicate the government were keen to stamp out the practice, there was only so much they could achieve. They were wary of interfering with indigenous beliefs and traditions. Local leaders admitted in some areas 40-50 women a year could be punished as witches.

The response was to target the Bhopa’s. By convicting those “professed sorcerers” accusing individuals of witchcraft, and fining community leaders who allowed the events to occur, they hoped to quell the illegal occurrences of torture and murder.

Whether or not this was successful is debatable. Whilst reports of convictions must have had some effect, it more than likely only pushed them underground.

Craig Campbell

Curatorial Support Officer, India Office Records

British Library