Judge, Jury & The Executioner
“With regard to the public, their curiosity to see me is much greater than my desire to satisfy it. I have no wish to be followed about and stared at by a crowd, as if I were a monstrosity, and in many cases I have had to go to some trouble to baulk them.”
- Executioner James Berry, My Experiences as an Executioner
The history of hangmen is a long and complicated one and no more so than when looking at their relationship with the execution crowd.
For centuries the role of executioner was a lowly and largely informal position, in some instances even undertaken by criminals themselves to avoid a harsher sentence, as was the case at the 1792 triple execution of William Winter, Eleanor & Jane Clarke at Newcastle’s Westgate. However, in the mid-nineteenth century the role was steadily professionalised and by the turn of the twentieth century it had gone from a widely deplored and despised role to a much-coveted one, which carried a sort of macabre celebrity status. So much so that in executioner James Berry’s case he had to use cunning tricks to escape the eager execution crowd at the 1886 hanging of Patrick Judge at Newcastle, but before we find out how he did it lets first look at the role of the hangman in the North East.
Early records of Newcastle indicate that the task of executing felons was a similarly lowly role. John Brand’s c18th history of the region records the following
Among the inferior officers appointed by the corporation of Newcaſtle, occurs one with the ſingular title of “whipper and hougher,” who is alſo the executioner of felons. He is called “hougher,” from the power he is ſaid to have had formerly of cutting the houghs, or finews of the houghs, of ſwine, that were found infeſting the ſtreets of the town.”
In many senses then the hangman of Newcastle was the butcher of man and beast. We know very little of these early hangmen, although the Common Council Books from the period offer us a brief glimpse. In an entry for September 25th 1705, the Council books record the following,
“Alexander Robinſon appointed in the room of Thomas Cooper, to be “common executioner in hanging of felons, putting perſons in the pillory, clearing the ſtreets of ſwine, and to doe and perform all other matters belonging to the place and duty of the hougher.”
Similarly, in their 1827 history of the region Mackenzie and Dent noted that the present Whipper and Hougher was one “Thomas Bearman” and he received “annual salary of £4, 6s. 8d exclusive of fees.” It would appear Bearman was also performing the role in 1822 as he is noted as such in a marriage announcement in the Durham Country Advertiser, which has him as ‘whipper and hougher to the Corporation of that town (Newcastle)’.
By the mid-century hangmen from York or Scotland were often employed to undertake executions in the region, as at the 1865 execution of Matthew Atkinson at Durham (undertaken by York’s hangman Thomas Askern). Askern’s bungling of the Atkinson execution, the rope broke and he had to be hauled up and hung again, was met with execrations from the crowd and questions in the House of Commons. Subsequent reports noted that such was the anger of the crowd that he feared returning to the region.
After 1868 and the removal of executions to behind the prison walls, the hangman became a more elusive figure and arguably a more intriguing one to the public at large. As the century progressed hangmen like William Marwood introduced new techniques, most notably the long drop, that steadily professionalised the role, but alongside this gained something of a celebrity status. Some hangmen were known to regale interested members of the public with titbits about executions past. For executions at Durham Prison, the nearby Dun Cow Inn was often the lodging place for the hangman and numerous reports attest to Marwood, amongst others, regaling interested members of the public with stories.
So, to James Berry and his cunning escape from Newcastle Prison. Testament to the fascination around hangmen in this period and their increasing celebrity status can be seen in his recording of his travel plans for executions. Recalling some of his tactics for avoiding expectant crowds he detailed how he would often take a different train to that originally booked for him, as word often passed of what train the hangman would be on. Similarly, he would change at the nearest local station and then get a smaller branch line train into his final destination. However, leaving the prison and getting back home was harder as crowds would often wait for him after an execution, as was the case at the send-off of Patrick Judge, in 1886.
Patrick Judge had been sentenced to death for the murder of his wife and the case had aroused much local interest. Reports of the day noted that the surrounding streets of the prison, most notably Worswick Street, was packed with people as it afforded the best view of the black flag that was raised on the completion of an execution. Indeed, such was the intrigue around the hanging that the execution itself was temporarily halted as a Prison Warder spotted three men sat atop the roof of a neighbouring building, overlooking the prison. Berry was concerned that they may be relatives of the condemned man and ordered that they be removed, but as the prison officials had no authority over the neighbouring building, it was not within their power. In the end the hanging itself went as smoothly as possible, but problems arose on him trying to leave the prison.
Writing of the aftermath of Judge’s execution Berry’s diaries recorded the “big and enthusiastic crowd waiting to see me and my assistant depart.” He was aware that one or two men in the crowd knew him by sight and also knew the train by which he was to travel back. This group made hastily for the train station and in spite of the best efforts of the railways officials and police, manged to “burst through the barriers with a howl of exultation and filled the platform.” Despite their efforts they were to be left disappointed as Berry and his assistant snuck over the River Tyne to Gateshead station and there booked a train back to Newcastle. On arrival they switched onto the mainline train for Bradford undetected and with the crowd “under the firm impression that we had not entered the station.”
Berry’s crafty actions paid testament to the fact that in just over a century the hangman had gone from a vilified figure of public fury to a star attraction for the morbidly curious.
For anyone interested in reading more of James Berry’s accounts, his memoirs My Experiences As An Executioner are available to view free here @ archive.org
