Obviously Mary Bateman’s status as a ‘witch’ sensationalised her death, and as well as the monetary gains to be made from the sale of the broadsheet hawked at her execution, the barbaric treatment of her corpse post-mortem also presented a lucrative financial opportunity to commercially exploit her name. Yet, echoing the sympathies which rippled through the crowd on the day of her execution, feelings ran high with regard to the continual display for more than fifteen years of her skeletal remains, considered by some as wholly ill-fitting with the ethos of a progressive and scientific educational establishment such as the Thackray Medical Museum. Housed in one of the most impressive Victorian buildings in Leeds, formerly the 1861 Union Workhouse, the Thackray Medical Museum is truly unique and is the only museum of its kind in the North of England. Dedicated to preserving and bringing the past to life, exploring scientific breakthroughs and investigating surgical progress, the Museum’s collection developed over the years enabling the wider public to learn more about the story of medicine. Opinions were nevertheless expressed that the display of an incomplete skeleton was of little educational benefit, beyond morbid shock value, and that to continue to display the remains of a woman executed over 200 years ago was disrespectful and excessive, Mary Bateman having paid the ultimate penalty for her misdeeds. Described by the Museum as one of their iconic exhibits long gripping the imagination of visitors to the Thackray, Mary’s skeleton continued to attract great interest until the removal of the exhibit in summer 2015. It also caused controversy as to whether or not, over two centuries since her death, her remains should be given Christian burial, with the suggestion that the costs be borne by whoever has profited the most from the display of her bones.
While it may seem remiss not to include in a book about her life, and death, an image of Mary Bateman’s skeleton, which was on public display for so many years, the omission is a deliberate one on my part. This is out of personal deference and respect, and in line with the Thackray Medical Museum’s policy regarding photography of her remains continually in place up until the time the exhibit was finally removed. Affixed to the display case containing Mary Bateman’s partial skeleton was a notice stating ‘We respectfully request that visitors do not photograph or film the remains of Mary Bateman. This is in accordance with the Thackray Museum’s policy on human rights. Please ask to speak to one of our curators if you require more information.’
This of course I did, and the Museum’s Curator was kind enough to elaborate on the Thackray’s policy, though they could not comment on the ultimate destiny of the remains at that time, as the exhibit was not actually the property of the Museum. In fact, the Thackray Medical Museum does not hold any human remains within their own collections, and instead ‘loans in’ human remains for appropriate displays from authorised sources, such as museums and science centres with correct tissue licenses and in line with ethical codes of practice. The remains of Mary still belong to Leeds University, and are legally part of the University’s Anatomy Department, and have been since her body was first given over for dissection – hence the Thackray’s policy on photography of this particular exhibit, as well as in deference to the human rights issue. In addition, the Thackray decided that it would be inappropriate to permit visitors to take photographs of Mary’s remains in the museum, where they then may appear out of context with misappropriated information and have the potential to cause distress. Despite the Thackray’s strictures on public photography, images of Mary’s skeleton nevertheless proliferate on the internet and will doubtless continue to do so.
While the Mary Bateman exhibit proved a fascinating aspect of the Museum’s displays, and enduringly popular with visitors, the final chapter of Mary Bateman’s life is still waiting to be written. At the time of publication, her skeleton is now housed in Leeds University’s Anatomy and Pathology Museum, which is in a private and secure room in the Medical School. The skeleton still forms part of the University’s teaching collection, as it demonstrates an interesting anatomical variation that is still regarded as clinically relevant. It would appear that Mary Bateman had a ‘cervical rib’, an occasional congenital abnormality located above the normal first rib where a supernumerary rib can develop from the seventh cervical vertebra, sometimes known as a ‘neck rib’. When the exhibit was removed at the end of June 2015 there was no publicity as the Thackray regarded the removal as a simple change of content in the gallery. While Leeds University had the final decision on removal, the Thackray agreed that as the display had been up for over fifteen years and ideally the museum look to change/rotate physically sensitive material periodically for conservation reasons, the continued display of Mary’s skeleton was not considered a viable option for the future. Notwithstanding the incompatibility with current best practice for the redisplay of human remains in museums, the Thackray had also received a complaint from an individual stating he was a relative of Mary Bateman, and unhappy with the way her remains had been displayed.
The Thackray Museum and Leeds University have been in discussion about potentially showing a 3D printed version of the skeleton with additional interpretation around Mary’s remains, with a view to also undertaking more research on her remains. However, this is subject to a funding bid. The space once occupied by the Mary Bateman exhibit currently holds a display of instruments used for medical dissections in the 1800s.
While there is no intention at present to bury or cremate the remains of Mary Bateman, in accordance with the University’s policies and ethical procedures, the position will be reviewed on a regular basis. In 2004 the skeleton of William Corder, infamous for the murder of Maria Marten in the Red Barn in 1827, was released from the Hunterian Museum in London following lobbying from a descendant. After a religious service, the skeleton was cremated and buried in Corder’s home village of Polstead, Suffolk. His scalp and a book bound in his skin remain on display at the Moyse’s Hall Museum in Bury St Edmunds however.
Regardless of whether the legacy of damnation, as echoed in the heading of this chapter – a proclamatory line taken from The Extraordinary Life, still clings to the memory of The Yorkshire Witch, the question of a neglect in modern morality will doubtless continue to be a contentious issue. Human remains, particularly of those who gained a measure of notoriety in life, acquire new meanings as they pass through the hands of different practitioners, custodians, and collectors; consideration should be given to the journey such remains have taken to reach anatomy departments, museum displays, even the auction room, and whether or not Mary Bateman has indeed earned herself a measure of immortality, albeit by virtue of a dubious reputation, whether she is destined to ‘rest in peace’ – or in pieces – regardless of her name being damned ‘to everlasting fame’, only time will tell.
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Chapter 1
Excerpt from the 1768 Baptismal records for St Columba’s Church, Topcliffe. The baptism of Mary Harker on 15 January is the third entry for that year. (Courtesy of The North Yorkshire County Records Office)
Topcliffe and the church of St Columba, seen from Asenby – the village of Mary’s birth.
Old Market Cross, Topcliffe. The remains of the old Market Cross and the cobble surround hark back to Topcliffe’s former prominence in staging one of the largest annual fairs in the north of England. Since 1327, Topley Fair as the event was affectionately known, was a traditional rendezvous for gypsies and horse-dealers from far and wide, and a raucous three-day event that would have been familiar to Mary, the fair probably the colourful highpoint of her calendar.
While Leeds, by the standards of the time, was a large town when Mary relocated there from York in 1788, these two views show something of a still-pastoral landscape giving way to the growing industrialisation of the early nineteenth century. Above, ‘Leeds from the Meadows’ by Joseph Rhodes (courtesy of the Leeds City Art Gallery) and below, Turner’s somewhat romanticised view of Leeds at a time when industry had not yet fully taken a grip on what was previously no more than a rural town.
The Old Parish Church of St Peter as it would have appeared at the time of Mary Harker’s marriage to John Bateman – the old church was pulled down in 1838 to make way for the present parish church, re-opened in September 1841. Robinson’s Relics of Old Leeds (1896). (Image courtesy of The Victorian Web)
Old Buildings in Yard off Briggate, Leeds.
In view of the exposure of some of Mary’s early frauds and thefts, a little over a year after their marriage, the Batemans prudently moved from High Court Lane and took a house in Mr Wells’ yard, a spirit merchant who lived on Briggate. While the accommodation in High Court Lane had been furnished, the couple apparently furnished their new abode in Wells’ Yard themselves in “a tolerable comfortable manner”, possibly financed by Mary’s various thefts and scams, many of which must have escaped notice. Robinson’s Relics of Old Leeds (1896). (Image courtesy of The Victorian Web)
Chapter 2
The Moot Hall, Briggate, Leeds
Situated at the Kirkgate junction with Commercial Street, absent from this drawing are the stocks and pillory once occupying the area in front of the Hall. Though the original seventeenth century building was replaced by one erected in 1710, it was still considered a hindrance to traffic, the narrowness of the roadways on either side of the Hall making it difficult for two carriages to pass one another; consequently, in 1822 the decision was made to demolish it. Robinson’s depiction shows the Moot Hall, built in 1710 that would have been familiar to Mary, replete with the statue of Queen Anne. Robinson’s Relics of Old Leeds (1896). (Image courtesy of The Victorian Web)
Exterior view of Marshall’s Flax Mill, situated on Water Lane in the industrial district of Holbeck on the western outskirts of Leeds. After the serious fire which broke out on 13 February 1796, countless mill workers were injured and at least ten others perished in the blaze when one of the mill walls collapsed. Mary Bateman saw a financial opportunity to make good on the tragedy however.
‘A Day at a Leeds Flax Mill’
Drawing of Marshall’s Mills, Holbeck showing the operators at their machines. During the eighteenth century fires like the one which devastated Marshall’s were commonplace in mills, with the processing of flax creating a highly combustible dust, and the risk exacerbated by hot machine bearings lubricated with linseed oil, as well as the additional risk posed by workers using candles to light the mill.
Caricaturist James Gillray’s satirical view of the Supplementary Militia, published in 1796, the year that John Bateman joined the ranks.
Mentha pulegium – Pennyroyal (Botanical illustration from William Woodville’s ‘Medical Botany’ published in 1793). As well as telling fortunes, Mary developed a lucrative sideline offering her services as an abortionist. Pennyroyal was a well-known herbal abortifacient, the ingestion of which however can also result in irreversible renal damage, severe liver damage and death.
Chapter 3
Gipton Spa Bath House
The Misses Kitchin, two Quaker sisters who were the first identifiable victims of Mary as a careerpoisoner, ran a draper’s shop in St Peter’s Square, in Georgian times falling within the fashionable and genteel spa area of Leeds where people came to take the beneficial waters. A vestige of Leeds as a spa resort, the open air Gipton Spa Bath House still stands intact in Gledhow Valley Woods, on the Gledhow Valley Road near its junction with Roundhay Road; the waters were celebrated in the district, the great Leeds antiquarian, Ralph Thoresby (1658-1725) being a frequent visitor.
Further precautions were introduced in the mid-1800s in a bid to prevent accidental arsenic poisonings: the distinctive blue glass of this arsenic bottle was one such measure, making it easily recognisable, even if the label were missing, along with the raised ridged glass (especially useful if you were fumbling by candle
light). Would-be poisoners however were further thwarted by the introduction of a requirement that all manufacturers of arsenic powder mix one ounce of a colouring agent (indigo or soot were employed) to every pound of arsenic powder produced, and while these measures may have arrested the trend in the use of this particular poison, it was cold comfort for those of Mary’s victims who had already succumbed. (Image courtesy of the Wellcome Trust)
The Great Lozenge-Maker. A Hint to Paterfamilias by caricaturist John Leech
This cartoon, first published in Punch in November 1858, alludes to the high-profile ‘Bradford Humbug Poisoning’, an incident involving the accidental arsenic poisoning of more than 200 people. The symptoms of Mary’s victims were indicative of her employing arsenic which, as a by-product of the emerging smelting industry, was inexpensive and readily available from pharmacists and apothecary shops and popular as a rat killer. Though accidental ingestion accounted for many deaths by arsenic poisoning, as attested to by the incident in Bradford, because of the level of murders cases in nineteenth century England involving the poison, the government were forced to introduce in 1851 the ‘Arsenic Act’ forbidding the sale of any arsenic compounds to a purchaser who was unknown to the supplying pharmacist.
The Yorkshire Witch Page 15
