Dick Turpin: A Fatal Letter

by Catherine Curzon

Georgian Britain was a place of splendour and Enlightenment, a world of glittering spectacle and dazzling celebrity where even a child from the humblest of starts could rise to the top. In a land where politics, press and even prostitution could be the ticket to fame and fortune, not everybody made their name honestly. One man whose notoriety has survived through the ages and morphed from notorious criminal to folk hero to Georgian legend is, of course, Dick Turpin, the infamous highway robber of 18th century England.

Romanticised, lauded and celebrated in art and fiction, the tale of Turpin is steeped in myth. He is one of the most famous criminals ever to emerge from British history, yet when he certainly didn’t go out in a blaze of glory.

And he didn’t come in in one either!

Richard Turpin was born in 1705 as the son of a farmer in Thackstead, deep in rural Essex. To all intents and purposes, his life was set to be an unremarkable one, yet young Dick had had plans of his. Apprenticed to a butcher in Whitechapel, this rowdy young man had no intention of being a nobody, and toiling hard as a butcher’s apprentice didn’t give him anything like the lifestyle he craved. what it did do was give him an introduction to the criminal world and when Turpin became a butcher in his own shop, he embarked on a life of crime.

Turpin began rustling cattle with which to stock his shop. Of course, he didn’t stop there and when he was discovered helping himself to a farmer’s stock, he was forced onto the run. Undaunted, Turpin was soon branching out into highway robbery and violent home invasion, yet this legend of Georgian crime’s reign of terror was undone by an eagle-eyed chap in the post office!

Thanks to his escapades, by the 1730s, Turpin and his gang were among the most wanted men in the land. Turpin’s name was feared by all and the government issued a proclamation warning the public about the villain in their midst.

"It having been represented to the King, that Richard Turpin did, on Wednesday, the 4th of May last, barbarously murder Thomas Morris, servant to Henry Thompson, one of the keepers of Epping Forest, and commit other notorious felonies and robberies, near London, his Majesty is pleased to promise his most gracious pardon to any of his accomplices, and a reward of 200 l. to any person or persons that shall discover him, so that he may be apprehended and convicted.

Turpin was born at Thackstead, in Essex, is about thirty, by trade a butcher, about five feet nine inches high, very much marked with the small-pox, his cheek-bones broad, his face thinner towards the bottom; his visage short, pretty upright, and broad about the shoulders."

In fact, when Turpin was arrested, the authorities had no idea who they had captured. Snared for horse stealing, he was interred at York under the pseudonym, John Palmer. Here Turpin languished until, after four months, he wrote the following letter to his brother-in-law, Pompr Rivernall, in Essex:

"Dear Brother,
York, Feb. 6, 1739.
I am sorry to acquaint you, that I am now under confinement in York Castle, for horse-stealing. If I could procure an evidence from London to give me a character, that would go a great way towards my being acquitted. I had not been long in this county before my being apprehended, so that it would pass off the readier. For Heaven's sake dear brother, do not neglect me; you will know what I mean, when I say,
I am yours,
JOHN PALMER."

In fact, Rivernall refused to pay the postage on the letter, supposedly because he has no idea who this John Palmer character might be. Of course, we might wonder whether he knew exactly who John Palmer was and, seeing the York postmark, determined to let his criminal brother-in-law stew. The letter was returned unopened in February 1739, where it happened to land in the post office in Saffron Walden.
It was here that a chap named James Smith happened to spot the letter as it waited to be returned to sender. In a twist of fate, however, Smith had been a classmate of Dick Turpin years earlier and, fatefully it was he who had taught the younger boy to read and write.

Nobody knew Dick Turpin’s handwriting like James Smith.

As he collected his own post, Smith happened to catch sight of the letter from so-called John Palmer, the man held captive at York Castle. He recognised the hand instantly as that of Dick Turpin, his former classmate. Turpin had become so notorious that Smith knew exactly what had become of him, and must have been surprised to see the letter bearing his handwriting. A man of upright standing and also a chap who wouldn’t say no to the generous bounties on Turpin’s head, Smith decided to do the right thing. He reported his concerns to local magistrate, Thomas Stubbing, and the game, as the saying goes, was up.

Smith's statement

The men travelled to York and on 23rd February 1739, James Smith identified the prisoner known as John Palmer as none other than Dick Turpin, sealing his grisly fate and setting him on the path to execution.

The eagle-eyed Smith, meanwhile, found himself a rich man as a result of his keen vision. He was awarded £200 for his efforts, a sum worth almost £30,000 today... all for the sake of an unwanted letter!

Turpin’s date with the hangman was set for 7th April 1739 and it was the hottest ticket in town. Before an enormous crowd he went to the gallows and, the authorities hoped, would soon be forgotten.

As history has told, the authorities could not have been more wrong and to this day the legend of Dick Turpin endures, but no doubt he rued the day he wrote that letter!

“The spectators of the execution were affected at his fate, as he was distinguished by the comeliness of his appearance. The corpse was brought to the Blue Boar, in Castle-Gate, York, where it remained till the next morning, when it was interred in the church- yard of St. George's parish, with an inscription on the coffin, with the initials of his name, and his age. The grave was dug remarkably deep, but notwithstanding the people who acted as mourners took such measures as they thought would secure the body: it was carried off about three o'clock on the following morning; the populace, however, got intimation whither it was conveyed, and found it in a garden belonging to one of the surgeons of the city.

Having got possession of it they laid it on a board, and carried it through the streets in a kind of triumphal manner, they then filled the coffin with unslacked lime, and buried it in the grave where it had been before deposited.”

References

Barlow, Derek. Dick Turpin and the Gregory Gang. Phillimore, 1973.
Bayes, Richard. The Genuine History of the Life of Richard Turpin. J Standen, 1739.
Jackson, William. The New and Complete Newgate Calendar. Inner Temple, 1795.
Kyll, Thomas. The Trial of the Notorious Highwayman Richard Turpin. Ward and Chandler, 1739.
Sharpe, James. The Myth of the English Highwayman. Profile Books, 2005.

~~~~~~~~~~

Catherine’s tale of highwaymen and intrigue in 18th century Edinburgh, The Crown Spire, is available now.

Glorious Georgian ginbag, gossip and gadabout Catherine Curzon, aka Madame Gilflurt, is the author of A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life. When not setting quill to paper, she can usually be found gadding about the tea shops and gaming rooms of the capital or hosting intimate gatherings at her tottering abode. In addition to her blog and Facebook, Madame G is also quite the charmer on Twitter. Her first book, Life in the Georgian Court, is available now, and she is also working on An Evening with Jane Austen, starring Adrian Lukis and Caroline Langrishe.

A Cautionary Tale for all Highwayman - the Sad Story of Sixteen String Jack

by Mike Rendell

I am not quite clear why some villains manage to capture the public's imagination as heroes while others are treated as a thieving menace. Take highway robbery -- there is nothing very subtle, clever or brave about brandishing a gun and threatening to blast somebody’s head off if they don’t hand you their watch (or whatever) and yet Georgian society seemed willing to treat some of these robbers as having a heroic quality, simply because they swaggered and boasted and liked to be seen around town with a pretty girl on each arm, while dressed in fine clothes which they had either stolen or bought using the proceeds of crime.

No more so than one John Rann, whose distinguishing “trademark” was that he liked to stand out from the crowd by wearing eight brightly coloured ribbons tied around each knee – hence his moniker of “Sixteen String Jack”.

Why sixteen? One story was that each ribbon represented a time when he had been acquitted of highway robbery…On one occasion he was charged with breaking and entering – but it turned out that he had an assignation with the girl who lived there; she had fallen asleep and rather than give up and go home, he decided to clamber up to her window on the first floor and “help himself”. He was apprehended by the watchman and dragged before Sir John Fielding. On hearing the evidence from the girl that she would have freely admitted the young man had she not been asleep, the judge had no choice but to dismiss the case.

The Road to Ruin, © The Trustees of the British Museum, showing John Rann  at Bagnigge Wells.

You might think that John Rann would count his blessings and keep a low profile.  But no, far from it. He headed out to the fashionable spa at Bagnigge Wells, disporting himself in what the Newgate Calendar described as "a scarlet coat, tambour waistcoat, white silk stockings, laced hat, &c", and publicly declared himself to be a highwayman.

He became quarrelsome, and somewhat drunk, and started to chat up one of the young ladies in the ballroom. This led to a spate of minor scuffles – someone prised a gold ring from his finger, at which he remarked that he cared not, for it cost but a hundred guineas, and why, he could make that amount in one evening’s work!

Not surprisingly, some of the assembled company at the Wells grew weary of his tiresome behaviour and gave him a right going over, and for good measure chucked him out the first floor window when he declined to make himself scarce. The River Fleet presumably provided him with a soft landing, and the Newgate Calendar remarks that “Rann was not much injured by this severe treatment; but he complained bitterly against those who could so affront a gentleman of his character.”

Ancestor Richard Hall's cut-out of a highway robber at work.

It had all started very differently. He was born in a village outside Bath into a very poor family. He had no formal education and for a while eked a living selling goods from the back of a donkey as he toured the streets. When he was 12 he came to the attention of a “lady of distinction” who no doubt was impressed by his barrow-boy chutzpah and way with words.

She took him on as a servant in her household and all seemed well for a couple of years. He came to London, got a job at a stables at Brooke’s Mews and in due course became a driver of a post chaise. But the ambitious young man wanted to impress -- and to do that he needed more money than he could get from his wages as a driver.

It appears that he extended his repertoire as a pick-pocket by chancing his arm at robbery on the King’s Highway – a capital offence if caught. He was dragged before the magistrates on a number of occasions but each time managed to talk his way out of the charge. He liked to adopt the persona of a modern day Robin Hood – well, he robbed the rich, even though he never seemed to follow it up by helping the poor.

He enjoyed being in the public eye – he turned up at Barnet Races sporting an elegant blue satin waistcoat trimmed with silver, to make sure that he stood out. He was followed by hundreds of people, who were eager to gratify their curiosity by the sight of a man who had been so much the subject of gossip. On at least one occasion he turned up to watch the fun at Tyburn, thoroughly upstaging the poor man who was about to be sent to the gallows. One story has it that he even bragged that one day he would be the main attraction, and not just a bystander.

He appeared at the Old Bailey in April, 1775, charged with others of robbing Mr. William Somers on the highway, and was acquitted for lack of evidence. Shortly afterwards he was again tried, for robbing a Mr. Langford, but again was acquitted for the same reason. The lad appeared to be above the law, and how he loved it!

A month later a Miss Roache (his girlfriend -- one of many), was caught trying to pawn a watch which Rann had stolen during a robbery “near the nine-mile stone on the Hounslow road.” Again he was hauled before the Bench and when Sir John Fielding asked him if he would offer anything in his defence, Rann replied "I know no more of the matter than you do, nor half so much neither."

His appearance in court was suitably flamboyant – the Newgate Calendar comments that he “had a bundle of flowers in the breast of his coat almost as large as a broom; and his irons were tied up with a number of blue ribands.” Once more, he got off...On another occasion he was sent to Marshalsea Debtors' Prison for failure to pay a debt of fifty pounds – he sent word to his mates and in no time a steady stream of ne’er-do-wells, male and female, turned up at the prison gates and paid off the debt.

Various other acquittals followed until one afternoon in September 1784 he stole items from Dr. William Bell, physician to the Princess Amelia. Bell gave evidence that he was riding near Ealing when he observed two men of “rather mean appearance” ride past him. The Newgate Calendar takes up the story: “A short while afterwards one of them, which he believed was Rann, crossed the head of his horse, and, demanding his money, said "Give it to me, and take no notice, or I'll blow your brains out." On this the doctor gave him one shilling and sixpence, which was all the silver he had, and likewise a common watch in a tortoise-shell case.


Later that evening Miss Roache tried to offer the watch to a pawnbroker in Oxford Road. He had his suspicions about the watch, and turned it over to observe that it had been made by a well-known watchmaker called Mr. Gregnion of Russell Street, Covent Garden. The pawnbroker contacted Mr Gregnion, who confirmed that he had made the watch for Dr. Bell.

The net was closing tight: John Rann and his associate, William Collier, were arrested and committed to Newgate, charged with highway robbery; Miss Roche was charged, along with her servant, with being an accessory after the fact. In the event Miss Roche was found guilty and sentenced to be transported for fourteen years; her servant was acquitted.

When Rann appeared for his trial the Calendar reports that he was “dressed in a new suit of pea-green clothes; his hat was bound round with silver strings; he wore a ruffled shirt; and his behaviour evinced the utmost unconcern.”

He was so confident that he would get off scot-free that he ordered a fine supper to be provided for the entertainment of his special friends and associates. But the atmosphere became more sombre when all present realized that this time there would be no acquittal. A short time afterwards he was found guilty, and sentenced to death by hanging. Still the merriment continued -- on October 23rd he held another dinner, this time for seven girlfriends. It was by all accounts a mirth-filled evening.

[The Tyburn stone at the junction of Edgeware Road, and Oxford Street, Marble Arch.]

The hangman’s noose was finally put round his neck on 30th November 1774. James Boswell was one of the people in the large crowd which turned up to watch. According to the Newgate Calendar “when he came near the gallows he turned round, and looked at it as an object which he had long expected to see, but not as one that he dreaded, as might reasonably have been expected."

According to contemporary reports Sixteen-String Jack went to the gallows wearing his pea-green suit and all his finery complete with a huge nosegay in his buttonhole. He decorated his foot shackles with bright blue ribbons.

Some accounts suggested he enjoyed some lively banter with the crowd, danced a jig, and generally showed no sign of fear or apprehension. According to Boswell he was cheered by ‘the whole vagabond population of London’.

He was twenty four years old when he died.

In the Victorian era there was an insatiable appetite for stories about Rann's exploits, and even today there is a public House named after him at Theydon Bois, near Epping Forest. And in case anyone is interested in the paper cut-outs I have published a book of them (see here) and it is also available on Kindle  - see here.

Stand And Deliver ... Your Tolls? The Rise and Fall of the Turnpikes

by J.A. Beard

Of all the benefits of modern industrialized civilization, roads are perhaps one we take the most for granted. Perhaps quality roads and easy of transport seem not all that worthy of special attention. Many ancient civilizations, after all, had developed fine road networks. At the dawn of the Georgian age, however, the quality of many roads in England left much to be desired.

First, let's take a step back and consider many roads prior to the 18th century. During this period, the resources and funds for road maintenance were maintained mostly at the parish level. Paving of any form certainly was limited. This was adequate for making sure various local roads were decent, but the system didn't do much to maintain the quality of distant roads and the intermediate roads connecting various far-flung locales. The net result was a haphazard system of road improvements of varying quality. Wheeled travel was often unpleasant and dangerous. Rugged road conditions and holes could easily lead to accidents.

Inclement weather only made things worse and England is far from an arid country. It was somewhat difficult to drive a coach through a muddied mess. Riding a horse was more practical, but not necessarily comfortable or practical depending on one's circumstances.

Economic improvements, along with the accompanying transportation of heavier amounts of goods, also contributed to wear and tear on many a poor-quality road. Even if the Georgian-era traveler ignored the poor quality of the roads and the difficulties associated with weather, there also was the unpleasant issue of highwaymen. The increase in traffic and trade travel, particularly in the environs of London, hadn't been lost on the criminal element. The lack of an organized police force, let alone anything akin to a highway patrol, only contributed to the problem. A swift, mounted criminal could waive a pistol and demand that someone, “Stand and deliver!” often with impunity despite the threat of execution or transportation to Australia.

Things began to turn around for the often poor, sad, and unsafe roads of England at the beginning of the 18th century because of the Turnpike Acts. Following up on earlier parliamentary acts, in 1696, the first Turnpike Act was enacted, the first of many to follow.

So what were these Turnpike Acts, why did they have to pass so many, and what did they have to do with road quality and highwaymen? These acts established Turnpike Trusts. These trusts were granted the responsibility of taking care of a certain portion of a road, but also granted them several legal tools to do this, including two of particular importance: the right to collect tools and to control access on roads through the use of both gates and men.  The name itself comes from gates’ designs that involved pike-like constructions on crossbars that could be rotated, though not every tollgate necessarily had such a design, and now, of course, the turnpike has evolved into just a general term for toll road.

The trusts each could handle their various roads and road sections as they saw fit, so many would farm out the actual administration of the trusts to other enterprising people. These sort of trust subcontractors, as it were, could then do their best to efficiently run the trusts for a profit.

In the early years of the system, the various turnpike roads weren’t necessarily all that better maintained than before, but techniques advances lead to general quality improvements, particularly in the latter half of the 18^th century, which, in turn, fueled a massive expansion of the system, with a general slowing of expansion with the coming of the 19^th century. Although there were nearly one thousand trusts in place by the end of the Regency, and thus the tail end of the Georgian era, in 1820, it’s important to note that the majority of roads in England were still maintained by parishes and other local entities. That being said, many major important roads were under the control of turnpike trusts.

While the trusts, in general, contributed to road improvements that helped reduce transport times and the general quality and safety of travel, they also improved general security. Although there were some other contributory factors, the rise of the turnpike system, particularly on high traffic roads, greatly contributed to the decline of highwaymen. The presence of so many guarded gates made post-robbery escapes far more difficult.

Although, like so many things, the decline of the turnpike system was multi-factorial, the most fundamental contributory factor was the rise of a more efficient and swift means of mass transit: the railroads. By the end of the 19^th century, a stronger central government, municipalities, and county councils took down the gates and took over the responsibility of maintaining the roads. Only a smattering of smaller private roads, tolled bridges, tolled tunnels, and the newer M6 Toll remain as the descendants, direct and indirect, of the extensive system that once covered tens of thousands of kilometers.