Housed inside an old Georgian sugar warehouse, the Museum of London Docklands serves as a salutary reminder of the power and ambition of the Port of London. It once fuelled the capital, the country, and the Empire, but is now dwarfed by the modern powerhouses of multinational banks and insurers enshrined in their towers of glass and steel.
The stretch of restaurants and bars sitting on the cobbled street alongside the museum provides welcome relief from the hulking monstrosities surrounding them. This exhibition, however, delves into a history that is much older than the development of the docks. It explains the intimate relationship of London with the public spectacle of gruesome execution, which served for centuries as a constant reminder of the authority and power of the state.
Executions centres largely, but not exclusively, around Newgate, Smithfield, and Tyburn. The last was the largest and most important of London’s gallows, regularly gathering crowds of 50,000 people. These were the places where the penalties for transgression were made clear. It was also the stage upon which centuries of religious turmoil was presented to the public. At the start of a gloomy corridor visitors are greeted by “Hanging”, illustrated by an engraving of three men scapegoated for a murder in 1679 in an attempt, it is noted, to encourage anti-Catholic uproar.
Burning was reserved for those deemed to be heretics, but somewhat poetically for arsonists as well. Boiling, much rarer, was handed down to those who murdered by poison. Such was the fate of Richard Roose, who in 1531 poisoned the porridge of St John Fisher’s household, killing two guests but leaving the fasting bishop unharmed. Speaking of Fisher, the exhibition also presents the increasingly inventive ways in which the state was able to divorce the heads of its subjects from their shoulders. The executioner’s spoils occupied prime real estate: on gibbets by the Tower of London, with rotting heads impaled on Temple Bar.
Protestants and Catholics are never far away, either cast to flame or strung up for something they probably didn’t do. A tonsured cat in clerical clothing was hanged at Cheapside gallows in protest at Mary I’s persecution of Protestants. There was plenty of Catholic persecution, too, and particularly associated with the fear of Jacobitism. The exhibition does not dodge the political and religious turmoil of the 17th century; in the winding, narrow corridors (with mock gallows hanging overhead) it is impossible to escape.
Given the frequency and publicity of these executions, for the people of contemporary London their grim pageantry was also unavoidable. One room contains a large oil painting of Titus Oates at the pillory in 1687; at the behest of James II he was marched round Westminster for inventing his “Popish Plot” against Charles II, as a result of which at least 22 Catholics were executed. For a century after James II’s deposition the executioners were kept busy with commoners and noblemen alike, who had attempted to keep the Jacobite flame alive for his heirs.
It’s not exactly fun for all the family, but this is certainly a show that appeals to all ages. A couple of children were enthralled by the gruesomeness – “did you see the one earlier where the man had his head pulled off?!” – and a mother pointedly showed her young son the tipstaves and other symbols of the state’s authority, reminding him what might happen if he were naughty. A precocious girl reminded the room that the youngest person she had found sentenced to death was a 14 years old, after which she asked her mother to explain forgery.
In the United Kingdom the death penalty, for treason, was only abolished in 1998, although of course in practice no one was executed after its general abolition in 1965. It once provided an ample supply of cadavers for medical students, and for a long time was the only way they could examine undressed women’s bodies. Elizabeth Fry’s bonnets speak poignantly of her advocacy for prison reform, and particularly the important humanitarian innovation of separating prisoners by sex. It was a ground-breaking moment for the protection of women at the time and it is worth reflecting on in the context of present controversies.
The individual stories of executions on display speak for themselves, but they come together to emphasise changing social mores, perceived historical threats to the power of the state, and more general attitudes towards death and cruelty. A closing video features an Amnesty International advocate reminding visitors of the state-sanctioned horrors which still exist across the world, and the associated punishments administered. Well-curated, atmospheric and highly informative, in the end Executions demonstrates not that the power of the state has universally diminished, but rather that most of us now prefer to keep the cruelties of the modern world behind closed doors and at a distance.
Executions is at Museum of London Docklands until 16 April 2023
Areas of Catholic Herald business are still recovering post-pandemic.
However, we are reaching out to the Catholic community and readership, that has been so loyal to the Catholic Herald. Please join us on our 135 year mission by supporting us.
We are raising £250,000 to safeguard the Herald as a world-leading voice in Catholic journalism and teaching.
We have been a bold and influential voice in the church since 1888, standing up for traditional Catholic culture and values. Please consider donating.