Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Ludgvan Parish Church, final resting place of our Mystery Bones. Photo: Sheila Russell

I always say, it’s unsettling to find human remains where they shouldn’t be.  The “West Briton,” May 4, 1871 (via Newspapers.com):

Mr. F. Hosking, of Tregender, Ludgvan, purchased recently some land and a cot not far from his house, called Garter's Gravelane. Rather more than 20 years ago Mr. and Mrs. Curnow occupied the cot. Before he married Mr. Curnow had to contribute towards the maintenance of an illegitimate daughter. After his marriage the child was brought to his home, and brought up there.

Rumor said that this child, in girlhood and early womanhood, led an unhappy life, and that more especially was this the case as between her stepmother and herself. Twenty or twenty-one years ago the daughter suddenly disappeared. Mr. and Mrs. Curnow said she had gone off with a tramp, and, gradually, the remembrance of the unhappy step-daughter faded away in the neighbourhood.

Mr. and Mrs. Curnow are both dead, and leave children, Mr. Hosking having resolved to build a hedge on his newly acquired property, his men were digging across the "town-place," or farmyard of the house at Garter's Grave, and were engaged on a spot over which, time out of mind, a rick of furze stood, when, at from 18 inches to two feet beneath the soil, they came on a skull and bones. Proceeding carefully with their excavation, they disclosed a well-formed shallow grave, about 5ft. 6in. long. The skeleton of a short person was disinterred, but not a shred of clothing or aught else gave a clue to the age, sex, or identification of the body buried in so strange a piece. A boxful of bones and dust has been deposited in Ludgvan churchyard. 

Of course, the disappearance of young Mary Green is now the subject of mysterious speculation, as well as all that is known of her and the deceased Curnows; in justice to whose memory it should be said that two or three of their near relations assert that, 15 or 16 years since, and again nine years ago, she was seen by them in the company of the tramp with whom she suddenly left home.

The curiosity of hundreds has stimulated them to inspect the remains, and the theme at as many hundreds of places is--If not the remains of Green, whose are they?

The “West Briton” had a brief follow-up story on May 11:

The relatives of Mr and Mrs Curnow, who once lived in the cot in Ludgvan, in the townplace of which human bones were recently found state that this singularly-named place was at one time known as Clark’s Croft but that a tenant (so runs the village story) hung himself by his garters and was buried in the Three Lanes’ End 20 yards from his house. They ask whether it is possible that the remains recently found were those of the unfortunate suicide? Of one thing they express themselves perfectly satisfied—that Mary Green, the late Mr. Curnow’s daughter and his wife’s step-daughter was alive two years ago. It is true that Mary Green was the illegitimate child of Mr. Curnow, but they say it is untrue that she was ever treated differently from her step-brothers and sisters. Her father “never gave her the weight of his hand.'’ 

This young woman, say her step-brothers, came to Penzance in service, did not conduct herself creditably, and finally started off with a tramp. 13 years ago she was seen at Hayle, nine years since in Lelant, and only two years back at Wendron by a neighbour who knew her very well. Therefore, state her step-brothers, whose bones soever be ones may be found at Garter's Grave, they cannot be those of their wandering step-sister. Of this they are most positive as well as of the perfect innocence of their father and mother of hurting her by word or deed. Satisfactory as this may be, we have still the unsolved mystery—whose were the bones found under the turf-rick in the townplace?

That question was apparently never answered.

Fatal Circumstances: The Shaw Tragedy

The former site for executions at Leith Walk, as it looked in the 1960s

Circumstantial evidence is defined as “indirect evidence that does not, on its face, prove a fact in issue but gives rise to a logical inference that the fact exists.”  It can be extraordinarily convincing to a jury.  After all, so-called “direct evidence,” such as eyewitness testimony, is often incorrect.  But a series of facts which all appear to lead to just one conclusion can be very hard to argue against.  However, a once-notorious murder case taught a valuable lesson: the most obvious solution to a crime is not always the correct one.

In 1721, an upholsterer named William Shaw and his daughter Catherine lived in a tenement flat in Edinburgh, Scotland.  Unfortunately, their little household was far from happy.  Catherine wished to marry a jeweler named John Lawson.  However, William was vehemently opposed to the match.  He believed Lawson was a dissipated wretch who would inevitably make his daughter’s life miserable.  His chosen suitor for Catherine was a young man named Alexander Robertson, the son of a close friend of William’s.  When Catherine stubbornly continued to see Lawson, William confined her to their flat.  Neighbors in their crowded apartment building often heard the two bitterly quarreling over the matter.

One evening, a man named James Morrison, who lived next to the Shaws, heard father and daughter having one of their rows.  Although he could not hear the entire conversation (despite his obvious best efforts to eavesdrop) Morrison heard Catherine spitting out the words, “barbarity,” “cruelty,” and “death.”  Some time later, William stalked out, locking the door after him.  For a while, a welcome silence reigned.  Then, Morrison thought he heard groans coming from the Shaw flat.  Frightened by the thought of what might be going on, Morrison gathered together some neighbors, and they all cautiously approached the Shaw door.  They heard Catherine moan, “Cruel father, thou art the cause of my death.”

The crowd instantly broke the door down.  They found Catherine lying in a pool of blood, with a knife by her side.  The young woman was dying and unable to speak, but when asked if her father had truly been responsible for her injuries, it was thought that she nodded her head.  And then she died.

William arrived home right at this very inopportune moment.  When he saw his daughter lying lifeless, surrounded by the group of neighbors (as well as a constable who had just joined the scene,) he nearly fainted.  The officer instantly placed him under arrest.  Everyone present was interested to note that William’s shirt bore some blood stains, which he lamely explained were from wounds he had recently suffered.

William’s trial for murder was a mere formality.  All the circumstances stated above, including what appeared to be a deathbed accusation from the victim, made his guilty verdict a foregone conclusion.  He was hanged in November 1721.  William’s last words before being dispatched into eternity were, “I am innocent of my daughter’s murder.”  His body was left hanging in chains in Leith Walk.

Edinburghers shrugged.  They all say they didn’t do it, don’t they?

Life went on, and the regrettable matter was soon forgotten.  But not for long.  In August 1722, the man living in what had been the Shaw apartment was doing some light repair work in the room where Catherine had died.  While doing so, he discovered a folded paper that had become wedged into a small cavity on the side of the chimney.  It was a letter reading:  

“Barbarous father, your cruelty in having put it out of my power ever to join my fate to that of the only man I could love, and tyrannically insisting upon my marrying one whom I always hated, has made me form a resolution to put an end to my existence which has now become a burden to me.  I doubt not I shall find mercy in another world; for sure no benevolent being can require that I should any longer live in torment to myself in this!  My death I lay to your charge; when you read this consider yourself as the inhuman wretch that plunged the knife into the bosom of the unhappy--Catherine Shaw.”

Well.  

Friends and relatives of Catherine’s confirmed the handwriting was hers.  The magistrates of Edinburgh, having satisfied themselves of the letter’s authenticity, did what little they could to remedy their embarrassing situation.  William’s body--or whatever was left of it by this time--was removed from the gibbet and given to his family for a proper burial.  Over his grave was placed a banner proclaiming his innocence.  And for many years afterward, criminal defense attorneys recited the Shaw case to juries, as an example of the dangers of placing implicit trust in circumstantial evidence.

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!  Our host this week is a celebrity from 1915, Ecklin's Famous Fat Cat, Miikku!

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find out more about our friend here.  And, anyway, I think he's just a bit chubby.

Europe's oldest known battlefield.

A brief history of money.

The wild world of hummingbirds.

19th century Parisian fashion styles.

So, you want to be a spy?

Some spirits you definitely don't want to meet.

Some mighty strange creatures live in the deep sea.

When Ray Bradbury met Moby Dick, and things did not go at all well.

The first man to walk around the world.

If you've been longing to pay good money for some aged mold, I have good news!

The life of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.

19th century Britain really liked to unwrap mummies.

The end of the world's longest treasure hunt.

Lady Elizabeth Russell, Keeper of the Castle.

Why we stare at "Girl With the Pearl Earring."  Although, to be honest, I've never liked that painting.  Go figure.

The Great Potato Duel.

Washington Irving's wildly successful literary hoax.

The "Brides in the Bath" murders.

The Tower of London as seen by Cruikshank.

The life of a British naval hero.

Cavalry vs. cavalry in WWII.

The 1780 invasion of the British Parliament.

Cannibalism and the Franklin Expedition.

The world's first submarine.

Lake Michigan is full of giant craters, and scientists are puzzled.

The world is full of skyquakes, and scientists are still puzzled.

That time San Francisco evicted a bunch of dead people.

Six haunted libraries.

The man who had an...unusual musical talent.

The difficulties of dealing with a white elephant from Mandalay.

The dog who saved Warner Brothers.

A brief history of water filtration.

In search of Baba Yaga.

The making of a death mask.

The Celtic origins of Halloween.

The earliest known evidence of humans in the Arctic.

WWII prisoners of war stage a "great escape."

The 19th century King of Poachers.

How the Anglo-Saxon language influenced modern English.

The unreliability of eyewitness identification.

An eccentric treasure hunter.

A mysterious shooting.

The original symbolism of swastikas.

It's not always a good idea to listen to Ouija boards.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a murder case that turned out to not be what it seemed.  In the meantime, here's some Haydn.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This account of a ghost who really resented sharing its apartment with roommates appeared in the “New York Times,” March 25, 1900:

Within a stone's throw of the headquarters of the Square-Back Rangers, in Cherry Street, is a three-room front flat, which has come near enough to being haunted, so that no tenant has remained more than a few hours within its walls for the goodly space of nineteen years. Tenants have presumed to move in only to hustle out, after finding their furniture turned upside down and their handsome framed chromos turned to the wall by occult influences. 

The “bravest guy" on Cherry Hill five years ago ventured to go into the hallway several hours after twilight.  He could see nothing there, but he got a thump in the eye and also managed to get a swollen cheek. He said it was the nastiest scrap he ever ran up against. 

An old French woman nineteen years ago became agonized with grief over the loss of her husband, who had sickened and died in this fat. One night she took a blanket and a stout clothes line, and with their help hanged herself on the bedroom door. She was found dead in the morning and her body was taken down by the neighbors.

Since that tragedy the flat has been uninhabitable. Cherry Hill lights hesitate to say that it is haunted, because they do not believe that the ghost of the unfortunate French woman ever comes back to the scene of death. But, everybody in the old Fourth Ward knows that there is something the matter with that flat. There were the Ryans, who were just as respectable a family as ever lived in the hill, and they had no skeletons in their family closet to excite the sinister ill-will of a ghost. They moved into the flat--husband and wife and three children. About an hour after they had all gone to bed there was one of the greatest rackets that ever took place in a genuinely haunted house.

The family woke up to see their furniture being thrown all over the flat by some invisible agency. The husband was punched in the face and the wife had her left eye blackened and the children came down with the whooping cough. All this happened in about ten minutes time. Six hours had been used to move into the flat, but it took that family just fifty minutes to get out with all their belongings.

Four or five other families tried their luck, but the hoodoo was too alert and strong. Old Mike Finnegan could not stand it when his stove, which had been securely set up in position, dropped over on its side. Every kind of tenant has tried it except the Italians, and front flats on the hill are not accessible to them. Nobody has ever seen anything in that flat which could cause a rumpus. No ghost has ever been detected.

The flat is known on the hill as the “stable alley," and any spirit, investigator who really wants to see the place can find it by asking the first longshoreman he meets on the hill for directions to the house where Jackie Haggerty lost the last shred of his reputation by letting himself get a black eye from the evil influence in the hallway. Jackie used to cut a good deal of ice in the social firmament of Cherry Hill before he queered himself in the haunted flat. 

Psychical students can get more real information in five minutes spent in that flat after dark about the spirit business than they get now in a whole series of Winter lectures at a lyceum on the way brain molecules have of wagging on St. Patrick's eve and other great spirit occasions of the year. 

There is a man on the hill who has never been out of the Fourth Ward.  He was born in the haunted flat before the evil days came upon that habitation, but he has not crossed the threshold of his birthplace for twenty years, and all the profits of the Gambling Commission could not induce him to visit the scenes of his childhood. He says, though, that he does not believe the flat is haunted.

I have to admit, a ghost that can give kids an instant case of whooping cough is a new one for me.

The Ghost of Gloddaeth Woods

Gloddaeth Woods, circa 1908

This week, Elias Owen’s 1887 book “Welsh Folk-Lore,” brings us one of those quaint old tales extolling the many charms of Welsh countryside, a land where things are very seldom dull.

The following tale was told the Rev. Owen Jones, Pentrevoelas, by Thomas Davies, Tycoch, Rhyl, the hero in the story.

I may say that Gloddaeth Wood is a remnant of the primæval forest that is mentioned by Sir John Wynn, in his History of the Gwydir Family, as extending over a large tract of the country.  This wood, being undisturbed and in its original wild condition, was the home of foxes and other vermin, for whose destruction the surrounding parishes willingly paid half-a-crown per head.  This reward was an inducement to men who had leisure, to trap and hunt these obnoxious animals.  Thomas Davies was engaged in this work, and, taking a walk through the wood one day for the purpose of discovering traces of foxes, he came upon a fox’s den, and from the marks about the burrow he ascertained that there were young foxes in the hole.  This was to him a grand discovery, for, in anticipation, cubs and vixen were already his.  Looking about him, he noticed that there was opposite the fox’s den a large oak tree with forked branches, and this sight settled his plan of operation.  He saw that he could place himself in this tree in such a position that he could see the vixen leave, and return to her den, and, from his knowledge of the habits of the animal, he knew she would commence foraging when darkness and stillness prevailed.  He therefore determined to commence the campaign forthwith, and so he went home to make his preparations.

I should say that the sea was close to the wood, and that small craft often came to grief on the coast.  I will now proceed with the story.

Davies had taken his seat on a bough opposite the fox’s den, when he heard a horrible scream in the direction of the sea, which apparently was that of a man in distress, and the sound uttered was “Oh, Oh.”  Thus Davies’s attention was divided between the dismal, “Oh,” and his fox.  But, as the sound was a far way off, he felt disinclined to heed it, for he did not think it incumbent on him to ascertain the cause of that distressing utterance, nor did he think it his duty to go to the relief of a suffering fellow creature.  He therefore did not leave his seat on the tree.  But the cry of anguish, every now and again, reached his ears, and evidently, it was approaching the tree on which Davies sat.  He now listened the more to the awful sounds, which at intervals reverberated through the wood, and he could no longer be mistaken—they were coming in his direction.  Nearer and nearer came the dismal “Oh!  Oh!” and with its approach, the night became pitch dark, and now the “Oh!  Oh!  Oh!” was only a few yards off, but nothing could be seen in consequence of the deep darkness.  The sounds however ceased, but a horrible sight was presented to the frightened man’s view.  There, he saw before him, a nude being with eyes burning like fire, and these glittering balls were directed towards him.  The awful being was only a dozen yards or so off.  And now it crouched, and now it stood erect, but it never for a single instant withdrew its terrible eyes from the miserable man in the tree, who would have fallen to the ground were it not for the protecting boughs.  Many times Davies thought that his last moment had come, for it seemed that the owner of those fiery eyes was about to spring upon him.  As he did not do so, Davies somewhat regained his self possession, and thought of firing at the horrible being; but his courage failed, and there he sat motionless, not knowing what the end might be.  He closed his eyes to avoid that gaze, which seemed to burn into him, but this was a short relief, for he felt constrained to look into those burning orbs, still it was a relief even to close his eyes: and so again and again he closed them, only, however, to open them on those balls of fire.  About 4 o’clock in the morning, he heard a cock crow at Penbryn farm, and at the moment his eyes were closed, but at the welcome sound he opened them, and looked for those balls of fire, but, oh! what pleasure, they were no longer before him, for, at the crowing of the cock, they, and the being to whom they belonged, had disappeared.

What the fox cubs thought of all this was not recorded, but I’m sure they were grateful for the spectral protection.

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

After you finish reading, you're all invited to the Strange Company HQ game room.

The legend of a Louisiana "wild girl."

The historical importance of cloves.

Imagine finding out one day that you have a cellar full of ancient graves.

An ancient seed grew into something wonderfully weird.

The story of that tech giant who drowned when his yacht mysteriously sank keeps getting weirder.

Some unknown music by Mozart has been discovered.

The space mystery of the "flyby anomaly."

Down a medieval well.

A brief history of pet cemeteries.

Papal conclaves gone wild.

The origins of the dinosaur-killing asteroid.

Time-traveling at the British Museum.

One of the U.S. Air Force's less distinguished moments.

More Nazca geoglyphs have been discovered, and boy are they weird.

Some strange things that have been found in walls.

The life of Marie of Luxembourg.

The real discoverer of penicillin.

Evidence of a Neolithic society in Morocco has been discovered.

A very unfortunate family.

The significance of mummy cheese.

Elephants talk to each other, but we can't hear it.

The life of a 19th century Baptist missionary in India.

The rules of mourning for Paris widows, 1894.

Ancient humans and dinosaur footprints.

The heiress who may have been the model for the Statue of Liberty.

Cat memes go way back.

The sad, and probably short, life of Lady Mary Seymour.

Some haunted artworks.

Traveling the Silk Roads.

18th century pies really didn't mess around.

The mysterious poisonings of several children.

Yet another domestic murder.

An archaeologist's message in a bottle.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll bring on the Welsh Weirdness!  In the meantime, here's one of those songs I remember from way back when.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

The following news item is very brief, completely (as far as I can tell) unresolved, and probably even massively unimportant.  However, it charms me as just one more snippet of evidence that we live in a very strange world.  The "Minneapolis Star Tribune," August 8, 1930, via Newspapers.com:

Amateur detectives of Fort Reno, Okla., are working on a mystery which includes nary a corpse, only a hole in the ground. It is a large hole, about 18 feet deep and was made within a few feet of the place where a hole was dug in 1925 about the same time of the year. A single footprint has been found at the bottom of the hole. Nobody has been able to discover why or who made the excavation. One young man suggested that somebody wanted the hole for his front parlor and then found he couldn't bring it in, so he left it there.  But very few take stock in that theory.

Feel free to leave your own theories in the comments.