Q&A: Were ducking stools ever used as punishment for crimes other than witchcraft during the Middle Ages?

History Extra

Illustration by Glen McBeth.

 The story of the ducking stool is complex and confusing, and subject to various local usages from Anglo-Saxon times right up to the early 19th century.

The confusion is partly over the use of the ‘cucking stool’, a chair to which people – men and women – were tied and put on public display as a form of humiliation for various offences against the peace of the community (drunkenness, gossip), sexual offences or dishonest trading. Its use was common in the Middle Ages but its victims were not generally immersed into water; it was more like the pillory or the stocks.

While in some places women (and some men) were ducked on stools in order to establish whether or not they were witches, the more common means of identifying them was to throw them into the water with a rope attached to see whether or not they floated (guilty) or sank (not guilty).

The ‘ducking’ stool, involving water, may not have appeared until Tudor times, though its use was widespread through England, Scotland and colonial America by the 17th century and it didn’t fall out of use completely until the early 19th.

By then it was long recognised was a punishment almost exclusively for women for a range of minor offences, most of which might be characterised as not behaving as a dutiful maid or wife were expected to. Often the sentence was for being a ‘common scold’.

One memorable fable surrounds the final use of Bristol’s ducking stool in the early 1700s, though we don’t know how true it is. The mayor, Edmund Mountjoy, widely known to be hen-pecked, was out for a walk one evening when he came across a woman berating her own husband, so he ordered that she be ducked. Mistress Blake – we don’t know her full name – endured her punishment, but on emerging from the water ridiculed Mountjoy in front of the crowd for ducking another man’s wife because he didn’t have the courage to duck his own.

She then sued him for assault, and won. Mountjoy’s fellow city fathers enjoyed a season of fun at his expense by inviting him to dinners at which the menu always included … ‘cold duck’.

Because of this (the story goes), Bristol’s ducking stool fell into disuse, and was later bought by an enterprising huckster who turned it into dozens of snuff boxes, claiming that they would protect buyers from nagging and hen-pecking wives.

Answered by Eugene Byrne, author and journalist.

Mysterious Underground Labyrinth in Scotland May Have Originally Been a Druid Temple

Ancient Origins

The latest research at Gilmerton Cove suggests that the mysterious network of underground tunnels was once a Druid temple that dates back more than 2000 years. For centuries, the hand-carved passageways and hidden chambers have been linked to smugglers, the Knights Templar, and witchcraft.

Gilmerton Cove is located in Gilmerton, a suburb of Edinburgh, Scotland. In 2003, it was opened for visitors, and ever since then it has been an educational and fun attraction. At the same time, the site’s still an object of restoration and conservation work, preserving it for future generations. Most experts who research this site have been unable to pinpoint the true origins behind several stone tables and chairs found within Gilmerton Cove.

Inside Gilmerton Cove. (CC BY SA 2.0)

According to Julian Spalding, a writer, art expert, historian, and the former head of Glasgow's museums and galleries, the temple could have been in use for centuries. He believes that further work at Gilmerton Cove may unlock many of the secrets connected with the mysterious labyrinth.
The official records state that this place was created by local blacksmith George Paterson in 1724. Until now, nobody had proof for anything different. However, now Spalding may found the right way to explain the origins of the site. He claims that a temple was deliberately buried by the ancient Druids to protect the sacred nature of the place. He is convinced that Paterson simply dug out rubble used to fill in the remains of the temple. As Spalding told the Scotsman newspaper:

“It is very probable that the whole complex was deliberately buried, a widespread ancient practice which prevented the subsequent defilement of sacred sites. This interpretation explains why two passages are still blocked by unexcavated rubble. It is inexplicable why Paterson should have filled them up after going to the immense trouble of excavating them. The work is beautifully consistent throughout and indicates a team of highly-skilled craftsmen, with numerous assistants, guided by a mastermind.”

The connection with witchcraft in the Gilmerton Cove is usually linked with the use of the site by the 18th century “Hellfire Club.” This group was formed in the 1740s by Sir Francis Dashwood, owner of West Wycombe, Buckinghamshire. The main goal for this gentleman’s club was a hedonistic lifestyle connected with spending time with women, drinking wine, and enjoying music. Some researchers note that there were religious practices connected with the sexual activity of the group.

• Medieval mass grave lay hidden just two feet below a college in Scotland
• Archaeologists in Scotland investigate the mystery of the Rhynie Man
• Woe of the Witches – The Elevated Flying Rowan Tree
• Thoth’s Storm: New Evidence for Ancient Egyptians in Ireland?

Many of the members were also important figures of Parliament, Lords, etc. But in the opinion of Julian Spalding, the Hellfire Club was interested in the site because of the much older fame of the location.

Portrait of Sir Francis Dashwood, 11th Baron le Despencer, by William Hogarth. (Public Domain)

Spalding believes that the shapes of the rooms and passages is related to the womb, and were carved during Celtic times, or from an even earlier culture. He claims that the identification of Gilmerton Cove as a Druid temple makes sense with all the evidence. According to his research, the site is dated back to the Iron Age and it contains lots of proof for its origins because of its good condition. Spalding summarized:

“Druids were known to meet in secret in woods and caves away from habitation. Gilmerton is on a high ridge, marked with megaliths, overlooking Cramond, the site of mankind’s earliest settlement in Scotland, and, later, a Roman Fort. If it is a Druid temple, discovered by chance in the 18th Century, then it will be the first substantial archaeological evidence of this sophisticated and highly-secretive priesthood.”

Nowadays, the entrance to Gilmerton Cove is through what looks like a traditional mining cottage. Julian Spalding hopes that it will receive a world heritage status. If the future works in Gilmerton Cove confirm Spalding’s hypothesis, it will be another place on the Druid path, joining locations like Rosslyn near Edinburgh, Cairnpapple cairn near Bathgate, Dingwall (the ancient Viking capital of Scotland), Callanish (the land of the goddess Brigit), and many others.

Archaeologists Sam Badger and Magnus Kirby investigate the mysterious tunnels. (Pamela Grigg)

Historical sites connected with Druids are also in other parts of the UK. According to the Independent, at the village of Stanway, Essex, near Colchester, the grave of an Iron Age man was found in 1996. The remains are known as the ‘Druid of Colchester’ and were dated to about 40-60 AD. He could have been a Druid, a medical doctor, or both.
The bones were discovered among a number of graves of important people from this period. The wooden chambered burial site included not only human remains, but also a board game, a decorated cloak, a jet bead (which is believed to have magical properties), and medical equipment. The medical kit consisted of 13 instruments, such as scalpels, needles, surgical saw, hooks, sharp and blunt retractors, etc.

Surgical Tools found with the ‘Druid of Colchester.’ (Public Domain)

Featured Image: A tunnel in Gilmerton Cove. Source: John Dale/CC BY SA 2.0
By Natalia Klimczak

A brief history of medieval magic

History Extra

Want to get rid of an unwanted husband? Coat yourself in honey, roll naked in grain and cook him up some deadly bread with flour milled from this mixture. Want to increase the amount of supplies in your barn? Leave out child-sized shoes and bows-and-arrows for the satyrs and goblins to play with. If you’re lucky, they might steal some of your neighbour’s goods for you in return. These unusual charms and medical tips, which featured in medieval books, sound suspiciously like magic.
But alongside these weird and wonderful spells and superstitions, medieval history paints a picture of a people actually more enlightened than their Renaissance successors. So what was medieval magic really like?

 

Season of the witch

The now all-too-familiar figure of the ‘witch’ – that frightening old hag with warts on her nose and curses at her fingertips – didn’t appear until the 15th century. Despite being dubbed ‘The Renaissance’ and ‘The Age of Discovery’, the centuries that followed [the Renaissance lasted from the 14th to the 17th century] were witness not only to ruthless witch-hunts, but also to a new belief in the reality of magic.
In the Middle Ages, the practice of magic was not yet imagined to be essentially ‘female’. In fact, according to court records from the first half of the 14th century, the majority of those tried for maleficium (meaning sorcery, or dark magic) were men. That was because the most troubling form of magic – necromancy – required not only skill, learning and preparation, but above all education, which was less readily available to women. Necromancy involved conjuring the dead and making them perform feats of transportation or illusion, or asking them to reveal the secrets of the universe. Because many books describing necromancy were Latin translations, anyone wanting to practise the craft would need a good working knowledge of Latin.
It wasn’t until the publication of Heinrich Kramer’s Malleus Maleficarum (or, Hammer of Witches) in 1487 that the specific connection between women and satanic magic became widespread. Kramer warned that “women’s spiritual weakness” and “natural proclivity for evil” made them particularly susceptible to the temptations of the devil. He believed that “all witchcraft comes from carnal lust”, and that women’s “uncontrolled” sexuality made them the likely culprits of any sinister occurrence.

 

Black sabbath

Hand-in-hand with this increased emphasis on women came a shift in the perception of magic. Evidence suggests that medieval church authorities (whose successors would later spearhead the witch-hunts) didn’t really believe magic was real – although they still condemned anyone who claimed to practise it.
The 10th-century canon, Episcopi, describes women who, seduced by illusions from the devil, believed they could fly on the backs of “certain beasts” in the middle of the night alongside the goddess Diana. The canon dismissed these women as “stupid” and “foolish” for actually believing that they could accomplish such things. They were criticised in the text for being tricked rather than for practising any real, magical mischief.
In the 15th and 16th centuries, however, inquisitors seemed to believe that women really could make magic happen by entering into pacts with the devil. It was thought that at sabbaths – nocturnal meetings with other witches – women renounced their Christian faith, devoured babies, participated in orgies and committed other carnal and unspeakable acts.

Afterwards, the devils worshipped would watch their women for signs, and then do their bidding. For example, if a witch put her broomstick in water and spoke certain words, a devil might cause a storm or flood. Magic of this kind wasn’t always harmful, however. Witches might be able to heal as a result of a pact, or perform other kinds of positive magic. But, because of their fundamental belief that all magic was carried out by demons and devils, inquisitors condemned it just the same.

 

Magic or medicine?

Certain practices – which sound to us very much like magic – would have been classed as science or medicine in the Middle Ages. William of Auvergne, a 13th-century French priest and bishop, certainly condemned most magic as superstition. However, he admitted that some works of “natural magic” should be viewed as a branch of science: as long as practitioners didn’t use this “natural magic” for evil, they weren’t doing anything criminal. Sealskin could quite happily be used as a charm to repel lightning; vulture body parts could be used as a protective amulet; and gardeners could get virgins to plant their olive trees without any anxiety – this was, after all, a scientific way of promoting their growth.
A number of healing practices from the Middle Ages also sound very much like magic to a modern reader: one doctor instructed physicians to place the herb vervain in their patient’s hand. The presence of the herb would, it was thought, cause the patient to speak his or her fate truthfully, offering the physician an accurate prognosis.
Sympathetic magic was another well-known technique – it used imitation to produce effective results. For example, liver of vulture might be prescribed as medicine for a patient suffering from liver complaints. Meanwhile narrative charms – a complex version of sympathetic magic, hinged on the belief that telling a particular story could help channel healing power to the patient – were usually accompanied by a more ‘medical’ application, like a poultice. According to one medical treatise, wool soaked in olive oil from the Mount of Olives could staunch blood when coupled with a spoken story about Longinus, a man who was famously healed of his blindness by the blood of Christ. Religious elements were blended with the magical.

Although some of these methods were considered superstition by the Christian church in the Middle Ages, they were never associated with demonic magic until the dawning of the witch hunts. Even though women tried for witchcraft were accused of much more diabolical doings than using charms or stories to heal, many women became afraid of carrying out such practices, for fear of attracting suspicion of darker deeds.
Medieval history offers us a magical potion of stories and practices infused with charms, herbs and superstition. While some of the examples might seem curious to us, they are evidence of a people trying to make sense of and control their surroundings – just as we do today.
Hetta Howes is writing a PhD at Queen Mary, University of London on the subject of water and religious imagery in medieval devotional texts by and for women. To find out more, click here.
Would you have been accused of witchcraft in the medieval period? Take our quiz to find out!