A most diabolical deed': Infanticide and Irish society, 1850–1900 9781526102232

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‘A most diabolical deed’

Infanticide and Irish society, 1850–1900 Elaine Farrell

‘A most diabolical deed’

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‘A most diabolical deed’

Infanticide and Irish Society, 1850–1900 Elaine Farrell

Manchester University Press Manchester and New York

distributed in the United States exclusively by Palgrave Macmillan

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Copyright © Elaine Farrell 2013 The right of Elaine Farrell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Published by Manchester University Press Oxford Road, Manchester M13 9NR, UK and Room 400, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010, USA www.manchesteruniversitypress.co.uk Distributed in the United States exclusively by Palgrave Macmillan, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010, USA Distributed in Canada exclusively by UBC Press, University of British Columbia, 2029 West Mall, Vancouver, BC, Canada V6T 1Z2 British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data applied for ISBN  978 0 7190 8820 9  hardback First published 2013 The publisher has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for any external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate. Typeset by 4word Ltd, Bristol

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For my parents, Liam and Marie

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Contents

List of figures

page viii

Acknowledgementsix

List of abbreviationsxi Introduction1 1  ‘A melancholy thing’: an overview

2 ‘Dead children, like drowned sailors, tell no tales’: coroners’ courts 3  ‘That species of crime’: criminal courts

13 48 72

4  ‘Rumor, with its hundred tongues’: the community

120

6  ‘A very great escape’: prisons

210

5  ‘News of the ghastly spectacle’: the press

178

Conclusion247 Bibliography255 Index285

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Figures

1.1 Infant murder and concealment of birth offences per 100,000 population

page 20

1.2 Infanticide/infant murder and concealment of birth offences21 3.1 Punishment for concealment of birth

4.1 Reward poster, Roscommon, 1840 (National Archives of Ireland, Outrage Files, Roscommon, 1840) 5.1 Jane McDowell, 1889 (National Archives of Ireland, Penal Files 20 1891)

87

123 185

6.1 Ellen Curly, c. 1905 (private possession)

220

6.3 Margaret Slavin, 1883 (National Archives of Ireland, Penal Files 142 1886)

233

6.2 Time served by women convicted of infant murder, 1853–1900227

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Acknowledgements

I am grateful to the Arts and Humanities Research Council and Queen’s University Belfast for the funding that allowed me to carry out this research. I am extremely thankful to Professor Mary O’Dowd, who supervised the PhD thesis on which this book is based. Professor O’Dowd has been a constant source of advice and encouragement over the past number of years. I am indebted to her for her assistance. I wish to thank the staff of a number of repositories. I am particularly grateful to the staff of the National Archives of Ireland, especially Catriona Crowe, Brian Donnelly, Aideen Ireland and Gregory O’Connor. I am also thankful to the staff of the reading room, in particular, Christy Allen, Robert Coffey, Brendan Crawford, Paddy Ellard, Mick Flood, Brendan Martin, Ken Martin, Dave O’Neill and Paddy Sarsfield. I also wish to acknowledge the assistance provided by the staff of the Archives of Tasmania; the Belfast Newspaper Library; the Dublin Diocesan Archive; the Galway County Council Archive; the Garda Museum; the National Folklore Collection, University College Dublin; the National Library of Ireland; the Police Service of Northern Ireland Museum; the Public Record Office of Northern Ireland, particularly Graham Jackson; the library at Queen’s University Belfast; the Representative Church Body Library, Dublin; and the Sligo Reference Library. For permission to publish images, I am thankful to the Director of the National Archives of Ireland, and Brian and Nicole Rieusset. I would like to express my sincere gratitude to the dedicated and welcoming staff of the School of History and Anthropology, Queen’s University Belfast. I am especially grateful to Professor Catherine Clinton, Dr Marie Coleman, Professor Sean Connolly, Dr James Davis, Professor Peter Gray, Professor David Hayton, Dr Andrew Holmes,

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acknowledgements

Professor Liam Kennedy, Dr Chris Marsh and Dr Fearghal McGarry. A number of scholars based at other universities offered advice, insightful and helpful suggestions or encouragement during the research and writing of this book. In particular, I am grateful to Dr Sarah-Anne Buckley, Dr Lindsey Earner-Byrne, Professor Diarmaid Ferriter, Dr Daniel Grey, Professor James Kelly, Professor Maria Luddy, Dr Conor Reidy and Dr Bernadette Whelan. My extended family and friends are owed gratitude for the encouragement and timely distractions, in particular Julianne Desrochers, Mairead Devaney, Anneliese Dykes, Aaron, Cian, Conor, Eileen and Liam Ryder, and my grandmother, who often wonders when I am going to finish that book about the woman who killed her baby. Dr Shaun McDaid, who led the way, Dr Claire Rush, who proves a daily inspiration, and Dr Ioannis Tsioulakis, who puts up with it all, generously offered to read extracts from this book at various stages. I am thankful for their interest in my research and for their friendship over the past number of years. Finally, I would like to thank my family, my parents, Liam and Marie, and my sisters, Fiona and Deirdre, for lending several hands at various times. This book is dedicated to my parents for their support and encouragement. References to Crown files in the Nation Archives of Ireland refer to Crown files at assizes unless otherwise stated.

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Abbreviations

AOT CIF CRF CSO OP DMP GPB GPO HMP ICR NAI NLI Pen. PSNI RIC TNA

Archives of Tasmania Criminal Index File Convict Reference File Chief Secretary’s Office Official Papers Dublin Metropolitan Police General Prisons Board Government Prisons Office Her Majesty’s Prison Irish Crimes Records National Archives of Ireland National Library of Ireland Penal Files Police Service of Northern Ireland Royal Irish Constabulary The National Archives

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Introduction

Katie Connors rose just after six o’clock on the morning of 13 September 1900. She worked as a domestic servant for Catherine Coad in Ballymaclode, County Waterford. A second servant, Bridget Power, had been employed in the house since February. Power had retired to bed earlier than usual on the previous evening due to the onset of a cold. She had been brought hot brandy in bed by her employer and later that evening, had been offered a cup of hot tea by her fellow servant. On account of Power’s illness, Connors undertook her co-worker’s task of lighting the stove on the following morning. She also brought a warm drink upstairs to her sick colleague. Power, however, was dressed by that stage and followed Connors down to the kitchen. The two women had their breakfast and made a start on their daily tasks. Power set out to milk the cows and Connors began to clean each of the rooms in the house. The small bedroom that Connors shared with Power was the last room to be cleaned that morning. Katie Connors swept out the room. She picked up her hat and went to tidy it away in the bedroom cupboard. On opening the cupboard, she noticed a rolled-up sheet. Curious, she unwrapped the bundle and uncovered the dead body of a newborn female infant. Connors reported the discovery to her employer Catherine Coad, who in turn sent a message to her husband. The local constable was subsequently summoned to the house in Ballymaclode. Power would later admit to her employer that she had put her fingers in the baby’s mouth to stop her crying when she had heard Connors coming up to the bedroom on the previous night.1 Nineteenth-century official papers, coroners’ reports, court records, prison registers and newspaper articles recorded thousands of suspects

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like Bridget Power and thousands of dead babies in Ireland like the newborn discovered in the cupboard in Ballymaclode. Incidences of suspected infanticide were reported on a weekly basis in the latter half of nineteenth-century Ireland. This book is based on a sample of 4,645 suspected cases of infanticide, attempted infant murder and concealment of birth. Before the enactment of the Infanticide Act of 1949, individuals accused of killing a baby or a toddler in Ireland, like those suspected of killing an adult, were tried under the law for murder, which was punishable by death. In the early eighteenth century, an Act ‘to prevent the destroying and murthering of Bastard Children’ was introduced in Ireland and was a verbatim copy of an act introduced in England in 1624.2 This Act focused on the concealment rather than the murder of a newborn child and allowed for the assumption that an illegitimate baby was the victim of murder if her or his birth had been concealed unless the mother could, with the assistance of at least one witness, prove that the baby had been born dead.3 The Act recognised the existence of the crime of infant murder and the difficulty of ascertaining proof that murder had been committed in the case of newborn babies.4 Almost one hundred years later, in 1803, this Act was replaced and a woman who concealed the birth of her illegitimate dead child was deemed innocent of murder until proven guilty.5 The crime of infant murder, however, remained a capital offence. The law also criminalised the act of concealing the birth of an illegitimate child who was subsequently found dead. A woman acquitted of child murder could thus be found guilty of the lesser charge of concealment of birth and punished by a maximum term of imprisonment of two years with hard labour. Twenty-six years later, the concealment of birth offence was finally extended to include babies born within marriage whose births and deaths had been concealed.6 In 1861, the Offences Against the Person Act rendered the concealment of birth offence a standalone charge, no longer dependent upon an initial charge of murder.7 A woman did not, therefore, have to be accused of murder in order to be found guilty of the lesser charge of concealment of birth. The Infanticide Act of 1949 legally defined the term ‘infanticide’ in Irish law as the murder of an infant aged less than twelve months by her or his mother while ‘at the time of the act or omission the

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balance of her mind was disturbed’ in consequence of the effects of childbirth.8 ‘Infanticide’ was a more broadly used term in the nineteenth century. In 1883, for example, Assistant Under-Secretary for Ireland, William S. B. Kaye, requested the General Prisons Board to furnish a list of ‘cases of females sentenced to death for infanticide but whose sentences were commuted by the Lord Lieutenant’. The list of names that was subsequently compiled included a woman convicted of having murdered her sixteen-month-old child, as well as a convict who had allegedly killed her nineteen-month-old toddler.9 In 1885, the Cork Examiner described the alleged murder of a two-year-old child under the title: ‘Charge of Infanticide.’10 A few years earlier, prison authorities at Grangegorman Female Prison had recorded that Eliza McCarthy had committed ‘infanticide’ although her victim was five years old.11 The sample on which this book is based includes infants aged less than three years. It includes only those cases that involved mothers. Men and women who murdered an infant without the consent or complicity of the mother are not the focus of this book. Fathers who murdered their offspring without the mother’s knowledge have not been incorporated into this study precisely because they committed murder in different circumstances to their female counterparts. Judith Knelman has likewise pointed out that fathers who murdered their offspring in England had different methods and motives to mothers who killed.12 The two fathers sentenced to death for the murder of their infants in Ireland in the period 1868 to 1899 also murdered the mothers of their offspring and one of those perpetrators also murdered his mother-in-law.13 Louise Ryan has argued that the relatively high number of infanticide cases in the Irish past renders the subject ‘an aspect of our history which cannot be ignored.’14 Experiences of infanticide in an Irish context have been examined, to varying degrees and from historical, medical, feminist, folklore, sociological or legal approaches, for the seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries.15 Individual cases of suspected infant murder or concealment of birth, such as the so-called ‘Kerry babies case’, have been the focus of attention from academics, the media and local historians.16 These studies bring to light details about particular, often unusual, cases but do not necessarily reveal much about the crime or suspect generally. The topic of infanticide has been explored in wider quantitative and qualitative investigations of violence, murder

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and death in Ireland.17 Infanticide suspects frequented institutions, including maternity hospitals, workhouses, prisons, Magdalen laundries and mental asylums, and thus have been incorporated into studies of such establishments.18 They were also punished by death or transportation up to the mid-nineteenth century, and thus appear in publications on these topics.19 Since the crime was dominated by female suspects who were generally arrested, tried and judged by male authorities, infant murder and concealment of birth offers evidence of gendered attitudes at play.20 Scholars have also mined infanticide sources for what they can reveal about related topics, such as motherhood, sexuality, insanity or childhood.21 Studies of infanticide are based on a variety of sources. Cases were regularly reported in local and national Irish newspapers. Newspaper evidence does not indicate the number of infant murder cases committed or detected but a close analysis of newspaper sources can provide a sample of cases, ‘large enough to permit a fruitful investigation of that crime as practised in Ireland’.22 Coroners’ records describe inquests carried out on baby victims,23 while folklore sources (such as songs, poems, games or local stories) highlight the ways in which infanticide tales were the stuff of entertainment or were committed to collective memory.24 Clíona Rattigan’s ‘What Else Could I do?’ Single Mothers and Infanticide, Ireland 1900–1950, which represents the first monograph on the subject of infanticide in an Irish context, utilises court depositions and newspaper evidence. The qualitative approach employed by Rattigan facilitates a comparison with the present study of infanticide in post-Famine Ireland.25 This book on the subject of infanticide in Ireland from 1850 to 1900 traces crimes of infant murder from the discovery of the dead body to the release of the guilty convict from prison. Chapter 1 provides a general overview of the crime of infanticide in the second half of nineteenth-century Ireland, using statistical evidence gleaned from annual returns and the findings of the 4,645 cases on which this book is based. An analysis of official numbers of infanticide and concealment of birth cases reported to the police illustrates that such crimes were relatively frequent. A quantitative study indicates that the number of cases gradually decreased as the fifty-year period progressed. Chapter 1 also explores the characteristics of the ‘typical’ suspect through an assessment

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of her marital status, age, religion, class, employment and education, and examines the profile of the ‘typical’ victim. Although this book is based on a large sample of cases, it does not include all instances of infanticide or concealment of birth and thus this profile can only be based on surviving evidence relating to those who got caught. Chapter 2 focuses on the coroners’ courts. In the case of newborn infants, the men of the coroners’ courts were faced with the double challenge of having to establish that the infant was born alive and to determine that the baby had been murdered. Evidence gleaned from coroners’ records reveals that there were many explanations that could account for the death of a recently born infant. This chapter argues that the officials in the coroners’ courts were forced to exercise caution because of the difficulties inherent in post-mortem inquests on infants. Chapter 3 considers the attitudes of judges and juries in the Irish courts. A guilty verdict for infant murder, like all murders at the time, meant that a woman would be sentenced to death. There were several alternative charges, however, that could be brought against a woman accused of causing the death of her child, namely concealment of birth, manslaughter or desertion. As this chapter illustrates, these alternative charges often required a lenient interpretation of the evidence on the part of judges and jurors. Women deemed to be insane also avoided the hangman’s noose. This book examines the use of the insanity defence in the assize court but does not focus exclusively on individuals with mental illnesses. It instead concentrates on the majority of women who were considered to be sane at the time of the infant death or concealment of birth. Most suspects progressed through the court system and were generally discharged or punished by transportation or imprisonment rather than by incarceration in a lunatic asylum. Chapter 4 interrogates four case studies to highlight the response of the police and the attitudes of the general public to crimes of infanticide and concealment of birth detected locally. This chapter argues that there were various responses to the offence and various reactions to the accused suspect. While some members of the community were only too willing to report their suspicions to the police, others sought to protect the perpetrator from discovery. This chapter also demonstrates the response of locally resident policemen to suspected cases of infanticide detected in their districts. It is generally assumed that gossip

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and rumour was an important aspect of community life in nineteenthcentury Ireland. Yet this area of study, which would reveal much about community dynamics during this period, has been largely ignored by historians. Chapter 4 sheds much light on neighbourhood gossip and rumour in relation to cases of infanticide, and argues that ‘talk’ played a significant role in bringing cases to the attention of the authorities. Chapter 5 is based on an extensive analysis of references to infanticide and concealment of birth published in local and national newspapers. It examines the image of the female suspect as portrayed in the pages of the Irish press. The accused was typically presented as an object of sympathy, an impressionable and desperate female. She was often regarded as the victim of the circumstances in which she found herself: a victim of a man who had seduced her, of a family that had shunned her for giving birth to an illegitimate infant or a victim of hormones that rendered her insensible and insane. In addition, this chapter considers the alternative, lesser-used representation of the suspect as an evil mother. It also explores the media treatment of men who murdered infants. Irish newspapers did not regularly express concern at rates of infanticide and concealment of birth in Ireland. Some publications were, however, keen to comment on infant murder cases detected in England and thus this chapter examines the treatment of English cases of infanticide as reported in the pages of the Irish press. Twenty-nine women were sentenced to death for the murder of their infants in the period 1850 to 1900. Not one female was executed for the crime during this time. Instead, the twenty-nine women were sentenced to transportation or terms of imprisonment in Ireland. The leniency of the courts was mirrored by the Irish penal system. Women’s experiences following their conviction for infant murder have tended to be ignored in studies of infanticide. The lives of women found guilty of the crime did not cease on transportation or committal to prison; the tale of infanticide should not, therefore, end with the conviction. Chapter 6 considers the reality of infant murder punishments and examines the means by which a convict could gain early discharge from custody. It demonstrates that as the century progressed, there was a dramatic change in the length of time served in prison. This chapter also traces the lives of several women after their release from prison.

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Evidence for this study was gathered from a variety of sources, including coroners’ papers and casebooks, court records, prison files and letters, newspapers, annual reports and parliamentary papers. Court testimonials by witnesses who encountered the suspect or the dead body of her infant enrich tales of infanticide and complement statistical evidence and parliamentary papers. Such accounts feature regularly throughout this book. Although statements from suspects themselves were often second-hand (recounted in witness depositions, formal petitions to the authorities or transcribed by male clerks in court), the voice of the accused is a welcome addition to the narrative. Such sources exist precisely because the case was discovered. It is impossible to determine how many women escaped detection due to sheer luck, because they concealed evidence of their pregnancy and labour, because they had able assistance or merely because nobody reported their suspicions to the authorities. Despite inherent difficulties in assessing a crime that could go unnoticed (because in many instances it was committed by the only person who knew of the existence of the victim), an exploration of infant murder crimes is nonetheless illuminating. A study of infanticide in postFamine Ireland demonstrates legislative and public attitudes to women and children. Surviving evidence documents experiences of pregnancy, childbirth and childcare in nineteenth-century Ireland, and highlights contemporary views of motherhood and fatherhood. Infanticide cases also reveal much about Irish society and the complex relationships that existed in post-Famine localities. Individual case studies can, at times, allow us glimpses of intimate nineteenth-century associations. Since the majority of known infants were illegitimate, instances of infanticide verify that some Irish men and women engaged in sex outside marriage. Infant murder and concealment of birth cases confirm that post-Famine Ireland was less chaste than historians have previously acknowledged.

Notes  1 National Archives of Ireland (hereafter NAI), Crown files for County Waterford, 1899–1900 deposition of Catherine Coad, 25 September 1900.   2 James Kelly, ‘Infanticide in eighteenth-century Ireland’, Irish Economic and Social History, xix (1992), 6.

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 3 R. W. Malcolmson, ‘Infanticide in the eighteenth century’, in J. S. Cockburn (ed.), Crime in England, 1550–1800 (London, 1977), p. 196.   4 6 Ann., c. 4.   5 43 Geo. iii, c. 58.   6 10 Geo. iv, c. 34, s.17.   7 24 and 25 Vic., c. 100, s.60.  8 ‘Infanticide Act, 1949’, available at www.irishstatutebook.ie/1949/en/act/ pub/0016/sec0001.html (accessed 24 March 2008).   9 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, William S. B. Kaye to GPB, 21 May 1883. 10 Cork Examiner, 22 July 1885. 11 NAI, Pris. 01/09/59, court trial book (register of prisoners for trial), Grangegorman Female Prison, 28 August 1871 – 1 December 1883, 13 December 1882. 12 Judith Knelman, Twisting in the Wind: The Murderess and the English Press (Toronto, 1998), p. 10. 13 Steve Fielding, The Hangman’s Record: Volume One, 1868–1899 (Kent, 1994). 14 Louise Ryan, ‘The press, police and prosecution: perspectives on infanticide in the 1920s’, in Alan Hayes and Diane Urquhart (eds), Irish Women’s History (Dublin, 2004), p. 151. 15 Kelly, ‘Infanticide in eighteenth-century Ireland’, 5–26; Alexis Guilbride, ‘Mad or bad? Women committing infanticide in Ireland from 1925 to 1957’, in Ronit Lentin (ed.), In From the Shadows: The UL Women’s Studies Collection (Limerick, 1996), pp. 84–92; Alexis Guilbride, ‘Infanticide: the crime of motherhood’, in Patricia Kennedy (ed.), Motherhood in Ireland (Cork, 2004), pp. 170–80; Clíona Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’ Single Mothers and Infanticide, Ireland 1900–1950 (Dublin, 2012); Clíona Rattigan, ‘ “Half mad at the time”: unmarried mothers and infanticide in Ireland, 1922–1950’, in Catherine Cox and Maria Luddy (eds), Cultures of Care in Irish Medical History, 1750–1970 (Basingstoke, 2010), pp. 168–90; Clíona Rattigan ‘ “I thought from her appearance she was in the family way”: detecting infanticide cases in Ireland, 1900–1950’, Family and Community History, xi: 2 (2008), 134–51; Clíona Rattigan, ‘ “Done to death by father or relatives”: Irish families and infanticide cases, 1922–50’, History of the Family, xiii (2008), 370–83; Clíona Rattigan, ‘ “Dark spots” in Irish society: unmarried mothers and infanticide in Ireland, 1926–1938’, in María Cinta Ramblado-Minero and Auxiliadora Pérez-Vides (eds), Single Motherhood in Twentieth-Century Ireland: Cultural, Historical, and Social Essays (Lewistown, 2006), pp. 83–102; Ian Campbell Ross, ‘ “More to avoid the expence than the shame”: infanticide in the modest proposer’s Ireland’, Swift Studies, i (1986), 75–6; Louise Ryan, ‘ “The massacre of innocence”: infanticide in the Irish Free State’, Irish Studies Review, xiv (1996), 17–20.

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16 Joe Baker and Michael Liggett, Brutal Murders in Belfast: True Crime Stories from Around the City (Belfast, 1999); Tom Inglis, Truth, Power and Lies: Irish Society and the Case of the Kerry Babies (Dublin, 2003); Gene Kerrigan, ‘The Kerry babies case’, Magill, ix: 2 (1985), 16–34; Gene Kerrigan, ‘Scapegoat’, Magill, ix: 3 (1985), 36–41; David M. Kiely, Bloody Women: Ireland’s Female Killers (Dublin, 1999); David M. Kiely, Deadlier than the Male: Ireland’s Female Killers (Dublin, 2005); Barry O’Halloran, Lost Innocence: The Inside Story of the Kerry Babies Mystery (Dublin, 1985); Fintan O’Toole, ‘Reject the Kerry babies report’, Magill, ix: 2 (1985), 4–5; Moira J. Maguire, ‘The changing face of Catholic Ireland: conservatism and liberalism in the Ann Lovett and Kerry babies scandals’, Feminist Studies, xxvii (2001), 335–58; Nell McCafferty, A Woman to Blame: The Kerry Babies Case (Dublin, 1985); Nell McCafferty, ‘The death of Ann Lovett’, in Ailbhe Smyth (ed.), The Abortion Papers, Ireland (Dublin, 1992), pp. 99–105; Paul O’Mahony, ‘The psychology of police interrogation: the Kerry babies case’, in Paul O’Mahony (ed.), Criminal Justice in Ireland (Dublin, 2003), pp. 520–42. Joanne Hayes’s account provides a personal narrative of the legal process and the emotional experience that followed the initial accusation of murder and subsequent tribunal ( Joanne Hayes, My Story (Dingle, 1985)). 17 Karen Brennan, ‘Infanticide Past and Present: Law, History and Culture’ (PhD thesis, University College Dublin, 2006); Carolyn A. Conley, ‘No pedestals: women and violence in late nineteenth-century Ireland’, Journal of Social History, xxviii (1995), 801–18; Carolyn A. Conley, Melancholy Accidents: The Meaning of Violence in Post-Famine Ireland (Lanham, 1999); Carolyn A. Conley, Certain Other Countries: Homicide, Gender, and National Identity in Late Nineteenth-Century England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales (Columbus, 2007); S. J. Connolly, ‘Unnatural death in four nations: contrasts and comparisons’, in S. J. Connolly (ed.), Kingdoms United? Great Britain and Ireland Since 1500: Integration and Diversity (Dublin, 1999), pp. 200–14; Mark Finnane, ‘A decline in violence in Ireland: crime, policing and social relations, 1860–1914’, Crime, Histoire et Sociétés, i: 1 (1997), 51–70; Raymond Gillespie, ‘Women and crime in seventeenth-century Ireland’, in Margaret MacCurtain and Mary O’Dowd (eds), Women in Early Modern Ireland (Edinburgh, 1991), pp. 43–52; Sandra Larmour (McAvoy), ‘Aspects of the State and Female Sexuality in the Irish Free State, 1922–1949’ (PhD thesis, University College Cork, 1998); Dympna McLoughlin, ‘Infanticide in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in Angela Bourke, Siobhán Kilfeather, Maria Luddy, Margaret MacCurtain, Gerardine Meaney, Máirín Ní Dhonnchadha, Mary O’Dowd and Clair Wills (eds), Field Day Anthology of Irish Writing, iv (5 vols, Cork, 2002), pp. 915–22; Ian O’Donnell, ‘Unlawful killing past and present’, Irish Jurist, xxxvii (2002), 56–90; R. S. Rose, ‘An Outline of Fertility Control, Focusing on the Element of Abortion, in the

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Republic of Ireland to 1976’ (PhD thesis, University of Stockholm, 1976); R. S. Rose, ‘Induced abortion in the Republic of Ireland’, British Journal of Criminology, xviii (1978), 245–54; W. E. Vaughan, Murder Trials in Ireland, 1836–1914 (Dublin, 2009). 18 Tim Carey, Mountjoy: The Story of a Prison (Cork, 2000), pp. 147–9; Geraldine Curtin, The Women of Galway Jail: Female Criminality in Nineteenth-Century Ireland (Galway, 2001), pp. 87–9; Brendan D. Kelly, ‘Murder, mercury, mental illness: infanticide in nineteenth-century Ireland’, Irish Journal of Medical Science, clxxvi (2007), 149–52; Brendan D. Kelly, ‘Mental health law in Ireland, 1821 to 1902: building the asylums’, Medico-Legal Journal, lxxvi: 1 (2008), 19–25; Brendan D. Kelly, ‘Mental health law in Ireland, 1821 to 1902: dealing with “the increase of insanity in Ireland” ’, Medico-Legal Journal, lxxvi: 1 (2008), 26–33; Brendan D. Kelly, ‘Clinical and social characteristics of women committed to inpatient forensic psychiatric care in Ireland, 1868–1908’, Journal of Forensic Psychiatry and Psychology, xix (2008), 261–73; Brendan D. Kelly, ‘Folie á plusieurs: forensic cases from nineteenth-century Ireland’, History of Psychiatry, xx: 1 (2009), 47–60; Pat Gibbons, Niamh Mulryan and Art O’Connor, ‘Guilty but insane: the insanity defence in Ireland, 1850–1995’, British Journal of Psychiatry, clxx (1997), 467–72; Niamh Mulryan, Pat Gibbons and Art O’Connor, ‘Infanticide and child murder: admissions to the Central Mental Hospital, 1850–2000’, Irish Journal of Psychological Medicine, xix, no. 1 (2002), pp. 8–12; Cormac Ó Gráda, ‘Dublin’s demography in the early nineteenth century: evidence from the Rotunda’, Population Studies, xlv: 1 (1991), 50; James M. Smith, Ireland’s Magdalen Laundries and the Nation’s Architecture of Containment (Notre Dame, 2007), pp. 54–66. 19 Trudy Mae Cowley, A Drift of ‘Derwent Ducks’: Lives of the 200 Female Irish Convicts Transported on the Australasia from Dublin to Hobart in 1849 (Hobart, 2005); Richard Davis, ‘ “Unfit to die”: Irish murderesses as Van Diemen’s land colonists’, in Trevor McClaughlin (ed.), Irish Women in Colonial Australia (Sydney, 1998), pp. 22–42; Joan Kavanagh, ‘The case of Eliza Davis’, Tasmanian Ancestry, xvii (1996), 101–6; Joan Kavanagh, ‘From Mullinacuffe to Emu Bay: Eliza Davis revisited’, Wicklow Historical Society, ii: 2 (1996), 2–8. For discussion of cases of infanticide by Irish emigrants, see Trudy Mae Cowley, ‘Mary Sullivan, murderer’, in Trudy Mae Cowley (ed.), Convict Lives: Women at Cascades Female Factory (Hobart, 2009), pp. 157–60; Trevor McClaughlin, ‘The quality of mercy: Irish women and infanticide in colonial Australia’, Familia, xvii (2001), 35–44; John Williams, ‘Irish female convicts and Tasmania’, Labour History, xliv: 2 (1983), 1–17. 20 Diarmaid Ferriter, The Transformation of Ireland (London, 2004), pp. 322–3; Rosemary Cullen Owens, A Social History of Women in Ireland, 1870–1970 (Dublin, 2005), pp. 175–6.

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21 Diarmaid Ferriter, Occasions of Sin: Sex and Society in Modern Ireland (London, 2009), pp. 57–9, 120–7; Moira J. Maguire, Precarious Childhood in Post-Independence Ireland (Manchester, 2009); Pauline Prior, ‘Women, mental disorder and crime in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in Anne Byrne and Madeleine Leonard (eds), Women and Irish Society: A Sociological Reader (Belfast, 1997), pp. 218–32; Pauline Prior, ‘Mad, not bad: crime, mental disorder and gender in nineteenth-century Ireland’, History of Psychiatry, viii (1997), 501–16; Pauline Prior, ‘Murder and madness: gender and the insanity defence in nineteenth-century Ireland’, New Hibernia Review, ix: 4 (2005), 19–36; Pauline Prior, ‘Roasting a man alive: the case of Mary Reilly, criminal lunatic’, Éire-Ireland, xli: 1 (2006), 169–91; Pauline Prior, Madness and Murder: Gender, Crime and Mental Disorder in Nineteenth-Century Ireland (Dublin, 2008); Louise Ryan, Gender, Identity and the Irish Press, 1922–1937: Embodying the Nation (New York, 2001); Ryan, ‘The press, police and prosecution’, pp. 137–51; Louise Ryan, ‘Irish newspaper representations of women, migration and pregnancy outside marriage in the 1930s’, in María Cinta Ramblado-Minero and Auxiliadora Pérez-Vides (eds), Single Motherhood in Twentieth-Century Ireland: Cultural, Historical, and Social Essays (Lewistown, 2006), pp. 103–22; Oonagh Walsh, ‘ “A lightness of mind”: gender and insanity in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in Margaret Kelleher and James H. Murphy (eds), Gender Perspectives in Nineteenth-Century Ireland: Public and Private Spheres (Dublin, 1997), pp. 159–67; Oonagh Walsh, ‘Gender and insanity in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in Jonathan Andrews and Anne Digby (eds), Sex and Seclusion, Class and Custody: Perspectives on Gender and Class in the History of British and Irish Psychiatry (New York, 2004), pp. 69–93. 22 Kelly, ‘Infanticide in eighteenth-century Ireland’, p. 5. 23 Michelle McGoff-McCann, Melancholy Madness: A Coroner’s Casebook (Cork, 2003); Brian Ó Mórdha, ‘The Great Famine in Monaghan: a coroner’s account’, Clogher Record, iv (1960–1), 29–41; Pilip Ó Mórdha, ‘Summary of inquests held on Currin, County Monaghan victims, 1846–55’, Clogher Record, xv (1995), 90–100. 24 Anne O’Connor, ‘Women in Irish folklore: the testimony regarding illegitimacy, abortion and infanticide’, in Margaret MacCurtain and Mary O’Dowd (eds), Women in Early Modern Ireland (Edinburgh, 1991), pp. 304–17; Anne O’Connor, Child Murderess and Dead Child Traditions: A Comparative Study (Helsinki, 1991); Anne O’Connor, ‘Infants killed before baptism haunt mother: perspectives on a legend type absent in Ireland’, Béaloideas, lix (1991), 55–66; Anne O’Connor, ‘ “Petticoat Loose” traditions in Ireland’, Béaloideas, lxx (2002), 51–82; Anne O’Connor, The Blessed and the Damned: Sinful Women and Unbaptised Children in Irish Folklore (Bern, 2005); Anne O’Connor, ‘Representations of unmarried mothers in Irish

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folklore’, in Ramblado-Minero and Pérez-Vides (eds), Single Motherhood, pp. 49–61; Anne O’Connor, ‘Beyond cradle and grave: Irish folklore about the spirits of unbaptized infants and the spirits of women who murdered babies’, in Elaine Farrell (ed.), ‘She Said She was in the Family Way’: Pregnancy and Infancy in Modern Ireland (London, 2012), pp. 223–38. 25 Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I Do?’

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1 ‘A melancholy thing’:1 an overview

On 27 December 1898, Sergeant John Griffin found the body of a dead infant in a drain on John Meehan’s land in County Leitrim. The baby girl was naked and the condition of the body suggested that she had been murdered. According to the sergeant, Meehan ‘became upset and annoyed’ when he heard about the discovery.2 John Meehan’s daughter, Mary, subsequently admitted that she had given birth to the infant two days earlier but insisted that the baby ‘never spoke. I buried it in the garden. I then commenced to shiver and I thought I would die.’3 The suspected infant murder discovered in County Leitrim was one of a sample of 4,645 suspected cases of attempted infanticide, infant murder or concealment of birth that came to public attention in the period 1850 to 1900. This chapter provides a general overview of the crime of infanticide. It assesses rates of infant murder and concealment of birth in post-Famine Ireland, and outlines the extent to which Mary Meehan was a ‘typical’ suspect.

‘Infanticide was a crime happily rare in Ireland’:4 the numbers V. A. C. Gatrell and T. B. Hadden have highlighted that the difference between real and reported crime figures is dictated by the characteristics of the individual crime.5 The incidental manner in which many infant bodies were discovered suggests that the so-called ‘dark’ or hidden figure of infanticide could be significant. In 1867, the Dublin-based Medical Press and Circular asked: for one woman who is thus brought before the legal tribunals for the murder of her infant, how many are there who entirely escape, and

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a most diabolical deed whose crime is suspected by none, the murdered offspring having been so successfully removed by the ingenuity of the mother or her accomplices that the relationship between the victim and the murderess remains for ever concealed?6

In spite of an in-depth examination of a vast array of surviving archival sources, extensive research of newspaper reports and analysis of tabulated data, this question must remain unanswered for several reasons. Firstly, nobody could report the disappearance of an infant they did not know had been born. Layers of clothing and common medical complaints could help to conceal or explain a woman’s burgeoning shape. Those who knew of the baby’s existence were often involved in the murder or concealment of birth. Secondly, a baby’s body is small and thus easy to hide. Thirdly, the body of an infant decomposes relatively quickly. A deposited body could have decomposed beyond identification before discovery. Fourthly, some detected cases may not have been reported to the authorities because contemporaries did not wish to get involved in what was regarded as a private family matter. In addition, high infant mortality meant that the death of an infant was not an uncommon occurrence. Newspaper evidence and coroners’ court reports document that children died not only from illness and disease, but also as a consequence of fire, drowning, suffocation or poisoning, all of which could be deliberately caused but nevertheless classed as accidental. A mother might be deemed negligent, at worst, for leaving her child unattended despite having carefully orchestrated the event. While it cannot be assumed that most accidental deaths were calculated murders, it is reasonable to propose that some women escaped detection through their ability to feign innocence. Elsewhere in Britain, undetected cases of infanticide were also judged to be considerable. Writing in 1866, physician Andrew Wynter acknowledged that ‘Dr. Lankester assumes that where one murdered little one is brought to light another is successfully hidden for ever; and this estimate we should think rather under than over the mark’.7 The 4,645 cases on which this book is based include attempted infanticide, infant murder, concealment of birth cases, desertion cases that resulted in a loss of life, and murder cases that were subsequently reduced to charges of manslaughter in the courts; thus the total figure is larger than the official numbers returned in post-Famine Ireland. This

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an overview15

figure also includes cases in which the mother who killed or concealed the birth of her infant died as a consequence of giving birth or by suicide. These instances were generally not recorded in police or prison records because no criminal investigation ensued. Three separate statistical sources, namely the Irish Crimes Records Return of Outrages, the Dublin Metropolitan Police returns and the Judicial Statistics of Ireland published as parliamentary papers, record the number of criminal offences reported from 1844 to 1893, 1838 to 1919 and from 1863 respectively.8 The Return of Outrages were printed reports compiled by the constabulary, which recorded the number of crimes committed in each county per annum. Extracts from these reports were occasionally published as parliamentary papers. The Return of Outrages reported 2,501 cases of infanticide in the forty-four years between 1850 and 1893. This figure indicates an average of almost fifty-seven cases per year, although statistics fluctuated significantly from a high of 138 in 1853 to a low of fourteen in 1892. The Return of Outrages did not include crimes detected in the Dublin Metropolitan Police (DMP) district. The second series of crime reports, the DMP statistical returns, focused exclusively on offences committed in the DMP district and were printed on an annual basis in separate volumes from 1838 to 1919. After 1893, the DMP returns were published annually as parliamentary papers. The tabulated information contained in the DMP reports included ‘murder of infants’ and ‘concealment of birth’ categories. After 1865, the ‘murder of infants’ category was replaced by the ‘murder of infants under one year’. Ninety-six infant murders were brought to the attention of the DMP from 1850 to 1900.9 On average, therefore, two infant murders were reported per annum in the DMP district during this period. The third series of relevant crime figures, the Judicial Statistics of Ireland, were published annually as parliamentary papers from 1863, compiled from statistics supplied by the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) and DMP.10 The statistical tables contained therein tallied crimes reported in all thirty-two counties. After 1865, the returns incorporated a distinct category of ‘murder of infants aged less than one year’. Prior to this, reports had included a ‘murder (including infanticide)’ category. The Judicial Statistics of Ireland recorded 849 infant murders from 1865 to 1900, an average of 23.6 cases per annum.

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It is problematic for a quantitative analysis that the figures returned by the Return of Outrages and the DMP reports do not correspond with the Judicial Statistics of Ireland for the years for which they overlap. Between 1865 and 1893, the Return of Outrages reported 1,072 incidents of infanticide. Additionally, forty-two murders of infants aged less than one year were recorded by the DMP statistics. In the same period, the Judicial Statistics of Ireland recorded 712 murders of infant aged less than twelve months, despite the fact that it included crimes detected in the RIC and the DMP districts. The fact that the figures do not coincide is perhaps not particularly surprising. Helen Burke noted in her research on the nineteenth-century South Dublin Union that the numbers admitted to the workhouse or born in the institution do not exactly match the official figures recorded in annual reports.11 S. J. Connolly, Maria Luddy and W. E. Vaughan have also noted that statistical evidence gleaned from the Return of Outrages and the DMP reports, and the Judicial Statistics of Ireland, do not correspond for crimes other than infant murder.12 The significant discrepancy in the infanticide figures, however, demands attention. It is possible that some cases of infanticide were not recorded in the statistics. Richard McMahon observed that police statistics did not include every homicide case and attributed this to inefficiency within the police force.13 It is also likely that cases of infant murder were recorded in other categories. Unfortunately, the Return of Outrages, the DMP statistics and the Judicial Statistics of Ireland did not separate crimes of manslaughter against children and those against adults. The manslaughter category undoubtedly absorbed some infanticide cases. Several instances of apparent infanticide were also returned in the general ‘homicide’ or ‘murder’ categories. The murder of one-yearold Eliza Drennan in 1885 by her mother, for example, was excluded from the ‘infanticide’ category, as was the death of seven-day-old John Roach, who was neglected by his parents.14 The main reason for the inconsistent figures, however, derives from the fact that the term ‘infanticide’ was not defined by law, but was loosely used in nineteenthcentury Ireland to describe the murder of an infant. While the Return of Outrages documented the number of ‘infanticide’ cases reported on an annual basis, the DMP statistics recorded the ‘murder of infants’ (and later the ‘murder of infants under one year’).15 After 1865, the Judicial

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an overview17

Statistics of Ireland similarly recorded the number of ‘murders of infants aged less than one year’. The concealment of birth figures gleaned from the Return of Outrages, the DMP statistics and the Judicial Statistics of Ireland for the years for which they overlap reveal a discrepancy that is significantly less than that perceived in the infant murder statistics. The Return of Outrages recorded 1,160 cases of concealment of birth between 1863 and 1893. The DMP statistics documented an additional fifty-six concealment of birth cases in the Dublin district. The Judicial Statistics of Ireland registered 1,195 cases of concealment of birth in the same period. The inconsistency of only twenty-one cases for the clearly defined offence of concealment of birth is relatively minimal. In 1862, after an inquest on a dead baby found in suspicious circumstances, Belfast coroner James Kennedy Jackson informed his jury that ‘such occurrences as the one they had met that day to investigate seldom, he was happy to say, took place in Ireland; but were more frequent in London’.16 The Irish Times commented in 1868 that, in Ireland, ‘infanticide is almost unknown. The Irish mother braves poverty, hunger, even shame, to defend her child.’17 In 1875, it was noted that it was ‘a noticeable feature that the crime of infanticide, always an uncommon one in Ireland, is daily becoming rarer’.18 The assumed low infant murder rate was attributed to the stigma attached to illegitimacy in Irish society. The Attorney-General commented on the crime of infanticide in his responses to the Capital Punishment Commission in March 1865: The crime of infanticide is not very frequent in Ireland, is it? – It is not at all frequent … Can you give any reason for its being less frequent in Ireland than in this country [England]? – I rather think that the number of illegitimate births, in proportion to the population, is greater in England than in Ireland. You think that the women are chaster in Ireland than in England? – Yes … The feeling of shame would be very great there at an unmarried woman having a child? – Yes.19

A witness from Cork summoned to give evidence in a case of infanticide committed by another Irish woman in Wales attested that among ‘Irish girls illegitimacy was looked upon more seriously than was the case in this country [Wales]’.20

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Some contemporary historians have also taken the view that infant murder in Ireland was a rare occurrence. Sauer noted that there ‘was unanimous agreement that infanticide and abortion were rare in Ireland … and even Irish migrants to England rarely resorted to such practices, even though they suffered from some of the worst living conditions in the nation’.21 Like his predecessors in the nineteenth century, Sauer attributed this perceived infrequency of infanticide in Ireland to the belief that ‘Irish girls rarely broke taboos forbidding non-marital sex’.22 Dympna McLoughlin, however, has compared rates of infanticide in Ireland to elsewhere in Europe. She calculated that in 1868, there was a higher rate of infanticide per capita in Ireland than in either France or Belgium.23 According to the figures published in the Judicial Statistics of Ireland, the infant murder rate in Ireland surpassed the reported rate in England in 1867, 1869, 1878, 1879, 1880 and 1881.24 These findings suggest that infanticide was not consistently more uncommon in Ireland than in Britain. R. S. Rose confirmed from his comparative statistical analysis that while inhabitants of the twenty-six counties of Ireland have: traditionally rejected the idea, using the euphuism, of killing their babies before they were born, they have on the other hand killed and discarded them after they were born more often than the English and Welsh, Northern Irish or Scotch.25

Those who compiled the nineteenth-century statistics attributed the excess of offences against infants in Ireland to the existence of different paternity laws operating on the two islands.26 The annual figures recorded in the parliamentary Judicial Statistics of Ireland reveal that 36.3 per cent of the infant murder and concealment of birth cases reported from 1865 to 1900 occurred in the province of Ulster, 28.9 per cent of these cases took place in Leinster, while 25.1 per cent of cases were recorded in Munster. Only 9.7 per cent of reported cases came to the attention of authorities in Connacht. V. A. C. Gatrell and T. B. Hadden have warned of the difficulties inherent in a regional analysis of crime figures. Border towns may have recorded figures that were more in line with neighbouring counties than the county in which they were situated, but the nature of the statistics means that the county

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an overview19

is the smallest area that can be compared. Some villages or towns with particularly high or low reported incidences of infant murder may also have been absorbed into the district as a whole.27 Figure 1.1 illustrates the reported rate of infant murder and concealment of birth (as recorded by the Judicial Statistics of Ireland) per 100,000 population in each county from 1865 to 1900.28 Rates varied from 21.5 reported cases in Mayo to eighty-two instances in Kildare per 100,000 population. This geographical distribution does not mirror general murder patterns.29 In his study of infanticide in Imperial Germany, Jeffrey Richter found that crime rates were highest in poor, ‘backward’ areas.30 The west of Ireland was generally perceived as the poorest district of Ireland. Counties along the western seaboard, namely Clare, Donegal, Galway, Kerry, Leitrim, Mayo and Sligo, however, had the lowest reported rates of infanticide and concealment of birth from 1865 to 1900. S. J. Connolly has suggested that traditional values and family ties were strongest in the west of Ireland.31 The western counties were generally believed to have the lowest numbers of illegitimate births per population.32 Those in the west also married at an earlier age than those residing in the east of the country.33 Between 1841 and 1871, Clare, Galway, Kerry, Leitrim, Mayo, Roscommon and Sligo had the highest marriage rates in Ireland,34 precisely the counties that returned the lowest reported rates of infant murder and concealment of birth. Early and frequent marriages may have lessened the need for infanticide by unmarried parents. The five counties that reported the highest rates of infant murder and concealment of birth, namely Carlow, Kildare, Laois, Waterford and Wicklow, are located in the south-east quarter of the country. Joanna Bourke explained that south-midland counties had more women in the paid labour force than counties on the west coast of the country.35 This may have rendered women working in these counties more liable to pregnancy outside wedlock than their counterparts in the west of Ireland. Counties in the east also produced domestic servants for the capital. As explained below, unmarried domestic servants were often dismissed from their places of employment when they became noticeably pregnant. These women may have been forced to return to their home counties to give birth and subsequently chose to murder or conceal the births of their offspring.

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Figure 1.1  Infant murder and concealment of birth offences per 100,000 population Source:  Judicial Statistics of Ireland, 1865–1900

Since official figures record only those crimes that were detected, it could also be speculated that women in the rural west were better able to conceal their pregnancies and births than women in more populated areas. Families in a locality that condemned illegitimacy and emphasised family reputation could have been keen to shield a relative who became pregnant outside marriage. Assistance undoubtedly reduced the risk of detection. In addition, counties were not uniformly policed.36 Infanticide, therefore, might not have been less frequent in the western counties but might have been somewhat less frequently reported than in the south-west of the country. The sources reveal that suspected infanticide and concealment of birth cases came to the attention of the authorities on a weekly basis. The Return of Outrages reveal a decrease in the number of reported cases of infanticide and concealment of birth in Ireland from 1850 to 1893, as illustrated by Figure 1.2. Although fluctuating crime statistics are not necessarily indicative of a decrease in the number of committals, it seems likely in this case that infant murder crimes became less common as the century progressed. General murder rates also decreased during the latter half of the nineteenth century. The Judicial Statistics of Ireland reported a decrease in the number of detected murders from twenty-two in 1865 to ten in 1900.

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an overview21

Figure 1.2  Infanticide/infant murder and concealment of birth offences Source:  Irish Crimes Record, Return of Outrages and DMP statistics, 1850–93

Demographic developments undoubtedly had an impact on official crime statistics. In 1851, Ireland boasted a population of 6,552,385. A decade later, the population had declined to 5,798,967.37 Birth rates decreased from 136,414 in 1864 to 101,459 in 1900, a fall of 1.5 births per 1,000 population.38 The population decrease does not entirely explain the decline in infanticide practices. Historians outside Ireland similarly noticed that infanticide became less common towards the end of the nineteenth century. It is unlikely that the fear of harsh punishment curbed the crime. Many women were clearly not aware that the punishment for infant murder, like all murder crimes, was the death penalty. Forty-five years after the cessation of female transportation, infanticide suspect Mary Scully asked the arresting officer: ‘What will become of me? Will I be transported?’39 Nicholas Woodward has similarly dismissed the possibility that the punishment for infanticide informed the decline in Welsh cases, insisting that ‘if anything, the potency of the law as a deterrent declined.’40 Mary Beth Emmerichs suggested that the decline in cases of infanticide and concealment of birth in nineteenth-century England could be attributed to the dissemination of knowledge about artificial contraception and an increased use of abortifacients.41 Edward Shorter observed

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that information on birth control finally reached the European masses in the later years of the nineteenth century. He asserted that having become ‘armed with knowledge of exactly how to curb their reproductive capacity, these women proceeded to sever the connection between intercourse and conception’.42 An increased knowledge of contraceptive techniques could explain the decrease in reported cases of infant murder and concealment of birth because women would not have had to resort to such practices to avoid motherhood. There is, however, little concrete evidence to indicate that married or single Irish women became ‘armed’ in this manner in the post-Famine years. In fact, Ian O’Donnell has argued that the decline in infanticide practices preceded the widespread use of contraception in Ireland.43 The low number of reported abortions in the latter half of the nineteenth century similarly suggests that Irish women did not replace infant murder with abortions to rid themselves of unwanted offspring. Likewise, women do not appear to have increasingly abandoned or deserted infants. The Return of Outrages recorded a 90.9 per cent decrease in reported desertion cases from 154 in 1850 to fourteen in 1893. Decreasing rates of infant murder and concealment of birth seem to indicate, as O’Donnell suggests, a shift in sexual practices and ‘a reduction in the conduct likely to lead to illegitimacy’ towards the end of the nineteenth century.44 General improvements in standards of living also meant that families were in a better economic position to cope with the arrival of a new baby. Improved living conditions and medical advancements reduced infant mortality and decreased the likelihood of death in infancy.45 As O’Donnell argued, growing ‘concern for children accompanied increasing wealth … When survival is more predictable, the loss of life comes as a greater shock.’46 The establishment of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children in Ireland also served to emphasise the importance of an infant’s life.47 In January 1890, the Freeman’s Journal commented that ‘the whole country was at long last being interested in the great mortality among infants, and was doing something for the protection of their lives’.48 Changing attitudes to child welfare and appreciation for the life of each individual infant may have meant that the mother who found herself with an unwanted baby was less likely to resort to infanticide than her earlier counterpart. James Donovan perceived that as the

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an overview23

century progressed, middle-class judges and jurors in France continued to treat women accused of infant murder sympathetically. He suggested that this illustrates that ‘the old indifference towards infant life had not entirely disappeared’.49 The increased value placed on the life of a child, however, served only to emphasise the desperation of the woman who committed the offence. Therefore, although the loss of a baby’s life was regrettable, the mother continued to be regarded as deserving of pity rather than the ultimate penalty of death.

‘One would have thought that a woman’s heart would have recoiled from such an act’:50 profile of the suspect Mary Meehan, whose case was described in the introduction to this chapter, was, in many respects, a ‘typical’ suspect. She was twenty-six years of age, the average age of infant murder and concealment of birth suspects during this period. This figure reflects trends observed outside Ireland. Lynn Abrams and Tim Siddons also calculated that the average age of suspects of newborn child murder in Shetland from 1699 to 1920 and in Scotland from 1812 to 1930 respectively was twenty-six years.51 In nineteenth-century Wales, infanticide suspects were, typically, twentyseven years of age.52 In south-west Germany in the early modern period, the mean age was twenty-five years.53 Jonathan Dalby has observed that the average age of the ninety-seven persons brought to trial for the crime of infanticide in the Cantal in France was 27.6 years.54 As Jennifer Redmond has argued in her study of unmarried motherhood in twentieth-century Ireland, the statistics suggest that women who found themselves pregnant outside wedlock were ‘not as young as was suggested in contemporary discourses on the immorality and vulnerability of young girls’.55 More than 82 per cent of suspects apprehended for infant murder or concealment of birth, including Mary Meehan, were Roman Catholic. Since the average Catholic population between 1861 and 1901 was 76.1 per cent, as recorded in the censuses of Ireland,56 Roman Catholics appear to have been somewhat overrepresented in the sample. In Imperial Germany too, Catholic women dominated infanticide and infant abandonment statistics, which could, as Richter argues, reflect ‘the

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influence of Catholicism or the relative impoverishment and distinctive occupational structure of the Catholic population’.57 The attitude of the Catholic Church towards abortion, which rendered the subject taboo, may have meant that Catholic women were more likely to carry their unwanted infants to full term in the hope that their pregnancies would result in miscarriages or stillbirths than they were to arrange professional abortions. Catholic teaching on the subject may also have hindered the establishment of informal abortion networks among Catholic women.58 There is little surviving evidence to suggest that Catholic authorities were particularly anxious about the number of infant murder or concealment of birth cases discovered in Ireland. An article published in the Dublin Review in 1858 argued that the ‘Catholic clergy do not denounce the crime [of infanticide] from the pulpit, because, thank God for His mercy, it is little known amongst the Catholic body’.59 Ordained men, in general, appear to have been more concerned about proselytising than infant murder. Moira Maguire similarly suggested that Irish twentiethcentury church leaders ‘were more concerned with the souls of living children than with the fate of illegitimate newborns who might die at the hands of their own mothers’.60 The infant’s religious denomination was also a concern for some parents. Several abandoned infants were discovered with details of their baptisms or their denominations pinned to their clothing. In 1854, a deserted infant was found with a note ‘written in a good hand’ sewed into the waist of his petticoat. The note explained that the ‘child, John Collum, is a Roman Catholic’.61 In September 1885, a week-old male infant was found at the door of a house in Ballard, near Newry. A noted pinned to his clothing explained that the infant ‘was christened at the Catholic Chapel. His name is Patrick.’62 It is not clear from the court depositions if Mary Meehan could read or write. While 52.8 per cent of women suspected of concealment of birth between 1850 and 1862 could neither read nor write, improvements in the provision of education in Ireland meant that infanticide suspects in the later decades of the nineteenth century were generally literate.63 Overall, two-thirds of the suspects for whom data was recorded were literate. As in Mary Meehan’s case, the vast majority of victims of infant murder or concealment of birth were newborn babies. Almost 80 per cent of babies whose ages were recorded in the sources were newborn

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an overview25

or were thought to be less than forty-eight hours old at the time of death. This is somewhat unsurprising given that the charge of concealment of birth related exclusively to newborn babies. 10.4 per cent of infants were between two days and one month old, 8 per cent were aged between one month and one year, while 2.2 per cent were less than three years of age at the time of death.64 The sex of the child, as elsewhere in the Western world, does not appear to have influenced the likelihood of infant murder or concealment of birth in post-Famine Ireland.65 A difference of less than 1 per cent separates the number of known male and female victims during this period. Bergstrom and Johnston have similarly argued that male and female babies in Imperial Germany ‘shared a nearly equal chance of being murdered’.66 Inquest reports document that infants in post-Famine Ireland died as a result of suffocation, strangulation, drowning, exposure, poisoning, violent abuse, burning, or neglect at birth as a result of starvation or haemorrhage due to the umbilical cord having been left untied. Mary Meehan’s baby was thought to have died as a result of asphyxia, as in the majority of suspected infant murder cases. Less than 5 per cent of known deaths were caused by direct violence resulting in loss of blood and subsequent death. This is similar to trends perceived by James Kelly in eighteenth-century Ireland and Nicholas Woodward in nineteenthcentury Wales.67 In contrast, Anne-Marie Kilday found that Scottish infanticide cases detected between 1750 and 1815 were decidedly more brutal and generally bloody.68 Mary Meehan’s baby, like many victims of infant murder or concealment of birth, was discovered outdoors.69 The fields, bogs, waterways, ditches and mountains of Ireland provided ample space in which to hide the body of a dead baby. Tiny bodies also turned up on the streets, and in the yards and privies of urban Ireland. The privy was often the delivery area since it afforded the pregnant woman privacy.70 It may also have been chosen as the place to deposit an infant because the woman, who might have been psychologically in denial about her pregnancy, associated the expulsed body with waste matter and got rid of both in the same manner.71 Other infant bodies were concealed behind household objects, lodged in bed ticks or buried in earthen floors. It is probable that some temporary locations were chosen merely for their accessibility. Numerous sources also documented the discovery of babies’ bodies in

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public spaces such as railway stations and carriages, churches, and the premises of businesses and institutions. Mary Meehan’s case was also ‘typical’ because she was suspected of having caused the death or concealed the birth of an illegitimate infant. More than 84 per cent of babies whose status was recorded in the sources on which this book is based were born outside marriage or were classed as illegitimate. The illegitimate status of an infant was considered the principal motivating factor for infanticide and concealment of birth in nineteenth-century Ireland due to the perceived stigma attached to giving birth outside wedlock. A witness at an infant murder trial in Cork in 1880 recalled that she had accompanied the grandmother of the dead child to the local church in order to have him baptised. She walked on the opposite side of the road ‘as she did not like to be seen with this woman carrying an illegitimate child in her arms’.72 In 1890, a woman in Loughbrickland, County Down, who already had an illegitimate toddler, was suspected of having murdered her illegitimate newborn. Her mother was overheard complaining that her daughter ‘has disgraced us before, and she has done it again. What will our neighbours think of me now?’73 Suspects also confirmed that the stigma attached to illegitimacy played a role in their decision to murder or conceal the births of their offspring. In 1893, Bridget O’Donnell admitted that she ‘didn’t like to let my mother know of it. I was in dread of my mother. … I was so awfully in dread of my mother to know of it.’74 Another suspect confessed in 1899 that she ‘was in a hurry to throw it [the baby’s body] away as I was afraid my brother would come in and kill me.’75 In the same year, Jane Moore regretted that ‘only for the fear of my brothers the child would be living.’76 By killing her illegitimate infant, the unmarried suspect indicated a general acceptance of society’s views that sexual relations should take place only within marriage even though she herself had not acted within these constraints. Several other women in the latter half of the nineteenth century saw no alternative to single motherhood but to commit suicide. In 1873, Jane Tiernan made this choice after giving birth to an illegitimate infant. She allegedly asserted that she ‘would sooner face my God than face my father’.77 Illegitimacy was similarly thought to motivate infanticide outside Ireland.78 When asked for his thoughts on infanticide at the Capital Punishment Commission in November 1864, MP Spencer Horatio Walpole explained that the majority of such

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offences in the British and Irish Isles were ‘really done to escape the shame and disgrace, and if the mothers can do it within a week they do do it. I am not justifying the thing, I think that it is a very wicked act, but I believe it is done from that motive and not from malice.’79 Like Mary Meehan, more than 62 per cent of women accused of infanticide, whose marital status was recorded, were unmarried, while an additional 6.5 per cent were widowed. It is probable that some women who murdered or concealed the births of their infants had mistakenly anticipated that they would marry their infants’ fathers prior to the births. Mary Meehan asked the policeman who arrested her for the murder of her infant ‘if the father of the child could be compelled to marry her.’80 Indeed, a promise of marriage may have been the original incentive to commence the sexual relationship. In some cases, pregnancy spelled the end of a courtship. A man in County Down, who was later assaulted by his former partner, admitted that he ‘gave up keeping her company about six weeks ago in consequence of a remark she made to me viz that she had not had her natural monthly course’.81 The reputed father of a child could be sued for breach of promise of marriage if there was direct evidence that he had pledged marriage.82 A witness at an infant murder trial in 1898 admitted that she had discussed the father of the child with the accused woman, who ‘told me she was going to enter a law suit against him. I told her to speak soft to him and see what he was going to do.’83 Family, friends or local clergymen could also attempt to pressure a man into marriage with the mother of his infant. A putative father, however, may not have been able or willing to marry the mother of his illegitimate offspring. Bridget McDonough, called to testify at the trial of Margaret Joyce and Thomas Mahon in 1889, recalled that when she: was in Mahon’s house the day before Christmas I said to Margaret Joyce it was a shame she and Tom Mahon did not get married. She told me he was not willing to marry her or to give any money to Father Flannery for it. I said to her everyone was talking of it.84

Dowry negotiations and family finances could also play a significant role. In 1852, for example, a woman explained that the father of her illegitimate infant ‘wanted a fortune with me, but I had none’ and thus the

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couple did not marry.85 The highly mobile Irish community and postFamine emigration also likely influenced the circumstances of the case. Linda-May Ballard has drawn attention to the temporary and permanent separation of Irish couples compelled by poverty to seek work elsewhere.86 Margaret Ryan explained to the policeman who arrested her that she ‘had a little baby, what matter, but the father is gone to America’.87 The putative father may have migrated without realising that his partner was pregnant, and may never have found out that he had fathered a child. In the spring of 1894, Mary Doyle noticed that her lodger, Esther Cahill, was pregnant. Doyle recalled: ‘I spoke to my husband about it and he said she could not get it by herself.’88 As a result of the Poor Law Act 1838, however, a mother in Ireland was deemed to be fully responsible for her illegitimate infant.89 After 1863, the Board of Guardians could sue a putative father for maintenance of his illegitimate infant if the child was financially supported by the poor rates. Regardless of whether or not they received relief from the Board of Guardians, however, mothers could not independently seek financial support from the fathers of their children.90 Similarly, an Irish woman could not directly sue the father of her illegitimate infant for seduction or loss of earnings as a result of pregnancy or childbirth, but her father or her employer could bring the case to court on her behalf if the alleged intercourse had occurred on their premises. In 1897, Michael O’Brien charged the brother-in-law of his daughter’s employer with seduction, resulting in the birth of her illegitimate infant. The case, however, was dismissed on the grounds that the alleged intercourse had taken place at Alice O’Brien’s place of employment rather than at her home. In an article entitled ‘Action for seduction: strong remarks by the Recorder of Cork on Irish judges’, the Freeman’s Journal transcribed the Recorder’s opinion that ‘seduction seemed to be very much easier before Irish judges than before English judges’. He regretted that there ‘was not the same regard and protection for a girl’s character in this country by our judges as there was in England’.91 The difficulties in proving paternity at this time also impacted on the lives of single mothers. In 1895, Justice O’Brien confirmed that he ‘had tried many of these cases and he had rarely known instances where the defendant did not come up and swear point black that he never had connection with the woman’.92

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Less than 6 per cent of the 4,645 suspected cases of infant murder and concealment of birth referred to the putative father of the child and only 138 fathers of illegitimate babies were identified by name, place of residence, occupation, marital status or class status.93 Outside Ireland, putative fathers are also regularly absent from surviving infanticide sources.94 A woman may have opted not to name the father of her dead child because he was married or because the baby was the product of an incestuous relationship or rape.95 In general, however, putative fathers were not named in the court documents because the rules of evidence meant that only information that was directly relevant to the case was included in written testimonies.96 The father who was neither a witness nor a suspect, therefore, would not necessarily be mentioned in the written sources. In 1899, Constable James O’Neill deposed that he had heard a conversation between suspect Kate McGrath and her sister: ‘Mrs Healy said: “I suppose Flynn is the father of the child.” Defendant said: “He is”.’ This statement, however, was crossed out in the written version of O’Neill’s deposition because it was not regarded as relevant to the criminal case.97 Similarly, when Edward Dundon, master of the Limerick Workhouse, recounted a conversation that he had had with suspect Mary Mahon in August 1900 and mentioned the putative father of her child, this information was initially recorded in the court deposition but was subsequently scribbled out.98 On arrest, Mary Meehan identified the father of her deceased infant but his name was not recorded in any of the court testimonies. James Kelly has suggested that single women dominated eighteenthcentury Irish infanticide sources simply because crimes by married women went undetected: ‘Undernourishment, inadequate protection against the elements, suffocation and general neglect were ways open to every married woman to reduce her family size.’99 Constance Backhouse has similarly suggested that the married woman is absent from the sources because it was difficult to ascertain proof that she had deliberately caused the death of her offspring.100 A married woman who hid her pregnancy from her neighbours often had a husband to help her to conceal her condition and to dispose of the dead body. Alternatively, she could acknowledge her pregnancy and subsequent childbirth but later kill the child. The woman’s marital status and contemporary assumptions about infanticide meant that she could avoid suspicion. The Freeman’s

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Journal confirmed in 1867 that it ‘is generally supposed that illegitimate children are almost exclusively the victims of infanticide, but, though the proposition may be true, there are no means of testing it’.101 Almost one-third of women accused of infant murder or concealment of birth were listed in the sources as married, although it should not be assumed that the deceased infants belonged to their husbands or were conceived within marriage. Economic reasons also motivated infanticide; another mouth to feed could have a disastrous effect on a family barely making ends meet.102 A physically or mentally challenged child likewise represented a long-term drain on a family’s resources. Fragmentary evidence suggests that some family members, neighbours or midwives privately advocated selective infant murder. In 1857, an ‘extraordinary freak of nature’, namely the dead body of a deformed male newborn, was discovered in the River Lee.103 Another case came to light in Belfast in 1884 when a mother, father and grandmother were charged with the manslaughter of a deformed infant. The baby, born on Halloween night, had a spinal defect thought to have been caused when the mother fell out of a tram during her pregnancy. On arrest, the victim’s grandmother asked: ‘What could I do, sure the child was in a trance.’104 The solicitor-general remarked in court that ‘if a child was malformed as stated, or even twice as badly malformed, it would lead to the most terrible consequences in society if anyone were to be allowed to sit in judgment on its life’.105 It is probable that other infants were also killed because they displayed visible deformities.106 Older children were also at risk. Abnormal features or unusual behaviour such as a change in appetite, irritability or a failure to develop was regarded by some nineteenth-century Irish inhabitants as a sign that a child had been taken to the fairy world and a changeling left in her or his place.107 Suspected changelings were typically held over flames or beaten in order to expel the fairy that had possessed them. This could have fatal consequences, as in the infamous case of Bridget Cleary, a suspected adult changeling burnt to death by her family in Tipperary in 1895.108 Jeanne Cooper Foster found that the maltreatment of infants thought to be changelings in Ulster included being left outside at night, being placed on a hot griddle, or being branded with the symbol of a cross using a hot poker ‘to induce the fairies to come back and rescue their children, and to leave behind them the stolen infants’.109 Another

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supposed remedy, water from boiled foxglove, was given to a sickly sixyear-old girl in Tipperary who was assumed to be a changeling and had fatal consequences.110 Others tried to blame the fairies for the deaths of their infants. In 1852, Samuel Gilmore claimed that his seven-week-old illegitimate infant had been stolen from his house by the ‘wee folk’. It was later discovered that Gilmore had been instrumental in causing the death of his child.111 Mary Meehan was the daughter of a small farmer. Infanticide was generally regarded as a crime committed by the lower strata of Irish society. Women of this class generally had to work or engage in household activities outside the home. This may have rendered them vulnerable to rape or seduction, or provided them with regular opportunities to consummate relationships. Unsupervised women were thus more likely to become pregnant than their chaperoned upper- and middle-class counterparts.112 Almost 70 per cent of working women in the sample were described as domestic servants, while an additional 8 per cent of females were listed as farm servants or agricultural labourers. Women servants who worked away from home encountered male workers, neighbours and messengers on a daily basis. Male and female servants lived and worked in close quarters.113 In this ‘arena of heightened sexual temptation’, casual sexual relationships may have developed relatively quickly.114 The hiring of male farm-hands on a short-term, temporary basis in post-Famine Ireland also meant that a servant’s partner could have migrated by the time that she realised that she was pregnant. Some domestic servants also received unwanted attention from male residents and visitors to the house.115 In 1897, a judge regretted that: [w]ell it might be as well that this fiction of service should be made public, and that poor girls who went out to earn their bread should know that they might suffer the greatest injury that could be done a woman, and yet the seducer, whose victim she was, could escape with immunity from the consequences of his act.116

Fraser Harrison explained that in Victorian Britain, women servants ‘formed an integral component of every middle-class household, and they provided the would-be lecher with an ideal target, for they were

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vulnerable, permanently available and had, in a sense, already been paid for’.117 Diarmaid Ferriter has also found evidence to suggest that some domestic servants in Ireland became ‘legitimate targets for sexual abuse outside of the house’.118 It must be acknowledged, however, that some domestic servants willingly engaged in sexual relationships with their masters, their masters’ sons, or other male relatives or visitors.119 Servants also feature heavily in infanticide sources outside Ireland for several reasons.120 Domestic service was not generally compatible with single motherhood. It is also probable that a servant who committed infanticide or concealed a birth was more likely to get caught than her counterpart living at home. R. W. England has reached the same conclusion in his study of early nineteenth-century England, noting the possibility that ‘the old belief that infanticides were disproportionately committed by unmarried servant girls arose because other infanticides were more successfully concealed’.121 A domestic servant who sought to maintain the pretence that she was not pregnant had to hide changes to her body and any side effects of her condition. Layers of clothing and aprons could disguise a burgeoning bump,122 but as witness statements from employers and colleagues illustrate, the bodies of some pregnant domestic servants were being carefully monitored. In 1880, employer Annie Bell testified that she had asked her domestic servant if she was pregnant because she had noticed a change in her physical stature, ‘but she solemnly on oath denied.’123 In 1890, Eleanor Patterson similarly questioned her servant about her recent weight gain: ‘I asked the defendant was there anything wrong with her and she said thank God there was not. I said I was glad to hear it.’124 A Donegal employer admitted in 1900 that he suspected that his servant ‘was in the “family way”. I got my mother to speak to her on the subject about a week ago, and she denied that such was her condition.’125 A servant who successfully concealed her pregnancy also had to give birth unnoticed, and dispose of the evidence of her labour. As Ryan has argued in the context of infanticide in the Irish Free State, ‘the process of concealment and deception begun in pregnancy, reached its dangerous climax in the act of giving birth.’126 A servant’s absence for a few hours could be noticed by her employer, especially in a single-servant household. Some servants rested in bed with feigned symptoms before and after the childbirth. Eleanor Patterson, mentioned above, was

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awakened by a loud thump in her servant’s room on the night of 11 July 1890. She recalled that she: went to see if she was ill and found her on the floor sitting against the bed. She said there was nothing wrong with her but her head and she was so hot she got out to cool herself and would [be] all right in a few moments.127

In 1896, Julia Sheehan’s employer similarly remembered that she had ‘heard her complain that she was ill with a pain in her head. She said she did not want a doctor.’128 Fervent insistence by domestic servants that they did not require medical assistance ironically caused some suspicious employers to recognise the real cause of particular symptoms. In her study of infanticide in nineteenth-century England, Margaret Arnot observed that despite a woman having concealed her pregnancy, ‘the bloody aftermath … remained to silently accuse: stained bed linen; drops of blood on the stairs, in the kitchen, in the privy’.129 Servant quarters were not generally considered private and could be searched by a suspicious employer or co-worker. A watchful Cavan employer remembered that when she went into her domestic servant’s room in November 1892, she: turned up the bed, I saw what was not pleasing to me … There were blood marks on the bed. On account of the stains I thought Ellen Masterson had a birth but I could see nothing … She denied it. She said I was saying false to her.130

Some women dismissed blood marks, citing menstruation. In 1896, Ellen Gorman asked her co-servant why the floor of the bedroom that they shared in Cuckoohill, County Tipperary, was wet. Gorman recalled that Johanna Moloney ‘told me that thank God she was all right now, that she had got the changes’.131 Historian James Kelly considered that the disposal of the body of a dead infant was the most urgent challenge for single women who had successfully concealed their pregnancies. He judged that ‘for those with the opportunity, the most effective guarantee against discovery was for the mother to put as much distance as possible between herself and her

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dead child’.132 But some live-in servants, particularly in single-servant households, would have had little time to hide the bodies of their dead children. Those who encountered domestic servant Bridget Power on a daily basis admitted that they had not suspected that she had given birth until her co-worker found the tiny corpse. Her master admitted that he: did not from the time she entered my employment until my wife informed me that she had discovered that she had been delivered of a child notice anything about her appearance to arouse my suspicions that she was in the family way.133

His wife explained that her ‘attention was called to her [servant’s] appearance; I thought her rather peculiar looking of late for an unmarried girl, but I then thought that it was owing to her natural figure’.134 Minnie Hudson likewise realised that her domestic servant had given birth only when the body of the infant was discovered: I heard my little children on that day about 6 ¼ o’c[lock] in the evening run into her room. They were playing and shreeching [sic] there. I heard one of them calling: ‘Mother, mother there is a dead animal in the room.’135

Regardless of her occupation, the poverty-stricken woman who found herself pregnant or responsible for her infant had few means at her disposal. There were limited childcare options available to a mother who needed to earn a living during this period.136 By 1854, the foundling hospital for unwanted infants in Ireland had closed.137 Adoption was not legalised in Ireland until the Adoption Act 1952.138 Workhouses did not generally provide outdoor relief and mothers seeking jobs or engaged in work were not usually permitted to leave their children in the workhouse.139 The presiding judge at an infant murder trial in 1875 proffered his opinion ‘that if the system of requiring the detention of the parent in the workhouse with the child was relaxed, it would tend to lessen this crime of Infanticide’.140 Many women did not earn sufficient money to pay for adequate childcare or found it difficult to procure a childminder with a limited budget. In 1898, Anne Maher sought to leave her

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newly born illegitimate son with Ellen Smyly, who operated institutions for destitute children in Dublin.141 Smyly, however, would not accept the infant. The mother then brought her baby to another institution in Drumcondra but the child was again refused entry. A third attempt to secure a child nurse also failed, because the prospective minder, Mrs Duffy, was absent from her home. Maher’s son was later discovered dead in a manure pit near Duffy’s house.142 Professional child-minders, commonly known as baby-farmers, could also be employed to care for a child. Baby-farming facilitated those who desired paid employment; it offered a source of income for child-minders while simultaneously enabling parents to pool their limited resources to work outside the home.143 Overstretched resources, however, sometimes meant a low standard of care for infants. In his study of childcare practices in Belfast in the period 1890 to 1930, Jonathan Hamill stressed that a baby-farmer was most likely to be a last resort, ‘probably restricted to unmarried mothers, newly arrived rural immigrants without existing family connections in the city, and social outcasts such as casual prostitutes or members of the petty criminal class.’144 Those who opted to deposit their infants with a baby-farmer or child nurse may have been forced by their economic situations to choose the least costly option. Swain noted that in late nineteenth-century Victoria, Australia, women ‘without access to a male breadwinner had no choice but to part with their children in order to earn a living, creating a market for the practice that came to be described as baby farming’.145 Some women who used specific baby-farmers may have anticipated that the infant would receive a poor standard of care. Aeron Hunt asserted that during this period in England, ‘many felt that the babyfarmer’s stated business of providing care was simply a smokescreen, and that the real purpose was to “make a business of murdering illegitimate offsprings” by quite direct methods.’146 In Ireland, such practices appear to have occasionally taken place.147 In 1883, the decomposing corpses of four infants were discovered in a pool of stagnant water near Thomas Street in Limerick. It was assumed by those in the locality that the infants were ‘victims of baby-farming, and that the remains were only removed from their place of concealment to get rid of the offensive odour created by the decomposition, and which it was feared might lead to detection’.148

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It should not be assumed that only poverty-stricken women abandoned children, or committed infant murder or concealment of birth. In 1861, a writer for the Freeman’s Journal commented on the discovery of a baby on Marlborough Street in Dublin: The little creature is apparently about a week old, and judging from its dress her parents must be in easy circumstances, as the infant was elegantly dressed. She wore a muslin frock trimmed with lace, and a lace cap trimmed with white satin ribbon. The other clothing of the child was of a superior description.149

In 1868, the same newspaper, describing an infant murder case in Limerick, reported: ‘it is said the police expect to discover the mother of the illegitimate offspring, who is suspected to be above the middle class.’150 The clothes and swaddling found on an infant discovered in a Roman Catholic chapel in 1869 ‘showed plainly that its unnatural parent was not of the poorer classes’.151 As Maguire suggests in her study of twentieth-century Ireland, while some middle-class women would have experienced unwanted pregnancies: their families and communities had a greater stake in dealing privately and quietly which such “indiscretions” than did their working-class counterparts. They also had the financial resources to send their daughters abroad for the duration of their pregnancies or hide them away in private nursing homes in Ireland.152

In the nineteenth century, there is similar evidence that parents arranged for their pregnant unwed daughters to reside away from home until after the births of their infants.153 A woman with financial resources also had the funds to place a greater distance between herself and the dead infant. Additionally, her class status may have protected her from suspicion when the body of her infant was discovered in the locality.154 Mary Meehan was charged with infant murder alongside her brother Patrick. On being arrested, Patrick addressed his father: ‘Do you hear that father? She made evidence that I killed the child… . God, is the only man that knows who killed the child.’155 The majority of women accused of infanticide or concealment of birth, however, were brought

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to trial alone. Some women who had accomplices may have escaped detection precisely because they had assistance.156 Women accused of the crime often sought to refute claims that they had received assistance, perhaps in an effort to protect their accomplices. On arrest for infant murder in 1894, Leitrim suspect Bridget Keegan insisted that her ‘father knew nothing about it. There was no one present but myself.’157 In Kildare, Bridget Connolly similarly pleaded: ‘Sergeant, if you are taking me today sure you won’t take my mother. She knows nothing about it and there is no use of making a show of her along with me.’158 In this instance, as in the majority of these cases, the accused accomplice was the mother of the principal suspect. Fathers, partners, sisters and brothers, grandparents, sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law, aunts and uncles, cousins, friends, neighbours and co-workers of the pregnant woman also assisted with the crime. Occasionally employers were also accused of aiding with the murder or concealing the baby’s body. More than twice as many female accomplices as male accomplices were accused of aiding and abetting in infant murder or concealment of birth offences. Clíona Rattigan has similarly observed that female accomplices were more common than male assistants in the twentieth century.159

Conclusion The attempt to calculate the precise number of infant murders or concealments of birth that occurred in this period is thwarted by the secrecy that surrounded the crime. Annual statistical returns only include the number of offences reported to the police and do not record the number of crimes actually committed. Similarly, the ‘typical’ suspect may not necessarily be representative of those who committed the crime but rather those who were caught. Nonetheless, a study of the characteristics of those accused of infant murder and concealment of birth and the numerical figures is important for an understanding of the offence in post-Famine Ireland. The annual figures serve to illustrate that infant murder and concealment of birth occurred on a weekly basis in Ireland. If the surviving evidence reflects reality then the perpetrator was typically, but not exclusively, an unmarried woman in her mid-to-late twenties, Roman

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Catholic, of the poorer classes, and was employed or had recently worked as a servant. As the century progressed, young Irish women and likewise the majority of suspects were educated. As illustrated, the marital status, age, class and occupation of the Irish suspect rendered her similar to many women accused of the crime elsewhere in the Western world. In eighteenth-century England, suspects were usually unmarried female servants of the lower classes who acted alone and their victims were generally newly born babies.160 Backhouse similarly determined that the Canadian women apprehended for infanticide in the nineteenth century were typically young, single, working-class women who were often employed in domestic service.161 Suspects generally stood trial alone and, if accompanied, were aided more frequently by female relatives than male assistants. The sources did not regularly disclose details about the father of the infant or the sexual relationship that had led to the pregnancy. The mother was thus rendered fully responsible for her dead child. The vast majority of women committed the crime within forty-eight hours of the births. These women, it seems, never anticipated that they would rear their offspring. The following chapters will show that the women who fitted this profile, as well as those who did not, were on the whole treated leniently by post-Famine courts and the Irish penal system.

Notes 1 2

Clonmel Chronicle, 6 July 1898. NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1898–9 deposition of John Griffin, 9 January 1899. 3 Ibid., deposition of John Redington, 21 January 1899. 4 The Nation, 6 April 1872. 5 V. A. C. Gatrell and T. B. Hadden, ‘Criminal statistics and their interpretation’, in E. A. Wrigley (ed.), Nineteenth Century Society: Essays in the Use of Quantitative Methods for the Study of Social Data (Cambridge, 1972), p. 350. 6 ‘Infanticide’, Medical Press and Circular, iii (16 January 1867), 60. 7 Andrew Wynter, ‘Massacre of the innocents’, Fortnightly Review, iv (1866), 607. 8 Brian Griffin, Sources for the Study of Crime in Ireland (Dublin, 2005), p. 59; Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 23.

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9

This figure excludes returns for 1851 and 1854, which are currently missing from the National Library of Ireland (hereafter NLI). 10 Griffin, Sources for the Study of Crime, p. 59. 11 Helen Burke, The People and the Poor Law in Nineteenth-Century Ireland (Dublin, 1987), p. 71. 12 Connolly, ‘Unnatural death in four nations’, pp. 205–8; Maria Luddy, Prostitution and Irish Society, 1800–1940 (Cambridge, 2007), p. 18; Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 27. 13 Richard McMahon, ‘Homicide, the Courts and Popular Culture in Pre-Famine and Famine Ireland’ (PhD thesis, University College Dublin, 2006), p. 19. 14 NAI, CSO, ICR 3. 15 The 1863 figures counted the ‘murder of infants and attempts thereat’. 16 Belfast News-Letter, 24 March 1862. 17 Irish Times, 10 April 1868. 18 Freeman’s Journal, 15 May 1875. 19 Report of the Capital Punishment Commission; Together with the Minutes of Evidence and Appendix, 389 [3590], H.C. 1866, xxi, 441 (henceforth cited as Report of Capital Punishment Commission). 20 Western Mail, 2 June 1894. 21 R. Sauer, ‘Infanticide and abortion in nineteenth century Britain’, Population Studies, xxxii (1978), 89. 22 Ibid. 23 McLoughlin, ‘Infanticide’, p. 915. 24 Criminal and Judicial Statistics 1879, Ireland, 17 [C 2698], H.C. 1880, lxxvii, 267. 25 Rose, ‘An Outline of Fertility Control’, p. 239. 26 Criminal and Judicial Statistics 1878, Ireland, 18 [C 2389], H. C. 1878–9, lxxvi, 296. 27 Gatrell and Hadden, ‘Criminal statistics’, p. 358. 28 These figures are based on population averages from the 1861, 1871, 1881, 1891, and 1901 censuses, as recorded in W. E. Vaughan and A. J. Fitzpatrick (eds), Irish Historical Statistics: Population, 1821–1971 (Dublin, 1978). 29 Vaughan, Murder Trials, pp. 22–3. 30 Jeffrey S. Richter, ‘Infanticide, child abandonment, and abortion in Imperial Germany’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, xxviii (1998), 531–4. 31 S. J. Connolly, ‘Marriage in pre-Famine Ireland’, in Art Cosgrove (ed.), Marriage in Ireland (Dublin, 1985), p. 91. 32 Liam Kennedy and Paul Gray, ‘Famine, illegitimacy and the workhouse in Western Ireland: Kilrush, County Clare’, in Alysa Levene, Thomas Nutt and Samantha Williams (eds), Illegitimacy in Britain, 1700–1920 (New York, 2005), p. 123.

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33 David Fitzpatrick, ‘Marriage in post-Famine Ireland’ in Cosgrove (ed.), Marriage in Ireland, p. 119. 34 L. A. Clarkson, ‘Marriage and fertility in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in R. B. Outhwaite (ed.), Marriage and Society: Studies in the Social History of Marriage (London, 1981), p. 245. 35 Joanna Bourke, Husbandry to Housewifery: Women, Economic Change, and Housework in Ireland, 1890–1914 (Oxford, 1993), p. 28. 36 Donal J. O’Sullivan, The Irish Constabularies, 1822–1922: A Century of Policing in Ireland (Dingle, 1999), pp. 185–6. 37 Judicial Statistics 1866, Ireland, 26 [3930], H.C. 1867, lxci, 722. 38 Vaughan and Fitzpatrick, Irish Historical Statistics, pp. 244–5. 39 NAI, Crown files for County Roscommon, 1898–1900, deposition of William Hunter, 13 August 1898. 40 Nicholas Woodward, ‘Infanticide in Wales’, Welsh History Review, xxiii: 3 (2007), 125. 41 Mary Beth Wasserlein Emmerichs, ‘Trials of women for homicide in nineteenth-century England’, Women and Criminal Justice, v (1993), 108. 42 Edward Shorter, ‘Female emancipation, birth control and fertility in European history’, American Historical Review, lxxviii (1973), 612. 43 O’Donnell, ‘Unlawful killing’, p. 72. 44 Ian O’Donnell, ‘Lethal violence in Ireland, 1841 to 2003: famine, celibacy, and parental pacification’, British Journal of Criminology, xlv (2005), 686. 45 B. M. Browne and D. S. Johnson, ‘Infant mortality in inter-war Northern Ireland’, in Rosalind Mitchison and Peter Roebuck (eds), Economy and Society in Scotland and Ireland, 1500–1939 (Edinburgh, 1988), pp. 277–87. 46 O’Donnell, ‘Lethal violence in Ireland’, 690. 47 A Dublin office of the SPCC was established in 1889, followed in 1890 by branches in Belfast and Cork. See Maria Luddy, ‘The early years of the NSPCC in Ireland’, Éire-Ireland, xliv: 1&2 (2009), 62–90. See also Harry Ferguson, ‘Surviving Irish childhood: child protection and the death of children in child abuse cases in Ireland since 1884’, in Harry Ferguson, Robbie Gilligan and Ruth Torode (eds), Surviving Childhood Adversity: Issues for Policy and Practice (Dublin, 1993), pp. 15–6. 48 Freeman’s Journal, 23 January 1890. 49 James M. Donovan, ‘Infanticide and the juries in France, 1825 to 1913’, Journal of Family History, xvi: 2 (1991), p. 163. 50 Belfast News-Letter, 7 April 1862. 51 Lynn Abrams, ‘From demon to victim: the infanticidal mother in Shetland, 1699–1899’, in Yvonne Galloway Brown and Rona Ferguson (eds), Twisted Sisters: Women, Crime, and Deviance in Scotland Since 1400 (East Linton, 2002), p. 182; I am grateful to doctoral student Tim Siddons, University of Edinburgh, for this information.

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52 Woodward, ‘Infanticide in Wales’, 114. 53 Ulinka Rublack, The Crimes of Women in Early Modern Germany (Oxford, 1999), p. 163. 54 Jonathan Dalby, ‘Women and infanticide in nineteenth-century rural France’, in Verene Shepard, Bridget Brereton and Barbara Bailey (eds), Engendering History: Caribbean Women in Historical Perspective (New York, 1995), p. 338. 55 Jennifer Redmond, ‘In the family way and away from the family: examining the evidence in Irish unmarried mothers in Britain, 1920s–40s’, in Farrell (ed.), ‘She Said she was in the Family Way’, p. 176. See also Elaine Farrell, ‘“Infanticide of the ordinary character”: an overview of the crime in Ireland, 1850–1900’, Irish Economic and Social History (forthcoming). 56 Vaughan and Fitzpatrick, Irish Historical Statistics, p. 49. 57 Richter, ‘Infanticide, child abandonment, and abortion’, 527. 58 For a discussion of female networks in abortion cases in twentieth-century Northern Ireland, see Leanne McCormick, Regulating Sexuality: Women in Twentieth-Century Northern Ireland (Manchester, 2009), pp. 199–200. 59 ‘On some of the circumstances influencing the practice of exposure and child-murder in different ages’, Dublin Review, xlv: 89 (1858), 58. 60 Moira J. Maguire, ‘The Myth of Catholic Ireland: Unmarried Motherhood, Infanticide and Illegitimacy in the Twentieth Century’ (PhD thesis, American University, Washington DC, 2000), p. 103. See also Lindsey Earner-Byrne, Mother and Child: Maternity and Child Welfare in Dublin, 1922–60 (Manchester and New York, 2007), p. 76. 61 Freeman’s Journal, 25 January 1854. 62 Belfast News-Letter, 3 September 1885. 63 Tables showing the number of criminal offenders committed for trial or bailed for appearance at the assizes and sessions in each county and the result of the proceedings, 1850–1862; Donald H. Akenson, The Irish Education Experiment: The National System of Education in the Nineteenth Century (London, 1970), p. 276; David Fitzpatrick, ‘ “A share of the honeycomb”: education, emigration and Irish women’, in Mary E. Daly and David Dickson (eds), The Origins of Popular Literacy in Ireland: Language Change and Educational Development, 1700–1920 (Dublin, 1990), pp. 167–87; John Logan, ‘Sufficient to their needs: literacy and elementary schooling in the nineteenth century’, in Daly and Dickson (eds), The Origins of Popular Literacy, pp. 113–37. 64 Farrell, ‘ “Infanticide of the ordinary character” ’. 65 J. R. Dickinson and J. A. Sharpe, ‘Infanticide in early modern England: the court of great sessions at Chester, 1650–1800’, in Mark Jackson (ed.), Infanticide: Historical Perspectives on Child Murder and Concealment, 1550– 2000 (Aldershot, 2002), p. 49; Rachel G. Fuchs, ‘Legislation, poverty and child-abandonment in nineteenth-century Paris’, Journal of Interdisciplinary

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History, xviii: 1 (1987), 66; Rosemary Gartner, ‘Family structure, welfare spending, and child homicide in developed democracies’, Journal of Marriage and the Family, liii (1991), 231–40; David I. Kertzer, ‘Gender ideology and infant abandonment in nineteenth-century Italy’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, xxii: 1 (1991), 10; Malcolmson, ‘Infanticide in the eighteenth century’, p. 192. Woodward, however, has found that 44 per cent more female babies than male infants were murdered in Wales in the period 1730 to 1830 (Woodward, ‘Infanticide in Wales’, 116). 66 Randolph E. Bergstrom and Eric A. Johnson, ‘The female victim: homicide and women in Imperial Germany’, in John C. Fout (ed.), German Women in the Nineteenth Century: A Social History (New York and London, 1984), p. 359. 67 Kelly, ‘Infanticide in eighteenth-century Ireland’, 18; Woodward, ‘Infanticide in Wales’, 116. 68 Anne-Marie Kilday, Women and Violent Crime in Enlightenment Scotland (Woodbridge and Rochester, 2007), p. 69. 69 Ryan, Gender, Identity and the Irish Press, p. 263. 70 Kristin Ruggiero, ‘Honor, maternity, and the disciplining of women: infanticide in late nineteenth-century Buenos Aires’, Hispanic American Historical Review, lxxii (1992), 358. 71 Laura J. Miller, ‘Denial of pregnancy’, in Margaret G. Spinelli (ed.), Infanticide: Psychosocial and Legal Perspectives on Mothers who Kill (Washington DC, 2003), pp. 81–104. 72 Cork Examiner, 23 July 1880. 73 Belfast News-Letter, 15 December 1890. 74 NAI, Crown files for County Clare, 1892–3, deposition of James H. Brett, 14 March 1893. 75 NAI, Crown files for County Kerry, 1898–9, deposition of Archibald Clarke, 4 January 1899. 76 NAI, Crown files for County Donegal, 1998–9, deposition of Edward Magill, 3 July 1899. 77 Freeman’s Journal, 19 May 1873. 78 See also Constance B. Backhouse, ‘Desperate women and compassionate courts: infanticide in nineteenth-century Canada’, University of Toronto Law Journal, xxxiv (1984), 447–78; Ann Rowell Higginbotham, ‘ “Sin of the age”: infanticide and illegitimacy in Victorian London’, in Kristine Ottesen Garrigan (ed.), Victorian Scandals: Representations of Gender and Class (Athens, Ohio, 1992), pp. 257–88; Stephen Wilson, ‘Infanticide, child abandonment, and female honor in nineteenth-century Corsica’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, xxx (1988), 762–83. 79 Report of Capital Punishment Commission, 58 [3590], H.C. 1866, xxi, 110.

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80 NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1898–9, deposition of John Redington, 21 January 1899. 81 Public Record Office of Northern Ireland (hereafter PRONI), Crown files for County Down, Dow/1/2b/2, deposition of D. T., 5 November 1895. Inidividuals are identified by their initials in accordance with PRONI policies. 82 Maria Luddy, Matters of Deceit: Breach of Promise to Marry Cases in Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Limerick (Dublin, 2011). 83 PRONI, Crown files for County Antrim, Ant/1/2c/8/76, deposition of N. McG., 12 May 1898. 84 NAI, Crown files for County Galway, 1889, deposition of Bridget McDonough, 6 August 1889. 85 Belfast News-Letter, 23 July 1852. 86 Linda-May Ballard, Forgetting Frolic: Marriage Traditions in Ireland (Belfast, 1998), p. 129. 87 NAI, Crown files for County Tipperary, 1893, deposition of Joseph Samuel McDaniel, 23 November 1893. 88 NAI, Crown files for County Laois, 1890–4, statement of Mary Doyle, 13 June 1894. 89 Burke, The People and the Poor Law, p. 191. 90 ‘Report of a local committee as to the best means of diminishing vice and crime in Dublin’, Statistical and Social Inquiry Society of Ireland Journal, viii ( January 1882), 312–3. 91 Freeman’s Journal, 3 December 1897. 92 Sligo Champion, 16 March 1895. 93 Elaine Farrell, ‘ “The fellow said it was not harm and only tricks”: the role of the father in suspected cases of infanticide, 1850–1900’, Journal of Social History, xlv (2012), 990–1004. 94 Backhouse, ‘Desperate women and compassionate courts’, 458; Dalby, ‘Women and infanticide’, p. 350; Mark Jackson, New-Born Child Murder: Women, Illegitimacy and the Courts in Eighteenth-Century England (Manchester, 1996), p. 118; Deborah A. Symonds, ‘Reconstructing rural infanticide in eighteenthcentury Scotland’, Journal of Women’s History, x: 2 (1998), pp. 77–8. 95 For a discussion of incest in Ireland, see Sarah-Anne Buckley, ‘Family and power: incest in Ireland, 1880–1950’, in Ciara Breathnach, Liam Chambers, Catherine Lawless and Anthony McElligott (eds), Power in History: From Medieval Ireland to the Post-Modern World (Dublin, 2011), pp. 185–206. For rape in eighteenth-century Ireland, see James Kelly, ‘ “A most inhuman and barbarous piece of villainy”: an exploration of the crime of rape in eighteenthcentury Ireland’, Eighteenth-Century Ireland Society, x (1995), 78–107. 96 See Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 183.

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97 NAI, Crown files for County Waterford, 1899–1900, deposition of James O’Neill, 6 November 1899. 98 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1899–1900, deposition of Edward Dundon, 15 October 1900. 99 Kelly, ‘Infanticide in eighteenth-century Ireland’, 25. See also Dickinson and Sharpe, ‘Infanticide in early modern England’, p. 42. 100 Constance B. Backhouse, Petticoats and Prejudice: Women and Law in Nineteenth-Century Canada (Toronto, 1991), p. 126; Backhouse, ‘Desperate women and compassionate courts’, 457. 101 Freeman’s Journal, 28 November 1867. 102 McLoughlin, ‘Infanticide in nineteenth-century Ireland’, p. 917. 103 Freeman’s Journal, 11 May 1857. 104 Belfast News-Letter, 16 December 1884. 105 Morning News, 17 December 1884. 106 For eighteenth-century Ireland, see Kelly, ‘Infanticide in eighteenthcentury Ireland’, 11. For a discussion of the murder of an older child, see Kelly, ‘Folie á plusieurs’, 47–60. 107 Linda-May Ballard, ‘Fairies and the supernatural on Reachrai’, in Peter Narváez (ed.), The Good People: New Fairylore Essays (New York, 1991), pp. 47–93; Thomas Crofton Croker, Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland (London, 1870); Jeanne Cooper Foster, Ulster Folklore (Belfast, 1951); Diarmuid Ó Giolláin, ‘The fairy belief and official religion in Ireland’, in Narváez (ed.), The Good People, pp. 199–214; Padraic Ó Héalaí, ‘Pregnancy and childbirth in Blasket island tradition’, Women’s Studies Review, v (1997), 1–16. 108 Angela Bourke, The Burning of Bridget Cleary: A True Story (London, 1999); Joan Hoff and Marian Yeates, The Cooper’s Wife is Missing: The Trials of Bridget Cleary (New York, 2000); Richard P. Jenkins, ‘Witches and fairies: supernatural aggression and deviance among the Irish peasantry’, in Narváez (ed.), The Good People, pp. 321–3; Thomas McGrath, ‘Fairy faith and changelings: the burning of Bridget Cleary in 1895’, Studies, lxxxi (1982), 178–84; Ó Giolláin, ‘The fairy belief’, pp. 209–11. See also Josephine McDonagh, Child Murder and British Culture, 1720–1900 (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 189–90. 109 Foster, Ulster Folklore, p. 77. 110 Belfast News-Letter, 28 March 1851. 111 Belfast News-Letter, 23 July 1852. 112 Helena Wojtczak, Women of Victorian Sussex: Their Status, Occupations, and Dealings with the Law, 1830–1870 (Hastings, 2003), p. 31. 113 See also Jill Barber, ‘ “Stolen goods”: the sexual harassment of female servants in West Wales during the nineteenth century’, Rural History, iv (1993), 124–6; Regina Schulte, The Village in Court: Arson, Infanticide and

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Poaching in the Court Records of Upper Bavaria, 1848–1910 (Cambridge, 1994), p. 95. 114 Kelly, ‘Infanticide in eighteenth-century Ireland’, 9. 115 Liam Kennedy, ‘Bastardy and the Great Famine: Ireland, 1845–1850’, Continuity and Change, xiv (1999), 445. 116 Freeman’s Journal, 3 December 1897. 117 Fraser Harrison, The Dark Angel: Aspects of Victorian Sexuality (New York, 1977), p. 264. 118 Ferriter, Occasions of Sin, p. 81. See also Mona Hearn, Below Stairs: Domestic Service Remembered in Dublin and Beyond, 1889–1922 (Dublin, 1993), p. 98. 119 Chapter 4 includes a case study involving one such servant. 120 See, for example, Margaret L. Arnot, ‘Understanding women committing newborn child murder in Victorian England’, in Shani D’ Cruze (ed.), Everyday Violence in Britain, 1850–1950 (New York, 2000), pp. 58–60; Backhouse, ‘Desperate women and compassionate courts’, 457; Sandra Burman and Margaret Naude, ‘Bearing a bastard: the social consequences of illegitimacy in Cape Town, 1896–1939’, Journal of Southern African Studies, xvii (1991), 388; Dalby, ‘Women and infanticide’, pp. 337–68; Rachel G. Fuchs, Poor and Pregnant in Paris: Strategies for Survival in the Nineteenth Century (New Brunswick, 1992), p. 216; Elna C. Green, ‘Infanticide and infant abandonment in the New South: Richmond, Virginia, 1865–1915’, in Brigitte H. Bechtold and Donna Cooper Graves (eds), Killing Infants: Studies in the Worldwide Practice of Infanticide (Lewiston, 2006), pp. 76–7; Kilday, Women and Violent Crime, p. 73; Malcolmson, ‘Infanticide in the eighteenth century’, pp. 192–6; Lionel Rose, The Massacre of the Innocents: Infanticide in Britain 1800–1939 (London, 1986), pp. 19–20; Ruggiero, ‘Honor, maternity, and the disciplining of women’, 356; Kenneth H. Wheeler, ‘Infanticide in nineteenth century Ohio’, Journal of Social History, xiii (1997), 411–2. For twentieth-century Ireland, see Rattigan, ‘ “I thought from her appearance” ’, 142; Ryan, Gender, Identity and the Irish Press, pp. 269–70. 121 R. W. England, ‘Investigating homicide in Northern England, 1800–1824’, Criminal Justice History, vi (1985), 105–23, 119. 122 Backhouse, Petticoats and Prejudice, p. 114. 123 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862–1888, deposition of Annie Bell, 21 July 1880. 124 NAI, Crown files for County Carlow, 1888–1906, deposition of Eleanor (Ellen) Patterson, 21 July 1890. 125 NAI, Crown files for County Donegal, 1900–02, deposition of David Rankin, 15 May 1900. 126 Ryan, Gender, Identity and the Irish Press, pp. 254–5. 127 NAI, Crown files for County Carlow, 1888–1906, deposition of Eleanor (Ellen) Patterson, 14 July 1890.

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128 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1895–6, deposition of Patrick Walsh, 27 June 1896. 129 Margaret L. Arnot, ‘Gender in Focus: Infanticide in England, 1840–1880’ (PhD thesis, University of Essex, 1994), p. 14. 130 NAI, Crown files for County Cavan, 1893–4, deposition of Mary McCarron, 30 November 1892. 131 NAI, Crown files for County Tipperary, 1896, deposition of Ellen Gorman, 16 April 1896. 132 Kelly, ‘Infanticide in eighteenth-century Ireland’, 13. 133 Waterford Mail, 21 September 1900. 134 Ibid. 135 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1893–4, deposition of Minnie Hewson, 17 April 1894. 136 For a discussion of institutions for poor children during this period, see Maria Luddy, Women and Philanthropy in Nineteenth-Century Ireland (Cambridge, 1995), chapter 3. 137 Joseph Robins, The Lost Children: A Study of Charity Children in Ireland, 1700–1900 (Dublin, 1980), p. 59. 138 See Moire J. Maguire, ‘The Carrigan Committee and child sexual abuse in twentieth-century Ireland’, New Hibernia Review, xi: 2 (2006), 81–3; Mike Milotte, Banished Babies: The Secret History of Ireland’s Baby Export Business (Dublin, 1997). 139 For a discussion of childcare, see Virginia Crossman, ‘Cribbed, contained, and confined? The care of children under the Irish Poor Law, 1850–1920’, Éire-Ireland, xliv: 1 and 2 (2009), 37–61. 140 Kilkenny Journal, 14 July 1875. 141 Maria Luddy, ‘Philanthropy in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in Bourke et al., Field Day, p. 700; Luddy, Women and Philanthropy, pp. 81–2. 142 Belfast News-Letter, 12 October 1898; Freeman’s Journal, 12 October 1898. 143 David Bentley, ‘She butchers: baby-droppers, baby-sweaters and babyfarmers’, in Judith Rowbotham and Kim Stevenson (eds), Criminal Conversations: Victorian Crime, Social Panics, and Moral Outrage (Columbus, 2005), p. 206; Sherri Broder, ‘Child care or child neglect? Baby farming in late-nineteenth-century Philadelphia’, Gender and Society, ii: 2 (1988), 137. 144 Jonathan Hamill, ‘Childcare arrangements within the Belfast linen community, 1890–1930’, in Bernadette Whelan (ed.), Women and Paid Work in Ireland, 1500–1930 (Dublin, 2000), p. 127. 145 Shurlee Swain, ‘Toward a social geography of baby farming’, History of the Family, x: 2 (2005), 158. 146 Aeron Hunt, ‘Calculations and concealments: infanticide in midnineteenth century Britain’, Victorian Literature and Culture, xxxiv (2006), 79. See also Margaret L. Arnot, ‘Infant death, child care and the state: the

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baby-farming scandal and the first infant life protection legislation of 1872’, Continuity and Change, ix (1994), 271–311; Ruth Ellen Homrighaus, ‘Wolves in women’s clothing: baby-farming and the British Medical Journal, 1860– 1872’, Journal of Family History, xxvi (2001), 350–72; Rose, The Massacre of the Innocents, pp. 79–84, 93–114. 147 See also Sarah-Anne Buckley, ‘Found in a “dying” condition: nurse children in Ireland, 1872–1952’, in Farrell (ed.), ‘She Said She was in the Family Way’, pp. 145–62. 148 Sligo Chronicle, 28 July 1883. 149 Freeman’s Journal, 4 October 1861. 150 Freeman’s Journal, 13 April 1868. 151 Belfast News-Letter, 7 August 1869. 152 Maguire, Precarious Childhood, p. 212. 153 See for example, NAI, Coroners’ files for Dublin City, 1c 13 2, case of Sarah Stevens, December 1900. 154 Elaine Farrell, ‘ “A very immoral establishment”: the crime of infanticide and class status in Ireland, 1850–1900’, in Farrell (ed.), ‘She Said She was in the Family Way’, pp. 205–22. 155 NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1898–9, deposition of Thomas Higgins, 10 January 1899. 156 See also Rosemary Gartner and Bill McCarthy, ‘Killing one’s children: maternal infanticide and the dark figure of homicide’, in Karen Heimar and Candace Kruttschnitt (eds), Gender and Crime; Patterns in Victimization and Offending (New York, 2006), p. 106; Allyson N. May, ‘ “She at first denied it”: infanticide trials at the Old Bailey’, in Valerie Frith (ed.), Women and History: Voices of Early Modern England (Toronto, 1997), p. 21. 157 NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1894, deposition of John Quinn, 23 May 1894. 158 NAI, Crown files for County Kildare, 1894–5, deposition of Patrick Nolan, 4 July 1894. 159 Rattigan, ‘ “I thought from her appearance” ’, 145. 160 Malcolmson, ‘Infanticide in the eighteenth century’, pp. 192, 200. 161 Backhouse, Petticoats and Prejudice, p. 113.

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2 ‘Dead children, like drowned sailors, tell no tales’: coroners’ courts At about a quarter past eight on the morning of 6 January 1898, James Lally, a letter carrier who worked for the General Post Office, was delivering letters at Salthill in Galway. Lally was walking parallel to the shore when he noticed the dead body of a naked child lying on the beach opposite the Eglinton Hotel, ten or fifteen yards from the shore wall. A few minutes later, Lally met Joseph Graham, a baker in Salthill, who was out for a walk, and told him about his discovery. Graham reported the matter to Sergeant Jeremiah Ryan at the Salthill police barracks. Subsequent enquiries in the case led the police to Ellen Leonard, who kept a lodging house on Bowling Green in Galway. Leonard identified the child as Christopher Staunton, the recently born son of one of her previous lodgers, Bridget Joyce. Leonard later explained that it ‘was by the features of the child that I know it is the same child as was born in my house’.1 Bridget Joyce and her two-year-old son had lodged with Ellen Leonard and her husband John since November 1897. On the night of 18 December, Joyce gave birth to another son in Leonard’s house, attended by a local midwife. She remained in the lodging house on Bowling Green until Christmas Eve, when the workhouse van, which John Leonard had ordered, transported her and her two young sons to the local institution. She remained in the workhouse for only one night before taking up residence with her toddler and baby at a lodging house maintained by the Brannelly family on William Street West in Galway. On the night of 5 January, Bridget Joyce left the house with her baby. On her return some hours later, she told members of the Brannelly family that her mother was now taking care of her infant. Joyce would later claim that her ‘baby died in my arms on Wednesday night going

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out to Salt Hill, and I left it on the shore in front of the Eglinton Hotel … I knew it was dead in my arms, as it was cold.’2 It was the responsibility of the constabulary to report a sudden or suspicious death to the local coroner.3 The body of the infant discovered on the beach at Salthill on the morning of 6 January was placed in a box and moved to the coach house of the Eglinton Hotel. Sergeant Jeremiah Ryan of Salthill wrote to Coroner Gerald Cloherty on that day, explaining that ‘the dead body of a child, Christopher Staunton, was found lying on the seashore at Salthill. As suspicion attaches to the case I consider an inquest necessary.’4 The coroner agreed that an inquest was warranted in this instance and set about organising the inquiry. This included summoning a local medical witness, usually a general practitioner, to examine the body and describe his findings to the court in return for a set fee,5 requesting the attendance of other witnesses who would describe their knowledge of the case, and assembling a jury of between twelve and twenty-three men to determine the cause of death of the deceased infant.6 Inquests were funded by the ratepayer.7 In 1853, an Irish doctor admitted that grand juries, ‘in the exercise of an unwise and paltry economy, too often indirectly influence the coroner to withhold the necessary medical inquiry’.8 The Medical Press and Circular similarly acknowledged the resentful attitude towards the cost of inquests, insisting that: [f ]rom time to time we are treated to a journalistic growl in respect of the alleged large proportion of unnecessary inquests and the consequent expense to the suffering ratepayer … It is fully as important to elucidate the fact that a death was due to natural causes as the contrary.9

Despite such complaints, inquests on infants were relatively frequent in Ireland in the latter half of the nineteenth century. The official figures published by the Judicial Statistics of Ireland revealed that 227 inquests were performed on infants aged less than one year in 1871. This represented 8 per cent of the total number of inquests held in that year despite the fact that infants of this age represented only 2.36 per cent of the population.10 Lionel Rose has criticised nineteenth-century coroners’ juries in England, whose ‘chivalrous members were notoriously reluctant to

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return verdicts in infants’ cases indicating culpability on the mothers’ part’.11 The Irish sources are also littered with ambiguous verdicts: • ‘deceased infant was found buried in Mr Whelan’s garden, Bridewell Lane on the 7th of May 1886. We have no evidence to show whether it was born alive or what the sex’; • ‘found dead under a hedge in a stream at Newpark in the Parish of Kilconduff … But we have no evidence before us to show how or by what means she came by her death’; • ‘said child was found dead at Mount Sion on the 29th of June inst. in a partially decomposed and disfigured condition but how death was caused we have no evidence to show’; • ‘we are unable to say whether said child died by criminal neglect, or how it came by its death’; • ‘found dead in a pit of water at Leheny on the 24th May 1895. We are unable to say whether deceased infant subject was born alive or not.’12 It should not be assumed that the men of the nineteenth-century Irish coroners’ courts returned vague verdicts solely based on sympathy towards the suspect. As this chapter reveals, coroners, jurors and witnesses faced a number of challenges in their attempts to establish how babies had died. In 1876, William Dudley Wodsworth aptly noted in his study of the Dublin Foundling Hospital: ‘Dead children, like drowned sailors, tell no tales.’13

The ‘various persons whose duty calls on them to attend the Coroner’s Court’:14 coroner, jury and witness The first inquest at the newly opened Dublin City Morgue in Marlborough Street in September 1871 was held on the body of a newborn baby found in the hallway of a house in the city on the previous day. The Irish Times described the new facilities: At one end of a large table there is a raised desk, at which the Coroner is seated, and at the opposite end a box for the witnesses. On either side

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coroners’ courts51 of the table are seats for the accommodation of professional gentlemen, and immediately behind the seats for barristers or attorneys is the jury box, where the jury can sit apart from the public, for whom accommodation is provided on the opposite side of the room.15

Some inquests attracted large crowds. In 1884, the discovery of an infant buried alive in County Antrim generated ‘excitement and horror’ in the district. The Belfast News-Letter reported that: the occurrence naturally has formed the chief topic of conversation since it was first reported. It is, therefore, not to be wondered at that at the inquest … there was an assemblage of people that entirely filled the building in every part, besides a great many others who were unable to obtain admission.16

The body of an infant was generally on display at an inquest. The Irish Times described that at the Marlborough Street morgue: [a] casting, representing the City Arms, occupies a place on the wall behind the jury box. Below, on the ground floor, there are several slabs of black marble, on which the dead bodies may be placed pending the inquiry as to the case of death. On one of these the body of the poor little infant, whose death was the subject of the inquiry yesterday, was placed covered, except the head, with a sufficiency of linen. There are water-cocks fixed over the slabs on which the bodies are to rest, and from these, with a regard to sanitary conditions, will pour a gentle supply of water, which, after passing over the remains, will find its way to a grating in the floor, and thence to the street sewer.’17

It was the responsibility of the selected jury to agree a verdict stating how the deceased had come to her or his death, based on the evidence that witnesses provided at the inquest. In 1868, the Medical Press and Circular critically described Irish coroners’ courts: With a jury incapable either of mental capacity or education – as nine out of ten Irish Coroner’s juries are – of forming any reliable opinion, the role of judge and jury is necessarily thrown upon the Coroner, and it

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a most diabolical deed is not detracting either from the capacity or the integrity of that official to say, that he is usually unfitted for so great a trust. A tribunal composed of idle boys, tramps, and labourers out of work, takes the safest course in echoing, submissively, what is put into their mouth by the Coroner.18

Although perhaps excessively critical of jury men, the above statement identified that jurors tended to find verdicts in accordance with the opinions of presiding coroners. Since there were no medical requirements necessary for the position of coroner, coroners who lacked medical training were, in turn, forced to rely on the opinions of doctors summoned to the inquest.19 Medical witnesses regularly acknowledged in the coroner’s court or trial court that their findings were not necessarily conclusive: • ‘I cannot tell whether the child was born alive or not’; • ‘I can’t tell how long the child was dead when I examined it’; • ‘The actual age of the child would be less than six weeks but I cannot tell exactly’; • ‘I cannot positively swear what has been the cause of the child’s death’; • ‘I cannot undertake to swear that the child did not die from misadventure’; • ‘I cannot say whether the child was born with head or feet foremost’; • ‘I am not able to say how long the child may have breathed but it might have been even some days … It was decomposed. I cannot therefore say if the child could have swallowed’; • ‘I cannot say whether the fracture of the skull was caused before or after death’; • ‘The injuries to the head were sufficient to cause death but I could not say they would cause immediate death’.20 In addition, doctors undertaking investigations into infant deaths were not forensic experts but tended instead to be local practitioners.21 In the eighteenth century, Scottish-born physician William Hunter advised: To form a solid opinion about the birth of a new-born child, from the examination of its body, a professional man should have seen many

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coroners’ courts53 new-born children, both stillborn, and such as had outlived their birth a short time only: and he should have dissected, or attended the dissection of a number of bodies in the different stages of advancing putrefaction.22

Medical witnesses summoned to court by Irish coroners differed in their knowledge and experience of forensic medicine and inquests on infants. It is impossible to judge how many verdicts of natural or accidental deaths were returned in cases of infanticide as a result of errors or inexperience on the part of coroners or medical witnesses. In 1860, a doctor who performed a post-mortem examination on an infant discovered in Shanaboola, County Limerick, concluded that death had occurred from natural causes. A medical student in the local Barrington’s Hospital asked for the body in order to practise his post-mortem techniques. The student subsequently discovered that small stones had been pushed into the throat of the child, thus indicating that death had been deliberately induced.23 In this instance, at least, the jurors’ reliance on the opinion of an untrained, inexperienced or careless medical witness had resulted in an erroneous verdict.

Determining ‘life, birth and live-birth’: medical jurisprudence In an effort to account for the death of the infant, coroners, medics and men of the jury had firstly to establish that the child was born alive. This made the inquest on the remains of a baby more complicated than an inquest on the body of an older child or adult. In 1904, S. B. Atkinson, an English barrister-at-law, confirmed that should ‘the foetus die while being secretly introduced to the world, or should the child succumb very soon after such introduction, great difficulty arises in efficiently proving its live-birth’.24 J. D. J. Harvard similarly acknowledged the complexity in identifying signs of infant murder in his mid-twentieth-century study of the detection of secret homicide: The killing of new live-born children can be achieved with the minimum of signs of external violence … The main problem, however, is to distinguish between a stillbirth which has resulted from some foetal or maternal abnormality or complication during pregnancy or

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a most diabolical deed confinement, and the criminal destruction of a newly born child which has shown signs of life, whether a live birth, or a technical stillbirth.25

Signs of prematurity explained the death of an infant in an era that lacked the necessary medical equipment to assist with a premature baby’s survival. The weight of a child was initially considered. In 1904, Atkinson confirmed that it was extremely rare for a child weighing less than four pounds to survive.26 Features of the deceased infant were studied for evidence that the child had not fully developed in the womb.27 A Belfast doctor considered signs of prematurity visible on the body of a male infant discovered in an entryway in the city in March 1899 and observed that the ‘nails were formed, the eyelids were closed, membrane pupillares not disappeared, the testicles had not descended into the scrotum. Hair was formed.’28 In some instances, the noticeable premature condition of the deceased infant rendered an inquest unnecessary. In 1893, Coroner Robert Foster Dill reported the discovery of a female foetus in Belfast, which he deduced had not reached the third or fourth month of gestation. The coroner emphasised that the baby ‘therefore could not have been alive, neither could have lived when born and is in ordinary language an abortion. I therefore do not consider an inquest either necessary or right.’29 Atkinson’s 1904 publication confirmed that a ‘secretly delivered foetus of under five months’ gestation may be absolutely regarded as lifeless after birth, and hence not a subject for murder’.30 Mark Jackson described that in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century England, the attempt to determine live-birth focused on a number of signs, including ‘a child’s cry; the clenched, or sometimes unclenched, state of a child’s hands; the passage of meconium (the distinctive first bowel motion of a newborn infant); and the warmth of a child’s body’.31 Surviving inquest documents confirm that nineteenth-century Irish coroners, medics and jurors considered similar factors. A baby’s cry proved live-birth and could thus lead to a murder verdict in the coroner’s court. The case of Kate Barry, described below, conclusively illustrates the willingness of jurors to return a verdict of murder when presented with irrefutable proof. On a November evening in 1900, Mary Buckley retired to bed in a room that she shared with Ellen Boland and Kate Barry in Foley’s

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Hotel on Wicklow Street in Dublin. Barry, a cook in the establishment, left the bedroom during the night and did not return for a considerable length of time. Boland and Buckley went in search of their colleague and found her in the lavatory in a state of ill-health. Housemaid Mary Buckley offered to summon the mistress of the hotel but Barry refused this assistance. Buckley would later confess that she had heard a child crying on her second visit to the lavatory to enquire about the health of her co-worker. Barry subsequently returned to bed, placing an object wrapped in a towel from the lavatory near the bedroom washstand. Kitchen-maid Ellen Boland questioned Barry about the baby on the following morning. She was shown the body of the deceased infant in a box that was locked by a key that hung around Barry’s neck. A porter in the establishment overheard a conversation between the women that same evening and reported the matter to the mistress, who in turn informed two medical officers and subsequently the police.32 In his witness statement, Bernard Reilly of the Dublin Metropolitan Police described that the doctor ‘gave it his opinion the child was born alive, of which there can be no doubt from the girl Buckley hearing it cry’.33 In accordance with the testimony of the housemaid that she had heard the sounds of a living infant, the coroner’s jury returned a verdict of murder. Direct evidence suggesting that a crime had been committed, however, was not usually forthcoming. In 1862, The Times lamented that in ‘cases of infanticide the criminals have the strongest motives for concealment, and it is rarely that witnesses can be had to give evidence against them’.34 It is probable that some family members, friends or colleagues chose not to reveal to the authorities that they had heard the squeal of a newly born child in a deliberate effort to protect the accused. In the absence of a reliable witness, an external examination of the body was undertaken to ascertain proof of live-birth. The examination of infant remains was often hindered by the quick rate at which a baby’s body decomposes. The small size of the corpse meant that it could be several days or weeks before the remains were discovered. In addition, a baby’s body found in the outside environment would likely have been subjected to interference from birds, vermin and other animals. In many cases of suspected infanticide, medical witnesses explained how the decomposed state of the remains hindered the medical examination:

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• ‘I can’t positively say that the child was born alive. I made the usual tests of the internal organs but the results were conflicting. It is quite possible that if marks of violence existed the decomposition would prevent my discovering them’; • ‘I found that it was in a very advanced state of putrefaction. It would be quite impossible owing to this condition of the body to say whether there were or were not any external marks of violence’; • ‘the body of a female infant … was in a fairly advanced state of putrefaction – It would be impossible to state whether or not the child had been born alive or to give a cause of death.’35 In 1894, Doctor Richard Carey was similarly forced to concede defeat in an analysis of two decomposed infant bodies discovered in a well on a farmyard in Ballyellen, County Carlow: Both bodies appear to be those of fully matured newly born infants, no. 1 sex indistinguishable, no. 2 a male. As regards no. 1 I can form no opinion as to whether it was born alive in consequence of the advanced state of decomposition. As regards no. 2 my opinion is that it breathed and was born living. Owing to decomposition I am utterly unable to say whether any violence was used in either case … My opinion is that these bodies have been in the well for three months or more.36

Lack of proof due to decomposition forced coroners and jurors to return open verdicts. The presence of meconium on the body could verify that the infant had been born alive. In 1890, Doctor William O’Meara, explaining the findings of his post-mortem examination, described that the ‘large intestines contained a quantity of meconium, the rectum and anus being also covered with it. As the result of this post mortem examination I am of opinion that the child was born alive.’37 In 1891, he explained at an inquest on the body of a male child, discovered in Carlow by a man looking for his cap after a game of football, that the body: is that of a well nourished fully developed male child and is newly born … Meconium (which is the natural discharge from a newly born

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coroners’ courts57 infant’s bowels) has come away copiously and stains the cloth in which the child was found.38

The jury found a verdict in accordance with the medical testimony, that the infant child was murdered by some person unknown to the court. The meconium stains on the cloth verified that the infant had been alive when placed in the fabric wrap. The coroners, jurors and medical witnesses were thus willing to accept that the tiny victim had been deliberately killed because proof existed that the infant had been born alive. Medical men also sought evidence that the infant had struggled for life prior to death in an effort to conclusively prove live-birth. On occasion, matter such as grass grasped in the baby’s palms or lodged in the infant’s mouth revealed the place at which death occurred. In January 1894, an examination was carried out on the body of a deceased female child discovered in a pond in County Roscommon. The medical witness observed that both the knees and elbows were rigid and bent, and that the baby’s hands were clenched. From the evidence presented, the doctor concluded: ‘I have no hesitation in stating that this infant has arrived at the full term gestation, was well formed … was born alive … and that its death was caused by suffocation from drowning.’39 The tightly clenched hands revealed that the baby had been born alive and this helped the jury to reach a verdict of murder.40 Doctors also studied the position of the baby’s tongue for evidence that she had struggled to breathe, although this was not necessarily regarded as indicative of live-birth. A doctor in Newcastle West confirmed that the ‘fact that the child’s tongue was protruding would not prove that the child was alive.’41 Medical witnesses summoned to an inquest tended to perform postmortem examinations on the internal organs of the tiny body in an attempt to ascertain evidence of live-birth and cause of death. Such investigations were not required in suspected infanticide or homicide cases in Ireland, as they were in other European countries.42 They were, however, frequent in cases of sudden infant deaths or in the event of the discovery of child remains. Michelle McGoff-McCann has observed in her analysis of inquests held by Monaghan coroner, William Charles Waddell, that 42 per cent of post-mortems carried out at inquests from January 1856 to March 1876 were performed on infants.43 The coroners’

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records lodged in the Crown offices similarly confirm that post-mortem examinations on newborn babies and concealed infant remains were the norm. This practice further indicates that it was difficult for those in the nineteenth century to determine the reason for the death of an infant based solely on an external inspection of the remains. An analysis of the contents of the stomach indicated whether or not the child had been fed prior to death or if any foreign matter had been ingested. Two inquests in County Longford illustrate the conclusions that could be drawn from a dissection of the stomach. On 29 April 1896, an inquest was held on the body of an unknown female child discovered in a drain by Michael Farrell, an inmate of the nearby Ballymahon workhouse. Farrell confessed that he had initially believed that the white object lying in the watery drain was a doll and had pointed the bundle out to a woman walking behind him. Elizabeth Gordon, a qualified midwife, observed that what Farrell believed to be a doll was in fact the dead body of a baby. The local doctors performed an external examination of the female infant but could not discern any visible marks of violence. A post-mortem analysis of the contents of the stomach showed, however, that the child had been born alive and had been deserted after birth. The doctors explained to the jurors that they had ‘found some muddy fluid in the stomach and believe the child was alive when placed in the drain deposed to’.44 The presence of murky water in the baby’s stomach indicated that she had ingested the drain water prior to death, had therefore been born alive, and had been abandoned in the sewer. The jury returned a verdict that the infant ‘found in a drain at Ballymahon on the 28th inst. was born alive and that death resulted from haemorrhage and exposure’.45 In 1900, two other Longford doctors also determined that an unknown infant had been born alive from an analysis of the contents of the stomach. In December of that year, a tip-off prompted a policeman to search the back yard of a house in Longford town. The constable uncovered an old sack under the floor boards of the privy and discovered the remains of a newborn male child wrapped inside. Medical witnesses summoned to examine the body of the child found neither external marks of violence nor any internal damage. An analysis of the stomach, however, revealed a faint trace of milk, thus allowing the doctors to conclude that the child had been born alive and had lived for several

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hours after birth. They concurred that they could ‘see no cause why it should not have lived if properly attended to, we are of [the] opinion that it died of neglect’.46 An analysis of the stomach contents of a deceased child was generally coupled with a study of the baby’s lungs. The hydrostatic lung test was first proposed in the seventeenth century as a means of determining if a deceased infant had breathed prior to death, and was consistently employed in Ireland throughout the nineteenth century.47 Medics considered whether the lungs of the deceased newborn, as a pair and separately, floated or sank in water. The floatation of the lungs suggested that air had circulated and could be taken to indicate that life had been established prior to the death of the infant. It became the general practice for medical witnesses to cut up segments of the infants’ lungs as part of the hydrostatic test. A County Antrim medical witness described the post-mortem procedure that he carried out on the body of an infant in 1894: We removed them [the lungs], with the heart attached, from the body and placed them in water and they floated … Small portions after being compressed floated in water. The reason we compressed the portions was to remove any foreign gas that might have been generated by putrefaction.48

In the eighteenth century, German physician Christian Friedrich Jäger had highlighted that it was possible for gas to be produced during the decomposition process, a discovery that rendered the hydrostatic lung test somewhat controversial thereafter. Jager explained that post-mortem examinations on infants were often carried out in the days and weeks after death and thus the gases from decaying lung tissue could inflate the lung cavities and cause them to float.49 By the nineteenth century, the reliability of the hydrostatic test was being questioned due to the possibility that the lungs of a dead-born child could float in water in consequence of putrefaction or artificial respiration and also as a result of claims that the lungs of a murdered infant could sink when tested.50 The importance afforded to the hydrostatic lung test in the nineteenthcentury Irish coroners’ courts depended entirely upon the opinions and experiences of the individual doctors and the familiarity of the coroners

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and jurors with developing medical practices. Some Irish coroners and medical witnesses judged the test as an infallible manner of determining if life had existed. In 1895, a juror at an inquest on a dead baby questioned if the lungs of any newborn would float in water. The medical witness in the case confidently responded that: that is a great distinguishing factor between the child born dead and the one born alive. In the case of a child born dead the lung is small, and will not float: when a child has breathed the lung will float under the circumstances described.51

In the same year, a doctor in Leitrim admitted that ‘the floating of the lungs in water is not alone an infallible test that the child breathed after birth.’52 The recognition that the hydrostatic lung test was not necessarily reliable resulted in a large number of open verdicts in the coroners’ courts. Mark Jackson has reached the same conclusion in his study of infant murder in England, stressing that it ‘would be a mistake … to ascribe the test’s inability to clarify the issue of live-birth solely to leniency, on the part of either medical practitioners or the courts’.53 Many Irish medics in the latter half of the nineteenth century were reluctant to class an infant as the victim of murder based solely on the evidence of the controversial floating lung test. Medical witnesses, coroners and jurors had to account for the cause of death once they had established that the baby had been born alive. Eighteenth-century physician William Hunter cautioned that if ‘in the case of a concealed birth, it be clearly made out that the child had breathed, may we infer that it was murdered? Certainly not. It is certainly a circumstance … which amounts only to suspicion.’54 Marks of violence and fractures to the head could suggest that the baby had been subjected to violence prior to death. As revealed by a number of case studies described below, however, medical witnesses were reluctant to direct the jury to such a verdict due to the possibility that fractures and patches of discolouration could have been caused during the course of delivery or after death had occurred.55 On the morning of 9 November 1888, Constable Lawless proceeded to Mr Bryer’s draper shop in Longford. He was escorted to an upstairs room occupied by Sarah Clelland and Margaret White, two

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unmarried shop assistants. Therein the constable discovered the body of a newborn male infant wrapped in a night dress. Margaret White deposed for the information of the coroner’s court that she had heard Clelland leaving the bedroom and returning at frequent intervals during the previous night. She insisted that she was not aware that her colleague was pregnant or that she had given birth, but acknowledged that ‘from the appearance of the side room I was of [the] opinion that something dreadful had happened’.56 Unusually, three doctors were summoned to examine the dead body at the Longford police barracks. They concluded from the contusions of the skin and trauma to the brain that death had occurred from violence to the head. On cross-examination, Doctor Nathaniel Mayne clarified that it would not require a great deal of violence to fracture a baby’s skull in such a manner and that it was possible that an infant, delivered in the standing position, ‘may be driven with such force as to receive a fatal injury’.57 Doctor William Atkinson dismissed the idea that the fractures had been caused by the infant merely lying on a hard surface. He too offered the explanation that giving birth in a standing position could have caused the baby to fall. He concluded: ‘I agree in total with his [Mayne’s] opinion that death resulted from fracture but that [the] same might have been caused accidentally I have no doubt’.58 The third doctor in the case examined the room in which the birth allegedly took place. He deduced that a fall of eighteen inches on to the boarded floor could have caused the fractures identified. In concurrence with his medical colleagues, Doctor Robert Cochrane concluded that ‘the fall of the child in an unassisted and sudden delivery (the mother at the time being in a standing position) would cause aforesaid injuries’.59 The jury thus returned a verdict based on the opinions of the three medical witnesses that the death of the deceased newborn, the son of Sarah Clelland, died from fractures to the skull caused by an accidental fall during her unassisted labour. Marks of strangulation on the neck of a baby could indicate that the infant had been deliberately murdered. It was possible to suggest, however, that the child had been tragically killed during delivery by strangulation with the umbilical cord or ‘due to efforts in the frenzy of delivery’.60 Two Donegal doctors explained to those present at an inquest in 1893 that they found:

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a most diabolical deed a distinct mark around the child’s neck which we believe to have been the cause of death, but we think it right to mention that this mark might have been caused by the umbilical cord, as the woman was without skilled help during labour.61

Signs of pressure or ties around the body of a baby could be likewise explained as the female’s attempt to free her offspring during the labour. In November 1887, the body of a child was found in the River Barrow in Carlow by a man walking along the railway tracks. The body was wrapped in a piece of calico and placed in a small bag which also contained a stone. The medical officer of the Carlow Dispensary District examined the deceased infant and observed that ‘excepting a mark round the neck such as would be caused by a cord or piece of tape tied tightly round, there are no marks of violence on deceased’.62 Although he admitted that there was no evidence to indicate that the baby had drowned, and therefore he was certain that the child was dead before being placed in the water, the doctor would not commit to a judgment of death by foul means. As a result, the jury returned a verdict that they had no evidence to ascertain the cause of death and added that ‘the doctor thinks that the child was dead before it was thrown into the river. He would not swear whether from natural causes or otherwise.’63 The mark on the baby’s neck and the presence of the stone in the bag (the purpose of which was obviously to sink the body from public view) were certainly suspicious but did not guarantee a verdict of murder in the coroner’s court. It was similarly problematic for the nineteenth-century medical witnesses to determine if death was deliberately caused as a result of suffocation. In 1864, a County Wexford surgeon remarked that ‘no portion of medical jurisprudence was more obscure than that of death by suffocation’.64 Medical practitioner Stephen Scanlan also alluded to this difficulty at an inquest on the body of a male newborn in County Clare in November 1899: I believe that this male child was born alive and that the cause of its death was suffocation which might be caused accidentally or intentionally … suffocation might have been produced by the child being carelessly thrown on or being put into the bag in which it was found.65

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The grandmother of the newborn baby had initially denied any knowledge of the birth but had subsequently alleged that the child had been born dead and as a result thrown into a five-foot-deep boghole. Scanlan refused to return an opinion that the full-term infant had been purposely suffocated despite the dubious nature of the grandmother’s various accounts and the suspicious manner by which the body was discarded. The jury, in consequence, concluded that the male child was found dead in a boghole but that they had no evidence to show how death occurred. The death of a newborn baby was commonly attributed to haemorrhage as a result of the umbilical cord being left untied. Like other causes of death, the men of the coroners’ courts did not necessarily regard this as clear evidence of murder. It was suggested in many cases that an inexperienced mother might not have known that the umbilical cord should be tied. On 17 February 1857, the jury at the inquest on the body of an unknown male child found at a mill on the Falls Road in Belfast concluded that the baby was found dead but ‘whether he came to his death thro’ ignorance or neglect during the progress of delivery no evidence thereof doth appear to the said jurors’.66 The medical witness at the inquest of a female newborn discovered on the banks of the Bann found that the child had reached full term, had been alive at birth, and had bled to death as a consequence of the umbilical cord not having been tied. The doctor refused to commit to a verdict of death by deliberate means and proposed that ‘the mother of the child might not have been able to attend to the child at [the] time of birth or might not have known that the cord should be tied’.67 The defence of ignorance was obviously only plausible for women handling their first known deliveries. The coroner, doctor and men of the jury also had to consider the mother’s state of consciousness and her ability to care for her child immediately after the delivery. A Tyrone doctor offered his opinion that it was ‘generally (I believe always) necessary to have assistance at the time of birth. It is not safe to be without assistance. I believe after long experience that it is essentially necessary.’68 But many nineteenthcentury Irish women did not have the luxury of bed rest in the days prior to childbirth and could thus go into labour while alone in the field or yard, on the public road, in an unheated privy or in locations equally hazardous for the safe delivery of a newborn baby. In March 1893, Bridget O’Donnell described her unaccompanied labour:

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a most diabolical deed There was no one with me at the time. It was born on the floor and I believe I saw it stir. I believe it was alive, but it lived only about a quarter of an hour. When it was born I was too weak and could not take it, and I threw myself sideways on the bed.69

In July of the same year, Margaret Hannon stated in court that she had given birth alone, explaining that she ‘was very weak for a long time and unable to do any thing for myself or the baby for a long time.’70 At the Newtowncunningham petty sessions some months later, another suspect, Mary Curran, insisted that ‘immediately previous to my confinement I fainted and fell out of the bed. When I recovered I found my child dead under me.’71 A woman in County Tyrone ‘fainted after seeing the child moving and did not know anything more until she came to’.72 Conscious that women could give birth unexpectedly, medical witness Doctor William Courtney explained at an inquest in Nenagh, County Tipperary, in 1894 that: [t]he mother being young and from the pains and weakness arising from giving birth, it would be unlikely she could attend to the child so as to save its life even if she had the best dispositions to do so. She may not have known the child was about to be born and if she found the preliminary haemorrhage coming, she might have got over the basin to save staining the bedclothes, and while in that position, the child may have passed from her unexpectedly.73

The jurors in this instance returned a verdict that ‘said female infant … was born on yesterday the 9th Aug[us]t inst. and died on that day of suffocation at Summerhill, Nenagh and that said suffocation arose by want of proper skilled care at time of birth’.74 In England, authorities similarly had to determine if fatal injuries to a dead child were deliberate or ‘were owing to the inexperience and fright of a woman delivering herself of her first child’.75 Without witnesses to describe the childbirth, the coroner’s jurors were forced to interpret the evidence cautiously. Medical witnesses had to consider the possibility that the infant had died from natural causes after birth in addition to the numerous possibilities of accidental death. On 25 March 1894, District-Inspector John Quinn obtained a warrant to search the house of Michael Keegan in

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County Leitrim. There he questioned Keegan’s daughter Bridget about suspicions that she had concealed the birth of a child. He admitted that Bridget Keegan invited the officers to search her home and facilitated the hunt. The diligent investigation, however, yielded no significant finds and thus the policemen began to shift the furniture in order to search more thoroughly. At this, Bridget requested Quinn to remove the policemen from the inside of the house. The district inspector also indicated to her father and brother to leave the room. The young woman then produced a bag from under her dress, which had been tied at the waist with a string. Quinn observed ‘the dead body of what I took to be an infant child’ inside the bag.76 He admitted to the coroner’s court that the ‘body was decomposed, my stomach got sick and I was unable to examine it particularly’.77 Doctor Robert Tate concluded from the post-mortem examination of the body of the infant that the baby had been born alive and the umbilical cord left untied. He identified two blood tumours on the baby’s head, which, he believed, would have been sufficient to cause the death of a weak child. He ambiguously concluded that the infant ‘was well nourished and came to term, and the child may have been weak after birth and died from natural causes’.78 The verdict returned by the coroner’s court recognised that the infant had died from weakness and want of care at the time of delivery, but allowed the assize jury to decide if Bridget Keegan was guilty of child murder in addition to concealment of birth. On being removed to the car on her way to the police barracks, Bridget Keegan surmised that ‘it was a pity of all the foolish girls of the world’ that this had happened to her.79 The awareness that accidental, natural and deliberate deaths could present similar symptoms hindered the findings of coroners’ courts. Outside Ireland, authorities also found it difficult to prove that an infant had been the victim of murder rather than accidental or natural causes of death.80 In addition, medics and jury men were faced with a legal loophole that did not criminalise the calculated killing of an infant in the act of being born. J. D. J. Havard explained in 1960 that if ‘the life of a child is destroyed before its body has been completely expelled, even though only a foot remains in the maternal passages, it is a stillbirth, notwithstanding the fact that it may have shown signs of life and have breathed.’81 The deliberate and premeditated decapitation, cold-blooded

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strangulation or violent suffocation of a newborn baby not quite separate from her or his mother, therefore, was not murder.82 The issue of separate existence arose at some Irish inquests. The verdict returned at an inquest on a newborn male infant found dead in the townland of Knockmore, County Antrim, in February 1857, read that: the jurors are of [the] opinion that the said child died from want of proper care and attention during the operation of birth and delivery, but whether said child came to his death before or after he was wholly and entirely born into the world no evidence thereof doth appear to the said jurors.83

A similarly worded verdict of the cause of death returned by another jury summoned by Coroner James Kennedy Jackson stated that a female newborn found dead in her mother’s bed ‘had no marks of violence on her person, but whether the said female child came to her death before or after she was wholly born into the world, no evidence thereof doth appear to the said jurors’.84 The concept of separate existence seems to have been more common in Irish criminal courts than coroners’ courts. Doubts about the reliability of a murder verdict in criminal courts could save a suspect from the hangman.85 The fact that the issue of separate existence was rarely mentioned in the coroners’ courts further supports the argument that, for the most part, medics summoned to inquests on infants were not necessarily determined to steer coroners’ juries away from verdicts of murder.

Conclusion The surviving sources relevant to inquests carried out on infants in Ireland in the latter half of the nineteenth century highlight the problems confronting contemporary medical witnesses and jurors. The men of the coroners’ courts who were sympathetic towards women suspected of infant murder were assisted by the uncertainties that surrounded the births and deaths of infants, while those who might have endeavoured to return murder verdicts were hindered by a lack of concrete evidence. The attempt to determine if a baby was born alive was difficult due to

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allegations that there were no witnesses present at the birth, the lack of indisputable evidence to dismiss claims that the baby was stillborn and the legal loophole that did not criminalise the murder of an infant in the act of being born. A multitude of plausible explanations could also account for the death of a child. Loss of life could have resulted from violence but could equally have occurred as a consequence of ignorance, inability to care for the newborn infant or accidental causes. As Judith A. Osborne argued in the context of infanticide in Canada, ‘it was one thing to suspect that a mother had killed her child but quite another to prove it.’86

Notes   1 NAI, Crown files for County Galway, 1898, deposition of Ellen Leonard, 7 January 1898.  2 Ibid., deposition of Peter Leonard, 7 January 1898.   3 For a discussion of the role of the coroners, see Vaughan, Murder Trials, pp. 40–53.  4 NAI, Crown files for County Galway, 1898, Jeremiah Ryan to Gerald Cloherty, 6 January 1898.  5 Michael J. Clark, ‘General practice and coroners’ practice: medico-legal work and the Irish medical profession, c.1830–c.1890’, in Cox and Luddy (eds), Cultures of Care, pp. 37–8.  6 Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 42.   7 The Coroner’s (Ireland) Act 1846 came into effect on 1 January 1847 (9 and 10 Vic., c. 37).   8 ‘Coroners’ inquests’, Dublin Medical Press, xxix (2 March 1853), 141.  9 ‘Coroners’ duties and expenses’, Medical Press and Circular, cxiv (8 September 1897), 242. 10 Criminal and judicial statistics 1871, Ireland, 33 [C 674], H.C. 1872, lxv, 269. 11 Rose, The Massacre of the Innocents, p. 59. 12 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Carlow, 1c 12 55, verdict of coroner’s court, 8 May 1886; NAI, Coroners’ files for County Mayo, 1c 76 29, verdict of coroner’s court, 21 June 1889; NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1893– 4, verdict of coroner’s court, 30 June 1893; NAI, Crown files for County Clare, 1897–8, verdict of coroner’s court, 27 January 1897; NAI, Coroners’ files for County Longford, 1c 34 224, verdict of coroner’s court, 27 May 1895. 13 William Dudley Wodsworth, A Brief History of the Ancient Foundling Hospital of Dublin, from the Year 1702 (Dublin, 1876), p. 52.

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68 14 15 16 17 18 19

20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

a most diabolical deed Irish Times, 29 September 1871. Ibid. Belfast News-Letter, 13 November 1884. Irish Times, 29 September 1871. ‘The coroner’s court in Ireland’, Medical Press and Circular, v (27 May 1868), 463. The Coroners (Ireland) Act, 1881, dictated that a coroner had to be a registered medical practitioner, a barrister-at-law, a solicitor of the Supreme Court of Judicature in Ireland, or a justice of the peace for five years (44 and 45 Vict., c. 35, s. 2). NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1893–4, deposition of George Pierce, 16 November 1894; NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1890–1, deposition of Henry Molony, 5 November 1890; NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1899–1900, deposition of Thomas K. Mulcahy, 7 November 1900; NAI, Crown files for County Kildare, 1887–9, deposition of James Kilbride, 16 January 1888; NAI, Crown files for County Clare, 1897–8, deposition of George Faris, 14 January 1897; NAI, Crown files for County Roscommon, 1893, deposition of Thomas Gerald Dillon, 4 July 1893; NAI, Crown files for County Kildare, 1894–7, evidence of Francis McDonogh, 28 June 1894; NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1898–9, deposition of Mortimer Hynes, 21 January 1899; NAI, Crown files for County Galway, 1889, deposition of Patrick O’Gorman, 16 and 17 September 1889. Arnot, ‘Gender in Focus’, p. 120. William Hunter, ‘On the uncertainty of the signs of murder, in the case of bastard children’, Medical Observations and Inquiries by a Society of Physicians in London, vi (1784), 281–2. Freeman’s Journal, 14 July 1860. S. B. Atkinson, ‘Life, birth, and live-birth’, Law Quarterly Review, xx (1904), 146. J. D. J. Havard, The Detection of Secret Homicide (New York, 1960), p. 115. Atkinson, ‘Life, birth, and live-birth’, 138. See also Mark Jackson, ‘Suspicious infant deaths: the statute of 1624 and medical evidence at coroners’ inquests’, in Michael Clark and Catherine Crawford (eds), Legal Medicine in History (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 67–8. PRONI, Coroners’ files for County Antrim, Ant/6/1/1/29, deposition H. I., 24 March 1899. PRONI, Coroner’s casebook, November 1892-July 1893, Belf/6/1/2/2, case book of Coroner Robert Foster Dill, 16 April 1893. Atkinson, ‘Life, birth, and live-birth’, 141–2. Jackson, ‘Suspicious infant deaths’, p. 75. NAI, Coroners’ files for County Dublin, 1c 13 2, deposition of Mary Buckley, 19 November 1900.

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33 Ibid., deposition of Bernard Reilly, 17 November 1900. 34 The Times, 4 July 1862. 35 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Carlow, 1c 12 55, deposition of Cooper Stawell, 9 September 1886; NAI, Coroners’ files for County Laois, 1c 46 95, deposition of Thomas McKenna, 23 April 1897; PRONI, Coroners’ files for County Antrim, Ant/6/1/1/31, deposition of H. I., 15 December 1899. 36 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Carlow, 1c 12 55, deposition of Richard Carey, 19 February 1894. 37 NAI, Crown files at quarter sessions for County Carlow, 1887–1906, deposition of William O’Meara, 13 July 1890. 38 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Carlow, 1c 12 55, deposition of William O’Meara, 12 January 1891. 39 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Roscommon, 1c 64 65, deposition of Doctor Healy, 27 January 1894. 40 See also Jackson, ‘Suspicious infant deaths’, p. 75. 41 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1893–4, deposition of George Pierce, 16 November 1894. 42 Catherine Crawford, ‘Medical practitioners and the law in eighteenthcentury England’, in Yasuo Otsuka and Shizu Sakai (eds), Medicine and the Law: Proceedings of the 19th International Symposium on the Comparative History of Medicine – East and West (Tokyo, 1998), p. 50. 43 McGoff-McCann, Melancholy Madness, pp. 38–9. 44 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Longford, 1c 34 224, depositions of Francis and Walter Smartt, 29 April 1896. 45 Ibid., verdict of coroner’s court, 29 April 1896. 46 Ibid., deposition of Frederick Myles and John York, 13 December 1900. 47 For a brief account of the development of the hydrostatic test and other means to prove that a baby was born alive, see Robert P. Brittain, ‘The hydrostatic and similar tests of live birth: a historical review’, Medico-Legal Journal, xxxi (1963), 189–94. 48 PRONI, Crown files for County Antrim, Ant/1/2c/4/128, deposition of J. D., 1 December 1894. 49 Mary Nagle Wessling, ‘Infanticide trials and forensic medicine: Wurttembergs 1757–93’, in Clark and Crawford (eds.), Legal Medicine in History, pp. 117–44. 50 Jackson, ‘Suspicious infant deaths’, pp. 76–8. 51 Belfast News-Letter, 3 April 1895. 52 NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1895, deposition of William O’Rourke, 7 October 1895. 53 Jackson, ‘Suspicious infant deaths’, p. 80. 54 Hunter, ‘On the uncertainty of the signs of murder’, 286–7.

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55 For a description of hypostasis see Frank Smyth, Cause of Death: The Story of Forensic Science (London, 1980), pp. 40–1. 56 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Longford, 1c 34 223, deposition of Margaret White, 10 November 1888. 57 Ibid., deposition of Nathaniel Mayne, 13 November 1888. 58 Ibid., deposition of William Atkinson, 13 November 1888. 59 Ibid., deposition of Robert Cochrane, 13 November 1888. 60 PRONI, Crown files for County Tyrone, Tyr/1/2b/7-8, deposition of J. T., 20 October 1897. 61 NAI, Crown files for County Donegal, 1892–4, depositions of William Rankin and William MacFeeters, 28 August 1893. 62 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Carlow, 1c 12 55, deposition of William O’Meara, 25 November 1887. 63 Ibid., verdict of coroner’s court, 25 November 1887. 64 NAI, CRF, D 30 1885, Case file of Mary Delaney. 65 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Clare, 1d 39 112, deposition of Stephen Scanlan, 29 November 1899. 66 NAI, CSO OP, 1857/19, verdict of coroner’s court, 17 February 1857. 67 PRONI, Coroners’ files for County Armagh, Arm/6/1/1/7/55, deposition of W. S., 30 September 1895. 68 PRONI, Coroners’ files for County Tyrone, Tyr/6/1/1/1, deposition of D. C., 30 May 1892. 69 NAI, Crown files for County Clare, 1892–3, deposition of Michael Culhane, 14 March 1893. 70 NAI, Crown files for County Roscommon, 1893, statement of accused, 4 July 1893. 71 NAI, Crown files for County Donegal, 1893, statement of accused, 22 September 1893. 72 PRONI, Crown files for County Tyrone, Tyr/1/2b/7-8, deposition of J. T., 20 October 1897. 73 NAI, Crown files for County Tipperary, 1894, evidence of William Courtney, 10 August 1894. 74 Ibid., verdict of coroner’s court, 10 August 1894. 75 Higginbotham, ‘ “Sin of the age” ’, p. 270. 76 NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1894, deposition of John Quinn, 28 May 1894. 77 NAI, Coroners’ files for County Leitrim, 1c 47 71, deposition of John Quinn, 26 March 1894. 78 Ibid., deposition of Robert Tate, 26 March 1894. 79 Ibid., deposition of Patrick McClane, 26 March 1894. 80 Mary Beth Wasserlein Emmerichs, ‘Getting away with murder? Homicide and the coroners in nineteenth-century London’, Social Science History, xxv:

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1 (2001), 93–100; England, ‘Investigating homicide’, 119; Kirsten Johnson Kramar, Unwilling Mothers, Unwanted Babies: Infanticide in Canada (Toronto, 2005), p. 30; Judith A. Osborne, ‘The crime of infanticide: throwing out the baby with the bathwater’, Canadian Journal of Family Law, vi (1987), 53; Sauer, ‘Infanticide and abortion’, 81–2. 81 Havard, The Detection of Secret Homicide, p. 115. 82 For a discussion of separate existence, see D. Seaborne Davies, ‘Child-killing in English law, part i’, Modern Law Review, i (1937), 206–8; Donna Cooper Graves, “ … in a frenzy while raving mad’: physicians and parliamentarians define infanticide in Victorian England’, in Bechtold and Graves (eds), Killing Infants, p. 118. 83 NAI, CSO OP, 1857/19, verdict of coroner’s court, 27 February 1857. 84 NAI, CSO OP, 1858/8, verdict of coroner’s court, 22 April 1858. 85 See also Jackson, ‘Suspicious infant deaths’, pp. 76–8. 86 Osborne, ‘The crime of infanticide’, 53.

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3 ‘That species of crime’:1 criminal courts

At half past nine on the morning of Tuesday 20 March 1849, Judge Crampton took his seat in the Carrickfergus courthouse in County Antrim. In front of him was Catherine Lees, a ‘modest, respectable, well-clad young woman, about 20 years of age’,2 accused of the murder of her daughter. The woman, who ‘trembled from head to foot, and having shewn all the symptoms of a person about to go off in a fainting fit’,3 was given a glass of water and a seat at the direction of the judge. Catherine Lees was typical of the women who came before the courts charged with infant murder; she was unmarried, worked as a domestic servant and had allegedly murdered a newborn baby. A woman suspected of infant murder or concealment of birth was generally arrested and remanded in prison while the case was investigated. Criminal cases were initially heard at the local petty sessions, held in a courthouse or a public ‘justice room’.4 Witnesses, some of whom would have testified at the inquest on the body of the dead infant, were examined under oath and could be cross-examined by the defendant.5 The suspect was also generally given the opportunity to make a statement.6 When asked if she wished to make a statement in March 1889, Mary Murphy admitted: ‘I own I did it. I could not help it when I did it. I had not my senses.’7 Elizabeth Gallagher, suspected of infant murder in Letterkenny in 1893, claimed that she ‘did not kill the child. It was dead born. If it had lived, I would have reared it.’8 Johanna O’Shea, who had hearing and speech impediments, wrote in 1895 that she had ‘no statement to make beyond the one I made to the police sergeant. I never dreamt of such a thing.’9 Numerous suspects were discharged subsequent to the petty sessions as a result of insufficient evidence. When the presiding magistrate or

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assembled magistrates decided that there was adequate evidence to sustain the charge, the case was forwarded to the next assize or quarter sessions and the suspect remanded in custody or bailed in the interim. Before the trial, an empanelled grand jury, usually comprising between twelve and twenty-three members, considered the evidence and decided the charge or charges on which defendants would be tried.10 The grand jury, in the absence of the suspect, her solicitors and witnesses for the defence, questioned witnesses for the prosecution.11 In 1875, Justice Fitzgerald explained to a grand jury in Westmeath that in cases of infanticide: it certainly was not desirable that bills should be found for murder, unless the jury had reasonable ground for concluding, with reference to what the law of the case was, that a conviction would take place, provided the evidence was not contradicted or properly encountered on the part of the prisoner.12

An infanticide suspect could be charged with murder, or a lesser offence, such as concealment of birth, manslaughter or child desertion. The grand jury could ignore the charge entirely and dismiss the case, or the Crown could opt to abandon the prosecution before the trial. The Judicial Statistics of Ireland recorded that between 1880 and 1894, 112 men and women were committed to stand trial for infant murder, seventeen of whom were discharged before trial. An indictment would be issued if a majority of grand jury panel members agreed that there was sufficient evidence to proceed with the case, and the case would be tried, prosecuted by the Sessional Crown Solicitor at quarter sessions or by the Crown Solicitor at assizes, with the backing of the attorney-general.13 In the above case of Catherine Lees, the grand jury deemed that there was sufficient evidence to proceed with the charge of murder. Witness Elizabeth Bell testified that she lived with her brother-in-law in the house where Catherine Lees had worked as a domestic servant for the past two years. On the night of 19 July 1848, the two women met in the kitchen. Lees alleged that she was affected by stomach cramps and the older woman poured her some spirits for the pain. A few hours later, the women again encountered each other in the kitchen. On this occasion, however, Lees was lying on the floor in a collapsed state with

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blood on her hands and her nightdress. Bell summoned another servant, as well as the neighbour’s domestic servant, and together the three women helped the ailing girl into bed. The body of a newborn female child was subsequently found wrapped up in a bloody towel in a bag of feathers. A large gash was visible on the body, stretching from the neck to the backbone, and a bloody kitchen knife was also discovered in the house. In court, the defence described the woman as ‘bordering on insensibility’ who ‘young, lovely, and innocent, became the unhappy victim of a person whose name was not, from the rules of evidence, allowed to transpire’.14 Counsel for the defence suggested that the accused was labouring under puerperal mania when she committed the act of child murder, a form of insanity in women that could begin during pregnancy, labour, lactation or some weeks after childbirth.15 The doctor also acknowledged that ‘spirits taken in labour excites the head to a great degree’.16 The empanelled jury, taken from the long panel drawn up before the trial, were tasked with finding a unanimous verdict in each criminal case.17 But the jury in this instance did not acquit the defendant on the grounds of insanity; after deliberating for almost two hours, the jurymen found Catherine Lees not guilty of any wrongdoing. The Freeman’s Journal reported in its account of the case that ‘the verdict excited amazement in every person, in a densely crowded court, and in no one did it seem to excite greater wonder than in the learned judge, who, having looked for a moment with utter astonishment on the jury, ordered the prisoner to be discharged’.18 Although the judge was reportedly surprised by the verdict in this case, leniency on the part of jurors and judges in child murder cases was not particularly unusual in post-Famine Ireland. Between 1850 and 1900, twenty-nine women were sentenced to death for the murder of their infants. This is an astonishingly small figure considering that 2,726 cases of infanticide and murder of infants aged less than one year were recorded in the Return of Outrages, the DMP statistics and the Judicial Statistics of Ireland between 1850 and 1900. The sympathetic attitude towards women accused of infanticide, coupled with the difficulties of ascertaining proof of live-birth, outlined in the previous chapter, resulted in few convictions for the crime in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Outside Ireland, jurors were similarly reluctant

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to convict women of infant murder.19 The small number of convictions in Ireland, however, does not necessarily mean that all of the women accused of child murder were immediately discharged from custody like Catherine Lees. As will be illustrated by a number of case studies, some women initially charged with infant murder were subsequently found guilty of concealment of birth, manslaughter or desertion. A verdict of insanity also enabled the presiding judge and jury to avoid a death sentence.

‘He felt for and pitied her, as any person would’:20 explaining the leniency of the courts The contemporary assumption that infanticide was motivated by a woman’s shame of having given birth to a child out of wedlock ensured that she would be sympathetically treated in the courts. The nineteenthcentury men involved in these trials did not generally condone infant murder or concealment of birth but recognised the sentiments that motivated such offences. The suspect was not generally regarded as rebellious or threatening because her crime, although regarded as dreadful, illustrated her desire to conform to the expectations of the era; she was sufficiently virtuous to recognise the shame that would follow her illegitimate birth. Marilyn Francus argued that women accused of the crime in eighteenth-century England who admitted to feelings of shame ‘already appeared to the court to be repentant; and as they acknowledged their fallen virtue, so too they articulated conventional (and presumably redemptive) notions of female modesty’.21 Such women were ‘at once virtuous and misguided in their actions’.22 The recognition that the deceased infant had two parents resulted in sympathy for a woman sent to trial alone for the death of her offspring. The Medical Press and Circular commented that: [o]ne great difficulty in dealing with the offence arises from the fact that, although the female alone appears at the bar of justice, there is always necessarily another human being who must have been a participator, at least to a certain extent, in her guilt. The man in such cases, although he may have been originally equally, or more guilty

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a most diabolical deed than the woman, entirely escapes; while the poor unfortunate woman endures the pain, the misery, the shame, the exposure, and the risk of punishment.23

English philanthropist M. A. Baines asked in her 1866 publication: ‘Why cannot a middle course be found? Why not both bear their own proper share of the penalty, legal and social?’24 Defence counsels sometimes suggested that the defendant, deceived by a promise of marriage, had been left in a precarious position by the deceitful father of the child. In 1868, a Mr Keys, defending a woman charged with infant murder, vehemently insisted: ‘I always believe and say the real culprit is not in the dock. The real culprit, I say, is that beast – that brute, who first destroyed this woman[’s] virtue – which is to many women dearer than life itself – then threw her upon the world an unfortunate wanderer.’25 Newspaper reporters also occasionally referred to the absent father. A reporter for the Freeman’s Journal commented on the suicide of unmarried mother Jane Tiernan: There is no need to dwell on the mercilessness with which an errant sister is hunted down, while the seducer goes abroad boasting of his successes, and neither public nor private morality remembers, in its admiration, the characters he has blasted, the hearths he has desolated, the hearts he has broken.26

In 1876, in an editorial on a baby-farming case, the Dublin-based newspaper offered this criticism: And let us not forget that society itself has much to answer for in that a woman once fallen finds her only safety in a criminal secrecy and it may be in a murderous contract. The man who has accomplished the ruin of a foolish or it may a wicked woman is by law caught in the meanest and slightest of toils, and by society practically uncondemned; whereas the woman is forthwith consigned to a fate compared with which death itself might seem relief. In this plight it is that the broken wretch ponders over her misfortunes and that terrible designs are entertained without shame and without remorse. She is practically alone with the ruinous responsibility. Her betrayer has fled the scene…27

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Some judges, too, did not support the double standard of Irish society that rendered the female fully responsible for her offspring while her male counterpart walked away.28 In 1892, at the conclusion of the Connacht winter assizes, Justice O’Brien addressed suspect Mary Ryan: ‘it is probable that you have been more sinned against than sinning, go, and sin no more.’29 In 1898, the presiding judge in a suspected concealment of birth case acknowledged that ‘it was a melancholy thing to see a young woman in the position she occupied… . There was someone that the hand of the law could not ever reach who was far more guilty than she was.’30 In 1900, Justice Madden admitted that he ‘always had the feeling that the real culprit in such cases was not in the dock’.31 At the winter assizes in Wicklow later that year, the Lord Chief Justice addressed suspect Bridget Fitzpatrick: ‘I am sorry for you, and I grieve for you. It is a very sad thing to see a young girl in your position. I don’t believe you are the principal sinner at all.’32 In her study of criminal cases in New Zealand during this period, Bronwyn Dalley has argued that courtrooms ‘were highly gendered environments that influenced the form and reception of criminal narratives’.33 The nineteenth-century all-male legal system may also have shaped the lenient treatment of women accused of infant murder. Women were the principal suspects in infant murder and concealment of birth cases. They were not, however, arrested, defended or tried by their peers. At the United Trades Congress held in Dublin in 1880, a Miss Cordigan, a delegate from Huddersfield, voiced her opinion that women of a certain class should serve as jurors. She emphasised that ‘juries for the trial of women in such cases as child murder and concealment of birth should not be composed wholly of men’. An editorial on the subject in the Irish Times asked: ‘But the question arises whether the present system is not more favourable to women under trial for such charges than would be a system which would commit their fate to the decision of a jury of their own sex.’ The editor, quoting Lord Byron, noted her or his ‘fear that there is only too much truth in the poet’s saying that “Every fault a tear may claim, except an erring sister’s shame” and that women have a far better chance of fair treatment at the hands of the rougher sex than at those of their own’.34 As Dalley argued, the all-male cast could adopt the defender’s role in court while the female suspect could assume the part of the victim rather than the perpetrator.35 In 1910, Harry Simpson of the Home

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Office argued that female jurors would be more likely than male jurors to sentence suspected women to death for the crime of infanticide,36 an opinion supported by recent studies of female suspects and jurors.37 The age of the victim also influenced the extent of leniency displayed in court at a time when infant mortality was relatively high. James Fitzjames Stephen asserted at the Capital Punishment Commission in February 1865 that newborn child murder ‘is less serious than other kinds of murder… . With regard to the public it causes no alarm, because it is a crime which can be committed only by mothers upon their newly born children.’38 An acquittal in the courts generally did not generate disapproval or unrest in the local community because the accused woman was not feared as a murderess in society. Her crime was specific to the circumstances in which she found herself and did not necessarily mean that she would kill again. Agrarian and political offences were of more concern to the Irish authorities than women who allegedly killed their infants. In addition, there was little external pressure on judges and jurors to punish such offences. The assumed illegitimate status of an infant may have further impacted upon members of the court. In 1893, Justice Andrews explained at an infant murder trial that ‘although illegitimate’, the life of the deceased infant ‘was in the eye of the law as sacred as the life of a grown up human being, and as much entitled to the protection of society as any individual in the community’.39 In reality, however, some jurors may have regarded infant murder as a viable option for unmarried women despite the fact that it was a criminal offence, because unwanted children often proved a burden on the taxpayers’ resources.40 Miriam Jones has observed that infanticide reduced public expenditure.41 Backhouse has also associated the lenient treatment of nineteenthcentury Canadian infanticide cases with the illegitimate victims who were ‘almost beneath notice … children that no one wanted to claim’.42 In 1896, a judge expressed surprise that defendant Bridget Healy had been found not guilty of any wrongdoing. He: remarked that the verdict could only be arrived at on the supposition that in their [the jury’s] eyes the life of an illegitimate child was of no consequences. He warned the woman not to come up again as this was the second time she was charged with the same offence. She might not,

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criminal courts79 he said, be so fortunate in finding such a jury again so regardless of human life.43

The sympathetic attitude towards women accused of infant murder was, most importantly, attributed to the harsh punishment for a guilty verdict. The sentence of death was consistently blamed for the high number of acquittals on the capital charge.44 A practising judge in Ireland at this time maintained that he was: convinced that in many cases when (in murder cases) juries have either acquitted or not agreed in a verdict, the apprehension of taking away life, where a mistake might by any possibility be made, has been the cause, and that if the punishment had been short of death, convictions would have taken place.45

In his remarks to the Capital Punishment Commission, the Attorney-General for Ireland voiced a similar opinion: ‘I think that what operates upon the jury is taking away human life, and doing an act which, if it is wrong, will be doing an irreparable injury.’46 As chapter 2 illustrated, it was often difficult to prove with certainty that a newborn baby had been murdered because the death of an infant could be attributed to a number of causes. In 1871, the Judicial Statistics of Ireland reported that: [t]here were 106 persons committed for trial for infanticides. So strongly, however, does the feeling against capital punishment appear to operate, that whilst 42 were convicted of a lesser offence than murder, there was not a single conviction for murder, and no less than 39 were acquitted and discharged; in 9 cases the Grand Jury were not satisfied with the evidence. These statistics corroborate the recommendation of the Select Committee as to the abolition of capital punishment for infanticide. If the punishment were more in accordance with public opinion, the prosecutions and convictions would be more frequent, and the excessive number of infanticides would be more effectually checked.47

The loss of life of an infant, often newborn and illegitimate, was not seen to warrant the loss of life of the mother.

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A crime ‘perilously near a much graver offence’:48 concealment of birth in the courts On 24 October 1707, an Act ‘to prevent the destroying and murthering of Bastard Children’ was approved.49 The Act explained that: [w]hereas many lewd Women that have been delivered of Bastard Children, to avoyd their shame and to escape punishment, doe secretlie bury, or conceale the Death of their Children, and after if the child be found dead the said Women doe alleadge that the said Children were born dead; wheras it falleth out sometimes (although hardlie it is to be proved) that the said Child or Children were murthered by the said Women their lewd Mothers, or by their assent or procurement.

It was thus enacted: [t]hat if any Woman … be delivered of any issue of the Body, Male or Female, which being born alive, should by the Lawes of this Realm be a bastard, and that she endeavour privatlie either by drowning or secrett burying thereof, or any other way, either by herselfe of the procuring of others, soe to conceale the Death thereof, as that it may not come to light, whether it be borne alive or not, but be concealed, in every such case the Mother soe offending shall suffer Death as in the case of Murther except such Mother can make proffer by one Witness at the least, that the Child (whose Death was by her soe intended to be concealed) was borne dead.50

This Act presumed that a woman who concealed the death of her illegitimate newborn baby was guilty of murder. The onus was on the mother to prove herself innocent of any involvement in the death of the child, a difficult task if no witness had been present at the delivery. The act, which originated in sixteenth-century France, was also in force in England by 1624, Scotland by 1690 and Canadian jurisdictions by the early nineteenth century.51 It was almost 100 years before the harsh terms of this act were amended in Ireland. Lord Ellenborough’s Act, named after the chief justice of the King’s Bench, was introduced in England and Ireland two years after the Act

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of Union.52 The severe act of the early eighteenth century had proved ‘difficult and inconvenient to be put in Practice’.53 In accordance with contemporary legislation, the 1803 statute restored the assumption that an illegitimate infant was born dead and that the mother was innocent of murder unless proven otherwise. The onus was now on the men of the courts, rather than the mother of the dead child, to gather evidence to show that the baby was born alive in order to sustain the charge of murder.54 Mark Jackson has argued that despite this amendment, the 1803 Act was not necessarily more lenient or more humane than its predecessor. The statute retained the punishment of death for infant murder and removed the clauses that had made men of the courts reluctant to return verdicts of guilt.55 The Act also sanctioned the offence of concealment of birth for a woman acquitted of the murder of her illegitimate infant ‘if it shall so appear in Evidence that the Prisoner was delivered of Issue of her Body, Male or Female, which, if born alive, would have been Bastard, and that she did, by secret Burying, or otherwise, endeavour to conceal the Birth thereof ’.56 By referring exclusively to infants produced out of wedlock, the 1803 Act, like its predecessor, implied that only illegitimate births were concealed. The offence carried a maximum punishment of two years’ imprisonment with hard labour for the mother of the child. Concealment of birth could form part of the indictment or could be returned as an alternative verdict in an acquitted case of child murder. The offence did not, however, stand independent of the murder charge. In later years, it was considered unfair that a woman could be sent for trial on one charge but found guilty of an offence that had not actually appeared on the indictment.57 On 1 September 1829, an ‘Act for consolidating and amending the Statutes in Ireland relating to Offences against the Person’ came into force.58 This amendment finally extended the offence of concealment of birth to infants born within marriage. The Act also explicitly stated that ‘it shall not be necessary to prove whether the Child died before, at, or after its Birth’ in order to sustain the charge of concealment of birth.59 The prosecution, therefore, did not have to prove that the deceased infant was born alive or was wholly born at the time of death. A concealment of birth charge could thus be sustained after a charge of murder had been dismissed due to insufficient evidence of live-birth.

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The act caused some confusion in practice. Firstly, it defined concealment of birth rather broadly as the ‘secret burying or otherwise disposing of the dead Body of the said Child’.60 In 1842, Chief Baron Brady tried the case of Bridget Doran, suspected of having concealed the birth of her infant under a bed tick. Brady judged that the words of the Act ‘clearly imply an absolute and permanent disposal, tantamount to a burial’. He did not believe that ‘the mere circumstance of a temporary concealment, such as has been proved in this case, brings the offence within the terms of the act’. Bridget Doran was accordingly acquitted.61 Some years later, in 1855, the same issue arose in the case of Mary Gogarty. The defendant had repeatedly denied the allegation that she had given birth but the body of her deceased son had later been found underneath a quilt on her bed. Presiding judge C. J. Monaghan explained to the jury that: [i]f delivered according to the course of nature, or laid there without the design of concealing, there would be no offence. The fact of the prisoner’s not answering or telling where the child was, does not constitute any offence. The only question for you … is, was concealment the object of the prisoner in placing the child where it was? 62

The jury considered that the accused had intended to conceal her newborn by placing him under the bedclothes and thus found Mary Gogarty guilty of the crime of concealment of birth. Secondly, the Act caused confusion because it was not clear if the charge of concealment of birth could be sustained if the suspect had acknowledged that she was the mother of the deceased infant. In 1850, Anne Glennan, ‘a very interesting looking young girl’, was tried at the Galway assizes on a charge of concealing the birth of her newborn female child by secreting the remains in a hamper.63 She had admitted to a fellow worker in the house where she was employed that she was the mother of the dead baby discovered on 10 February. From this evidence, Baron Lefroy deduced that there was in fact no concealment: ‘The indictment was for endeavouring to conceal the birth, and the evidence to support it proved the very contrary, as the prisoner admitted frankly the child was hers.’64 Glennan was thus acquitted by the courts. In 1861, an ‘Act to consolidate and amend the Statute Law of England and Ireland relating to Offences against the Person’ established

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the offence of concealment of birth as a standalone charge. A woman, therefore, did not necessarily have to be accused of child murder in order to be found guilty of the lesser charge of concealment of birth but a woman charged with murder could be found guilty of the alternative crime of concealing the birth of her child. The 1861 Act also replaced the ambiguous wording of the previous law and enacted that ‘any secret Disposition of the dead Body of the said Child’ was unlawful.65 It was immaterial, therefore, if the ‘secret disposition’ was temporary or permanent; it was up to the courts to determine if the suspect had intended to conceal the body of the dead infant.66 The Act also provided that both male and female accomplices could be punished by up to two years’ imprisonment with hard labour for aiding with the offence, even if the mother was not charged or had been found not guilty of the crime.67 Cases of concealment of birth continued to cause uncertainty for some judges and jurors in the courts despite the amendments. The nature and circumstances of both the ‘concealment’ and the means of ‘secret disposition’ had to be considered in each case and were, to some extent, open to interpretation. Confusion regarding the former occurred in the case of Jane Irvine, who pleaded not guilty to the charge before Baron Deasy at the Antrim spring assizes in 1871. Witness Agnes McClure deposed for the information of the court that she and the accused worked together at Ewarts’ Mill on Crumlin Road in Belfast. On 18 August 1870, McClure was requested by two work colleagues to go to the water closet because Jane Irvine, whom she knew to be pregnant, was unwell. Irvine denied that anything was amiss and attempted to conceal a parcel in the corner of her petticoat. McClure reminded her that she ‘was a married woman, and that she need not be ashamed to tell what ailed her’. McClure noticed signs that a birth had taken place and even observed a child’s footprint on the seat of the privy.68 Witness Mary Walker recalled that when she mentioned to the defendant, her lodger, that the police were searching for her, ‘she began to weep, and ultimately showed it [the dead child] to witness, bringing it out from the bottom of the bed, where she had it secreted’.69 Illustrating her ignorance of the laws concerning the disposal of newborn children, Jane Irvine stated to the local constable on arrest: ‘If I bury the child, sure there’ll be nothing done to me.’70 After a lengthy discussion at the trial, the foreman of the jury announced that they unanimously agreed that Irvine was not guilty of

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concealment of birth and that she had merely wished to conceal the birth from her fellow workers at Ewarts’ Mill. The prosecution argued that the verdict returned by the jury was, in fact, one of guilt. The jurors were sent back to consult for a second time and subsequently returned a verdict that Jane Irvine was guilty of concealment of birth. She was discharged from custody immediately on the grounds that the presiding judge ‘thinks she had already suffered enough’.71 Another Antrim case also caused controversy in relation to the issue of ‘secret disposition’. In June 1896, the decomposed body of a newborn baby was discovered among some empty barrels in the back yard of a public house in Belfast. A young woman who had been employed as a domestic servant for six weeks in the establishment was arrested on suspicion of murder. The woman acknowledged that the deceased infant was her daughter. She claimed that she had gone into labour while pacing the floor and did not know whether the baby was alive at the delivery.72 Post-mortem tests indicated that the infant was stillborn. At the sitting of the petty sessions, the defence argued that the charge against the woman should be dismissed because there was no evidence that the body of the newborn had been secretly buried, and cited three English case study examples taken from Henry Roscoe’s treatise, Roscoe’s Digest of the Law of Evidence in Criminal Cases, in support of this assertion; in the case of Sarah Snell (1837), the charge of concealment of birth could not be sustained because the accused had been disturbed in the act of committing the crime;73 in the second example (1841), the accused was acquitted because she had left the baby in a box in her bedroom and had not permanently disposed of the body;74 in the case of Sarah Opie (1860), a verdict of not guilty was returned on the grounds that there was insufficient evidence that the accused had intended to conceal the child.75 In reality, however, the three examples used by the defence preceded the amendments to the law introduced in 1861, a fact that seems to have eluded both the defence and the prosecution. The presiding magistrate maintained that he was justified in sending the case forward for trial. The woman pleaded guilty to the offence at the assizes held the following month. The judge sentenced her to a term of imprisonment of one month from the date of her arrest, which, in effect, allowed the defendant to walk free immediately after her trial, her term of imprisonment already served.76

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In 1872, English philanthropist Mary Carpenter suggested that penalties passed by Irish judges for certain crimes were inconsistent because they reflected each individual judge’s personal opinion.77 There is little evidence to indicate, however, that individual judges regularly passed more lenient sentences than others in cases of concealment of birth. The various sentences for the same crime reflected different degrees of criminality. Lord Chief Baron Palles explained at a concealment of birth trial that ‘there were various grades in offences similar to the one which the accused was charged’.78 Women who could not adequately explain the deaths of their offspring received harsher sentences than those who had given birth to stillborn babies and secreted the remains. Although proof of live-birth was not required to sustain the concealment of birth charge, the witness accounts and medical testimonies evidently influenced the sentences passed by judges. A punishment of between six months and the maximum sentence of two years’ imprisonment with hard labour was often granted by a judge when he suspected that the infant had been murdered as well as concealed. The presiding judge sometimes openly admitted that he suspected foul play. In 1870, Judge Fitzgerald sentenced Rose Floody to twelve months’ imprisonment. He explained that although the medical evidence revealed that there were no external marks of violence on the body of the deceased newborn infant, one of the vertebrae of the neck was dislocated. The judge explained that except ‘for the last circumstance which was full of suspicion I would have imposed a lighter sentence’.79 The newborn child of Margaret Russell was discovered in a mummified state with a handkerchief tied securely around his neck in 1877. Lord Chief Justice May, in passing sentence on the young suspect, admitted that there were suspicious circumstances in the case. He explained that although the jury had recommended Russell to mercy, ‘he entertained the conviction that she had been guilty of the more serious offence, he did not think the ends of justice would be satisfied with a less sentence than six months’ imprisonment, with hard labour’.80 In 1888, a County Armagh woman was sentenced to eighteen months in prison for concealing the birth of her illegitimate female newborn. It is likely that the suspicious death of the infant, attributed by the doctor to blood on the brain caused by suffocation, ensured that she received a prolonged sentence. The fact, however, that she had been tried and convicted of

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a similar offence three years earlier undoubtedly influenced the judge’s decision. In 1885, Baron Dowse had sentenced the woman to six months’ imprisonment with hard labour for the manslaughter of her illegitimate two-day-old daughter, who had not received any nourishment during her short life.81 The woman’s second similar offence evidently warranted a graver punishment.82 The maximum punishment of two years’ incarceration for the crime of concealment of birth was not unheard of in the latter half of nineteenth-century Ireland. In October 1861, Ann Boyd was suspected of having given birth to an infant. Her mother, Jane Boyd, initially denied that Ann had been pregnant but later alleged that the baby was five months premature and ‘it broke’.83 The body of a child was subsequently unearthed from the foot of an elm tree, approximately two and a half feet below recently planted cabbages. The local doctor vividly described the battered body: Observed a good deal of lividity about the face and parts of the body. The right side of the head was smashed in, and lower jaw-bone broken close to the ear. There was a fracture of the skull; also the bone behind the ear was fractured. The bones on the other side of the head were shot out of their place in consequence of violent pressure on the other side.84

The ten-year-old brother of the accused deposed for the information of the court that he had heard his sister screaming from her bedroom and had subsequently heard the cries of a young child, thus supporting the doctor’s claim that the infant had been born alive. In March 1862, the trial came before the Down assizes in Downpatrick. The Crown opted to drop the charge of infant murder, which guaranteed that Ann Boyd and Jane Boyd would not be capitally punished. Both mother and daughter pleaded guilty to the lesser offence of concealment of birth. In pronouncing sentence on the pair, Judge Hayes, who had read the report of the coroner’s inquest on the body of the deceased newborn, concluded that: it appeared to him to be very far, indeed, from the ordinary cases of concealing birth which were so often seen in the courts of justice … He had very strong suspicions on the matter, and it was … to the tender

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Ann Boyd was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment. Her mother, Jane Boyd, however, was sentenced to two years in prison, the maximum punishment for the charge of concealment of birth. Carolyn Conley has argued that a sentence of four months was an unusually lenient punishment for the crime of concealment of birth in Britain and Ireland between 1867 and 1892.86 Daniel Grey has contested this claim, highlighting that shorter sentences were common in the Old Bailey and Western Circuit Court.87 The annual figures returned by the Judicial Statistics of Ireland reveal that 987 persons were committed for trial on a charge of concealment of birth between 1863 and 1900, 619 of whom were convicted. Figure 3.1 illustrates the sentences imposed on those found guilty of concealment of birth. It is immediately apparent that a sentence of six months or less was the norm. Lenient punishments for the crime of concealment of birth were passed on women who were not suspected of having committed infant murder. In 1864, Julia McGoorty, having been found guilty of concealment of birth at the Cavan assizes, was sentenced to two

Figure 3.1  Punishment for concealment of birth Source:  Judicial Statistics of Ireland, 1863–1900

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days’ imprisonment ‘till arrangements might be made for her to go to America’.88 Mary Fullen pleaded guilty to a charge of concealment of birth at the Armagh assizes in March 1885 and was sentenced to one month in prison in addition to the time that she had already spent in custody awaiting trial. The judge explained that the lenient sentence was imposed because ‘it was not at all a bad case, as some of the cases of that kind were’.89 In the summer of 1886, Justice Harrison sentenced Eliza Dunn to three months’ imprisonment for concealing the birth of her child. The moderate sentence was influenced by the jury at the Tyrone assizes who recommended her to mercy on account of the fact that ‘there was no evidence to show that the child had been ill-treated’.90 Evidence of ill-treatment was not necessary to sustain the concealment of birth charge but seems to have influenced the sentence returned by the judge. As Higginbotham has argued in the context of nineteenth-century English cases, sentences imposed by judges ‘reflect their assessment of the character and motives of the accused and particularly the degree of her complicity in the child’s death’.91 As the century progressed, sentences became increasingly lenient when there was little evidence of foul play.92 Women found guilty of concealment of birth could be discharged from custody immediately after trial, having already served their punishment, or on entering into recognisances to be on good behaviour. In 1893, Catherine Kavanagh was released from custody on the day that she was found guilty of concealing the birth of her stillborn infant. Justice Johnson explained to the court that the middle-aged woman had ‘done a very silly thing’ and directed Kavanagh’s discharge at three o’clock that afternoon.93 Kate Burke, who was found guilty of concealment of birth in 1898, was released from custody immediately after her trial on entering into her own recognisances to come up for judgement when called upon. The presiding judge explained that if ‘for the future she led a decent life she would not be so called upon’.94 Constance Backhouse has found that authorities in nineteenth-century Canadian courts similarly tolerated concealment of birth by granting ‘slap on the wrist’ punishments.95 Towards the end of the nineteenth century, Irish judges also began to make arrangements for convicted women to enter religious-run institutions or refuges on a voluntary basis rather than prisons. In 1882, Catherine Doyle was convicted of concealment of birth and transferred

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to a refuge in Dublin.96 In 1887, a young woman convicted of concealment of birth in Cork agreed to enter a home run by the Sisters of Charity.97 In 1894, Bridget Connolly pleaded guilty to concealment of birth and was sentenced to one year in prison. It was suggested that the twenty-one-year-old could instead enter a refuge voluntarily for eighteen months and the Lord Lieutenant accordingly commuted her sentence and directed this course of action.98 The practice of transferring women to institutions after arrest, or allowing those convicted of crimes such as concealment of birth to enter these establishments as an alternative to prison, would become increasingly common in the twentieth century.99 More than 40 per cent of the 211 women found guilty of infant murder or concealment of birth in James Smith’s sample were received into other institutions than prisons.100 Using a larger sample of cases from courts around Ireland, Moira Maguire calculated that 109 of the 506 guilty verdicts resulted in transfers to Magdalen asylums.101 The authorities, perhaps influenced by ideas of ‘moral contagion’, apparently considered refuges more suitable environments than prison for some women brought before the courts.102

If ‘his lordship were a juror he would hesitate long before he convicted her of murder’:103 manslaughter in the courts In 1861, the Offences against the Person Act stated that ‘it shall be sufficient in any Indictment for Manslaughter to charge that the Defendant did feloniously kill and slay the Deceased’.104 The crime of manslaughter, in contrast to that of murder, lacked ‘malice aforethought’ or the intention to cause death.105 The non-capital offence of manslaughter allowed the judges and jurors to punish the accused for causing the death of her offspring while simultaneously avoiding the death penalty. Unlike the concealment of birth offence, the charge of manslaughter did not relate exclusively to newborn babies. Verdicts of manslaughter could thus be returned when the infant was known to have been born alive. In 1852, for example, Elizabeth Ferguson, who was separated from her husband, stood trial at the Antrim assizes for the murder of her infant son. William Alison deposed that he slept in the same loft with the suspect and had heard a ‘wee screak’ coming from her bed on the night of

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17 March.106 On cross-examination he elaborated that he ‘thought the devil was rising under me, but it was not under my bed the “screak” was’.107 The claim that the child had been heard to cry indicated that he had been born alive, a fact that was confirmed by the findings of the local medical practitioner. Ferguson was thus found guilty of manslaughter rather than concealment of birth. Manslaughter was punishable in three ways: firstly, by a sentence of penal servitude that ranged from three years to life; secondly, by a term of imprisonment up to a maximum of two years; and thirdly, by a fine in addition to or as an alternative to another penalty.108 The sentence passed on those found guilty of manslaughter was decided by the presiding judge. The circumstances of each individual case clearly influenced the punishment imposed. Cases of newborn death that resulted in charges of manslaughter were often punished similarly to crimes of concealment of birth in which suspicion of foul play existed. In the above case, for example, Elizabeth Ferguson was sentenced to twelve months’ imprisonment. In a second case study example, Bridget Duffy alias Kate Reilly allegedly caused the death of her infant in a railway carriage of a train travelling from Clones, County Monaghan, to Cavan in 1887. Doctor William Malcomson, who examined the suspect after her arrest, ‘asked her did she sit upon the child. She said no that she put it under the arm and smothered it.’109 Malcomson’s post-mortem examination confirmed that the infant had been suffocated. As in the case of Elizabeth Ferguson, the concealment of birth charge could not be sustained because the infant was known to have been born alive. Duffy was found not guilty of the murder of her newborn son but guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to nine months’ imprisonment.110 Harsher punishments were reserved for more severe manslaughter cases. In August 1893, Catherine Cafferky and her widowed mother, Mary Cafferky, were suspected of having caused the death of Catherine’s newborn infant in County Mayo. Doctor John Conry deduced from a post-mortem examination that the ‘cause of death was fracture of the skull which was very extensive. All the large bones were broken and the brains “mashed” up. There was no wound on the body. The injury appeared to me to be more the result of a crush.’111 Wenniefred Cafferky, who slept in the house on 19 August, recalled that Mary Cafferky ‘was

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called out of bed that night by her daughter, Catherine Cafferkey [sic], who said that her puddings were coming.’ The young girl admitted that when she rose, she ‘saw Mary Cafferkey [sic] roll the child in a cloth. After rolling it in the cloth she put it on the ground and began to kick it. She kicked it up to the room door. Before she kicked the child I heard the child cry. It was alive.’112 On 24 August, Mary Cafferky informed Sergeant James Crosbie that ‘her daughter told her she struck the child with a hard sod of turf on the head.’ Later, however, Mary regretted that she ‘was putting all the blame on Catherine but she did nothing. Anything that was done I did it. I struck the child with a spade in the hole and covered it.’113 On arrest, Mary Cafferky again claimed that her daughter Catherine was innocent: That girl had nothing to do with the case or that child more than Canon O’Hara… . She had nothing more than you that is standing outside (pointing to Mr Allen D. I.)… . I done the harm. I did it surely and I don’t deny it of any body.114

At the subsequent winter assizes, Mary Cafferky was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to four years’ penal servitude.115 Her daughter Catherine was released without charge. The eye-witness account of the brutal treatment of the infant, the clear admission of guilt and the fact that Mary Cafferky was not the victim’s mother evidently resulted in a relatively harsh punishment. It was acknowledged by the presiding judge in several instances that the charge of manslaughter was a lenient interpretation of the evidence. The judge at the trial of Kate Neenan reported that it was ‘difficult to see how the crime could be held other than murder, but the jury found a verdict of manslaughter with a recommendation to mercy’.116 Judge Murphy similarly recalled that the crime committed by Anne Jane Seery ‘was clearly one of murder. The jury found a verdict of manslaughter. I imposed a sentence of 5 years p[enal] s[ervitude]. I did not think I could impose a shorter term where clear proof was given of such a crime.’117 Despite the fact that the manslaughter law dictated that there should be an absence of intent, it is clear that several women could have been convicted of murder and sentenced to death but for the lenient interpretation of the evidence by the members of the assize courts.

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‘A kind of half murder case’:118 desertion in the courts In the nineteenth century, child abandonment was one of the most discussed social problems in Europe and was also of grave concern to social activists and philanthropists in America.119 There were two distinct reasons why a mother would desert her living baby in Ireland, namely to induce death or to have her child cared for by another. Judge Torrens explained this distinction at the Armagh assizes in 1855: In cases of desertion they should consider the line of conduct pursued by the mother towards the child, for it frequently happened that females who had become parents of illegitimate children, either through inability to maintain them, or through shame and wish to conceal the loss of their virtue, had them conveyed to the residence of the putative fathers in the hope of inducing them to undertake their support and maintenance. They (the jury) ought to consider whether the desertion arose from such feelings, or from the guilty intent of exposing the children.120

The sources relating to abandonment and desertion do not necessarily confirm the mother’s real intention; in an effort to avoid conviction, a suspect could claim that she had not intended to kill her offspring. Jane Dermott, for example, left her eight-day-old son lying on his back on a public road near a cluster of houses in Banbridge in 1851. She alleged that she had intended to reclaim her son once the father of her child had married her.121 The location at which a baby was deposited frequently hinted at a woman’s intention. Women who wished to induce death would generally have sought convenient but isolated locations. The less aggressive act of desertion immediately rid the female of her unwanted infant and did not require her to perform an act of violence on her own offspring. Women who merely wished to relinquish responsibility for their children, on the other hand, generally abandoned their living infants at the doors of churches, workhouses, local hospitals, charitable institutions, commercial premises or private dwellings, or thrust the unwanted infant into the arms of an unsuspecting stranger. In 1852, Margaret Farrell was charged with deserting her infant in Dublin. She entrusted her baby into the care of a boy of about eight or nine years of age on the pretence

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of having to do business in the nearby pawn shop. A reporter for the Freeman’s Journal commented that: [t]he poor little boy being doubtless accustomed to do duty as dry nurse, when occasion required, in his own humble home, readily and goodnaturedly undertook the charge of the stranger’s infant, and seating himself on a door step he received the baby from its mother, whereupon she went up the street, after telling the boy that she would quickly return. The boy continued in the same spot with his young and helpless charge patiently for a length of time, but the mother did not return.122

The mother of the deserted infant was subsequently identified because she called into the Church Street police barracks on the following day, ‘making anxious inquiries after her infant’.123 In 1896, a woman in County Tyrone left her well-clothed four-month-old infant inside the gate of the local workhouse. On arrest, she admitted: I done it as I had a good deal of money to pay and it would be better in the poor house than with me. I had a notion to tell the priest what I had done when I would get into service. I left it inside the gate near the poorhouse and I afterwards went back to see was it there. I went into a house near the place to get a drink and asked them did they get a wean about the door and the man asked me was it me left it and I said it was.124

The woman also insisted that she wanted her child back and ‘could not put in the night without it’.125 As the above quote from Judge Torrens acknowledged, a mother often left her infant at the house of the putative father or his family in an attempt to force him to take responsibility for his offspring. While some mothers undoubtedly waited in the vicinity until they observed that their infants had been found,126 others quickly left the scene for fear of discovery or in the expectation that the child’s cries would attract attention.127 Although death may not have been the intention, some of these deserted infants passed away through exposure or lack of nourishment before they were found. In other instances, the baby was found alive but subsequently died as a consequence of being exposed or due to

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inappropriate treatment received immediately after discovery. In 1899, for example, a two-hour-old baby abandoned at the side of a road in County Antrim died several days after he was found.128 The 1861 Offences against the Person Act stipulated that: ‘Whosoever shall unlawfully abandon or expose any Child, being under the Age of Two Years, whereby the Life of such Child shall be endangered, or the Health of such Child shall have been or shall be likely to be permanently injured, shall be guilty of a Misdemeanor’.129 A punishment of three years’ penal servitude, or imprisonment for a maximum of two years, with or without hard labour, could be imposed at the discretion of the presiding judge. The sentences imposed on women accused of desertion reflected the two variants of the crime. A mother who carefully placed her warmly clad infant in a public location received a significantly shorter punishment than a woman who callously abandoned her offspring, intending to cause death, as a number of case study examples indicate. In 1852, Elizabeth Magan alias Nowlan alias Carty, ‘a plain-looking female, of about 30 years of age’, was accused of having exposed and deserted her baby in Dublin.130 The week-old infant was discovered on the night of 2 November at the residence of a local clergyman. Alice Connor, the elderly housekeeper in the house on Kingstown Avenue, heard a knock at the front door and on opening it, discovered the abandoned infant. She admitted that she did not pick up the baby but instead summoned the police. The infant, who was dressed in flannels, with a pink calico frock and cap, was thus left lying on the ground for almost an hour. A young servant subsequently removed the infant from the house steps and entrusted him to the care of the lodge-keeper. The infant was later handed over to a nurse and afterwards to his imprisoned mother, but subsequently died in prison. At the commission of Oyer and Terminer, Elizabeth Magan pleaded not guilty to the crime. She addressed the court, explaining that she had not understood the indictment and now wished to change her plea to one of guilt. She stated that she had found herself destitute and deposited the infant at the door of the local clergyman’s house ‘where she thought it would have the best chance of being charitably treated.’131 Justice Crampton highlighted that the woman had dressed the deserted infant warmly and had abandoned him at a place where one would expect sympathetic treatment, even knocking at the door to draw attention to the baby. The judge remarked

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that the ‘cruelty seemed to have been shown by the old woman who, influenced by some apparent dislike to children, or imbued with cold and rigid notions, had left the wretched infant for an hour after she discovered it lying on the ground and crying.’132 In consequence, the jury subsequently acquitted the prisoner. The case of Mary Corcoran was a sharp contrast. It was proven at the Cork summer assizes in 1855 that Corcoran had deserted her infant in a ditch in Blarney, without food or clothing.133 The Cork woman pleaded guilty to the offence and received a sentence of twelve months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

It ‘is impossible for us to think otherwise than that the woman was in a state of insanity’: child murder and insanity in the courts The insanity defence in cases of child murder provided an explanation for a crime that some deemed to be incomprehensible.134 Unlike the excuse that infanticide was motivated by the shame of having given birth out of wedlock, the insanity defence extended equally to married women who killed legitimate babies and those who murdered older infants. The assumed link between the body and mind logically led to the conclusion that a woman’s mental health could be influenced by the physical changes to her body.135 In her study of insanity in the nineteenth and twentieth century, Elaine Showalter explained that ‘theories of female insanity were specifically and confidently linked to the biological crises of the female life-cycle – puberty, pregnancy, childbirth, menopause – during which the mind would be weakened and the symptoms of insanity might emerge’.136 Puerperal insanity was one of several types of mental conditions associated with the female reproductive system.137 Child murder was most frequently, although not exclusively, associated with puerperal insanity. This insanity took three forms: melancholia, depression and mania. Those described as showing symptoms of melancholy were listless and prone to suicide, the depressive were low-spirited, and the maniacal were usually excitable, nervous and highly strung.138 It was considered that a woman who was weak-minded, had family members who were mentally unstable or had experienced a traumatic event was prone to insanity during labour. William Bourke, whose

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stepdaughter Minnie Crowley was suspected of having caused the death of her illegitimate infant in 1888, explained that although ‘previous to the alleged offence she had never been absolutely insane, her mind was always somewhat weak, and the exposure attendant on the birth of the child considerably affected her sanity at the time’.139 Another suspect, Margaret Burke, was ‘of weak mind since infancy and is reported to have, at times, gone about the locality stark naked’.140 Ellen Cavanagh’s parents stressed that ‘owing to the confinement she became disconsolate in mind and lost all mental capacity and in such agony and in her melancholy condition she inflicted some mark of violence on the child’.141 Mary McCarthy’s father insisted that she ‘would not have committed the rash act above referred to were it not through mental disease brought on by her having brought disgrace on herself and family by giving birth to this illegitimate child’.142 Insanity could also occur some time after the birth in consequence of lingering problems prompted by a difficult labour, short intervals between births, or as a result of lactation. Bridget Drennan ‘became gravely affected with melancholia from over-nursing and over-fatigue attending on her child when sick, in consequence of which she killed her child’.143 The inspectors in the Office of Lunatic Asylums determined that Bridget Keegan ‘being a married woman, and mother of as many as ten children – no doubt her insanity was caused by debility from lactation’.144 External influences could also trigger insanity. It was believed that Mary Jane Simpson committed infant murder ‘through jealousy and quarrels with her husband. He alleges that the child did not belong to him, but to some neighbour.’145 Doctor John Holmes explained that he found Ellen Sadlier, who had allegedly cut the throats of her four daughters, ‘suffering from religious melancholia, with delusions about her children’.146 In another case, John Johnston described that he lived with his wife Elizabeth and their twelve children ‘happily and in good repute with all their friends and neighbours in Warringstown – their native place – but for some weeks preceding August 1886 a religious “revival” had been carried on here and the minds of the people were greatly agitated’. His wife’s health, however: owing largely to her having had twelve children in a period of 19 years was in a very delicate state, and the great excitement attending the

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criminal courts97 ‘revival’ affected her mind making her think it would be a merciful act to kill her infant and thus save it from all the risks of ‘this wicked world’.147

The insanity defence could not be used solely on the grounds that a woman had recently given birth or was nursing her infant. It was necessary to show evidence to indicate that the suspect had been affected by the disease or that she was still labouring under temporary insanity. At a trial for child murder in Armagh in 1888, Justice Murphy outlined: The law said that the unsoundness of mind, which is to be found as an excuse to save a person from undergoing the extreme penalty of the law for the act of taking away the life of another, must be very clearly made out to a jury. A very passionate, violent temper was never attempted as an excuse for the taking away of the life of another. It must be such an unsoundness of mind, made clear to the jury by the evidence, as leads them to the conclusion that the prisoner charged, at the time he or she committed the act, did not know they were doing an unlawful act.148

Doctor J. M. Winn was among the nineteenth-century medics who published on the subject of puerperal insanity. His 1855 address to the Medical Society of London was reproduced in the Dublin Medical Press. Winn described the symptoms of puerperal mania: It may come on suddenly, but its accession is often marked by premonitory symptoms. The earliest indications are restlessness, an anxious expression of countenance, peevishness, slight incoherence, and extreme talkativeness. Sometimes there is an opposite condition, in which the patient is taciturn and listless. As the disease advances, all the symptoms become aggravated, and the patient’s mind is occupied with various delusions. She often expresses a hatred towards her husband and child, and frequently utters oaths and obscene language. A tendency to suicide is very common.149

Irish doctors regularly advised that those suffering from the disease should not be left alone with their children or have access to instruments that could inflict harm. A doctor treating a patient in 1889 explained that he ‘found her suffering from puerperal insanity and gave orders to

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have her children kept away from her, that she was not to be left alone and that everything she might harm herself with should be removed’.150 The circumstances surrounding a case of infant murder could suggest that the accused woman was not mentally stable when she committed the otherwise incomprehensible act. In 1852, a young woman allegedly murdered her newly born illegitimate infant in Ballycastle, County Antrim, and subsequently cut off one of the baby’s legs, an arm and several fingers. The Belfast News-Letter concluded that it was ‘impossible for us to think otherwise than that the woman was in a state of insanity when she perpetrated the barbarous crime’.151 The murder of a legitimate infant by a married woman could also suggest a temporary loss of reason since child murder was generally perceived as an act committed by a woman in an attempt to hide her shame. Indeed, several historians have observed a link between the marital status of women and the likelihood of them being found insane.152 Insanity, it seems, was a label that comfortably explained the violent woman or the deviant woman who rejected her role as wife and mother. Certain features or behaviour displayed by the accused and often recognised as symptomatic of insanity included wild-looking eyes, unnatural facial expressions, epileptic fits, incoherent speech and irrational thoughts. Margaret Johnston displayed recognisable signs in court that she was still afflicted by the disease. In July 1851, the married woman gave birth to a baby in Belfast who was two months premature. Although she continued to breastfeed the infant, the baby, like another child born to Johnston, subsequently died. The doctor, who had attended to her at this delivery and her two previous confinements, explained to the court that puerperal fever had begun to affect her from the third day after the childbirth.153 Johnston became convinced that a woman who resided with her had cast a spell on the family. The doctor diagnosed puerperal insanity and advised her husband, who worked as a clerk in a flax-spinning mill on the Falls Road, to move to a house that did not contain past memories. Johnston’s husband followed the doctor’s orders and the young married couple and their one surviving child moved into a house in which they were the only residents. One month after the premature birth, Margaret Johnston arrived at her husband’s place of work and informed him, and subsequently the doctor, that she had strangled her toddler with a handkerchief. The two

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men returned with her to the house and there found the dead infant as Margaret had alleged. She remained adamant that the act was motivated by love and that it would ‘prevent the evils coming upon her children from that woman’.154 It later emerged that Johnston had purchased arsenic on the previous day, which she allegedly intended to administer to her husband. She was described by a reporter present in the coroner’s court as ‘a person of exceedingly prepossessing appearance and mild demeanour, but with a certain restlessness and nervousness in her manner, and a peculiar wildness in her eyes, indicative of some vague but overpowering apprehension and terror.’155 The doctor assured those present in court that puerperal mania was not a common disease in Ireland. He explained that, as in this case, women attacked by the disease ‘generally conceive a dislike for some one individual. It is a characteristic of puerperal mania that the person who is attacked by it is under the impression that some one has a design on her life.’156 He regretted that he had not imagined that this particular case of puerperal mania would have fatal consequences because the mother was clearly very fond of her surviving child. He surmised that her mental condition could have been caused by recent financial hardship experienced by the family. Interestingly, there is no indication that the deaths of Johnston’s other children in infancy were suggested as a possible cause of the disease. Margaret Johnston was summoned to speak at the coroner’s court. Her excited and nervous manner was regarded as evidence of insanity. Her inconsistent thoughts, coupled with her seemingly irrational accusations and mannerisms, were also interpreted as proof that she was not of sound mind. She described the ‘bewitching’ woman with whom she had previously lived: Mrs ____ is known to all here. They know all about it. They know that she and her family represent themselves to be decent working people. There was a nephew of hers from the time we went to lodge in her house – from the time we went to lodge in her house I felt something over me, so that I could not do anything – such a weakness over me – my very heart was weakened. I have every reason to believe that she cast something over me – I felt things go so queer … I know she brought on premature labour. I can’t tell what she gave me. Her manner was so

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different when my husband was absent from what it was when he was present. I know that she listened on the stairs – they listened on the stairs … I know that she intends to murder us all. There were people on the stairs. Two or three days after I was confined, they began to wash the stairs.157

The assize jury found Margaret Johnston not guilty of murder on account of her mental condition and the prisoner was ordered to be detained in the lunatic asylum. A defendant did not necessarily have to display symptoms of madness at the trial in order to be deemed insane and transferred to the lunatic asylum, because it was understood that insanity, particularly puerperal insanity, could be a temporary illness.158 Family members, friends and medical witnesses commented on the defendant’s mental state prior to and subsequent to the alleged offence. In 1887, George Johnston recalled that his mother informed him that she ‘had killed the god of this world … and that it was its father’s pet’.159 He denied that his mother was in an excited state but admitted that she continued to speak foolishly. The doctor who attended to the woman at the police barracks told the court that she maintained that her husband was in heaven, although in reality, her husband was not dead. He described that Elizabeth Johnston ‘bore a sad unnatural smile, and her eyes were wild’.160 In 1892, the medical officers in Sligo Prison deemed Catherine Wynn to be insane. They explained that this opinion: … is found from the following facts. On 24th July last she put three of her children into a pot, and scalded them to death, and then attempted to commit suicide by putting her head into the pot thereby scalding her face severely. When questioned about killing her children, she stated she could have saved them by keeping her eyes closed. She has delusions of a vague character, and is very incoherent in her conversation. She has also threatened to commit suicide.161

In another case, witnesses perceived similar ‘delusions’. At about half past eleven o’clock on the night of 14 February 1893, Susan Jane Rutledge awoke to find her mother, Jane Rutledge, in the kitchen of their County Leitrim house wearing wet and muddy night clothes. Jane Rutledge

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claimed that neighbour Larry McMorrow had stolen her twelve-dayold daughter and thrown her into the well. Susan would later explain that her mother: was very excited and crying at the time. She wanted my father to get the gun and shoot McMorrow… . She said she was travelling the mountain looking for the child and would be on the mountain all night only she met James McHugh. James McHugh is dead since St. Stephen’s Day last December.162

James Rutledge, the father of the deceased child, admitted that he did not believe his wife’s statement about McMorrow because ‘she was raving mad’.163 Susan explained the cause of her mother’s mental state: ‘My mother’s head had been bad for about a week before that, from the night of the thunder … She got a fright the night of the thunder about my brother James who was out in the storm.’164 Doctor Archibald C. Fraser, who attended to the woman on the following day, described that she: was in a state of great excitement and agitation and in a high state of fever. She was not then in a condition of mind in which she would be responsible for her actions. She was raving and under delusions as to people taking away her children.

He highlighted that Jane Rutledge: has not been made aware that the dead body of her child has been found and she does not appear to have any fixed reasonable idea regarding it. If the subject were mentioned to her relating the child’s death it would probably give her such a shock as to cause her death.165

The elusiveness of mental illness during this period, and the uncertainty as to whether the young, first-time mother, the overworked and mistreated mother, the poverty-stricken female, the married, the unwed or the fragile upper-class woman was more at risk, allowed for flexibility in the use of the insanity defence in court.166 Although, as Marland suggests, ‘it is possible to detect a palpable sigh of relief amongst judges,

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juries and witnesses if the woman could be declared insane’, the insanity defence was not always successful.167 At least two of the twenty-nine females convicted of infant murder and sentenced to death had failed to convince the jury that they were insane. In 1872, twenty-nine-yearold Ellen Carroll was charged with the murder of her illegitimate male toddler at the Kilkenny spring assizes. Carroll had self-inflicted a fourinch-long wound on her throat and slit the throat of her young son with a razor blade, the latter of which proved fatal. When she was called to plead, the prisoner fell in a fit in the dock. The prison matron described that during the fits, the suspect ‘works her hands and feet – froths from the mouth and is very violent’.168 She also alleged that Carroll tended to become very irritated about two hours prior to a fit and would be in an ‘idiotic’ state for some time afterwards. The prison doctor suggested that Carroll, whom he believed was of weak mental intelligence, cut her own throat and that of her child when affected by one of her fits. The presiding judge later described that Carroll became ‘extremely violent and excited’ after conviction, ‘making many incoherent remarks as far as I could collect and learn addressed to her child in affectionate terms and with desires to die – and imprecations against her seducer’.169 Despite her supposed weak-mindedness, her medical condition, the brutality of the act and her attempted suicide, Ellen Carroll was not deemed to be insane.170 In his treatise on the law and lunacy in nineteenth-century Ireland, George Whitley Abraham cautioned that suicide was not necessarily proof of insanity, but ‘it is well calculated to put the jury upon inquiry as to the state of mind of the suicide at the time of the act’.171 George Lane, master of the workhouse in which Carroll had resided for some time, concluded that although she had ‘a very impulsive and determined character’, he did not believe that she suffered from insanity.172 Under cross-examination, the doctor of the prison also admitted that Carroll was capable of distinguishing right from wrong. The jury found her guilty of murder. Justice Morris, who sentenced Carroll to be hanged, acknowledged that he concurred with the jury that there was no reason for mercy on the grounds of insanity. Two years later, counsel for the defence in the case of Ellen Davey also attempted to evade the capital charge by utilising the insanity defence. The unmarried twenty-year-old domestic servant had given birth to a female child in the Tipperary workhouse in June 1873. Two

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days after the mother and daughter left the workhouse, in July of that year, the body of a baby girl dressed in workhouse clothing was discovered in a nearby river. Patrick Davey, the defendant’s brother, deposed that his younger sister was ‘out of her mind’ three years previously for about six or seven months. During this period, she reportedly tried to commit suicide by throwing herself into the river. He stressed that he ‘often saw her in the water trying to drown herself. She was talking silly and saying her soul was burning in the fire.’173 He claimed that the prisoner was affected by these mood swings on a monthly basis. The accused also sought to explain her act on arrest: the Devil tempted me and I threw my little child into one side of the river … My mind was astray when I drowned my little child. The first of every month I don’t be right in my mind. Three or four years ago I was disturbed in my mind for six months and was never right since.174

The physician of the prison and the local lunatic asylum maintained, however, that despite the claims, Ellen Davey displayed no symptoms of insanity. The jury thus found her guilty of murder and she was sentenced to death. Legislative enactments on the incarceration of suspects classified as lunatics in Ireland were passed with some degree of regularity in the nineteenth century.175 In 1821, it was enacted that a suspect deemed to be insane at the time of the crime could be kept in custody during the pleasure of the lord lieutenant, regardless of whether she was found guilty or not guilty.176 In 1875, the Lunatic Asylums (Ireland) Act specified that those found to be of unsound mind on indictment and thus not tried could be confined until they were deemed sane. On being certified as sane, the suspect would be sent for trial.177 The lord lieutenant, however, had the authority to order the discharge of suspects without trial if the attorney-general agreed to abandon the prosecution. The Trial of Lunatics Act 1883 enacted that if the accused committed a crime but was not considered responsible for her or his offence on account of insanity, the jury ‘shall return a special verdict to the effect that the accused was guilty of the act of omission charged against him, but was insane’.178 Those found guilty of the ‘special verdict’ would be kept in custody, like those found to be insane, ‘until the pleasure of the

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Lord Lieutenant shall be known’.179 In 1884, it was enacted that criminal lunatics in the asylum should be assessed at intervals of at least three years.180 In 1850, under the terms of the Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum (Ireland) Act 1845, the Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum in Dundrum, County Dublin, opened as the first criminal lunatic asylum in Ireland.181 Oonagh Walsh has noted that the asylum was ‘deliberately designed to encourage cure and rehabilitation, not merely to serve as a quasi-prison and to this end it was less fortified than many of the district asylums’.182 Those accused of offences involving a punishment of death, transportation or long imprisonment, and deemed to be insane, were initially transferred to this institution; in later years, it was restricted to dangerous or homicidal lunatics.183 After 1875, the lord lieutenant could direct the transfer of a woman found guilty but insane to her local district asylum once her sentence had expired and she had not yet been certified as sane.184 She would then be treated as an ordinary patient. Between 1850 and 1899, thirty-eight women were sent to the Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum in Dundrum for the murder of children.185 Women in Ireland deemed by the courts to be incapable of pleading due to insanity, guilty of child murder but insane, or not guilty on the grounds of insanity, were sentenced to an indefinite term of incarceration in a lunatic asylum. The length of time spent in the asylum varied significantly. Puerperal insanity was usually regarded as a serious illness but it was understood as a temporary condition from which a woman could recover relatively quickly.186 Some women diagnosed with a form of puerperal insanity, therefore, were discharged from the asylum after a matter of weeks or months because they did not show further signs of mental illness. In 1885, Bridget Drennan was found guilty but insane at the time that she used her husband’s razor to kill her thirteen-monthold daughter in Newbridge, County Kildare. She was diagnosed with puerperal melancholia and transferred to Dundrum Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum. In October 1886, the doctors at the lunatic asylum explained that: [w]hen she was admitted here towards the close of last year she appeared to be nearly recovered from this melancholic condition, and we consider that she has now not only completed her recovery but

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Drennan was accordingly released in March 1887, fifteen months after she was convicted of murdering her infant daughter. Similar to the offences of concealment of birth, manslaughter and desertion, the verdict of insanity sidestepped execution. A jury’s ruling that a woman was insane, however, should not necessarily be regarded as quite as lenient as the charges of concealment of birth, manslaughter or desertion. The release of women who were thought to be suffering from a form of mental illness other than puerperal insanity was a cause for concern. Some females, therefore, were detained for significantly longer periods than Bridget Drennan.188 Medical officers at Dundrum Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum explained in 1864 that claims in a petition on behalf of a patient ‘that her case was one of mere puerperal mania is inexact and we are led to look on it as a more serious character, and that relapse, even after a considerable time, might be apprehended’.189 In 1865, another suspect, Mary Connors, described as ‘an absolute pauper’, was acquitted on the grounds of insanity of the murder of her one-yearold son in August of the previous year. Eleven years after her trial, in 1876, Doctor Isaac Ashe explained that Connors: presents none of the physical signs of insanity usually so distinctly and immediately recognisable by an experienced, or even an inexperienced, eye in the insane, in face, eyes, manner, gait &c. She is clear and intelligent when spoken to, and I am not aware that she labours under any delusion.190

Ashe acknowledged that his predecessor Doctor McCabe: classifies her under the head of ‘moral insanity’ and states that ‘she appears to have no moral sense’. Of this I have no doubt; but I differ from Dr McCabe as to the propriety of classifying her as morally insane. I am not prepared to deny the existence of moral insanity apart from intellectual insanity; but I think that when we have neither intellectual aberration nor yet any of the physical characteristics so invariably

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stamped on the individual by the presence of insanity then we have no warrant for affirming the presence of the disease merely because we find an absence of the moral sense.191

Although Ashe acknowledged that, in his professional opinion, he could ‘see no grounds of objection to her being set at large’, he explained that: as a member of society, I should regard her as a dangerous person to be at large, and as one who, not in consequence of insanity, but of a wicked and malevolent and passionate disposition, will be likely to commit some farther outrage on society.192

In consequence, Mary Connors was not released from the asylum in 1876. Nine years later, in 1885, Ashe’s professional opinion was again sought. On this occasion, he admitted that since his previous account he ‘had reason completely to alter my opinion’. He explained that he had formed the above opinion: not long after I had received information of a conspiracy said to exist among 3 of the female prisoners, of whom Mary Connor was said to be one, to commit a murderous assault on me with an ale-bottle tied up in a handkerchief. That, under these circumstances I should regard her as wicked, malevolent, and dangerous to society, is, I think, not to be wondered at.

He further explained that: she has since often assured me that she was no party to that conspiracy and her general conduct has given me reason to believe that this is the case. How completely my views regarding her underwent a change may be judged from the fact that, about five years ago, I used to employ her to take my youngest child, then an infant, out to walk about the grounds of the asylum, without farther guard or protection.193

In 1876, the Lord Lieutenant had stressed that he ‘cannot take the responsibility of ordering the discharge of this prisoner, when such a

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report as to the danger of so doing, has been made by Dr Ashe’.194 This opinion, which Ashe later unequivocally retracted, had ensured that Mary Connors had spent a further nine years in the asylum. She was eventually released from the asylum more than twenty years after she had been found not guilty of infant murder on the grounds of insanity. In her study of insanity in post-Famine Ireland, Pauline Prior has also described the cases of several women who remained in Irish asylums until their deaths.195 Like those found not guilty of murder on the grounds of insanity, the treatment of women classified by a jury as being incapable of pleading varied significantly. Women sent to the lunatic asylum without having been tried for the alleged offence could end up in what Prior has termed ‘a legal and medical limbo’.196 Although these suspects avoided a sentence of execution, they were incarcerated in a lunatic asylum with other patients until the lord lieutenant saw fit to order their discharge or send them for trial.197 Mary Maguire was one such woman. In 1896, she was suspected of having caused the death and concealed the birth of her newborn son in County Leitrim. She explained to the priest, in the presence of a police sergeant, that she: was coming from the bog one night. A man appeared at the green road with a blackened face, knocked me down and I don’t know what he did to me. On Sunday night last, I gave birth to a child. It was dead. I threw it in the ditch. I thought it no harm.198

On discovering the body of the infant, the suspect’s mother retorted that ‘if she kept regular hours that would not happen to her.’199 Maguire was removed to Sligo Prison to await her trial at the winter assizes, due to take place in Galway in December. In the interim, however, she was classified as insane by the medical officers and on 13 November, she was transferred from prison to the Sligo District Lunatic Asylum. In December of that year, Doctor Joseph Petit of the lunatic asylum explained that: [s]ince her admission into the asylum she had been under my personal supervision and I am of the opinion that it would be seriously detrimental to her, both mentally and physically, to be transferred to Galway

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for the purposes aforesaid. She is very mad and very violent at times, and in my opinion, she is quite incapable of pleading to any indictment and to produce her in court might have a very serious effect upon her condition both mentally and physically.200

In accordance with the doctor’s opinion, Mary Maguire’s trial was subsequently postponed until the spring assizes. At the Leitrim assizes in Carrick-on-Shannon on 3 March 1897, the empanelled jurors deemed Mary Maguire to be insane. She was accordingly transferred to the Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum in Dundrum without having stood trial. More than four years after the death of her infant, in 1900, the medical authorities deemed Mary Maguire to be now sane. She was thus ordered to stand trial at the forthcoming Leitrim winter assizes. The twelve jurors found her not guilty of murder but guilty of concealment of birth. Maguire was released on her own recognisances.201 She had been incarcerated in an Irish institution for more than four years and subsequently found guilty of a crime that carried a maximum sentence of two years’ imprisonment. In addition, it appears that the stigma attached to having spent time in the lunatic asylum was considerably worse for a woman and her family than that associated with having been in prison.202 The parents of another suspect considered to be affected by mental illness, for example, referred to ‘the afflicted person and the tainted remaining family’ in their petition for her release.203 In some instances where a woman was incarcerated without having been tried for child murder, the attorney-general opted to abandon the prosecution. In May 1888, Minnie Crowley was suspected of having caused the death of her newborn infant son. On arrest, she admitted that: [i]t was early in the day on Wednesday last it occurred. The child was a boy. I put it into the mill stream the night of the show. It was rolled up in a coarse bag. I sewed it up in the course [sic] bag while my mother was at the show. She knew nothing about it. No one knew anything about it but God and myself.204

The jury at the Cork summer assizes deemed her incapable of pleading and she was removed to the Cork District Lunatic Asylum.205 In May

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of the following year, the asylum doctors recorded that although Minnie Crowley had suffered from dementia, she: is now fairly well but does not seem to us to have ever been very strong minded… . Her conduct has been generally good since she commenced to improve, makes herself generally useful, knitting, and sewing. Previously to her improvement she soiled her clothes and bed and was particularly dirty in her habits.206

In July, Minnie Crowley was certified as sane.207 The Attorney-General, whose advice was sought, highlighted that under ‘the circumstances and having regard to the fact that she may go mad again if sent to jail. I think it better to discharge her.’208 Lord Londonderry accordingly directed Minnie Crowley’s discharge from the asylum. Evidently, the individual circumstances dictated the final outcome in insanity cases.

Conclusion It is difficult to determine the degree of public familiarity with laws relating to child murder. It is certainly apparent that some offenders equated the penalty for the crime with the punishments granted for concealment of birth, manslaughter or desertion. In 1875, farm servant Hannah Byrne, arrested on a charge of infant murder by the local police constable, ‘trembled very much: asked him did he think she would get twelve months, and to know what she would say’.209 Mary Ann Reilly remarked on arrest in 1893 that she supposed her punishment would amount to five years’ imprisonment, clearly regarding the offence as one of manslaughter.210 Constable McCaffrey recalled that when escorting a suspect from the courthouse in 1889, ‘she turned towards me and said: “Head, how much do you think I will get?” I said I did not know. She then said: “Do you think will I get a year?” I said I thought so.’211 Evidently, the harsh punishment did little to prevent the crime since Irish women generally did not realise that they would be sentenced to death if they were found guilty of infant murder by the courts.212 In reality, however, as shown by this chapter, the speculations of these females were reasonably accurate.

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On occasion, the judges and jurors suffered criticism for their lenient interpretation of the evidence relating to child murder offences. A correspondent to the Medical Press and Circular admonished that in cases of infant murder, ‘Medical witnesses and juries must do their duty, and not allow any false maudlin views to stand between them and the administration of justice’.213 Criticism also occurred in relation to specific cases in certain districts. At a meeting of the Board of Guardians in February 1892, the chairman of the South Dublin Union expressed his surprise at the lenient sentence recently bestowed on a mother for causing the death of her child. The chairman insisted that the sentence of one month in prison for child desertion was inadequate in consequence of the ‘inhuman character of the offence and the fact that the woman had pleaded guilty’.214 There is little evidence, however, to suggest that Irish judges, juries, policemen or even crown prosecutors were frustrated with lenient verdicts returned in cases of infant murder. The general population of Ireland were little concerned about the sympathetic treatment of women accused of child murder because these women were not thought to pose a risk in society. The authorities in Britain were not anxious about the handling of Irish child murder cases in the courts because women who killed their infants did not threaten peace and stability in Ireland. Therefore, despite some criticism and the occasional efforts of individual judges to discourage the crimes by imposing relatively harsh sentences, the practice of leniency continued throughout the latter half of the nineteenth century. By the end of the nineteenth century, infant murder was not seen to equate to general murder, although both were punishable by death. In 1899, Lord Chief Baron Palles complained at an infant murder trial that: I have long entertained the opinion that there is nothing which detracts so much from the dignity of the administration of justice as that a person should be indicted with all the form and ceremony that is necessary in the case of a person on trial for her life, when everybody knows from the commencement of the trial that it can result but one way.215

This leniency continued in the twentieth-century.216 In 1949, the Infanticide Act established diminished responsibility for child murder committed by a mother .217 It thus allowed the Irish courts to avoid the verdict of murder. But in reality, judges and jurors had been using the

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lesser charges of concealment of birth, manslaughter, and desertion, and the defence of insanity, to dodge the hangman’s noose in infant murder cases for decades.

Notes  1  2  3   4  5  6  7

Freeman’s Journal, 7 July 1875. Belfast News-Letter, 23 March 1849. Freeman’s Journal, 22 March 1849. 14 and 15 Vict. c. 93, s. 8. Ibid., s. 13. Ibid., s. 14. NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1889, statement of accused, 25 March 1889.  8 NAI, Crown files for County Donegal, 1892–4, statement of accused, 3 June 1893.   9 NAI, Crown files for County Westmeath, 1882–95, statement of accused, 13 May 1895. 10 John McEldowney, ‘Crown prosecutions in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in D. Hay and F. Snyder (eds), Policing and Prosecution in Britain, 1750–1850 (Oxford, 1989), p. 33. 11 Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 106. 12 Freeman’s Journal, 2 March 1875. See also Elaine Farrell (ed.), Infanticide in the Irish Crown Files at Assizes, 1883–1900 (Dublin, 2012), p. xxv. 13 McEldowney, ‘Crown prosecutions’, pp. 435–7, 446; Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 104. 14 Belfast News-Letter, 23 March 1849. 15 Cath Quinn, ‘Images and impulse: representations of puerperal insanity and infanticide in late Victorian England’, in Jackson (ed.), Infanticide: Historical Perspectives, p. 195. 16 Belfast News-Letter, 23 March 1849. 17 For a discussion of the jury, see Vaughan, Murder Trials, chapter 4. 18 Freeman’s Journal, 22 March 1849. 19 See, for example, Henrice Altink, ‘ “I did not want to face the shame of exposure”: gender ideologies and child murder in post-emancipation Jamaica’, Journal of Social History, xli (2007), 355–87; Backhouse, ‘Desperate women and compassionate courts’, 448; Backhouse, Petticoats and Prejudice, pp. 135–9; Donovan, ‘Infanticide and the juries in France’, 157–76; Emmerichs, ‘Trials of women’, 103; Clive Emsley, Crime and Society in England 1750– 1900 (Essex, 1987), pp. 156–7; Rachel G. Fuchs, ‘Public power and women’s

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bodies: abortion, infanticide, and the penal code in the nineteenth century’, Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the Western Society for French History, xviii (1991), 571; Higginbotham, ‘ “Sin of the age” ’, p. 262; Jackson, ‘Suspicious infant deaths’, p. 80. Sharon A. Kowalsky, ‘Making sense of the murdering mother: Soviet criminologists and infanticide in revolutionary Russia’, in Bechtold and Graves (eds), Killing Infants, p. 175; Kramar, Unwilling Mothers, p. 68; Tony Ward, ‘Legislating for human nature: legal responses to infanticide, 1860–1938’, in Jackson (ed.), Infanticide: Historical Perspectives, p. 251. 20 Western People, 18 July 1896. 21 Marilyn Francus, ‘Monstrous mothers, monstrous societies: infanticide and the rule of law in restoration and eighteenth-century England’, Eighteenth-Century Life, xxi: 2 (1997), 143. 22 Kramar, Unwilling Mothers, p. 7. 23 ‘Infanticide’, Medical Press and Circular, iii (16 January 1867), 60. 24 M. A. Baines, ‘A few thoughts concerning infanticide’, Journal of Social Science, x (August 1866), 538. Emphasis in the original. 25 Cavan Weekly News, 6 March 1868. 26 Freeman’s Journal, 20 May 1873. 27 Ibid., 1 November 1876. 28 Farrell, ‘ “The fellow said it was not harm and only tricks” ’, 997–9. 29 Sligo Champion, 10 December 1892. 30 Clonmel Chronicle, 6 July 1898. 31 Donegal Vindicator, 20 July 1900. 32 Wicklow People, 28 July 1900. 33 Bronwyn Dalley, ‘Criminal conversations: infanticide, gender and sexuality in nineteenth-century New Zealand’, in Caroline Daley and Deborah Montgomerie (eds), The Gendered Kiwi (Auckland, 1999), p. 70. 34 Irish Times, 16 September 1880. 35 Dalley, ‘Criminal conversations’, pp. 79–80. 36 The National Archives (hereafter TNA), HO 45/24609 cited in Daniel J. R. Grey, ‘Discourses of Infanticide in England, 1880–1922’ (PhD thesis, Roehampton University, 2008), p. 124. 37 Julie Birenza, “When the bough breaks: can justice be served in neonaticide cases?” in Trial, xxx (1997), 16; Norman J. Finkel, John E. Burke, Leticia J. Chavez, “Commonsense judgements of infanticide: murder, manslaughter, madness, or miscellaneous?,” Psychology, Public Policy and Law, vi (2000), 1113–37; Anne Worrall, ‘Sisters in law? Women defendants and women magistrates’, in Pat Carlen (ed.), Women, Crime and Poverty (Berkshire, 1988), p. 118. For a discussion of the debate surrounding female jurors in twentieth-century British infanticide cases, see Daniel J. R. Grey, “Women’s policy networks and the Infanticide Act 1922”, Twentieth-Century British History, xxi (2010), 441–63.

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38 39 40 41

Report of Capital Punishment Commission, 291, [3590], H.C. 1866, xxi, 343. Belfast News-Letter, 12 December 1893. McLoughlin, ‘Infanticide in nineteenth-century Ireland’, p. 915. Miriam Jones, ‘ “Too Common and Most Unnatural”: Rewriting the “Infanticidal Woman” in Britain, 1764–1859’ (PhD thesis, York University, 2000), available at Library and Archives Canada, www.collectionscanada. gc.ca/obj/s4/f2/dsk1/tape9/PQDD_0001/NQ43433.pdf (accessed 23 April 2009), p. 90. 42 Backhouse, Petticoats and Prejudice, p. 137. 43 Tuam Herald, 28 March 1896. 44 ‘Murderers and hangmen’, Irish Quarterly Review, vii (1857), 723–803. 45 Ibid., 723. 46 Report of Capital Punishment Commission, 392, [3590], H.C. 1866, xxi, 444. 47 Criminal and judicial statistics 1870, Ireland, 28 [C 443], H.C. 1871, lxiv, 258. 48 Belfast News-Letter, 8 December 1888. 49 6 Ann., c. 4. 50 Ibid. 51 Abrams, ‘From demon to victim’, p. 180; Backhouse, Petticoats and Prejudice, p. 114; Francus, ‘Monstrous mothers’, 133. 52 This Act was introduced in Scotland in 1809 with a punishment up to three years. See Anne-Marie Kilday and Katherine D. Watson, ‘Infanticide, religion and community in the British Isles, 1720–1920: introduction’, Family and Community History, xi: 2 (2008), 93. See also James Kelly, ‘Responding to infanticide in Ireland, 1680–1820’, in Farrell (ed.), ‘She Said She was in the Family Way’, pp 289–203. 53 43 Geo. iii, c. 58. 54 Francus, ‘Monstrous mothers’, 141. 55 Jackson, New-Born Child Murder, pp. 176–7. 56 43 Geo. iii, c. 58. 57 Davies, ‘Child killing in English law’, p. 215. 58 The terms of this act were introduced in England in 1828. See 9 Geo. iv, c. 31. 59 10 Geo. iv, c. 34 s. 17. 60 Ibid. 61 Reg. v. Doran (1842), 2 Leg. Rep. 163. 62 Reg. v. Gogarty (1855), 7 Cox C. C. 107. 63 Freeman’s Journal, 18 March 1850. 64 Ibid. 65 24 and 25 Vic., c. 100 s. 60. 66 J. W. Cecil Turner, Russell on Crime, i (2 vols, 12th ed., London, 1964), p. 607. 67 Ibid., pp. 607–8. 68 Belfast News-Letter, 22 August 1870. 69 Ibid., 10 March 1871.

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70 Ibid., 22 August 1870. 71 Freeman’s Journal, 13 March 1871. 72 PRONI, Crown files for County Antrim, Ant/1/2c/6/77, deposition of R. P., 18 June 1896. 73 Rex v. Snell (1837), 2 M. and Rob. 44. 74 Reg. v. Bell (1841), 2 Moo. and R. 294. 75 Reg. v. Opie (1860), 8 Cox C. C. 332. 76 Belfast News-Letter, 17 July 1896. 77 Mary Carpenter, Reformatory Prison Discipline: As Developed by the Rt. Hon. Sir Walter Crofton (London, 1872), p. 108. 78 Belfast News-Letter, 19 March 1888. 79 NAI, CRF, F 20 1870, report of Judge Fitzgerald, 19 November 1870. 80 Belfast News-Letter, 17 July 1877. 81 PRONI, Crown files for County Armagh, Arm/1/2d/1/7, deposition of D. K., 20 Apr. 1888. 82 For a discussion of similar practices in England, see Higginbotham, ‘ “Sin of the age” ’, pp. 274–6. 83 Belfast News-Letter, 31 October 1861. 84 Ibid. 85 Ibid., 11 March 1862. 86 Conley, Certain Other Countries, p. 171; Farrell, ‘ “ The fellow said it was not harm and only tricks” ’, 999. 87 Grey, ‘Discourses of Infanticide’, pp. 177–8. 88 Freeman’s Journal, 18 April 1864. 89 Belfast News-Letter, 11 March 1885. 90 Ibid., 9 July 1886. 91 Higginbotham, ‘ “Sin of the age” ’, p. 276. 92 See Farrell, Infanticide in the Irish Crown Files. 93 Belfast News-Letter, 4 March 1893. 94 Clonmel Chronicle, 6 July 1898. 95 Backhouse, Petticoats and Prejudice, p. 135. 96 NAI, Court trial book (register of prisoners for trial), Grangegorman Female Prison, Dublin, 28 August 1871 – 1 December 1883, Pris. 01/09/59, 4 April 1882. 97 NAI, General register of female prisoners, Cork County Gaol, 2 January 1882 – 29 December 1885, Pris. 01/08/41, 3 December 1887. 98 NAI, CRF, C 55 1894, case of Bridget Connolly. 99 Luddy, Prostitution and Irish Society, pp. 121–2. 100 Smith, Ireland’s Magdalen Laundries, pp. 63–6, 195–200. See also Ferriter, Occasions of Sin, p. 127; Guilbride, ‘Mad or bad?’, p. 90; Rattigan, ‘ “I thought from her appearance” ’, 137; Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’, pp. 208–18; Ryan, Gender, Identity and the Irish Press, p. 275.

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101 Maguire, Precarious Childhood, p. 197. 102 For a discussion of ‘moral contagion’, see Luddy, Prostitution and Irish Society, p. 37. This practice is also evident in prostitution cases (Ibid., p. 48). For Good Shepherd Magdalen Asylums, see Frances Finnegan, Do Penance or Perish: Magdalen Asylums in Ireland (Oxford, 2004). 103 Cork Examiner, 23 July 1880. 104 24 and 25 Vic., c. 100 s. 6. 105 See J. M. Kaye, ‘The early history of murder and manslaughter’, Law Quarterly Review, lxxxiii (1967), 365–95, 569–601. 106 Belfast News-Letter, 23 July 1852. 107 Ibid. 108 24 and 25 Vic., c. 100 s. 6. 109 NAI, Crown files for County Cavan, 1886–9, deposition of William Malcomson, 3 October 1887. 110 Freeman’s Journal, 8 December 1897. 111 NAI, Crown files for County Mayo, 1893, deposition of John Conry, 25 September 1893. 112 Ibid., deposition of Wenniefred Cafferky, 25 September 1893. 113 Ibid., deposition of James Crosbie, 25 September 1893. 114 Ibid., deposition of Michael McArdle, 11 September 1893. 115 Freeman’s Journal, 9 December 1893. 116 NAI, CRF, N 5 1893, Justice Hugh Holmes to William S. B. Kaye, 29 July 1893. 117 NAI, CRF, S 22 1897, Justice Murphy to Dublin Castle, 23 July 1897. 118 Freeman’s Journal, 23 December 1892. 119 Kertzer, ‘Gender ideology and infant abandonment’, 1–2; R. Burr Litchfield and David Gordon, ‘Closing the “tour”: a close look at the marriage market, unwed mothers, and abandoned children in mid-nineteenth century Amiens’, Journal of Social History, xiii (1980), 458–72. See also Paul A. Gilje, ‘Infant abandonment in early nineteenth-century New York City: three cases’, Signs, viii, Women and Violence (1983), 580–90. 120 Freeman’s Journal, 19 July 1855. 121 Belfast News-Letter, 30 July 1851. 122 Freeman’s Journal, 18 March 1852. 123 Ibid. 124 PRONI, Crown files for County Tyrone, Tyr/1/1b/1/5, deposition of W. D., 26 September 1896. 125 Ibid., deposition of S. E., 26 September 1896. 126 See, for example, Freeman’s Journal, 30 November 1882. 127 See, for example, PRONI, Crown files for County Tyrone, Tyr/1/1b/1/5, case of S. M. 128 PRONI, Crown files for County Antrim, Ant/1/2c/7/13, case of M. J. B.

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129 24 and 25 Vic., c. 100 s. 27. 130 Freeman’s Journal, 7 December 1852. 131 Ibid. 132 Ibid. 133 Cork Examiner, 30 July 1855. 134 It is not the purpose of this research to determine whether or not the suspect was, in fact, mentally ill. 135 Nancy M. Theriot, ‘Diagnosing unnatural motherhood: nineteenth-century physicians and “puerperal insanity” ’, in Judith Walzer Leavitt (ed.), Women and Health in America: Historical Readings (2nd edition, Madison and London, 1999), p. 411. 136 Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness and English Culture, 1830–1980 (London, 1985), p. 55. 137 For an account of the gradual move away from this belief and the eventual disappearance of ‘puerperal insanity’, see Hilary Marland, Dangerous Motherhood: Insanity and Childbirth in Victorian Britain (New York, 2004), chapter 7. 138 Theriot, ‘Diagnosing unnatural motherhood’, p. 408. 139 NAI, CRF, C 43 1889, petition of William Bourke, received 31 July 1889. 140 NAI, CRF, B 40 1900, S. P. Kingston to Governor of Galway Gaol, 26 July 1900. 141 NAI, CRF, Mc 18 1866, petition of Charles and Elizabeth Cavanagh, received 19 July 1864. 142 NAI, CRF, Mc 38 1898, petition of Daniel McCarthy, received 5 September 1896. 143 NAI, CRF, D 9 1887, Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum physicians to Inspectors of Lunatic Asylums, 26 October 1886. 144 NAI, CRF, K 36 1884, memo from J. Nugent, 10 July 1884. 145 NAI, CRF, S 1 1901, Samuel Hanna to RIC office, Londonderry, 2 June 1897. 146 NAI, CRF, O 24 1902, medical report of John Holmes, 27 February 1885. 147 NAI, CRF, J 5 1890, petition of John Johnston, 14 July 1890. 148 Belfast News-Letter, 12 July 1888. 149 J. M. Winn, ‘Treatment of puerperal mania’, Dublin Medical Press, xxxiii (1855), p. 326. 150 NAI, Crown files for County Kildare, 1887–9, deposition of William Watson Tikes, 3 August 1889. 151 Belfast News-Letter, 27 December 1852. 152 Conley, Certain Other Countries, pp. 181–2; Grey, ‘Discourses of Infanticide’, p. 208. 153 British physician James Reid confirmed in his writings that puerperal insanity seldom appeared before the third day after childbirth ( James Reid,

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‘On the causes, symptoms, and treatment of puerperal insanity’, Journal of Psychological Medicine and Mental Pathology, i (1858), 134). 154 Belfast News-Letter, 17 March 1852. 155 Ibid., 11 August 1851. 156 Ibid. 157 Ibid. Emphasis in the original. 158 John B. Tuke, ‘Cases illustrative of the insanity of pregnancy, puerperal mania, and insanity of lactation’, Edinburgh Medical Journal, xii (1866–7), 1092; Hilary Marland, ‘Getting away with murder? Puerperal insanity, infanticide and the defence plea’, in Jackson, Infanticide: Historical Perspectives, p. 181. 159 Belfast News-Letter, 20 July 1887. 160 Ibid. 161 NAI, CRF, W 12 1910, medical report of Thomas Murray and George Lawless, 19 January 1893. 162 NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1892–3, information of Susan Jane Rutledge, 16 February 1893. 163 NAI, coroner’s files for County Leitrim, 1d 47 71, evidence of James Rutledge, 16 February 1893. 164 NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1892–3, deposition of Susan Jane Rutledge, 14 June 1893. 165 Ibid., information of Archibald C. Fraser, 16 February 1893. 166 Marland, Dangerous Motherhood, p. 178. 167 Marland, ‘Getting away with murder?, p. 179. 168 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, deposition of Mrs McCullagh, 4 March 1872. 169 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, report of Judge Morris, 9 March 1872. 170 For a discussion of suicide, see Georgina Laragy, ‘Suicide and insanity in post-Famine Ireland’, in Cox and Luddy (eds), Cultures of Care, pp. 79–91. 171 George Whitley Abraham, The Law and Practice of Lunacy in Ireland, as Administered by the Lord Chancellor Under the Sign Manual Together with a Compendium of the Law Relating to Establishments for the Care of the Insane (Dublin, 1886), p. 381. 172 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, deposition of George Lane, 4 March 1872. 173 Ibid., deposition of Patrick Davey, March 1874. 174 Ibid., statement of Ellen Davey, 9 July 1873. 175 See T. Percy C. Kirkpatrick, A Note on the History of the Care of the Insane in Ireland up to the End of the Nineteenth Century (Dublin, 1931), pp. 39–40. 176 1 and 2 Geo. iv, c. 33. 177 Ibid., s. 13.

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178 46 and 47 Vic., c. 38 s. 2. 179 Ibid. 180 47 and 48 Vic., c. 65 s. 4. 181 8 and 9 Vic., c. 107 s. 8. For a discussion of the Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum, see Prior, Madness and Murder, pp. 33–46. 182 Walsh, ‘Gender and insanity’, p. 79. 183 Joseph Robins, Fools and Mad: A History of the Insane in Ireland (Dublin, 1986), p. 151. 184 38 and 39 Vic., c. 67 s. 12. 185 Mulryan et al., ‘Infanticide and child murder’, 10. 186 Tuke, ‘Cases illustrative of the insanity of pregnancy’, 1092. 187 NAI, CRF, D 9 1887, Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum physicians to Inspectors of Lunatic Asylums, 26 October 1886. 188 See Walsh, ‘Gender and insanity’, p. 79. 189 NAI, CRF, Mc 18 1866, case of Ellen McGuigan. 190 NAI, CRF, C 28 1885, Isaac Ashe to W. Corbet, 14 July 1876. 191 Ibid. 192 Ibid. 193 Ibid., Isaac Ashe to Inspectors of Lunatic Asylums, 28 April 1885. 194 Ibid., memo of Lord Abercorn, July 1876. 195 Prior, Madness and Murder, pp. 128–31. 196 Pauline Prior, ‘Prisoner or patient? The official debate on the criminal lunatic in nineteenth-century Ireland’, History of Psychiatry, xv (2004), 188. 197 See Pauline Prior, ‘Psychiatry and the fate of women who killed infants and young children, 1850–1900’, in Cox and Luddy (eds), Cultures of Care, pp. 97–8. 198 NAI, Crown files for County Leitrim, 1898–9, deposition of Martin Daly, 22 August 1896. 199 Ibid., deposition of Winefred Maguire, 22 August 1896. 200 Ibid., affidavit of Joseph Petit, 28 November 1896. 201 Ibid., case file of Mary Maguire. 202 Oonagh Walsh, ‘Lunatic and criminal alliances in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in Peter Bartlett and David Wright (eds), Outside the Walls of the Asylum: The History of Care in the Community, 1750–2000 (London, 1999), pp. 139–42. 203 NAI, CRF, Mc 38 1898, petition of Eugene and Mary Sullivan, 1895. 204 NAI, CRF, C 43 1889, deposition of Philip Higgins, 28 June 1888. 205 Ibid., warrant, 10 December 1888. 206 Ibid., Jameson Dwyer and W. C. Townsend, Cork District Lunatic Asylum, to Inspectors of Lunatic Asylums, 1 May 1889. 207 Ibid. 208 Ibid., memo of Attorney-General, 27 July 1889.

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209 Kilkenny Journal, 14 July 1875. 210 Freeman’s Journal, 6 April 1893. 211 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1889, deposition of Constable McCaffrey, 22 March 1889. 212 Rublack, The Crimes of Women, p. 195. 213 ‘Infanticide’, Medical Press and Circular, iii (20 June 1867), 83. 214 Freeman’s Journal, 12 February 1892. 215 Ibid., 16 March 1899. 216 Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’, pp. 199–201. 217 ‘Infanticide Act, 1949’ (www.irishstatutebook.ie/1949/en/act/pub/0016/ sec0001.html) (accessed 24 March 2008).

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4 ‘Rumor, with its hundred tongues’: the community

Infanticide in post-Famine Ireland was a community affair. Inhabitants were involved in suspected infant murder and concealment of birth cases at every stage of the process. Members of the locality did not, however, respond uniformly to such cases. Suspects could be both shielded and exposed by their immediate family, close friends, neighbours and acquaintances. Although some neighbours remained silent while policemen investigated rumours of a pregnancy, a concealed birth or an infant murder in the district, others were eager to draw attention to the supposed culprit. Although he had seen his neighbour throw a dead infant in a local lake, witness Joseph King admitted under cross-examination in 1889 that he ‘did not like to report it to the police when I saw it, as I did not like to give myself a bad name for doing it’.1 In another case in 1898, a Carlow witness admitted telling the reputed father of a dead infant discovered in a ditch that ‘if the child wasn’t taken away I would go to the police barracks’. The putative father replied that ‘he would get her [the mother] to take it away and say nothing about it’.2 Since the baby was subsequently removed from the ditch, the witness kept knowledge of the incident to himself. On the other hand, Constable Daniel Enright reported that owing to a tip-off he had received, he questioned Ellen McGinley in County Donegal about the alleged birth and death of her illegitimate infant in 1899. McGinley retorted: ‘Some one must be telling you lies about me.’3 In fact, the defendant’s sister, with whom she resided, had visited the police station earlier that day to report her suspicions that Ellen had given birth.4 This chapter will focus on four case studies to illustrate the roles that members of the local community played in infanticide cases and the

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different reactions towards the crime and the suspect. In the first two case studies, defendants Sarah Cuthbert in County Donegal and Sally Hagan in County Tyrone aroused the suspicions of their neighbours and became the subjects of gossip. These rumours eventually led to the discovery of infant bodies. In the latter two case studies, the discovery of the dead babies instigated the investigations. Neighbourhood talk eventually connected Elizabeth Evans in County Armagh and Maggie O’Connor in Limerick City with the dead infants discovered in their respective districts. These two case studies also provide evidence of the gendered nature of infanticide, since men were accused of aiding and abetting the female perpetrator in both instances. An assessment of the roles played by members of the community also reveals the extent to which the Irish police force infiltrated all levels of Irish society and indicates the effect that individual policemen had on infanticide cases. The police gazette, the Hue and Cry, which regularly included descriptions of ‘wanted’ suspects, illustrates the determination of policemen to trace infant murder and concealment of birth suspects.5 The Hue and Cry of 12 April 1872 included the following: The description of Anne McGrath alias Ross, native of Clones, who stands charged with having, on the 2nd day of April, 1872, in the barony of Clonkelly, parish of Clones, murdered her illegitimate infant child, by drowning him in the river of Clontivren: – Two front teeth rather large; good-looking; large gray eyes, regular nose, fair complexion, round face, stout make, 5 feet high, about 18 or 20 years of age, light brown hair; wore a brown winsey dress, dark red shawl with black border, no hat or boots.6

The noticed was repeated on five further occasions until the 3 May edition confirmed that ‘Anne McGrath alias Ross, described in the last Hue-and-Cry, has been arrested’.7 A Belfast-based constable had arrested McGrath in the city on the evening of 25 April, having matched her with the description published in Hue and Cry. She was brought before a magistrate and subsequently transferred to Clones to stand trial.8 Numerous cases of infant murder and concealment of birth were discovered in Ireland as a result of neighbourhood suspicions. In 1861,

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the Belfast News-Letter commented that in a case of infanticide, ‘people began to wonder, and rumor, with its hundred tongues, brought the matter to the ears of the police who, in regular detective style, went to work’.9 The frequency with which the RIC acted ‘on information received’ from unnamed sources suggests that some neighbours were not afraid to report their suspicions about other local residents to the law authorities.10 Elizabeth Byrne, suspected of infanticide in Meath, lamented that people ‘are terrible for giving scandle [sic]’.11 The frequent tip-offs from members of the locality also reveal that Irish policemen were trusted by a portion of the general population. The evidence illustrates that RIC men were absorbed into community life and were privy to local gossip. Local constables did not dismiss rumours of pregnancy or childbirth as petty tales. Instead, constables monitored the bodies and the activities of particular women, questioned those who had regular contact with the suspect and made searches in their districts. Incentives were occasionally offered. On 11 February 1859, the following appeared in Hue and Cry: Meath: Twenty Pounds reward. Whereas on the morning of the 29th ultimo, the body of a male infant was found on the lands of Loyd, in the barony of Upper Kells, county Meath, having been murdered and left there by its parent, or a party unknown. I hereby offer a reward of £20 to any person who shall, within six months from the date hereof, give such information as shall lead to the arrest of the party concerned in this outrage. Payable on conviction. W. Walsh, Sub-Inspector. Kells, 2nd Feb, 1859.12

Reward posters, such as the surviving example issued in County Roscommon in 1840, may also have encouraged members of the public to report their suspicions to the police (see Figure 4.1). It must, of course, be acknowledged that the sources generally recorded only those cases in which neighbour or police suspicions proved accurate. It is impossible to know how many women were the subjects of untrue pregnancy, childbirth or infanticide rumours.

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Figure 4.1  Reward poster, Roscommon, 1840

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‘That bad report’: case studies of Sarah Cuthbert and Sally Hagan At eleven o’clock on the night of 23 May 1867, Constables David Hannan and John Mulhearn called at the thatched bungalow where Jonathan Cuthbert resided with his wife Eliza and his twenty-threeyear-old unmarried daughter Sarah in Annaghmore, County Armagh. The two men banged on the front door of the four-roomed house for fifteen minutes, before Jonathan Cuthbert eventually called to them from the window of one of the bedrooms. Hannan demanded to be admitted into the house and was eventually permitted to enter the darkened kitchen. In consequence of a lack of supplies at Cuthbert’s house, Hannan was compelled to seek a candle at a neighbouring house while Mulhearn remained on guard at the cottage. On his return, Hannan immediately began quizzing the family. Jonathan Cuthbert confirmed that his daughter had recently been unwell but emphatically denied that she had given birth. Eliza Cuthbert similarly rejected the allegation that her daughter had given birth and exclaimed that ‘she is a good child. Some bad person had raised that bad report. It was the McNeills.’ Sarah Cuthbert also denied that there was any truth in the rumours that she had been pregnant or had given birth. She told the policeman that she ‘never had a child more than you had. It was the McNeills who raised that bad report.’13 Undeterred by the Cuthbert family’s denials that a birth had recently taken place, Hannan sought to search a bedroom that contained two beds. Sarah pushed past the policeman in order to enter the bedroom first and Hannan followed close behind. He asked her if the bed on the left was the one that she slept in and she confirmed that it was. A man’s coat on the bed hinted, however, that this was not actually Sarah’s bed. Hannan thus moved to search the second bed but Sarah blocked the constable’s path in an effort to prevent him from carrying out his inspection. The policeman insisted that he must make an examination and began to lift the bedclothes. He perceived stains of blood on the sheet and the bed tick. Sarah, replacing the bedclothes, insisted that ‘you are a married man – I will tell you the cause of that – that is a girl’s monthly return’. Hannan attempted to remove the bedclothes again but Sarah grabbed the constable’s arm and pushed him away. She

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also purposefully knocked the candle out of his hand, thus quenching it. Hannan shouted to Constable Mulhearn to bring in a second candle and he again attempted to search the bedroom. Again the young woman pushed the exasperated constable away, shouting, ‘Go away, I won’t allow you to search my bed.’ At this, Jonathan and Eliza Cuthbert came into the room. Jonathan emphasised that there was nothing to hide in the bed and turned down some of the bedclothes himself. Hannan took the stained sheet into his possession. Sarah, clearly upset at what had occurred, replaced the quilt on the bed and exclaimed that ‘it is not right to search my bed. I won’t allow any one to search my bed.’ As a result of the struggle between himself and Sarah Cuthbert, Hannan was forced to call to a neighbour’s house to replace the quenched candle. On his return to the cottage, he heard sounds of a commotion and peered in through the front window. He observed Mulhearn wielding a stick towards the young woman. Hannan shouted in through the window that if ‘she be not quiet – I will put a pair of hand cuffs on her’.14 Mulhearn was dispatched from the house at two o’clock in the morning. Hannan remained on guard for the entire night. At seven o’clock, Sarah Cuthbert rose and went to her neighbour’s house. Hannan accompanied her on her morning excursion and stayed with her during her half-hour visit. He observed that she was very pale and appeared distressed. He therefore decided to renew his search, evidently convinced that something untoward had occurred at the Cuthbert cottage. He placed another constable in charge of Sarah and went to re-examine her now-empty bed. There, beneath the bed tick, Constable Hannan found the dead body of a male newborn child rolled in a linen cloth. In the second case study, neighbours played a visible role. At seven o’clock on the morning of 8 December 1868, Jane McLoughlin observed her next door neighbour, Sally Hagan, taking a walk in the district of Shanony East in County Tyrone. Twenty-five-year-old Sally Hagan lived with her father, her brother and her illegitimate three-year-old son Peter on the family farm. Her father, James Hagan, was infirm and suffered from heart disease. Her brother John worked as a labourer in the area but was considered by his neighbours to be ‘very simple’.15 On seeing Sally out walking, Jane McLoughlin instructed a man working nearby to monitor the activities of the young woman. Sally returned to her own house within half an hour.

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Jane McLoughlin and another neighbour, John McDonnell, subsequently called to the Hagan family homestead. They found James Hagan and his grandson seated at the fire; John Hagan was out laying rushes at John McDonnell’s farm. The two neighbours questioned Sally about rumours that she had recently given birth, but she emphatically denied that this was the case. Unconvinced, McDonnell ordered Sally to produce the baby to let the neighbours decide if the child had been stillborn. The neighbours had taken it upon themselves to act as medical practitioners in the case. In 1894, a suspicious mother-in-law in Kerry similarly demanded that the body of a recently born baby be exhumed so that she could decide for herself if the infant was prematurely born as her daughter-in-law of five months maintained.16 Some inhabitants of nineteenth-century Ireland evidently believed that they could identify a stillborn baby. Sally insisted that she had not given birth and demonstrated that her breasts did not contain milk. John McDonnell maintained that ‘if you have it, and if it be dead born it will be all the better for you, and if you do anything on it, it will be all the worse for yourself ’.17 Sally again denied that anything was amiss in the house and the neighbours returned home. Although Sally Hagan had given birth to one illegitimate child, her neighbours evidently anticipated that she would attempt to conceal proof of her second ‘fall from grace’. There are several instances in postFamine Ireland where the mother of an illegitimate child attempted to conceal the evidence of a subsequent birth outside marriage. In 1868, Anne Campbell, suspected of infanticide, had her two-year-old child in her arms at the inquest on the body of her illegitimate newborn son.18 Minnie McKenna’s illegitimate infant was likewise present at her trial for the murder of her two-day-old son.19 These women, and other single mothers in similar circumstances, might not have had the resources to support more than one infant.20 The reaction of Sally Hagan’s immediate family and neighbours to her first illegitimate child may also have prompted the attempt to conceal her second baby conceived outside wedlock. Less than an hour later, another neighbour, Sally McKinney, also visited Sally Hagan and the pair shared some tobacco by the fireside. Hagan complained to McKinney that she was tired on account of having been awake during the night taking care of her father. After some time,

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McKinney emerged from the house in a frightened state and sought the help of widow, Jane McLoughlin. She revealed to McLoughlin that she had seen blood in the Hagans’ house and thought that a murder had been committed. McLoughlin immediately sought the assistance of her neighbours and, together with John McDonnell, Denis Bartley, Sally McKinney’s husband Paddy and Mary Anne Morris, approached the Hagan homestead for the second time that morning. The group of neighbours summoned Sally Hagan to the doorway of her house and threatened to instigate a search if she did not produce the body of the baby. McDonnell explained to James Hagan that his daughter had given birth and that the neighbours had arrived to investigate. The old man consented to the search but Sally refused to admit them. Evidently angered by the arrival of the group, she shouted to her young son to hand her a hatchet and warned that ‘the first that would come into the room she would put it through them’.21 Undeterred, the neighbours bustled into the house and, without Sally’s consent, began a search. Although they hunted for verification of their suspicions, the neighbours did not find a baby’s body. Nonetheless, they remained convinced that Sally Hagan had murdered her infant. John McDonnell explained that he ‘suspected that the child had met with foul play’.22 Sally McKinney also admitted that she ‘thought the child had been done away with’.23 Jane McLoughlin was posted to watch the house while McDonnell went to inform the local priest. In their new role as law enforcers, the neighbours were clearly insistent that the suspect would not leave the scene of the supposed crime. Sally Hagan had, in fact, previously admitted to Sally McKinney that she was pregnant. McKinney reminded her on several occasions that the neighbours would report her to the police if a baby did not materialise. McKinney would later explain that she said this ‘for fear she would have the child and do something with it, that is make away with it’.24 This admission follows Lynn Abrams’s theory in relation to Scottish cases of infanticide that those who monitored a woman’s body and questioned her about her condition were attempting to discourage her from committing a crime and to protect her from herself.25 At an inquest on the body of an infant in Kilkenny in 1851, witness Bridget Tophy similarly explained that when the defendant, Margaret Hays, ‘told me that the child was dead in her womb, I cautioned her to have

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some person present at the birth to clear her’. In response to questions from Hays, Tophy insisted that it ‘was not to jibe you I gave you this caution – I was in earnest in giving it’.26 In 1893, Sergeant John Fallon explained that because, six or seven years earlier, Bridget Fleming had given birth to an illegitimate infant who later died, he ‘considered it necessary to have private enquiries made as I heard she was again in the family way’.27 Fallon visited the suspect at home on a number of occasions but Fleming consistently denied that she was pregnant and ‘said the police might not be coming about the place as there was nothing the matter with her.’28 This evidence is recorded precisely because Fallon’s suspicions that Fleming was pregnant and would conceal the birth or cause the death of her infant later proved accurate. Sally McKinney told Sally Hagan that ‘a dummy’29 had predicted that Hagan ‘would have a child, and that a shaver would be with her that would bury the child in the bog … and she said “By God that would be Mosey”.’30 Moses Kilpatrick, the son of next door neighbour, Jane McLoughlin, was the reputed father of Sally’s child. Sally McKinney had informed Kilpatrick that Sally Hagan was pregnant but he had refuted this claim. McKinney retorted that ‘he was the biggest liar’. She also told Kilpatrick about the prediction made by the ‘dummy’ but he again dismissed the allegation and ‘he “Damned himself ” that there was always something new in Shanony’.31 The reputed father of the child was evidently aware that the neighbours regularly gossiped about the lives of those in the community. In the course of the investigation, it was also revealed that Moses Kilpatrick had told Sally Hagan to identify Patrick McDonnell as the father of her unborn baby. John McDonnell, Patrick’s father, had threatened to report Sally to the police on several occasions if a baby did not materialise. Kilpatrick clearly wished to place paternity with Patrick McDonnell as an act of revenge and may have thought that this would prevent John McDonnell reporting the case to the police.32 Sally Hagan did not, however, take Kilpatrick’s advice and John McDonnell eventually fulfilled his threat to report his suspicions to the authorities. On the advice of the priest, John McDonnell went in person to the police barracks in Newtownstewart to report the case. Other informers in cases of infanticide sought alternative means. In 1874, a man in Portadown who suspected a case of infant murder

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in his district handed the local constable a note when passing him on the street.33 In 1892, Belfast policemen received an anonymous letter that similarly directed them to a case of infanticide.34 James Hagan permitted the two constables who arrived at the farm that evening to search the house. He acknowledged that he had heard rumours that his daughter had given birth but maintained that they were false. The constables directed Sally to remove her sleeping toddler from his bed beside the fire and they began to inspect the premises. Eventually, concealed behind plates on the top shelf of the kitchen dresser, the naked body of a newborn male baby was discovered. In both of these case studies, the nuclear family inadvertently or deliberately attempted to conceal the illegitimate births. Jonathan Cuthbert emphatically denied that he had known that his daughter Sarah was pregnant and later maintained that she had been ‘unfortunately seduced by some person unknown … and having kept it a secret … [he] knew nothing whatever of the circumstances until after her confinement’.35 He did, however, delay admitting the policemen for a quarter of an hour after they first arrived at the house, which may have allowed the family time to hide incriminating evidence. Sarah Cuthbert’s mother was clearly aware that her daughter had given birth. When the baby was eventually discovered, she reportedly ‘clapped her hands and said “a dead child, my daughter never killed her child. My daughter had that child in the garden”.’36 Eliza was subsequently taken into custody on a charge of aiding in the concealment of birth but was released without charge on account of her age and the lack of evidence against her. In the second case study, James Hagan, the suspect’s father, permitted the neighbours and the policemen to carry out a search in the house. The constables found wet bedclothes and bed boards, and observed some items of clothing in a large pot in the kitchen. The water in which these articles were submerged appeared to have been discoloured by blood. James Hagan maintained that he had been sick during the night and that the stained items belonged to him.37 It is not clear if this statement was true or if the elderly man was attempting to protect his daughter. Sally herself insisted that neither her father nor her brother were aware that she was pregnant and in her version of events, Moses Kilpatrick advised her not to tell her father of her condition.

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It is apparent from the infanticide sources that the bodies, activities and behaviour of particular women were monitored with interest by their neighbours. Constable Hannan and the local doctor were the only witnesses summoned to give evidence at the coroner’s inquest on Sarah Cuthbert’s baby and the subsequent petty sessions. Hannan acknowledged that a tip-off had prompted the investigation but, as was the norm, he did not reveal his source. Eliza and Sarah Cuthbert were under the impression that their neighbours, the McNeills, had reported them to the authorities. Despite the fact that they did not testify in court, some neighbours had been monitoring the body of Sarah Cuthbert prior to the birth of her illegitimate offspring. The information given by the anonymous source was persuasive and credible enough to warrant a police investigation at the house at eleven o’clock at night. Sally Hagan’s neighbours were similarly watching her progressing pregnancy with interest and she was under regular surveillance during the days leading up to the birth of her child. Although her father and brother denied that they had known that she was pregnant, her neighbours were clearly aware of her condition and were quick to act when a change was noted in her figure. Laura Gowing considered the surveillance of women’s bodies in her analysis of infanticide in seventeenth-century England and deduced that: [w]ithin and outside the female world of gynaecological experience and knowledge, pregnancy was very often a disputed condition whose signs could be guessed, and contradicted, watched or ignored, and which made the bodies of certain women open to various kinds of public scrutiny and inspection.38

Signs of pregnancy were ambiguous: ‘cessation of menstruation, a swelling belly, enlarged breasts, swollen legs, sickness, tiredness and even food cravings – were all open to a number of interpretations.’39 The female body that generated suspicion, however, could become the focus of a community watch, as demonstrated by the two case studies described above. Kilday has concluded that neighbourhood gossip in Scottish cases of infanticide ‘looks like a close cousin of witchcraft’.40

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Rattigan has argued that poor, unwed men were not subjected to the same level of surveillance as unmarried women.41 It must also be acknowledged that the evidence that women without husbands were policed by their neighbours has survived precisely because these women became pregnant and subsequently committed a crime. Proof of sexual transgressions on the part of men did not enter the public arena in the same manner, particularly because paternity could not be verified during this period. As the references to Moses Kilpatrick in the above case indicate, however, men were also the subject of pregnancy rumours. The case studies of Sarah Cuthbert and Sally Hagan reveal the power of the lay community to influence and police local residents. Despite her aggressive endeavours, Sarah Cuthbert could not prevent the local policemen searching her bed. Having been entrusted with information that a birth had taken place, the policemen were determined to find incriminating evidence. Sally Hagan, despite her pleas and threats, was powerless to prevent the neighbours from searching her house in their quest to find evidence. Her neighbours, in effect, assumed the role of medical officer and policeman in their own crime investigation. In their attempt to establish whether or not Sally had given birth and committed infanticide, the neighbours monitored the suspect’s activities, quizzed her and her family, sought to examine the body of the infant to determine if the baby had been stillborn, examined the suspect’s breasts to establish if she was producing milk and searched the interior of the Hagan homestead. They sought assistance from the authorities only after they had exhausted their own resources in their search for evidence. Within hours of giving birth, both Sarah Cuthbert and Sally Hagan were under arrest for the murder of their illegitimate infants.

The murder in Markethill: case study of John Thomas Evans and Elizabeth Evans The village of Markethill was named after the markets and fairs that were regularly held at one end of its sloped Main Street.42 An avenue off Main Street led to Gosford Castle while the other end of Main Street veered left on to Newry Street.43 In the early hours of Friday 20 June

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1884, the day of the monthly fair, several Newry Street residents were already awake. Widow Mary McCoy had had a fitful night’s sleep. Her bedroom was on the ground floor, at the back of her four-roomed house on Newry Street. Her bed was positioned against a wall that separated her house from that of her neighbours. John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans occupied one portion of the neighbouring house, while Mary Anne Wann resided in a separate section of the same house that was divided by a brick partition. Earlier that morning, McCoy had heard moaning sounds coming from the neighbouring house.44 Although she had no clock in her house, McCoy estimated that it was between two and three o’clock. Incidental details recorded in this case study reveal that many Irish inhabitants in post-Famine rural Ireland estimated the time, aided on occasion by the intermittent sound of routine work bells and household chimes. After about four o’clock, the widow heard more noises and rose from her bed to look out of her bedroom window. She saw her male neighbour leave the house where he lived with his new wife. McCoy returned to her bed and watched as he passed by her bedroom window and continued up the street out of view. There was nothing particularly unusual about the activities of John Thomas Evans on that morning. This was not the first time that Mary McCoy had observed Evans leaving his house at this time on his way to work. After about twenty minutes, she heard him return to his house and leave for a second time after only a few minutes inside. On this second occasion, the widow only heard the sound of his footsteps because John Thomas did not go in the same direction past her window. She guessed that it was now about half past five or six o’clock. Another Markethill resident, Elizabeth Black, rose at four o’clock on the morning of the monthly fair to finish a shirt that she was sewing. The seamstress lived on Newry Street with her young son John.45 Black, like Mary McCoy, did not have a clock in her house but she could hear the hourly chimes of a neighbour’s clock. She sat in her kitchen with her sewing but left both her front door and hallway door open in order to cast light on her work, illustrating the practical solutions to the challenges of life in rural Ireland. From her position, Elizabeth Black had a good view of the early morning activities of her neighbours. She observed John Thomas Evans emerging from his house on Newry Street as she had many mornings before. He acknowledged her and asked her

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for the time. She estimated that it was now about half past five o’clock. Black saw Evans leave his house for a second time that morning, this time going in the opposite direction out of Markethill. She observed nothing unusual about the activities of John Thomas Evans on the morning of the fair day, nor anything particularly remarkable about the bag that he carried under his arm. Samuel James Patterson was also at work early on the morning of Friday 20 June. The blacksmith had an order to complete for a man who was due to arrive later that day. Patterson resided on Newry Street with his wife Margaret, whom he had married two years previously, and his infant daughters.46 He noticed John Thomas Evans passing by his forge at about half past five. Patterson observed nothing unusual about Evans on this morning nor was Patterson concerned about the bag under his arm. He knew that Evans was in the habit of carrying this brown bag, which was about two feet long and between six and eight inches wide. As assumed by the neighbours who had seen him on the morning of the fair day, John Thomas Evans was walking in the direction of his workplace. He had been working as a general labourer for William John Barber in Mount Norris for about two weeks. Evans had reached Alexander McDowell’s house at Tullyallen by the time that the bell from Barber’s establishment signalled that it was six o’clock. McDowell was sitting lacing his boots when Evans sat down beside him to clean the soles of his own shoes with his knife. McDowell noticed that his companion’s boots were in a bad state. A second bell rang from the farm to indicate that it was twenty minutes past six o’clock. At this, Evans remarked that he would not go to work that day and would instead purchase materials to repair his boots and spend the remainder of the day at the local fair. McDowell would later recall that Evans had no bag with him by the time that he reached Tullyallen. John Thomas Evans was observed by several Markethill residents on his return home from Tullyallen that morning. Mary Shields, Mary Ann Lindon and Margaret Blackburn each noticed the young man coming from the direction of his place of work to his house on Newry Street. None of the women noticed that he carried a bundle nor did they remark anything unusual about him on that morning. Evans had lived in Markethill since he was a child and was well known to the local residents in the area.

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Residents of Markethill also noticed the activities of John Thomas Evans’s wife Elizabeth on the morning of Markethill fair day. Between six and seven o’clock in the morning, Elizabeth Evans went to the house of Eliza Jane Twyford, six doors away from her own. She asked Twyford for the loan of a crock, explaining to her neighbour that she wished to wash a shirt. Elizabeth was subsequently observed carrying water to her house from the nearby river and was later seen sitting by the open door of her house. William Quigley visited John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans at their home at about eight o’clock on the evening after the Markethill fair. The illiterate man had received a letter that he wished to have read to him. Elizabeth was illiterate but John Thomas could read and write, and was occasionally asked to read or compose letters for his neighbours. Such details, incidentally recorded in court depositions, reveal the extent to which neighbours in post-Famine Ireland utilised each other’s skills and resources. The young couple were both sitting on the bed in their Newry Street house at this time and a large fire was blazing in the grate. Quigley would later remark that the earthen floor was damp-looking at this time. On Saturday 21 June, the day after the fair, James Callaghan was fishing for eels in the small river in Markethill. By the end of the day, his search had taken him past the Railway Bridge on the Newry Road to an arched culvert that allowed water to run under the road. The arch was about seven feet in height with a span of four feet.47 On this June evening, there was little water flowing under the small bridge, thus Callaghan was able to look under embedded stones for eels. There was no path leading down to the under-part of the culvert but this section of the river could easily be accessed from the road via a grassy verge. A parcel under the arch, wrapped in a bag approximately two feet long, caught Callaghan’s attention. The parcel had not been visible from the road. On further investigation, he noticed that the knee of an infant protruded through a hole in the bag. Callaghan went to inform the police. It was about quarter past six o’clock on Saturday evening when Sergeant William John Eakins received word that the body of a dead infant had been discovered in his locality. He immediately went to the site, accompanied by two constables. There the three RIC men found

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the dead body of a naked female child tied in a piece of sacking held together with brass pins. Eakins carried the bundle to the side of the road. He removed the bag and noticed marks of violence on the baby’s face, a bloody nose, blood oozing from the forehead, and also observed that the tiny skull had been smashed. Medical practitioner Gilbert Marshall and dispensary doctor Joseph Pratt were summoned to the scene and externally examined the infant at the side of the road. The tiny body was brought to the town and an inquest was held two days later. The coroner’s jurors returned a verdict of murder against some person or persons as yet unknown and the body of the infant was subsequently buried.48 Elizabeth Malcolm has described the admission criteria of the RIC: ‘Essentially the force was looking for healthy, young men from rural backgrounds, with an elementary education and no obvious political affiliations, who could be moulded into hard-working and utterly loyal policemen.’49 William John Eakins, the son of a County Sligo farmer, fitted this description.50 The sergeant had remarried several months before the infanticide discovery in Markethill, having been widowed for several years.51 In his deposition in court, Eakins recalled that after the discovery of the dead infant he simply ‘made inquiries’.52 He did not wait for information to filter into the police barracks, nor did he shelve the case on the assumption that the search for the perpetrator was fruitless or would end in an acquittal in court. Instead, the local sergeant launched an investigation that eventually led him to Elizabeth Evans. She was arrested on 26 June at her mother’s house outside Markethill. The sergeant explained the nature of the charge brought against her and advised her not to say anything that could incriminate her. Policemen were eager to emphasise that suspects were cautioned on arrest because statements made by the suspect could not be used as evidence by the prosecution if the appropriate caution had not been given at the time. While some suspects remained silent on arrest, others admitted guilt or denied the charges. In 1888, Anne Howard, responding to the charge of concealment of birth, admitted: ‘All I have to say is that it was I did it. The child was “dead born”.’53 In 1893, Elizabeth Gallagher allegedly exclaimed on arrest: ‘I have done it, I have done it, I admit it all. Lord have mercy on me what am I to do?’54 Eliza Johnston, charged with deserting her infant in April 1893, explained: ‘I

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do not like children.’55 In the Markethill case, Elizabeth Evans asked if her husband could accompany her to the police station but, unsurprisingly, this request was denied. At any rate, the police could not locate John Thomas Evans. Eakins later recalled that Elizabeth became very nervous and said ‘she did not know what to do, or what would become of her, or something like that’.56 At the police barracks, Eakins asked Elizabeth if she would agree to submit to a medical examination. He explained that she would be discharged immediately if it could be proven that she had not given birth to a child. The medical examination of a female suspect was common in such cases. In 1892, Doctor R. B. Mahon described his examination of Mary Ryan: I found her breasts enlarged and secreting. I examined some of the secretion under a microscope. It presented the usual character of milk. I examined her abdomen and found it enlarged and soft. The womb could be felt by the hand just about the pubes. I examined her vagina. I found a large tear at the posterior part. I examined the vagina by a speculum and found the mouth of the womb fissured. From these facts I concluded that a large body had passed through the passage such as a child at full term. I found the usual discharge that exists after child birth. From the result of my examination I have no hesitation in coming to the conclusion that the prisoner had been delivered of a child within about eight days.57

Historian Margaret Arnot compared the medical examination of female infant murder and concealment of birth suspects in nineteenth-century England to the ‘instrumental rape’ of prostitutes under the Contagious Diseases Acts. She argued that women were probably not aware that they could refuse to undergo this ordeal.58 Doctors who carried out such examinations and policemen who arranged the procedure in Ireland, however, regularly emphasised that consent was sought from the suspect prior to the physical examination. In the above case, for instance, Mahon insisted that Mary Ryan ‘was very anxious to be examined… . She submitted very freely to the examination some of which was painful.’59 The number of refusals recorded in the Irish sources also suggest that women were aware or were informed at the time that the examination

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was not compulsory. A magistrate asked Tipperary suspect Margaret Ryan to undergo a medical examination in 1893 but she insisted: ‘I don’t want a doctor, I am all right.’60 When asked if she would submit to the examination, a suspect in County Down similarly replied: ‘I don’t think I will.’61 Some women were subsequently convinced to consent to an examination by persuasive policemen or doctors. In other instances, however, a denial of consent to the procedure did not necessarily ensure than a woman entirely avoided a physically examination. A medical officer recalled that a suspect: refused to let me examine her. I opened her jacket then in the presence of Mrs Sheehan and Mrs Connor. I pressed on the nipples of the breast and pressed out a lot of milk. I remarked that it was pretty conclusive evidence that the girl had been pregnant.62

Elizabeth Evans consented to be examined but requested that other women remain with her during the invasive ordeal. Eakins named some locally resident women who could be summoned to the barracks to keep her company during the medical assessment and the young woman agreed. In the event, however, both of the local physicians refused to assess Elizabeth for signs that she had recently given birth. Neither Joeseph Pratt nor Gilbert Marshall wished to interfere in the case and both doctors refused to comply with Eakins’s request. In any case, Elizabeth herself later confirmed that she had given birth. In the presence of the two policemen and her neighbour, Eliza Jane Twyford, she stated: It was the Thursday morning before Markethill fair I had my baby – [ John Thomas] Evans did not know I had it. I had the baby myself. The child was not alive when born. He done nothing to it. It was me took it away. It was me put the child in the pipe … He said if I would have a child before July to mark the consequences. It was fear made me do what I done. I had to go every day with his dinner, as I dare not be late. I put the baby behind the door till I went out with his dinner.63

Elizabeth was remanded by the local magistrate and was sent that night to Armagh Prison.

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Refusal on the part of a doctor to medically examine a suspect was not usual in infanticide cases, but it is likely that such information was not recorded in other sources because another doctor subsequently agreed to carry out the procedure. On the day after Elizabeth’s arrest, the surgeon of the prison and a medical practitioner from Armagh agreed to examine her. On this occasion, however, she refused to submit to the medical examination. It is not explicitly stated why Elizabeth would not consent to the assessment at this stage but it is likely that the absence of familiar female faces and the unfamiliar surroundings increased her nervousness. On the following day, Smith and Eakins visited the one-roomed house on Newry Street where John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans lived, determined to solve the mystery of the murdered infant. The two men proceeded to sift through the young couple’s personal belongings. They identified blood marks on the wallpaper and a bloody thumbprint on the back of a door. A brown bag was also found in the room, apparently stained with blood. The bed sheet, valence and quilt lining appeared to have been recently washed. Eakins confiscated several of these items from the house. The determined sergeant even scraped off sections of the wall and collected some earth from the floor. Local doctor, Gilbert Marshall, was summoned to Newry Street. He pointed out several stains on the bedding and a sample was thus taken of the bed tick. A pair of trousers that appeared to have been splashed with blood and a stool with dried blood stains were also taken into police possession. The bloody items and samples were handed over to an analytical chemist. While Elizabeth was locked up in a cell in Armagh, the policemen continued to search for her husband. Although Elizabeth had denied that he was involved in the case, the items taken from the house on Newry Street seemed to suggest otherwise. Police officers had been posted at the house since the arrest but John Thomas Evans had not returned home. However, he had not disappeared from his home town. William Gordon encountered him on the road to Markethill on the day that his wife had been taken into custody. John Thomas had asked him whether or not he had heard about the arrest and said ‘that I’ll lose the wife’, to which Gordon replied, ‘You’ll get her again if she’s all right.’64 Gordon asked what time John Thomas had left his house on Saturday morning and whether or not there was any truth in the rumour that he had been carrying a suspicious bundle. Evans denied

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the latter charge, maintaining that he had left home at half past five o’clock on Saturday morning and had gone to work. He also added that Elizabeth had brought him his breakfast at eight o’clock that morning and thus could not have given birth to a child in the interim. The questions put to John Thomas by his neighbour indicated that the case had become the subject of talk in the small town. John Thomas Evans later met three other male acquaintances at the railway bridge on the Newry Road. James Brady (who had known John Thomas since childhood), John Thompson and Patrick Trainor claimed that they were hunting for rabbits when John Thomas shouted out to them. The men warned him that two policemen were searching the vicinity for him and had been to his mother-in-law’s house outside Markethill. Brady told him that his wife had not yet been discharged from custody, maintaining that when the police ‘get a “hoult” of you, you can hardly tell what day you’ll get back either’.65 The three men also acquainted John Thomas with some of the stories that were circulating about the case. Brady divulged that Elizabeth had confessed to a doctor that her husband had threatened to kill her if she did not give him the child. He claimed that Mary Anne Wann had revealed that she had heard the sound of a child crying through the partition that separated their houses. Brady also correctly informed John Thomas Evans that a stool and a pair of trousers had been taken by the police from his house. He added that a bag had been confiscated from the Newry Street residence to compare with the bag that was discovered wrapped around the infant. Upon hearing the tales of the local men, John Thomas resolved to give himself up. After ten o’clock on the night of 27 June, he knocked on the door of the police barracks and was promptly arrested and lodged in Armagh Prison. John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans had been married for three months when the baby was born, having married on St Patrick’s Day in 1884.66 Elizabeth was therefore between five and six months pregnant on her wedding day, as attested by the medical men who confirmed that the newborn baby was fully developed. Her husband’s threat that the baby should not arrive before July suggests that the couple engaged in sexual intercourse prior to their marriage. John Thomas Evans, however, allegedly denied that he had engaged in premarital sex with his wife in a private conversation with his male acquaintances in the hours prior to

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his arrest. James Brady alleged that ‘said I, John, I doubt you have been playing tricks with her, before that [marriage]. He said if he had his sacrament to take he never knew her man from woman till the night he ran away with her.’67 It is not clear if Elizabeth Evans admitted to any of her neighbours that she was pregnant when she moved to Markethill upon her marriage, three months prior to the discovery of the dead child. None of the witnesses summoned to court noted that she had directly informed them of the imminent arrival of a baby. It is certain, however, that those who encountered her regularly were fully aware of her condition. Mary McCoy admitted that she ‘noticed that she was in the family way’.68 Mary Anne Wann, who occupied the front portion of the house in which John Thomas and Elizabeth resided, recalled that ‘Mrs Evans appeared to be in the family way. She was large in the family way a week before the fair.’69 Mary Ann Lindon acknowledged that on the Saturday or Monday after the fair she encountered Elizabeth, white in the face and sweating, trailing behind her husband on the road into town. Lindon advised the young woman not to try to keep up with her husband’s pace. She remarked that ‘anybody would know that she was in the family way’.70 On the day before the fair, Mary Shields noticed that Elizabeth ‘was large in the family way’.71 Margaret Blackburn remarked that she had suspected that Elizabeth Evans was pregnant for some time before the June fair.72 J. R. Dickinson and J. A. Sharpe have deduced from an examination of infanticide in early modern England that the surviving documents ‘reveal a world of gossip and rumour, in which the moral conduct and physical appearance of women were made a matter of comment among other women in the community’.73 In Ireland, men also monitored and commented on the physical appearance of women in the local community, a practice that Rattigan has similarly observed in her study of twentieth-century Ireland.74 Blacksmith Samuel James Patterson described that Elizabeth ‘appeared like in the family way’.75 William Quigley remarked that he could not tell whether or not Elizabeth was pregnant on his visit to her house on the evening of the fair day because she did not rise from the bed. He thus assumed that she had not yet given birth.76 John Short, a neighbour residing on Newry Street, described that on the Wednesday before fair

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day, Elizabeth ‘appeared big, and sauncy in the family way’.77 On the following Sunday, he noticed that she was much smaller in size. Even the local policemen assumed from her appearance that Elizabeth was expecting a child.78 Eakins subsequently surmised that she did not look pregnant when he encountered her in the days after the June fair. None of the neighbours admitted that they had mentioned the pregnancy directly to Elizabeth or asked her any questions about the imminent arrival, but this information may simply have been excluded from the witness testimonies. On the morning of Saturday 4 July 1884, John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans were brought back to Markethill for a special sitting of the petty sessions court. The courthouse in Markethill was crowded with local residents, and family and friends of the accused. The rumours certainly linked the newly married couple with the dead body, but the onlookers were present to find out what the magistrates would think of the evidence. Mary Jane Hetherington, the assistant matron of Armagh Prison, revealed that she had kept Elizabeth under constant surveillance. On the day after the young woman’s arrest, the unmarried matron showed the doctors some marks of blood on items of clothing worn by the prisoner on entry to the prison. Over the next few days, the female attendants at the gaol continued to confiscate stained items of clothing and bedding from Elizabeth’s cell to show to the doctor, who acknowledged that the stains on the sheet and marks like breast milk on the clothing were similar to those that would be produced by a woman who had recently given birth. In court, Hetherington produced several items of clothing taken from the female suspect’s cell at Armagh Prison. The personal items of clothing and underclothing that Elizabeth had worn on the day of her arrest were viewed by the magistrates, witnesses and all those who had crowded into the courthouse on that Saturday morning. Her dirty linen was literally being shown in public. Elizabeth’s statement that she alone had concealed the birth of her infant and disposed of the body was also read out to the magistrates, witnesses and onlookers. This confession contradicted the depositions made by witnesses, some of whom had seen John Thomas with a bundle under his arm and some of whom had subsequently seen him without it. The two Markethill medical men involved in the case described the external examination carried out on the tiny body at the side of the road.

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Marshall surmised that the ‘wounds on the head were such as would have been caused by knocking the child’s head against the wall’.79 John Thomas Evans, who was not professionally represented, interjected. He asked the doctor if he himself had seen the blood on the wall. Marshall admitted that he had not personally seen any marks of blood. Evans then asked the doctor if he knew who had removed the paper from the wall. The medical practitioner could not provide an answer, nor was he able to confirm whether or not it was a member of the constabulary who had removed the paper from the wall. John Thomas Evans also cross-examined John Short, another neighbour. Short confirmed that he was in the habit of buying young goats and that he had purchased a number of skins and living and dead kids from John Thomas earlier that year. In response to further probing from the male suspect, Short agreed that the clothing of a man who skinned kids would show marks of blood. Despite John Thomas’s attempts to undermine the charges against him and his wife, the three magistrates agreed that there was sufficient evidence to send the couple to the summer assizes on a charge of murder. The serious nature of the charge ensured that bail would not be accepted. Undoubtedly, those in the crowded courthouse continued to discuss the case after the courtroom had closed. Studying the inquest proceedings of infanticide cases in Victorian Ontario, Janet McShane-Galley has observed that: what was said and done during the course of the hearing became fuel for conversation and debate amongst themselves and with others who had not personally witnessed the event. In this way, and with the aid of local newspapers, sensational details of the inquest filtered into the public discourse where they remained long after the inquest jury had reached its verdict.80

Even if the defendant was subsequently acquitted, the information revealed to the crowded courthouse would be remembered by the assembled onlookers and those who had later heard the tales. While John Thomas and Elizabeth waited in their separate cells in Armagh Prison, Sergeant Eakins set about gathering more witnesses for the Crown. He was pressed for time; the summer assizes for County Armagh were due

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to open on 15 July, eleven days later. His efforts eventually led him to Charlotte Ann Connolly. Charlotte Ann Connolly attested that she left Markethill at about four o’clock on the morning of the fair day on her way to Newry and sat down when she came to the culvert. After some time, she saw that John Thomas Evans was also seated under the culvert. She alleged that John Thomas, who was a stranger to her, approached her; ‘He said I was early out. I told him he was early out.’81 Connolly noticed that John Thomas had a bundle under his arm, which appeared to be an old bag. He placed the bag between them and sat down. The young woman asked her companion what he had in the bag. He replied that he was a ragman and that the bag contained bones and bottles. Upon learning of the man’s occupation, Connolly asked for a sewing needle but John Thomas admitted that he did not have any needles with him. She took out a bottle of whiskey that she had in her possession and offered John Thomas a drink, explaining that she did not want to carry the bottle with her to Newry. After the pair had finished the alcohol, the woman proffered the empty bottle for his bag. As she reached out to hand it to him, Charlotte noticed blood across his knuckles and thumb. She admitted that the blood on his hands drew her attention to the bag and made her realise that the man was going to put the bag under the culvert. She refused to share a cigarette with John Thomas, excusing herself by explaining that she was in a hurry to reach Newry. Connolly bid her companion good morning and pretended to go on her way. In reality, she hid behind the wall of a nearby house, watching from her vantage point the activities of the man who she knew could not see her. She watched John Thomas sitting where she had left him and later as he disappeared from view under the arch of the road. He shortly re-emerged without the bundle and went back in the direction of Markethill. Connolly scurried under the small bridge and examined the bag, supposedly to check if the man had stolen some fowl. She noticed some blood on the grass where she had sat with John Thomas Evans, blood on the stones and blood around the bag where it now lay. She undid the pin that secured the bag and saw the hand and arm of a child. The shock of her discovery reportedly rendered Connolly unable to continue her journey to Newry for about an hour. She remembered that at least one woman passed by her as she sat outside the culvert, but

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they did not speak to each other. In fact, Mary Ann Lindon was on her way to milk her cows when she saw Connolly lying against the wall with her head in her hands. Several minutes earlier, Lindon had met John Thomas Evans, whom she had known since he was a child, walking from the direction of the culvert towards Markethill. He had asked her for the time and she had estimated that it was between six and seven o’clock. Eventually Connolly resumed her journey to Newry, staying there for one night and going to Armagh on the following evening. She confessed that she ‘told nobody in Newry. I never mentioned it … I told no one of this horrible story during the week.’82 Charlotte Ann Connolly next saw John Thomas Evans looking in a shop window on Scotch Street in Armagh on the day of his wife’s arrest. She approached him and ‘told him it was curious bones, and bottles he had in the bag’.83 John Thomas informed the young woman that his wife was in custody charged with concealing the birth of her child. He denied that the child that he had left under the culvert was his wife’s offspring and maintained that he was well paid for disposing of that infant, a comment that suggests it was not always the perpetrator who disposed of the corpse. Those with money may have been able to put greater distance between themselves and the infant by hiring another to deal with the evidence. In 1866, for example, Margaret Connolly received a payment of 7s 6d for deserting another woman’s child.84 Later that day, as Charlotte Ann Connolly left Armagh for Markethill, she again encountered John Thomas Evans. Visibly drunk, he allegedly began to harass her and maintained that she was going to report him to the Markethill police. Connolly denied this, insisting that she did not want to have anything to do with him. He continued to assert, along the two-mile stretch, that she would inform the police. A man driving a cart of geraniums approached the couple. Connolly got into the cart and left a drunken John Thomas alone. Despite John Thomas’s persistent accusations, Connolly had not given the police any information. Interestingly, however, she was among the crowd of onlookers at the Markethill petty sessions on 4 July. She described the case as a ‘horrible story’ but was nonetheless interested in watching the proceedings.85 On the afternoon of Sunday 6 July, Sergeant Eakins received information that prompted him to search for Charlotte Ann Connolly. Connolly may not have wished to discuss

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her version of events with the police, but she had told her story to a car driver who in turn had informed the sergeant during the course of his inquiries. It is likely that Connolly, who seems to have worked as a prostitute, was reluctant to draw attention to herself by getting involved in the case. Between three and four o’clock on that afternoon, Eakins eventually located his potential witness asleep in a bed in the house of John Jenkins in Markethill. He elicited information from her, accompanied her to the culvert on the Newry Road to point out the place where she had seen the body and subsequently brought her before the magistrates, who summoned her to attend the summer assize sessions ten days later. The Armagh summer assizes opened in the Armagh courthouse at eleven o’clock on 15 July 1884. Seven cases were presented before the grand jury.86 Judge William Andrews made specific reference only to the case of murder. He explained to the men: If the bill was sent before them for murder they would require to be satisfied that the child was born alive, and that the accused persons were the wilful perpetrators of the act which caused its death. Unless they could be satisfied on that point they could not find a bill. Then, there was also a second charge of concealment of birth preferred against the accused. He need scarcely remind them in that case where the child appeared to have been born alive, or to have died at or after birth, they were satisfied that by a secret disposition of the body there was an attempt on the part of both or either of the accused, it would warrant them in bringing in a bill.87

No execution for murder had taken place in Armagh Prison since 1876.88 In the event, the grand jury did not find a bill for murder and instead sent John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans forward on charges of concealment of birth. Neither defendant could now be sentenced to death. On 16 July, the suspects were brought into the courtroom and the indictments read. Both pleaded not guilty to the charges of concealment of birth. Many of the witnesses summoned to the Armagh summer assizes had been sworn at the petty sessions in Markethill less than two weeks previously. Several new witnesses also took to the stand to answer questions about events in Markethill in the weeks leading up to the

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June fair and the arrest of the two prisoners a few days later. Evidently, some neighbours had not actively volunteered information to the police or had initially withheld information from Eakins. Mary McCoy, who lived next door to the accused couple, admitted that she had not told the police that she had heard moans coming from her neighbours’ house, nor that she had seen and heard John Thomas Evans in the early hours of the fair day. She confessed that she ‘did not tell the police. I did not want to bring myself into trouble.’89 It should not be assumed that close friendship with either Elizabeth or John Thomas prevented McCoy from informing the police about what she had observed. If her testimony was true, the widow had never been inside her neighbours’ house during the three months that they had lived next door to each other. Twenty-nine-year-old Mary Anne Wann also lived in close proximity to the two suspects. Wann claimed that on the night of Wednesday 18 June, she had heard a cry like that of a baby or a kitten through the brick partition that separated the two residences. She alleged that they ‘had no kittens, nor children in the place, if we had I would say it was liker the cry of a child than a kitten’.90 Although she had looked, Mary Anne Wann could not find the source of the noise. Later that day, Wann had asked Elizabeth if she knew what could have made this noise. Wann recalled from the stand that Elizabeth ‘made no remark. She changed colours, and in a short time went into her own room.’91 Three witnesses testified on behalf of the defence. John Rooney revealed that he had seen John Thomas Evans walking in front of him on the road towards Newry at quarter past five o’clock on the morning of the fair day and later coming back towards Markethill. The times specified meant that John Thomas could not have been at the culvert on that morning as alleged by Charlotte Ann Connolly. John Short repeated his testimony that he and John Thomas bought and sold kids. Under cross-examination, however, he admitted that the blood of young goats would remain on items of clothing for a maximum of one week before it would harden and flake off. He attested that he considered himself ‘a perfect judge of the blood of a kid … The blood of a Christian will stay red – the blood of a kid will blacken and wear off.’92 A third witness for the defence, Joseph Sinton, who owned a grocery and hardware store in Markethill, revealed that John Thomas Evans had bought

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leather from him suitable to repair boots on the day of the June fair or the day before.93 The defence also cross-examined a number of witnesses for the prosecution. Charlotte Ann Connolly’s testimony appeared to have no weaknesses. She maintained that she had met John Thomas Evans at the arched culvert on the morning of the fair day, she had been noticed at the same place in a bad state later that morning, and several witnesses had seen John Thomas walking into Markethill from the general direction of the small bridge. Connolly was also able to point out the exact location where the body of the infant was subsequently discovered by Callaghan. Her alleged second meeting with John Thomas was also confirmed by some of the men who had seen her walking with the male prisoner from Armagh. In an effort to cast doubt on her statements, however, the defence attempted to prove to the court that Charlotte Ann Connolly lacked moral integrity. Questioned by the prosecution, Connolly explained that ‘her business’ brought her to Markethill on the evening before the June fair.94 The defence questioned her further, probing for more information. She retorted that this business ‘is not prostitution. I have no call to tell you my business. I am not a prostitute.’95 Despite an interrogation from the defence, Connolly resolutely refused to state her precise occupation. She also ambiguously added that ‘everybody’ employed her. Eakins would later confirm in his testimony that he believed that Connolly ‘is a girl about town – a prostitute’.96 The defence also questioned Charlotte Ann Connolly about her own criminal history. She admitted that on 20 March of that year she had been sentenced to imprisonment for one month for vagrancy.97 She received the same punishment for a similar offence just days after her release from prison. On this second occasion, Connolly was summoned to the Armagh court alongside a number of women accused of ‘misconducting themselves’ in Keady, some six miles from Armagh.98 Counsel for the defence also attempted to discredit Mary Anne Wann’s testimony by implying that she too lacked moral integrity. Wann explained that she made her living by doing odd-jobs for the townspeople, clarifying when prompted that this included carrying water and doing general messages. The defence questioned if she knew a man named McGeraghty. Wann hesitated and then confirmed that

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she would recognise this individual but denied that she had ever lived with him. She also rejected the suggestion that a man named Thompson had spent a night in her house.99 The defence also questioned the moral integrity of several of the male witnesses. On cross-examination, James Brady admitted that he had previously been sentenced to six months’ imprisonment with hard labour for stabbing a man.100 The defence hoped to challenge the trustworthiness of Brady’s testimony by showing that he himself was an offender. In addition, John Thomas Evans had testified as a witness against Brady in court. This suggested, therefore, that Brady had a motive for giving false evidence against John Thomas in the assize court. The prosecution also attempted to cast suspicion on the moral integrity of some of the witnesses summoned for the defence. John Rooney was cross-examined about his living arrangements. He revealed that he and his wife had been separated for about twelve years and that she lived in England. He denied that he then resided with a woman named Margaret Bryants. On further questioning, Rooney admitted that he had left Bryants three months previously. She lived in nearby Magheraverry and he had since lived in Markethill. He maintained that, to his knowledge, there had been no improper conduct between himself and Margaret Bryants.101 The practice of challenging the reliability and trustworthiness of a witness for the opposition ensured that John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans were not alone in having their private lives made public. The witnesses were forced to divulge the details of their own living arrangements, personal relationships and sexual affairs to the judge, jurors and onlookers in court. This information was sometimes included in press accounts of the case and, in this manner, spread to the wider community. In some instances, as in the above reference to Margaret Bryants, the private affairs of those entirely unconnected with the case could also become public knowledge. The case of John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans closed on 17 July 1884. Twenty-five witnesses had testified on behalf of the Crown over the two days, three witnesses were called for the defence and three further witnesses were recalled for cross-examination.102 The jurors found John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans guilty of concealing the birth of the newborn child. Judge William Andrews opted to consider the decision of punishment overnight.

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On the following day the pair were put forward to receive their sentences. Andrews addressed the male prisoner: John Thomas Evans, you have been convicted of the offence of concealing the birth of a female child … and the circumstances connected with your offence are of the gravest possible character. You had a narrow escape of being tried on a much graver charge, and my regret is that the sentence I shall pass upon you is the largest that I am allowed under the circumstances to give you. My regret is that I could not give you a heavier sentence. The sentence is that you be imprisoned for two years and kept to hard labour.103

Elizabeth burst into tears upon hearing that her husband had been sentenced to the maximum punishment. She cried out to the judge in support of her husband that the sentence ‘is too much, and he not guilty’.104 The relatively harsh punishment passed by Andrews indicated that the judge believed that John Thomas was guilty of murder. Several months later, when asked for his opinion on the case, Andrews maintained that ‘under the circumstances of the case, I did not consider it an adequate punishment’.105 After sentencing John Thomas, Andrews addressed Elizabeth: The jury have strongly recommended you to mercy, believing that you were not altogether a willing agent in the matter, and I think the ends of justice will be satisfied if you be imprisoned for three calendar months to date from the 26th June last, the date of your arrest.106

On the recommendation of the jury, the judge sentenced Elizabeth Evans to a significantly shorter term of imprisonment than that given to John Thomas. She would not be subjected to hard labour. In addition, her sentence took effect from the date of her arrest on 26 June while her husband’s term of penal servitude was calculated from the date of conviction almost one month later. Both were removed to their cells in Armagh Prison and were among the 923 men and women incarcerated in the prison between 1 April 1884 and 31 March 1885.107 It was not particularly unusual for the men who were found guilty of concealment of birth to be treated more harshly by the courts than

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their female partners when there was proof that they were involved in the crime.108 In 1875, William Neale had received a sentence of eight months’ imprisonment for concealment of birth. The mother of the child, convicted alongside him, received a sentence that was half this length.109 Similarly, a woman found guilty of concealment of birth in Tyrone in 1890 was discharged while her male partner was sentenced to three months’ hard labour.110 The jurors and judges in these cases likely assumed that the male suspect had committed the act or forced the female against her will to commit the offence.111 In the Markethill case, there was little evidence that linked Elizabeth Evans directly with the murder and disposal of the body of the infant. Her husband, on the other hand, had been seen carrying the bag to the culvert. He was observed to have blood on his hands and blood was later found on a pair of his trousers. Gender also undoubtedly played a role in the Armagh assize court. Elizabeth Evans fitted the profile of a woman who had erred in an effort to maintain her reputation. It was assumed that her shame had caused her to conceal the birth of the child, the evidence of premarital sexual relations. John Thomas, however, had not acted honourably. He had failed to support his alleged offspring and resolutely refused to acknowledge that he had disposed of the body of the infant at the culvert, despite having been seen in the vicinity by several neighbours. On 26 September 1884, Elizabeth Evans was released from custody. She returned to Markethill and proceeded immediately to the police barracks on Main Street. There she lodged a complaint against Mary Anne Wann who resided in a separate section of the house in which Elizabeth and John Thomas lived. Elizabeth accused Wann of the murder of the infant found under the culvert in June of that year. Her new statement alleged that between four and five o’clock on the morning of Thursday 19 June, the day before the fair day, John Thomas left their house on Newry Street. Mary Anne Wann came into the couple’s room because she could hear Elizabeth moaning through the partition and reportedly asked Elizabeth if her husband had beaten her. Evidently, Wann considered it possible that John Thomas would assault his young wife. Elizabeth denied that she had been physically abused and admitted to Wann that she was in labour. Elizabeth alleged that while her husband was absent, she gave birth to a child and was attended to by

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Wann. She insisted that Wann was ‘very violent with me and hurt me greatly’ during the labour. After the birth, Elizabeth heard the child screaming and asked Wann what she was doing to the newborn baby. Wann asked: ‘What annoyance are you giving? Are you not glad to get rid of it such a show as that? Let no person see it.’112 From this statement Elizabeth understood that the infant was physically deformed, although neither of the two Markethill doctors who examined the infant mentioned a deformity. Mary Anne Wann allegedly added that ‘she was going to gather sticks and she would put it [the baby] by as many a one like it she put by before’.113 Elizabeth reportedly confessed to John Thomas on his return that she had given birth to a baby and he again left the house. When Elizabeth rose from her bed at eleven o’clock that morning, she looked for the infant but could not find the baby’s remains in the house. She suspected her husband of taking the body and thus ‘got afraid and mentioned the matter to no one’.114 On account of this incriminating statement, Wann was subsequently taken into custody. The case against Wann was heard at the Armagh petty sessions court on 10 October of that year. The district inspector re-examined the principal witness. Elizabeth explained that two weeks prior to the birth of the child, Wann had told her that she should not go to the effort of making baby clothes because this was her first birth and thus the child would not live.115 Elizabeth alleged that she had been ill for two days during the week prior to the birth of her child and that Wann had attended to her during her illness. Elizabeth also reported that Wann had boiled a green substance for her in a tin and had subsequently added a brown substance to the mixture. The young woman described that the concoction had a strange smell and thus she refused to ingest it. The implication was that the substance reportedly prepared by Wann would have caused a miscarriage. James Callaghan was summoned to the Armagh petty sessions court to reiterate his account of finding the body some three months previously. He acknowledged that he had known Mary Anne Wann for fourteen years and ‘never knew anything against her of dishonesty. She is a quiet inoffensive girl.’116 Sergeant Eakins described the discovery of the infant and the investigation at the Newry Street house. It was at this point that he admitted that Elizabeth Evans had previously made

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a claim against Wann. He acknowledged that she had attempted to give him a statement incriminating Mary Anne Wann on 16 July, the day of the assize sessions in Armagh.117 The local doctors were again summoned to the courthouse to give evidence on the case. The physicians described their initial examination of the infant remains on the side of the road, the inquest and the post-mortem examination findings. Pratt added that he had ‘known the prisoner for the last twenty years. She is of weak mind. I never knew anything bad of her.’118 Marshall, cross-examined by Wann, concurred that he had ‘known the prisoner for three years. I know nothing against her.’119 Mary Anne Wann also made a statement in court, maintaining that she ‘never killed it. I never saw the child either dead or alive.’120 The magistrates, however, agreed that there was sufficient evidence to send Wann forward to the assizes on a charge of murder. She was taken into custody to stand trial at the winter assizes in December of that year. Elizabeth Evans was not the only woman to make changes to her original testimony in the months after the trial at the Armagh summer assizes. In November of that year, Charlotte Ann Connolly, the woman who had sworn at the assize court that she had shared a bottle of whiskey with John Thomas Evans at the culvert on the morning of the Markethill fair, came forward with new information. Connolly alleged that she had met Elizabeth Evans as the public houses were closing at ten o’clock on the night before the fair. She asked Elizabeth for lodgings for the night and in return offered her a drink out of a bottle of whiskey in her possession. Elizabeth reportedly refused to drink the alcohol on the street but invited Connolly to return with her to her home. Connolly was offered a place to sleep beside the fire. Seeing no table, she placed the whiskey on the floor and started to divide up the drink. Elizabeth complained to Connolly that she had labour pains and tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable on the bed. Between twelve and one o’clock in the morning, Elizabeth’s pains allegedly got worse and Connolly decided to leave the house. Connolly maintained that she initially walked away from the house but later returned and peered in through the window. She observed Elizabeth on her knees. She knocked at the door and requested lodgings for a second time. She allegedly told John Thomas Evans that she was feeling sick and would not leave the house for a few hours.

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Connolly admitted in her testimony that she was drunk by this stage. Elizabeth gave her permission to sleep on the bed. Connolly lay down on the bed and after a while began to peek out at the activities of the room. She observed that Elizabeth was still on her knees and heard her begging her husband not to be so violent with her. Connolly then heard the cries of a child, the second cry much stronger than the first. She saw John Thomas put his hand over the mouth of the naked infant and the noise ceased. The couple then wrapped the infant in a bag and Elizabeth pinned the pieces together. She requested her husband to put the bundle behind the door. John Thomas, according to Connolly, asserted that he would ‘put it under the bed till I waken this strange girl and let her go’.121 He put ashes on the floor to disguise the blood and then sought to wake Connolly from her slumber. Connolly, who had been feigning sleep, allowed John Thomas to nudge her a few times before she roused herself. He summoned Mary Anne Wann from the room next door to attend to his wife. Charlotte Ann Connolly paid Elizabeth for the accommodation and left the house. The young woman acknowledged that she encountered John Thomas Evans a few hours later at the culvert with a bundle that subsequently turned out to be a tiny corpse. Charlotte Ann Connolly also maintained that she had been approached by an ex-prisoner while drinking in a public house in Armagh in August of that year, one month after John Thomas and Elizabeth were convicted. She described vaguely that this man had been imprisoned for one year ‘for something about a girl’.122 On learning her name, the man reportedly asked her if she had given evidence against John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans in court and Connolly confirmed that she had. The man informed her that he had known John Thomas Evans in prison. John Thomas had allegedly admitted to the inmate in custody that Connolly ‘could have hanged them’ if she had wanted because she had been in the house when Elizabeth had given birth.123 If this statement was accurate, John Thomas was obviously guilty of murder rather than the lesser charge of concealment of birth for which he had been convicted. It is impossible to judge the truth of the various statements from a distance of more than a century. Interestingly, the three women concurred that the infant was born alive. Elizabeth Evans, Charlotte Ann Connolly and Mary Anne Wann all attested to having heard the

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baby cry. Elizabeth alleged that she had heard the child screaming on the floor, Charlotte maintained that she had heard the baby give a few cries before John Thomas induced death, and in her original testimony, Mary Anne Wann stated that she had heard the sound of a child crying through the partition in the house that she shared with John Thomas and Elizabeth. Yet the Markethill physicians contradicted this claim. Pratt stated that he ‘found the child had breathed slightly … I don’t believe the child ever cried.’124 Marshall explained that ‘Dr Pratt and I agreed that the child had breathed slightly. I believe it had not cried. It did not breathe to such an extent that it could cry.’125 Either the nineteenth-century doctors were mistaken in their assessment of the baby’s lungs and her ability to cry, or Charlotte, Elizabeth and Mary Anne were exaggerating their statements in an effort to bolster their claims. In the last week of November, the prosecution began to consider the strength of their case against Mary Anne Wann. The Crown solicitor, who had prosecuted in the case at the summer assizes, was asked for his opinion. Writing from Upper Mount Street in Dublin, John Kilkelly surmised that it would be difficult to obtain a conviction because the case was supported solely by a statement made by Elizabeth Evans.126 The district inspector confirmed in a private correspondence to Kilkelly that Wann had been in custody since the petty sessions court ‘with no one to look after her interests’. He emphasised that she ‘never acted as midwife and could have had no motive for committing the offence’.127 He also explained that Charlotte Ann Connolly had made additions to her statement but this served only to incriminate John Thomas Evans further. Elizabeth Evans had also changed her statement for a third time and now maintained that her husband had murdered the infant but that Mary Anne Wann was present at the time. The district inspector surmised that ‘it would not be safe for any jury to convict on the unsupported evidence of Mrs Evans’.128 On 2 December 1884, Under-Secretary Kaye authorised the release of Mary Anne Wann from custody. She was discharged by the governor of Armagh Prison on the following day. Two weeks later, the Ulster winter assize sessions closed. Justice Murphy left Belfast on the afternoon train bound for Dublin, ‘accompanied by an escort of Lancers and mounted constabulary’.129 Wann’s name had appeared on the list of cases to be heard at the Antrim courthouse on

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Crumlin Road, but she had not been tried.130 She had, however, been incarcerated in gaol awaiting her trial for over two months. The case of John Thomas and Elizabeth Evans can reveal much about the crime of infanticide despite the uncertainty that exists regarding who exactly was present at the birth in the house on Newry Street. The case illustrates the determination of the local policeman to identify the body of the dead infant and secure a conviction for infant murder or concealment of birth. Sergeant William Eakins assumed a principal role in the case after the discovery of the body under the culvert. He made enquiries and gathered witnesses. He was also greatly assisted by members of the local community, many of whom were willing to describe their versions of events or point out other neighbours who might provide useful information for the investigation. Although the determined sergeant admitted that there ‘were lots in Markethill I did not go to’,131 Eakins successfully used neighbourhood rumour and gossip to gather twenty-five witnesses to testify on behalf of the prosecution in court. In October 1884, his efforts were honoured by a commendation in the Royal Irish Constabulary half-yearly sheet, one of the two such rewards that he received during his thirty years of service.132 The suspected infanticide case in Markethill also reveals the extent to which Irish inhabitants lived in a world of constant surveillance.133 Numerous neighbours watched the familiar figure of John Thomas Evans on the morning of the fair day, although most acknowledged that his activities were not particularly remarkable. In her study of gender and crime in England, Shani D’Cruze highlighted that: [d]espite the growing use of the railway and the later popularity of the bicycle, most people led a largely pedestrian existence. In their different ways, both small rural settlements and overcrowded urban courts and streets meant that people were routinely visible (and often audible) to each other. Thus, people occupied and moved across the grid of neighbourhood space under the regular observation of others.134

Through adjacent houses and partitioned walls, neighbours could hear the sounds of childbirth or domestic disputes. This ‘inevitably imposed a public dimension on much which would have more comfortably remained private’.135 While some neighbours watched and listened to the

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activities of those around them, details recorded in witness testimonies reveal that others actively invaded their neighbours’ privacy. By her own admission, Charlotte Ann Connolly spied in through the window of the Evans’s house and later, watched unnoticed as John Thomas deposited the body of the infant under the bridge. In another suspected case of infant murder that came to public attention in 1893, witness Cassie McFadden admitted that: [o]n Monday last I felt a bad smell coming from the house occupied by a woman called Elizabeth Gallagher. It was the evening I felt the bad smell. I was going past the door yesterday. The door was open. I went in. There was no person in the house. I went in and lifted the lid off the trunk… . put in my hand to the box. I felt a bag. I did not see what was in this bag till I opened it. When I opened the bag I saw the appearance of a child in it… . I put the lid down again and went away.136

McFadden had taken it upon herself to enter her neighbour’s empty house uninvited in an effort to satisfy her suspicions. Yet neighbours also relied upon each other on a daily basis. As revealed in the second case study described earlier, Sally Hagan’s brother was working on John McDonnell’s farm on the day that McDonnell reported Sally to the police. In the Markethill case, William Quigley, who subsequently acted as a witness for the prosecution, visited John Thomas Evans on the evening of the fair in order to have a letter read to him. Elizabeth Evans sought to borrow a crock from her neighbour Eliza Jane Twyford, another witness who was summoned to testify for the prosecution. Elizabeth also requested Twyford’s presence at her medical examination after arrest. Infanticide cases provide a glimpse of a society that was far from simplistic, a society in which neighbours could both expose and defend those accused. The evidence that emerged during the trial illustrated that many of the Markethill residents summoned as witnesses were not unfamiliar with the courtroom. Several witnesses, both for the defence and the prosecution, had acted as witnesses or defendants in court in the past. In July 1879, James Brady was arrested for stabbing a youth engaged in hoisting orange flags on to the top of some tall trees in Markethill.137 John Thomas had acted as a witness for the prosecution in that case.

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In January 1883, John Thomas Evans, John Thompson and Patrick Trainor had appeared at the Markethill petty sessions court on charges of drunkenness.138 Evans had been found guilty and was ordered to spend forty-eight hours in prison or pay a fine of 6s. 6d.139 He chose the former. Charlotte Ann Connolly had also previously been summoned to court on charges of vagrancy and misconduct. The Markethill infanticide case also reveals that many members of the small Ulster town participated in sexual relationships outside marriage but did not want this information to become public knowledge. Elizabeth had engaged in premarital sex but wished to conceal the evidence of that intercourse. Charlotte Ann Connolly, in denying that she worked as a prostitute, was similarly attempting to protect her reputation. Mary Anne Wann sought to dispute the suggestion that she had lived with a man outside marriage. John Rooney likewise challenged the claim that he had inappropriately lived with a woman who was not his wife. The evidence that the lower classes upheld ideas of morality in theory, if not always in practice, confirms the Attorney-General’s responses to the Capital Punishment Commission in 1865: ‘Do the women there [in Ireland] lose caste if they have illegitimate children? – Yes. Amongst the lower class of peasantry? – They do.’140 The discovery of the dead baby under the bridge in Markethill made public the sexual activities of many of the residents of that town.

A ‘peculiar place’ to put a dead child: case study of Maggie O’Connor At half past nine o’clock on the evening of Tuesday 8 August 1893, Ned Donegan was finishing his final chores for the day at Patrick Shanny’s fish and fowl establishment, located on the corner of Roche’s Street and Augustinian Lane in Limerick City. Like every night, Donegan opened the side door of Shanny’s house and stepped out into Augustinian Lane in order to empty the slop buckets from the shop and house. He noticed that the first bucket contained some blood and water. He threw the contents into the lane and heard a sound that led him to believe that there had been a chicken in the bucket. He remembered that he had thrown out a bucket once before

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that similarly contained a chicken. Donegan returned to the house and emptied the ashes into the same bucket. This too he emptied into the lane. Donegan went back inside the house in order to fetch the final slop bucket. Mary Shanny encountered him on the landing and handed him the container. Her husband Patrick was working in the office of his shop at this time. Ned Donegan threw the contents of this bucket into the laneway. Margaret Donegan lived next door to the fish and fowl shop and, like her brother Ned, had been employed by the fishmonger and his wife. The twenty-three-year-old had worked as a domestic servant but had left the establishment two months previously. At ten o’clock on the evening of 8 August 1893, Margaret was alone in her house. Her brother Ned had not yet returned from work and her mother had gone to a nearby public house.141 Margaret sat down with a cup of tea. William O’Neill, the fifteen-year-old son of a locally resident jarvey142, walked up Augustinian Lane. He observed an object like a pig’s belly in the lane near Mr Casey’s house. Several minutes later Margaret was disturbed by sounds outside her front door. She unlocked the door that opened on to Augustinian Lane and found some of her neighbours gathered in the laneway. She realised that the neighbours were looking at the dead body of a female baby. Margaret ran down to the public house on Thomas Street to inform her mother. By the time that the two women returned to Augustinian Lane, the police had arrived at the scene and a crowd of about a dozen neighbours had gathered around the naked body. By this stage, Ned Donegan had returned home from his place of employment and had gone to bed. A neighbour, Mr Casey, brought out a lantern to facilitate an examination of the infant. Sergeant Michael Shea was among the crowd, having been summoned from the William Street barracks several minutes earlier. He examined the body of the baby and found that she had not been washed nor attended to at birth as indicated by the untied umbilical cord. The policeman considered that she was a fully developed newborn. He covered the body with a sack and began to search the laneway. Head Constable Patrick McBrinn had also been summoned to the scene. From his examination of the surroundings, he thought that either the body had been carried in a vessel and dumped in the laneway or a woman had given birth in the street.143 Shea used a stick to investigate

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a pile of ashes nearby and found several pieces of seaweed concealed within. By this stage, the crowd of onlookers had swelled to about thirty or forty persons. Some of the residents of Augustinian Lane, including Patrick Shanny and his wife, and their neighbours Margaret Donegan and her mother, were also looking out of their houses. One of the neighbours shouted out that the slop buckets from Shannys’ house had recently been emptied into the lane. McBrinn asked Shanny if he had any female servants working in his establishment, evidently aware that domestic servants were often responsible for anonymous dead infants discovered. Shanny explained that only he and his wife lived in the house because his daughter Delia had recently gone to Kilkee. While Patrick Shanny was denying that he employed a domestic servant in the presence of the policemen, his wife and the crowd of onlookers, his servant Maggie O’Connor was in her bedroom upstairs. The baby’s body was carried by William O’Neill and another local boy to the morgue, and an inquest was held on the following day. At quarter to nine o’clock on the morning following the discovery of the dead infant in Augustinian Lane, Sergeant Oliver Hanley began making enquiries. He visited the houses of several residents of Roche’s Street and Augustinian Lane, and was later joined by McBrinn and Shea. The three policemen received the names of possible suspects in what had now become a murder investigation, since an inquest held earlier that day had concluded that the anonymous baby had been drowned.144 Sergeant Michael Shea was on his way home that night when Patrick Shanny summoned him into the parlour of his house. Maggie O’Connor and Mary Shanny were also seated in the parlour. O’Connor asked the policeman if he thought that she might be arrested for the murder of the dead infant. The sergeant affirmed that it was a possibility because her name had been mentioned in connection with the discovery. Patrick Shanny asked Shea for his advice. Shea would later recall his response: ‘I said there was only one way and that was if Miss O’Connor would consent to be examined by a doctor and to clear herself and Mr and Mrs Shanny.’145 O’Connor agreed to submit to a medical examination in the morning in order to verify that she had not given birth and thus could not be the mother of the murdered baby. She had already anticipated that a doctor’s certificate was the only means to

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quell the neighbourhood rumours that she had been pregnant. Earlier that evening, O’Connor had requested Ned Donegan to ask his sister if she would accompany her to a doctor. Margaret Donegan, however, refused to escort the domestic servant to the doctor unless a policeman was present. At noon on the following morning, Shea arrived at the house as promised in order to bring Maggie O’Connor to the doctor. O’Connor refused to go with the policeman without her employer and Shea permitted Patrick Shanny to accompany her. She was taken into the front room of the doctor’s house while the two men waited in another room. Doctor Holmes emerged a few minutes later and explained that O’Connor was now refusing to undergo the examination. An exasperated Shea asked: ‘Miss O’Connor, why did you fool me by telling me you would come here after putting me to all this bother?’146 O’Connor explained that she ‘did not think she would have to go through such an ordeal’. The policeman explained that the invasive examination was the only way to clear her name and eventually the young woman consented to be examined. After seven or eight minutes, Patrick Shanny was called into the room. Shea subsequently heard the doctor’s voice insisting that it ‘is impossible. It is utterly impossible. I could not do it.’147 The doctor would later explain that Patrick Shanny had offered him £20 to provide a certificate stating that O’Connor had not given birth. The doctor attested that he ‘repudiated the thing of course and told him to get out of the study’.148 This evidence was revealed precisely because the doctor refused the offer. At three o’clock on the same afternoon, the three police officers involved in the case, having obtained the necessary warrants, entered the house on the corner of Roche’s Street and Augustinian Lane. Like the Cuthbert family in County Armagh, the attempt by the Shannys to keep knowledge of the birth within the house walls had failed. The three residents were legally cautioned and subsequently taken into police custody. The information that led the policemen to Patrick Shanny, his wife Mary and his domestic servant Maggie O’Connor was provided by the Donegan family. The Donegans were on close terms with Patrick Shanny and his family. Ned was employed by the fishmonger, Margaret had worked for the family up until two months earlier, and their

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mother, also named Margaret, was occasionally employed as a servant in the household when required. Yet on the night after the infant was discovered in Augustinian Lane, each of the Donegans made voluntary statements against their next door neighbours. These statements were evidently made in an effort to protect their own reputations. In the course of their enquiries, the policemen had heard Margaret Donegan’s name mentioned in connection with the case. When the policemen made enquiries at Shanny’s house on the morning after the dead infant was discovered, the fish and fowl dealer acknowledged that it ‘is a dreadful business sergeant about the Donegans’.149 Mrs Donegan later admitted that her ‘daughter was spoke about in connection with this affair. I heard the police were in about it and that made me angry.’150 Indeed, McBrinn recalled that when he visited the younger Margaret Donegan at her place of employment, he found that her ‘head was bandaged and her eye and face were blackened’.151 In an effort to ensure that her daughter was not suspected or arrested for the crime, Mrs Donegan was adamant that the culprit would be caught and, together with her two children, revealed her knowledge of affairs in Shanny’s house. Ned Donegan knew that Maggie O’Connor was ill on the evening that the infant was discovered because he had been sent to a local shop for soda water. He stated that after the baby was found, Patrick Shanny requested him to tell the policemen that he had seen only blood and water in the slop bucket that he had thrown into the laneway. Ned also admitted that he had confronted Maggie O’Connor about the dead baby on the following morning: I went to Miss O’Connor and asked her what was in the bucket as they [the neighbours] said that I threw out the ‘thing’ … She said she didn’t know what was in the bucket. She was going to tell me something else but she didn’t tell me.152

Margaret Donegan recalled that Maggie O’Connor was often sick when they worked together in Shanny’s establishment. Maggie Ryan, a third domestic servant employed by Patrick Shanny during this period, first drew her attention to Maggie O’Connor’s condition. Donegan would later insist in court that she:

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could hardly be mistaken when I say I noticed Maggie O’Connor pregnant. What first attracted me to her was the vomiting and then she became pale and delicate looking and then I noticed her having a very high stomach for an unmarried girl.153

Although she herself had not perceived signs of pregnancy, Mrs Donegan confirmed her daughter’s suspicions that Maggie O’Connor was pregnant: ‘Some women in the neighbourhood were speaking to me about this and comments were made that lately Miss O’Connor was getting to be a great little lump.’154 Patrick and Mary Shanny were permitted to leave the police barracks on William Street for a short time in order to secure the locks of their house. In the interim, Maggie O’Connor insisted on giving a formal statement to the police and they reluctantly complied. It is clear from the statement that O’Connor was not unaffected by the death of her daughter. Her statement echoed the distressed confessions given by other women taken into custody for the same crime. A distraught O’Connor expressed a disregard for her life and future and insisted that: I don’t care what happens myself. I deserve it all. Why did I not die? What will my poor mother say to this when she hears it and my sisters … Oh why did I not stay at my own comfortable house and stop away from that house.155

A female suspect in Armagh expressed similar melancholic sentiments on arrest in 1892: ‘Take me to the well and throw me in along with it [the dead baby].’156 In 1895, another suspect in an infanticide case fretted: ‘God forgive me, I am suffering from the torments of the d[amne]d since it happened. I don’t care what will become of me.’157 Maggie O’Connor also acknowledged her guilt and questioned her own character: ‘I must be unnatural. What else was it but murder to the poor innocent child … I blame no one but myself. May God forgive me, but sure I would not drown a cat.’158 Infanticide suspect Bridget Power, incredulous at the situation in which she too found herself in 1900, asked: ‘Why did I do it? I am so fond of little children.’159 In her statement to the police, Maggie O’Connor maintained that she had engaged in sexual relations with her employer Patrick Shanny.

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Several domestic servants who became embroiled in infanticide cases similarly claimed that their masters were the fathers of their dead babies. In 1856, Sarah Rice named her employer, John Kelly, a marinestore dealer, as the putative father of her dead baby.160 In 1861, Anne Rogers claimed that her employer, Robert Gamble of Rooskey, County Cavan, was the father of the child whose birth she had concealed.161 Maurice Ahearn was likewise identified by his domestic servant as the father of her child in 1896.162 Undoubtedly, some servants were reluctant targets of their masters’ affections and were sexually exploited in the workplace. It is clear, however, that others engaged in sexual relations with their employers to secure their positions, in the hope of making a match, for personal gain or for sexual pleasure.163 Maggie O’Connor’s statement reveals the reasons why she did not reject the sexual advances of her employer: I allowed him to take liberties with me four times. It was at 4 o’c[lock] in the morning when I used to get up to let in the fish men. I was so fond of him and he was so good to me. I thought that no harm would come of it, he was such an old man. I would allow no young man to take such liberties with me.164

Margaret Donegan supported Maggie O’Connor’s testimony that Patrick Shanny was the putative father of the dead child. Margaret explained that Patrick ‘was taking drink’ during the previous Christmas period.165 After Christmas, he lodged himself in his bedroom and was attended to by Maggie O’Connor. Margaret Donegan recalled that Patrick Shanny ‘would allow no one else to attend him. His wife used to call off and on but he would hardly take anything from anyone but Maggie O’Connor.’166 Sergeant Hanley also commented on the close relationship between the male employer and his female domestic servant: ‘While under arrest in the barrack, I saw Pat Shanny kiss Miss O’Connor three times in presence of his wife and the police.’167 Shurlee Swain and Renate Howe have dismissed the traditional image of the single mother as a domestic servant seduced by her employer.168 Jennifer Bars has similarly highlighted in her research on nineteenthcentury London that most illegitimate births among domestic servants were the result of intercourse between those of a similar class.169 It is

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likely that domestic servants in Ireland also more commonly engaged in sexual relationships with co-workers and visitors to the household than with their employers. The Limerick infanticide case study indicates, however, that boundaries between servants and employers were sometimes blurred. Maggie O’Connor’s explanation that she permitted Shanny ‘to take liberties’ confirmed that he had instigated the affair and that she had felt obliged to consent. She believed that the only ‘harm’ in sexual intercourse outside wedlock was a pregnancy but mistakenly deemed this an impossibility due to Shanny’s age.170 O’Connor’s statement also reveals that she differentiated between intercourse with her employer, because he treated her well, and intercourse with a ‘young man’ who might get her pregnant or whom she might marry. While she would consent to the former, she made it explicitly clear in her statement that she would not agree to the latter. The dearth of condemnation for Patrick Shanny in the surviving sources is notable. It appears that he was not criticised for exploiting his position as an employer, nor publicly disapproved of for setting a bad example for his lower-class employees. In comparison, Judge Fitzgerald harshly condemned a middle-class woman in 1865 who was accused of concealing the birth of a baby, the result of a relationship with a married man. Fitzgerald judged that the teacher in County Galway ‘had been placed in a station of responsibility and authority. She ought, therefore, to have set all parties around an example of morality at least.’171 This comparison suggests that sexual transgressions were more forgivable and understandable when committed by middle-class men than middle-class women. Evidently, women were not expected to have a sexual appetite. Susan Edwards has argued that historically, the ‘[d]esexualisation of women was regarded as a virtue’.172 Mary Shanny was apparently aware of events taking place in her own household. She remained silent when her husband alleged they did not employ a domestic servant and later, several items of stained clothing belonging to Maggie O’Connor were found concealed under Mary Shanny’s bed. It appears that Mary Shanny assisted with the concealment of birth in an effort to protect her reputation and that of her badly behaved husband. Later that month, she was released from custody without charge. On 5 December 1893, the case against Patrick Shanny and Maggie O’Connor was tried at the Munster winter assizes. After

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hearing the evidence, foreman William Butterfield announced that the men of the jury had found both Shanny and O’Connor not guilty of the murder or concealment of birth of the newborn female found dead in Augustinian Lane. The fish and fowl dealer and his young domestic servant were released from custody without charge.

Conclusion The situations of the four female protagonists in the featured case studies were very different. Sarah Cuthbert and Sally Hagan resided with their immediate families; the former was an only child living at home with her elderly parents while the latter lived with her father, her brother and her illegitimate three-year-old son. Elizabeth Evans was a recently married woman, living in a small town with her husband. Country-girl Maggie O’Connor lived with her employer, having moved to Limerick City to work as a domestic servant in an established business. Despite the differences in their household environments and surroundings, each of the four women shared a desire to conceal the evidence that they had engaged in sexual intercourse outside of marriage. These four women, daughters of small farmers and tradesmen, sought to uphold their reputations in a society that valued sexual morality. The dead child, illegitimate in three cases and born after three months of marriage in the fourth case, was proof that these women had not behaved in a manner deemed appropriate. Diarmaid Ferriter has noted that the Charles Stewart Parnell scandal in 1889 ‘was a reminder that blind eyes were often turned … that certain behaviours would be tolerated as long as they remained hidden’.173 These case studies clearly illustrate that local communities tolerated sexual behaviour outside wedlock but monitored the activities and bodies of certain women in the locality. Sexual relationships would take place in secret but the evidence of that intercourse could manifest itself in the form of a pregnancy. The visible proof of an extra-marital sexual relationship thus entered the public domain. As illustrated, the Donegan family in Limerick tolerated the sexual affair between married man Patrick Shanny and his domestic servant until the evidence of that affair entered the public domain in the form of a dead baby in the laneway

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beside their house. The fact that many of those who reported their suspicions to the police were from the same class as suspects indicates that the poor or lower-middle classes were not willing to tolerate practices of infanticide or concelament of birth. The four case studies also convey the reactions of putative fathers to illegitimate pregnancies in post-Famine Ireland. As in most cases that came to public attention, the identity of Sarah Cuthbert’s sexual partner was not recorded in the evidence. In the second case study, Moses Kilpatrick privately acknowledged but publicly denied that he was the father of Sally Hagan’s baby. John Thomas Evans also denied to his friends, the prison authorities and the court that he was the father of his wife’s newborn infant. In the final case study, Patrick Shanny attempted to conceal from the community the fact that he had fathered a child with Maggie O’Connor by having his shop assistant dispose of the body of the infant, lying to the policemen and the authorities, and subsequently attempting to bribe a local doctor. It is not clear if Shanny was motivated primarily by a desire to protect himself, his sexual partner O’Connor or the reputation of his family. Nonetheless, his actions show that he, like the men in the other case studies, was reluctant to acknowledge publicly his illegitimate offspring. Individuals in positions of authority played a role in the detection and identification of infanticide cases. The four case studies indicate the determination that was sometimes required of policemen in their attempts to unearth evidence of infanticide or concealment of birth. Several policemen involved in these cases had clearly established a rapport with people living in their districts. The numerous tip-offs from individuals in the community indicate that policemen were viewed by some as trusted members of society.174 As in the Limerick case, suspects also, on occasion, sought direct advice from members of the police force. Like Sergeant William John Eakins, policemen were occasionally rewarded for their endeavours in infanticide cases. In 1851, Sub-Constable John Willis, based in County Clare, was praised by the Royal Irish Constabulary officials for his ‘long and successful pursuit of a woman charged with child murder’. James Edwards had his forfeited rank restored in 1853 for his ‘[i]ntelligence and tact in the arrest, upon a verbal description of a woman charged with the murder of her child’. In 1868, Louth-based Sub-Inspector William Irvine ‘effectively aided by

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his party, succeeded, upon a slight clue, in a detection of the crime of infanticide’ while his colleague, William Smith, in Mayo, was rewarded for his ‘[p]erseverance and ability in the detection of an infanticide’.175 Like the local constable, the local doctor was also among the first to be summoned to the scene of a suspected infant murder. Medical practitioners confirmed if a baby was the victim of violence and if a woman had been correctly identified as having recently given birth. The case of Sally Hagan indicates that ordained men also offered advice to members of their congregations in suspected infanticide cases. Priests and ministers were often summoned when the body of an infant was found or a woman was discovered in labour. It must, however, be acknowledged that they did not generally play a particularly visible role in detecting cases of infanticide.176 Unusually, evidence has survived that a local priest in County Galway in 1889 condemned from the pulpit the fact that several members of his congregation had kept knowledge of a concealed birth a secret for two years, during which time the supposed mother and putative father had moved away from the area. A witness admitted that she would not have revealed her knowledge of the affair ‘only that the priest cursed those who knew about it off the altar for not exposing it’.177 A priest in Limerick advised a pregnant single woman to leave her place of employment ‘for quietness sake’ prior to the birth of her infant.178 The son of her employer was the reputed father of the unborn child that was subsequently found strangled. In both instances, the priests were evidently privy to local gossip. Undoubtedly, clergymen and women heard rumours from members of their congregations, but their role as mediators and confidants in the community may have rendered them reluctant to become directly involved in the detection of cases of infanticide. Clergymen and women may also have feared criticism. In 1865, Rev. Walker was summoned to testify in a suspected infant murder case because the principal suspect had confessed to him that she had given birth to the dead baby discovered in the Ballinasloe Workhouse. On cross-examination by the defence, Walker acknowledged that he was familiar with a high-profile English child murder case that had remained unsolved for five years until the victim’s half-sister, Constance Kent, had confessed to the murder earlier that year. Controversially, she confessed her crime to a Church of England minister who subsequently

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testified in court.179 At the Ballinasloe trial in 1865, Walker stressed that he did not ‘want to import such things over here’.180 The judge, in support of the witness, emphasised that the minister ‘had no protection offered by the law after he heard her statements, for he could be compelled to divulge it here, otherwise he would be liable to be sent to prison’. In response to the impassioned closing remarks made by the defence, the judge explained that the minister: not need now, as Mr Buchanan stated in his address, hang down his head in shame for communicating her statement … [Walker] had done nothing inconsistent with his sacred office, or anything to incur the denunciation of the learned Counsel.181

It is impossible to verify if religious men or women tipped off the police about their own suspicions in individual cases. As chapter 6 indicates, priests, bishops and ministers played more visible roles in convicted infant murder or concealment of birth cases by signing or authoring petitions for mercy or letters of support, or acting as mediators between convicts and their families. The enquiries that followed the discovery of a suspected infanticide case were met with a variety of responses. Some witnesses, like the Donegan family, were quick to provide evidence to avoid becoming subjects of gossip and suspects of infanticide. Others, like Charlotte Ann Connolly in Markethill, were reluctant witnesses but ultimately provided the evidence in court that led to guilty verdicts. Undoubtedly, some witnesses did not divulge all of their knowledge in an effort to protect the accused.182 They answered questions posed by the men in the courtroom but did not elaborate further. Witnesses had to go to court if summoned, but they did not necessarily have to disclose information that they were not questioned upon. In 1888, after informing those present in the Athy petty sessions courtroom that she had seen suspect Lizzie Mulhall and her mother walking towards their pig house, witness Mary Kelly admitted that she ‘did not give this evidence at the inquest because I was not asked’.183 Other witnesses gave vague statements from the stand that frustrated the evidence for the Crown. Judith Fleming’s ambiguous answers at an inquest led the coroner to chastise that ‘you are not giving your evidence in a way that I like’.184 In 1898, pregnant

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Rose Molloy, a witness in an infant murder case, refused to swear the oath ‘on the ground that she was too near her confinement’ but insisted that she would ‘answer, without being sworn, any questions put to her truthfully’. The presiding judge stressed that ‘she might with safety be sworn’ but because the witness determindly refused to swear an oath, the prosecution was forced to proceed without her evidence.185 Carolyn Conley has argued that inhabitants of post-Famine Ireland were reluctant to act as informers in criminal cases due to the stigma attached to testifying on behalf of the Crown.186 She stressed that witnesses ‘who testified for the prosecution were often subject to public condemnation, if not to physical attack’.187 In 1897, a woman who had reported a case of child neglect to the local police later accused several neighbours of assaulting and threatening her, and calling her a ‘lagger’. A representative for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children claimed that some ‘people appeared to think that anyone who assisted the operation of the law was a criminal of the deepest dye’.188 But while some witnesses may have chosen not to report their suspicions directly to the authorities, it is clear from the evidence that they participated in local gossip. The Belfast News-Letter confirmed in 1869, that a case of infanticide had ‘created a good deal of gossip and no small amount of conjecture’.189 Eventually, in many of the detected cases at least, ‘the matter came to the ears of the authorities’.190 Rumours of pregnancies, births and infanticides appear to have been relatively common in nineteenth-century Ireland, but undoubtedly were not always found true on investigation. In 1872, Maria Armstrong was identified by her neighbour Thomas Crawford as being the mother of the murdered baby found in a hedge in County Longford. The woman was arrested but it was subsequently found that she had not given birth. She later pressed charges against Crawford. The judge in the civil bill court ‘commented in the strongest language on the revengeful deposition of the defendant, who sought to blight the happiness and prospects of the young girl, but observed that she was leaving court without the slightest stain on her conduct character’.191 In some instances, it was merely a case of mistaken identity. In 1897, a woman was summoned to the court charged with throwing her daughter into the canal. Although she matched the description of the perpetrator seen lingering near the canal with a pink bundle, it was subsequently revealed that she was

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not the culprit.192 On other occasions, the suspect was not only falsely accused, but the suspicion that an infanticide had occurred at all also proved false. In 1890, Martha Jane Thompson summoned John Wilson for slander. The farmer’s daughter from Rathfriland, County Down, had been accused of infant murder by the defendant. Wilson denied the charges but was fined £10 in damages. The judge maintained that when the defendant got the attorney’s bill, ‘he would never cast any reflection on the character of any young woman again’.193 But as shown by this chapter, gossip and reflections by neighbours were important in bringing infant murder and concealment of birth cases and suspects to public attention.

Notes 1

NAI, Crown files for County Galway, 1889, deposition of Joseph King, 6 August 1889. 2 NAI, Crown files for County Carlow, 1888–1906, deposition of Thomas Treacey, 30 December 1898. 3 NAI, Crown files for County Donegal, 1989–9, deposition of Daniel Enright, 29 August 1899. 4 For a discussion of the role of relatives in twentieth-century cases, see Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’, chapter 2. 5 Griffin, Sources for the Study of Crime, p. 88. 6 Hue and Cry, 12 April 1872. Emphasis in the original. 7 Ibid., 3 May 1872. 8 Belfast News-Letter, 27 April 1872. 9 Ibid., 25 April 1861. 10 See also, Rattigan, ‘ “I thought from her appearance” ’, 134–51. 11 NAI, Crown files for County Meath, 1900, deposition of William McKenzie, 25 August 1900. 12 Hue and Cry, 11 February 1859. 13 NAI, CRF, C 50 1867, deposition of David Hannan, 26 May 1867. 14 Ibid. 15 NAI, CRF, H 17 1869, memo from Coroner William Orr, 10 December 1868. 16 NAI, Crown files for County Kerry, 1893–4, deposition of Margaret Burke, 3 December 1894. 17 NAI, CRF, H 17 1869, deposition of Jane McLoughlin, 10 December 1868.

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18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Belfast News-Letter, 25 February 1868. Belfast News-Letter, 14 March 1885. See also Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’, p. 136. NAI, CRF, H 17 1869, deposition of Jane McLoughlin, 10 December 1868. Ibid., deposition of John McDonnell, 10 December 1868. Ibid., deposition of Sally McKinney, 10 December 1868. Ibid. Abrams, ‘From demon to victim’, p. 193. NAI, Outrage papers for County Kilkenny, statement of Bridget Tophy, 13 May 1851. 27 Westmeath Examiner, 27 May 1893; NAI, Crown files for County Westmeath, 1882–95, case of Bridget Fleming. 28 NAI, Crown files for County Westmeath, 1882–95, deposition of John Fallon, 9 June 1893. 29 This term was generally used during this period to describe a person who was unable to speak. 30 NAI, CRF, H 17 1869, deposition of Sally McKinney, 10 December 1868. The ‘dummy’ referred to in this deposition was not named in the evidence. 31 Ibid. 32 NAI, CRF, H 17 1869, deposition of Sally Hagan, 9 December 1868. 33 Belfast News-Letter, 16 June 1874. 34 Ibid., 28 June 1892. 35 NAI, CRF, C 50 1867, petition of Jonathan Cuthbert, November 1867. 36 Ibid., deposition of David Hannan, 26 May 1867. 37 NAI, CRF, H 17 1869, deposition of Thomas Johnston, 9 December 1868. 38 Laura Gowing, ‘Secret births and infanticide in seventeenth century England’, Past and Present, clvi (1997), 90. 39 Abrams, ‘From demon to victim’, pp. 186–7. 40 Kilday, Women and Violent Crime, p. 62. See also Gillespie, ‘Women and crime in seventeenth-century Ireland’; Elwyn C. Lapoint, ‘Irish immunity to witch-hunting, 1534–1711’, Éire-Ireland, xxvii: 2 (1992), 76–92. 41 Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’, p. 188. 42 George Henry Bassett, The Book of County Armagh: A Manual and Directory for Manufacturers, Merchants, Traders, Professional Men, Land-Owners, Farmers, Tourists, Anglers and Sportsmen Generally (Dublin, 1888); J. Bell, Markethill and Gosford History Trail (Markethill, 1993); Rev. H. H. Moore, Three Hundred Years of Congregational Life: The Story of the First Presbyterian Church, Markethill, Co. Armagh (Armagh, 1909). 43 See Paul Larmour, ‘Gosford Castle, County Armagh – a Neo-Norman novelty’, Ulster Architect (1985), 4–5. 44 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of Mary McCoy in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885.

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45 NAI, Markethill census, 1901, 23/11, available at www.census.nationalarchives.ie/pages/1901/Armagh/Markethill/Newry_Street/1017575 (accessed 8 February 2012). 46 Ibid. 47 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of James Anderson in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 48 Belfast News-Letter, 24 June 1884. 49 Elizabeth Malcolm, The Irish Policeman, 1822–1922: A Life (Dublin, 2006), p. 69. 50 PSNI Museum, RIC record of William John Eakins, 23828; Jim Herlihy, The Royal Irish Constabulary: A Complete Alphabetical List of Officers and Men, 1816–1922 (Dublin, 1999). 51 Marriage register of Shankill Parish, Lurgan (marriage register in the possession of Samuel Malcolm, Shankill Parish, Lurgan, County Armagh). I am extremely thankful for the assistance provided by Samuel Malcolm. 52 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of William John Eakins in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 53 NAI, Crown files for County Galway, 1889, deposition of Patrick Kielty, 18 October 1888. 54 NAI, Crown files for County Donegal, 1892–4, deposition of Cornelius McCarthy, 3 June 1893. See also Farrell, Infanticide in the Crown Files, p. xxi. 55 NAI, Crown files for County Tipperary, 1893, deposition of Michael Lewis, 28 April 1893. 56 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of William John Eakins in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 57 NAI, Crown files for County Mayo, 1892, deposition of R. B. Mahon, 3 September 1892. 58 Arnot, ‘Gender in focus’, pp. 93, 95. 59 NAI, Crown files for County Mayo, 1892, deposition of R. B. Mahon, 3 September 1892. 60 NAI, Crown files for County Tipperary, 1893, deposition of Joseph Samuel McDaniel, 23 November 1893. 61 PRONI, Crown files for County Down, Dow/1/2b/6, deposition of T. F., 15 February 1899. 62 NAI, Crown files for County Kerry, 1895–6, deposition of Rowland J. Denny, 19 August 1895. 63 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of Alexander Smith in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 64 Ibid., deposition of James Brady in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 65 Ibid. 66 Register of Marriages of Loughgilly Parish Church, 1 December 1859– 20 April 1927 (register in the possession of Rev. James Lewis Wilson,

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Loughgilly Parish, Armagh). I am extremely grateful to Rev. James Lewis Wilson for this information. 67 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of James Brady in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 68 Ibid., deposition of Mary McCoy in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 69 Ibid., deposition of Mary Anne Wann in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 70 Ibid., deposition of Mary Ann Lindon in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 71 Ibid., deposition of Mary Shields in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 72 Ibid., deposition of Margaret Blackburn in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 73 Dickinson and Sharpe, ‘Infanticide in early modern England’, p. 46. 74 Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’, p. 178. 75 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of Samuel James Patterson in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 76 Ibid., deposition of William Quigley in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 77 Ibid., deposition of John Short in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 78 Ibid., depositions of William John Eakins and Alexander Smith in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 79 Ulster Gazette and Armagh Standard, 12 July 1884. 80 Janet McShane-Galley, ‘For shame: accusations of infanticide and coroner’s inquests into the deaths of legitimate infants in Victorian Ontario’, in Bechtold and Graves (eds), Killing Infants, p. 285. 81 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of Charlotte Ann Connolly in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 82 Ibid. 83 Ibid. 84 NAI, CRF, C 1 1868, letter from John Henry Richards to Thomas Larcom, 27 January 1868. 85 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of Charlotte Ann Connolly in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 86 Ulster Gazette and Armagh Standard, 19 July 1884. 87 Ibid. 88 Bassett, The Book of County Armagh, p. 115. 89 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of Mary McCoy in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 90 Ibid., deposition of Mary Anne Wann in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885.

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91 Ibid. 92 Ibid., deposition of John Short in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 93 Ibid., deposition of Joseph Sinton in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 94 Ibid., deposition of Charlotte Ann Connolly in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 95 Ibid. 96 Ibid., deposition of William John Eakins in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 97 Armagh Guardian, 21 March 1884. Prostitutes were often imprisoned for minor charges in an effort to remove them from the streets. See Luddy, Prostitution and Irish Society, p. 46. For evidence of similar practices outside of Ireland see Judith Kelleher Schafer, Brothels, Depravity and Abandoned Women: Illegal Sex in Antebellum New Orleans (Baton Rouge, 2009), pp. 27–8. 98 Armagh Guardian, 25 April 1884. 99 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of Mary Anne Wann in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 100 Freeman’s Journal, 15 July 1879. 101 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of John Rooney in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 102 Morning News, 17 July 1884. 103 Banbridge Chronicle, 23 July 1884. 104 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 105 Ibid. Emphasis in the original. 106 Banbridge Chronicle, 23 July 1884. 107 Seventh Report of the General Prisons Board, Ireland, 1884–85; With an Appendix, 72 [4543], H.C. 1884–5, xxxviii, 854. 108 Farrell, ‘ “ The fellow said it was not harm and only tricks”  ’. 109 Freeman’s Journal, 10 March 1875. 110 PRONI, Crown book for County Tyrone, Tyr/1/2a/1, case of L. M. and E. M. 111 See Farrell, ‘ “ The fellow said it was not harm and only tricks”  ’. 112 NAI, CRF, W 24 1884, deposition of Elizabeth Evans, 26 September 1884. 113 Ibid. 114 Ibid. 115 Ibid., 9 October 1884. 116 Ibid., deposition of James Callaghan, 9 October 1884. 117 Ibid., deposition of William John Eakins, 9 October 1884. 118 Ibid., deposition of Joseph Pratt, 9 October 1884. 119 Ibid., deposition of Gilbert Marshall, 9 October 1884. 120 Ibid., statement of Mary Anne Wann, 9 October 1884.

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121 Ibid., deposition of Charlotte Ann Connolly, 12 November 1884. 122 Ibid. 123 Ibid. 124 Ibid., deposition of Joseph Pratt, 9 October 1884. 125 Ibid., deposition of Gilbert Marshall, 9 October 1884. 126 Ibid., John Kilkelly to William S. B. Kaye, 26 November 1884. 127 Ibid., E. W. Bailey to John Kilkelly, 25 November 1884. Emphasis in the original. 128 Ibid. 129 Belfast Evening Telegraph, 19 December 1884. 130 Ibid., 10 December 1884. 131 NAI, CRF, E 5 1886, deposition of William John Eakins in report of William Andrews, 7 January 1885. 132 PSNI Museum, RIC record of William John Eakins, 23828. 133 For evidence of community surveillance outside of Ireland see May, ‘ “She at first denied it” ’; Johanna Geyer-Kordesch, ‘Infanticide and the erotic plot: a feminist reading of eighteenth-century crime’, in Jackson (ed.), Infanticide: Historical Perspectives; Gowing, ‘Secret births’, 87–115. 134 Shani D’Cruze, Crimes of Outrage: Sex, Violence and Victorian Working Women (London, 1998), p. 50. 135 Melanie Tebbutt, Women’s Talk? A Social History of ‘Gossip’ in Working-class Neighbourhoods, 1880–1960 (Aldershot, 1995), p. 142. 136 NAI, Crown files for County Donegal, 1892–4, information of Catherine (Cassie) McFadden, 1 June 1893. 137 Belfast News-Letter, 8 July 1879, 15 July 1879. 138 Armagh Guardian, 2 February 1883. 139 Ibid. 140 Report of Capital Punishment Commission, 389 [3590], H.C. 1866, xxi, 441. 141 Margaret Donegan’s mother was also named Margaret Donegan. For the purposes of this case study, the elder Margaret Donegan will be referred to as Mrs Donegan. 142 A jarvey was a horse and cart driver. 143 Limerick Chronicle, 10 August 1893. 144 Ibid. 145 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1893–4, deposition of Michael Shea, 19 August 1893. 146 Ibid. 147 Ibid. 148 Ibid., deposition of John Holmes, 19 August 1893. 149 Ibid., deposition of Michael Shea, 10 August 1893. 150 Ibid., information of Margaret Donegan, 10 August 1893. 151 Ibid., deposition of Patrick McBrinn, 19 August 1893.

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152 Ibid., information of Edward Donegan, 10 August 1893. 153 Ibid., information of Margaret Donegan, 10 August 1893. 154 Ibid., information of Mrs Donegan, 10 August 1893. 155 Ibid., statement of Maggie O’Connor, 10 August 1893. 156 PRONI, Crown files for County Armagh, Arm/1/2d/2/9, deposition of M. H., 28 March 1892. 157 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1893–4, statement of Mary O’Connor, 29 December 1895. 158 Ibid., 10 August 1893. 159 NAI, Crown files for County Tipperary, 1900, deposition of Catherine Coad, 25 September 1900. 160 Belfast News-Letter, 11 January 1856. 161 Ibid., 15 July 1861. 162 NAI, CRF, Mc 38 1898, case file of Mary McCarthy. 163 For an account of the sexual relationships of domestic servants in nineteenth-century London see Francoise Barret-Ducrocq, Love in the Time of Victoria: Sexuality, Class and Gender in Nineteenth-Century London, trans. John Howe (London, 1991). 164 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1893–4, statement of Maggie O’Connor, 10 August 1893. 165 Ibid., information of Margaret Donegan, 10 August 1893. 166 Ibid. 167 Ibid., deposition of Oliver Hanley, 19 August 1893. 168 Shurlee Swain and Renate Howe, Single Mothers and their Children (Cambridge, 1995), p. 22. 169 Jennifer Bars, ‘Defining Murder in Victorian London: An Analysis of Cases, 1862–1892’ (DPhil, University of Oxford, 1995), p. 121. 170 For pregnancy as a concern of sexual intercourse see Ellen Ross, Love and Toil: Motherhood in Outcast London, 1870–1918 (Oxford, 1993), p. 99. 171 Western Star, 22 July 1865. 172 Susan Edwards, Female Sexuality and the Law: A Study of Constructs of Female Sexuality as They Inform Statute and Legal Procedure (Oxford, 1981), p. 27. 173 Ferriter, Occasions of Sin, pp. 36–7. 174 Brian Griffin, ‘Prevention and detection of crime in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in N. M. Dawson (ed.), Reflections on Law and History: Irish Legal History Society Discourses and Other Papers, 2000–2005 (Dublin, 2006), p. 104. 175 Garda Museum, Royal Irish Constabulary return of men rewarded, dismissed, disrated and fined, 1848–72. 176 Rattigan similarly highlighted that priests in twentieth-century Ireland did not feature regularly in infanticide cases (Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’, p. 114). 177 Galway Express, 22 March 1890.

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178 NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1893–4, deposition of Hanora Power, 20 October 1894. 179 See J. B. Atlay, ‘Famous trials: the Road mystery’, Cornhill Magazine, ii (1897), 80–94; Mary S. Hartman, Victorian Murderesses: A True History of Thirteen Respectable French and English Women Accused of Unspeakable Crimes (London, 1977); Kate Summerscale, The Suspicions of Mr Whicher, or the Murder at Road Hill House (London, 2008). 180 Western Star, 22 July 1865. 181 Ibid. 182 See also Bridget Hill, Women Alone: Spinsters in England, 1660–1850 (New Haven and London, 2001), pp. 116–25; Sharon Howard, ‘Communities policing “criminal” bodies in early modern Wales’ (2002) available at www.earlymodernweb.org.uk/archive/controlling-bodies.pdf  (accessed 8 July 2009). 183 NAI, Crown files for County Kildare, 1887–9, deposition of Mary Kelly, 1 May 1888. 184 Westmeath Examiner, 27 May 1893. 185 Ibid., 5 March 1888. 186 Conley, Melancholy Accidents, p. 148. 187 Carolyn Conley, ‘Irish criminal records, 1865–1892’, Éire-Ireland, xxviii, no. 1 (1993), 97. 188 Freeman’s Journal, 1 June 1897. 189 Belfast News-Letter, 7 August 1869. 190 Ibid., 29 June 1895. 191 Freeman’s Journal, 26 November 1872. 192 Belfast News-Letter, 5 March 1897. 193 Ibid., 6 December 1890.

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5 ‘News of the ghastly spectacle’:1 the press

Nineteenth-century Irish newspapers comprised articles about wars and politics, summaries of parliamentary proceedings and official publications, tales of local, national and international happenings, and regular columns focused on sport, business, markets, the arts, fashion and high society. Advertisements regularly occupied an entire page of Irish newspapers, sometimes spilling on to a second page, where notes from the editor, summarising events reported in the edition, were also generally positioned. In his study of late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century London newspapers, Peter King adduced that ‘law and order news was part of the staple diet of the average newspaper reader in this period’.2 Irish newspapers in the latter half of the nineteenth century also regularly informed readers when crimes were discovered, suspects were arrested and cases were heard in court. Although, as Heather Shore stressed, ‘newspapers were more concerned with reporting series of events rather than conveying any sort of moral message or simply sensational reporting’, the type of crimes reported and style of reporting can reveal much about press attitudes during this period.3 Crime reporting was influenced by contemporary opinions about newsworthy topics. Stuart Hall et al. concluded that the: media do not simply and transparently report events which are ‘naturally’ newsworthy in themselves. ‘News’ is the end product of a complex process which begins with a systematic sorting and selecting of events and topics according to a socially constructed set of categories.4

The location of the crime and circulation base of the newspaper was a major factor that dictated coverage. As Ryan notes, local newspapers

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‘have a long tradition of reporting human interest stories, murder trials and criminal investigations, especially those of local interest’.5 The length of crime reports in Irish newspapers was also affected by the newspaper column inches available and the information known at the time of print. Technological advancements and the growth and development of the railway line in the 1840s and 1850s facilitated the expansion of the newspaper industry in Ireland.6 The abolition of stamp tax in 1855 and paper tax in 1861 also led to an increase in the number of newspapers and the frequency with which editions were published.7 In consequence of the removal of the stamp tax, for example, the thrice-weekly Belfast News-Letter became a daily publication in 1855.8 By 1875, eighteen Irish newspapers were published on a daily basis.9 Communication developments also aided newspaper editors in their pursuit of up-to-date information. The Magnetic Telegraph Company, established in 1851, gathered international and London news, and communicated this to newspapers in Ireland.10 In 1868, the Press Association was founded in London to collect news items from various correspondents around Britain and Ireland for distribution to a number of newspapers.11 The Cork Examiner also telegraphed news copy to London, lifted from newspapers that had recently arrived on American ships to Cork harbour.12 Suspected infanticide cases appeared in the pages of the Irish press on a weekly basis.13 Perhaps surprisingly, reports describing the discovery of infant remains were often brief, inconspicuous and devoid of emotion or personal opinion. In May 1850, the Cork Examiner typically reported that on ‘Tuesday between 2 and 3 o’clock the body of a female child was found carefully wrapped up in clothes in the South Channel. An inquest was held on the body and a verdict of “found drowned” returned.’14 A few weeks later, the Kilkenny Journal recorded that a ‘male infant was discovered on Sunday in a pool at Ballysimon, it had been apparently but a short time dead, and was being devoured by dogs’.15 This trend continued in the twentieth century; Louise Ryan has observed that infanticide reports in Irish newspapers of the 1920s were ‘surprisingly short, matter-of-fact and non-judgemental’.16 In England too: accounts of a skeleton dug up in a garden, or of fresh bodies thrown into people’s gardens, or left inside entrances or on doorsteps … were

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not sensationalised, but tucked away on inside pages, occupying one or two paragraphs of close print.17

Brief reports of infanticide cases likewise appeared in non-Irish newspapers.18 Local and national newspapers regularly described cases in which women were suspected, arrested or tried for infanticide or concealment of birth. Such reports brought tales of dead babies, murdering mothers or illicit sexual relationships to the wider community. As Dalley highlighted in relation to nineteenth-century New Zealand: trials were visual and oral spectacles, but they were also textual events. If attendance were impossible, the next best thing was to read about the trials in the local and national newspapers, or vicariously imagine the experience of witnessing them.19

The space afforded descriptions of infant murder and concealment of birth trials ranged in length from brief summaries to full accounts comprising witness statements, solicitors’ speeches and judges’ remarks that spread across several columns. The general absence of journalists’ names can give the impression that reports were objective accounts of events in court.20 Mark Jackson has cautioned, however, that trial reports printed in newspapers should not necessarily be regarded as complete or wholly precise.21 Reporters did not regularly explain why magistrates had opted to send a case for trial or why grand jury members had dismissed a case.22 Similarly, trial reports did not always include the verdict returned in a case or the sentence imposed by the presiding judge. Space restrictions and the running order of trials undoubtedly forced some reporters or editors to omit details of particular cases or limit coverage. ‘The case was going on when the post left’, a journalist covering an infant murder trial at the 1855 Londonderry summer assizes explained.23 A report in the Northern Whig apologised that since ‘it was now a quarter-past seven o’clock, our reporter was obliged to leave the court prior to its adjournment, in order to catch the last train for Belfast’.24 In other instances, journalists or editors purposefully avoided printing certain details. In a report of an inquest on the body of a male infant in Newry in 1856, the Belfast News-Letter claimed: ‘We refrain from giving more of the

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case than this outline, in order that we may not obstruct, by premature publication of the evidence so far, the researches of the authorities.’25 The details of some cases were regarded as ‘unfit for publication’ or inappropriate for the sensitive reader.26 The journalist who heard evidence at Charlotte McIvor’s concealment of birth trial in 1860 deemed it ‘of a nature to preclude its publication’.27 Sandra McAvoy has argued that the continuation of this practice in reports of domestic or sexual abuse cases in twentieth-century Ireland ‘reduced readers’ understandings of the sense of physical invasion, violation and trauma endured by victims of sexual crimes’.28 While some trial accounts were brief, muted or repetitive, others were ‘discursively structured for dramatic effect’.29 References to distraught judges, crowded courtrooms, participants in the audience, hysterical defendants or snippets of local gossip alluded to a theatre-like courtroom scene. Some editors headed articles with sensational titles, including: ‘Horrible tragedy at Loughrea’; ‘Barbarous child murder at Ballycastle, Antrim’; ‘Appalling tragedy – death of two children and suicide of the mother’; ‘Ferocious attempt at infanticide’; and ‘Supposed horrible infanticide’.30 That sensational stories of murder sold newspapers is also evident from advertisements listed on the front pages of Irish newspapers. The Penny Dispatch publicised a ‘DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO MURDER A CHILD IN DUBLIN’ among its four leading articles in mid-March 1868.31 The Belfast Weekly News similarly used upper-case letters in an advertisement that largely consisted of a lower-case register to draw attention to a ‘SHOCKING CASE OF SUPPOSED INFANTICIDE IN BELFAST’.32 Ranging from the almost indifferent to the sensationalised, newspaper reports can reveal much about the attitudes of individual reporters, the press as a whole and the reading public to suspected cases of infanticide and concealment of birth. Reporters were generally present at assize and quarter sessions trials, and occasionally at the scene of a suspected infant murder or concealment of birth. Each reporter thus constructed a narrative for the reading public by interweaving details about the crime with transcribed or summarised statements from certain witnesses, coroners, solicitors or judges in court. While judges and jurors were required to focus on evidence, newspaper reporters were not similarly confined to fact. Individual reporters may not have fabricated details,

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but could consciously or unconsciously emphasise, exaggerate, embellish or ignore certain aspects of a case in an effort to construct a particular version of the story.

The ‘innocent looking young woman’ and the ‘repulsive looking woman’ The reading population of Ireland was fed two opposing images of infanticide suspects. A woman accused of infant murder was a figure to be either pitied or condemned. The headlines given to newspaper reports often indicated the attitude towards the suspect; ‘CHARGE OF CHILD MURDER. PITIFUL CASE’ captioned a compassionate report of infanticide allegedly committed by Jane Irvine, a young unmarried woman from County Antrim.33 An unsympathetic report of an attempted infant murder entitled ‘CRUEL ASSAULT ON A CHILD’ was published by the Belfast News-Letter in 1878.34 Newspaper depictions did not depend on trial verdicts. A woman convicted of infant murder by the assize jury could be portrayed as a figure to be pitied and an acquitted suspect could be treated harshly by the press. Jane Carland, ‘an unhappy young woman [who] fell, fainting, into the arms of one of the prison officials’35 was sentenced to death, as was Anne Jane Mills, whose history ‘is a sad one, and has excited a good deal of commiseration’.36 On the other hand, Rose Keany, a ‘repulsive looking woman, apparently about 45 years of age’ was acquitted of the capital charge in Leitrim in 1868.37 Despite different responses by the courts and the press to the same woman, court journalists rarely commented negatively on the verdict of the judge or jury. Reverential language described ‘learned’ judges and ‘respectable’ jurors. Peter King observed similar tendencies in the London press of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, and suggested that writers aligned themselves with judges in an effort to protect their own careers as court reporters.38 In her study of Irish folklore sources, Anne O’Connor also perceived the two opposing images of women who murdered their infants.39 She stressed that the child murderer who emerges from Irish legends is generally ‘akin to the Satanic witch-midwife character who will not repent of her evil ways and who therefore is eternally damned’.40 Irish

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newspapers in the latter half of the nineteenth century, unlike Irish folktales, did not regularly present the woman accused of infant murder as a demonic, evil figure. The most popular image construct portrayed a ‘desperate’ woman who had been forced by circumstances outside of her control to murder her infant. Although she was suspected of child murder or concealment of birth, she displayed the virtues of her sex: she was attractive, young, naive and vulnerable.41 In the 1980s, Hilary Allen concluded from her study of contemporary criminals that: The woman who commits violent crime is a disturbing figure. She cuts across many of the expectations of the judicial system, and much of the idealism of feminism also. From either perspective it is therefore tempting to detach her from the unwelcome position of violent criminal and reposition her in some other less uncomfortable status.42

In nineteenth-century Ireland, newspaper reporters also tended to ‘neutralise’ tales of women accused of infanticide. A female suspect’s physical appearance was generally positively described. She could be ‘a well-favoured and lady-looking woman’, ‘a good-looking girl’, ‘an innocent looking young woman’ or ‘quiet looking peasant girl’.43 Regardless of whether statements were embellished or based on reality, journalists included such descriptions in an effort to illustrate the defendant’s persona or character.44 A woman’s attractiveness emphasised her femininity and seemed to justify the sympathetic portrayal. Newspaper reports regularly emphasised a woman’s youth. The Belfast News-Letter concluded its report of a suspected infanticide case with a description of the accused: ‘The prisoner, Eliza McKillon, is a mere girl of interesting exterior, and only sixteen years of age … she had recently given birth to a child, the reputed father of which is over sixty years of age.’45 Since age was linked to experience, knowledge and power, this statement hinted that a sexually inexperienced adolescent had been seduced by a man almost four times her age. Her femininity had ultimately caused her demise; by naively trusting those around her she had been vulnerable to the advances of a wily seducer. It should not, however, be assumed that a suspect’s sexual experience comprised an isolated encounter that resulted in pregnancy. A woman’s sexual history

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was not generally revealed in court, thereby allowing journalists to typecast a defendant tried before them as a virtuous woman who had been seduced. In a second example, a reporter for the Belfast News-Letter described suspect Jane McDowell (see Figure 5.1) as ‘apparently about twenty-three or twenty-four years of age’.46 In reality, however, McDowell was born on 22 June 1853.47 She was thus almost thirty-six years of age at the time of her trial. It seems probable that the writer exaggerated McDowell’s age in this instance or included this ‘fact’ in an effort to justify the sympathetic representation. Although the reporter stressed that McDowell’s ‘family are believed to be respectable’,48 he or she did not mention that Jane had given birth to another illegitimate infant seven years earlier. Women thought to have committed infant murder as a result of mental instability were also portrayed as unfortunate and vulnerable figures. The Sligo Champion published a sensationalised report of a ‘shocking affair’ in the locality in July 1892, graphically entitled: ‘Horrible affair in County Sligo: a mother puts her three children in a pot of boiling water and scalds them to death.’ The article, which comprised a description of the inquest, an eye-witness account from a ‘correspondent’ at the scene and ‘full particulars’ from another reporter was almost two columns in length and was the main feature of the weekly newspaper. It described the case of Catherine Guihen (or Wynn) who ‘in a fit of insanity, seized her three children, and one by one thrust them head foremost into a large cauldron of boiling water which she had prepared for the purpose’. As part of her ‘horrible design’, Guihen also placed her own head in the boiling water. The Sligo Champion report made frequent reference to ‘the little victims’, aged five years, three years and ten months, and depicted a pitiful version of events pieced together from the evidence. The journalist vividly described to the reader that the: flesh upon the heads of the poor little victims appeared to be literally boiled, and was falling off in pieces … in the case of the other child, aged 3 ½ years, it seems that the wretched mother actually attempted to cut his body in two with a knife or other instrument.

Throughout the article, Catherine Guihen was consistently referred to as ‘an unfortunate woman’ and a ‘poor creature’ who had involuntarily

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Figure 5.1  Jane McDowell, 1889

caused this ‘dreadful tragedy’. The Sligo Champion readers were given an insight into the neighbours’ conversations with the murdering mother. Guihen told Maria Mattimoe that ‘she was as fond of the children as the eye in her head, but something struck her mind when she did it’. She informed Bridget Healy that ‘she could bear them no longer; that they had her head opened and they were easy vexed, and that she had sent them to God’. Although she openly admitted that she had committed the crime, the newspaper reporter did not hold Guihen responsible. She had previously displayed signs of insanity and it was regretted that her husband had not thought it fit to place her in the local lunatic asylum. The reporter at the scene of the crime concluded the sensationalised account by reiterating the message that permeated throughout: ‘Of course no blame is attached to any person, as the poor mother was undoubtedly insane.’ Patrick Guihen, the father of the children, was presented as a heroic figure whose life was devoted to maintaining his family. He was part of

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the ‘race of hardy mountaineers’ who lived on the south-eastern side of Bralieve Mountain and at ‘the best times, and under the most favourable circumstances, the position and surroundings of the poor fellow were not enviable’. Patrick, portrayed as a decent father and husband, had left the house to tend to his herd and, on his return, the ‘unhappy man’s gaze’ found his wife and two sons unconscious, and his youngest son lying dead on the bed. The Sligo Champion journalist stressed that ‘[u]niversal sympathy is expressed for poor Guihen, who was a most inoffensive, well-conducted, industrious man’.49 The allegation that Patrick Guihen had been unfaithful and had intended to leave his wife50 was not mentioned in the report. Those who transgressed the limitations of femininity, on the other hand, were not usually sympathetically portrayed in the pages of the Irish press, as illustrated by the treatment of Ellen Healy and her eighteen-year-old daughter Hanorah in the Cork Examiner. The reporter consistently referred to Ellen Healy, who was accused of assisting with the murder of Hanorah’s illegitimate son in Fermoy in 1880, as an ‘old woman’. It was conceivable that Ellen Healy had experience of childbirth, knowledge of how to kill an infant and the power to dominate her daughter if necessary. Women of an advanced age were central characters in oral narratives of witchcraft and folklore tales of supernatural powers, charms and curses.51 In 1888, Lady Wilde confirmed that ‘[elderly] women, especially, are considered to have peculiar mystic and supernatural power’.52 Individual newspaper reporters may have been influenced by these popular stereotypes or may have played on such preconceptions. The report also insinuated that Ellen Healy was not a virtuous woman. Unusually, the reporter transcribed the questions posed by the coroner at the inquest: ‘Coroner – Were the inquiries favourable to her? The Constable – Quite the contrary; the mother of the deceased infant is herself illegitimate.’ Interestingly, the nineteenth-century men were condemning Ellen Healy for giving birth to and raising a daughter out of wedlock, and determining to punish her for getting rid of her daughter’s illegitimate offspring. The report further emphasised Ellen Healy’s ‘unfeminine’ nature by referring to a perceived lack of maternal instinct. She was described as ‘careless’ with the infant, she ‘snapt [sic] the baby’ from a neighbour and ‘bundled it under her arm’. A witness testified that ‘a dog would treat

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its offspring more kindly than the mother and grandmother treated the child’, and explained that the grandmother had removed the infant from the house for a few hours in order to have him baptised but from ‘that moment, the child, which was previously healthy, became sickly’. The reporter may not have invented these accounts, but he or she nonetheless selected certain sentences for publication from the lengthy statements given in court. The actions of the grandmother at the coroner’s court were also described for the reading public. It was alleged that ‘she made a rambling statement about her own and her daughter’s injured innocence, and the cruelty of the doctors and police authorities, who were instrumental in placing her daughter in a cold gaol so soon after her confinement’.53 In fact, the ‘rambling statement’ illustrated that Ellen Healy cared about the life and welfare of her own child who had recently given birth, but the Cork Examiner reporter ignored this point. The circumstances that rendered a mother’s crime somewhat understandable, such as her marital status, youth, poverty and state of mind after labour, did not apply to the murdering non-mother. Stepmothers who allegedly caused the deaths of infants also tended to be negatively portrayed in the pages of the Irish press.54 Traveller Asenath Nicholson commented on the general distrust of stepmothers in nineteenth-century Ireland: The poor victim might as well enter her name on the black roll, and make a league to become a witch at once, as to undertake this crusade; for indulgent or severe, idle or industrious, amicable or unamicable, she is a stepmother still.55

Hanorah Healy, the mother of the dead child, was in some respects presented as a young, inexperienced woman. But like her mother, she was deemed to lack ‘feminine’ traits and thus was portrayed unsympathetically in the Cork Examiner. At the direction of her mother, she allegedly neglected her infant and refused to breastfeed the newborn despite the fact that she ‘had plenty of milk’. She had explained to an inquisitive neighbour that she preferred to spoon-feed the child because she intended to go back to work as a domestic servant and the infant would thus be left in the care of her mother. Despite this plausible explanation, Hanorah’s refusal to breastfeed her baby guaranteed that

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she would be described and presented as an ‘unnatural parent’. Counsel for the defence argued at the trial, ‘how many mothers were there who never suckled their children; they would have a good many prosecutions if that was to be regarded as criminal neglect.’ The presiding judge similarly acknowledged that there ‘were many ladies in the country, and many women in various ranks of life, who did not suckle their children’. He added, however, that he ‘should be sorry that any woman in this country would refuse to suckle her child if all her wealth and influence could not procure a proper substitute. He was satisfied no woman would do it.’56 The evidence had shown that Hanorah Healy had not procured a suitable breast milk replacement for her newborn. She had, in fact, been observed applying vinegar to her breasts in an effort to dry up her supply of milk. Such supposed indifference towards the welfare of her offspring seemed to imply that she should not be regarded as a feminine figure or a woman to be pitied. Indeed, the judge’s statement suggests that having defied her nature, she should not even be regarded as a woman.57 Although infant murder went against feminine ideals, the means by which a baby died impacted upon press representations of murdering women. Kate Byrne, who had boiled the body of her newborn ‘to a pulp’, was described as a ‘wretched mother’.58 Women who had caused the deaths of their children through physical abuse were also generally treated harshly by the press. A post-mortem examination of Hanorah Healy’s six-day-old baby revealed 163 grains of oxide of mercury in the child’s stomach.59 The substance was commonly used at the time for sores and as a poison for vermin, and was labelled as a poisonous substance by the suppliers. Ellen and Hanorah Healy were unable to claim that the death of the infant had been caused by ignorance because it was commonly known that mercury was not for internal use.60 The use of poison suggested that the crime was premeditated. Additionally, a box of pills with the label of a London chemist was found among the elder prisoner’s possessions.61 These supposed abortifacients further indicated that the women had never intended to raise the infant. Membership of a burial society or insurance on the life of an infant could also hint that the crime had been premeditated by an ‘unnatural’ mother.62 The money earned from life insurance was expected to be used by the family to pay for the infant’s wake and burial costs and thus was condemned by

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some who saw it as an incentive to murder. In 1895, the Freeman’s Journal asserted that: [t]he pernicious practice of infant insurance cannot be too vigorously condemned … An insurance on the life of the breadwinner of a family is a very natural precaution but an insurance on the life of a helpless infant, whose life is a burden and its death a release, has a very sinister significance. It is a direct incentive to neglect, if not to crime.63

Suggestions of premeditation meant that a suspect could be viewed not as a weak-willed victim, but as a scheming murderess who did not deserve public pity. In order to fit the portrayal of the victim, women accused of infant murder or concealment of birth were expected to look weak and repentant in court. In Irish folktales, too, repentance was a central factor in dictating attitudes towards the accused.64 Newspaper reporters often emphasised that the defendant showed signs of remorse and regret for the loss of her child, the loss of her virtue or at her presence in court. In 1859, Catherine Skelly ‘appeared to have had a great affection for the infant [and] wept bitterly’ as the evidence was given in court. She was an ‘unfortunate creature who appeared to be in the last stage of misery, both mental and physical’.65 A decade later, Anne Murphy, ‘who is an exceedingly young and respectable-looking girl, was then removed [from the dock], seemingly overpowered by the unfortunate position in which she was placed’.66 In 1881, Anne Neill, accused of the murder of her two-week-old illegitimate son, ‘fell heavily in the dock in a faint’ while the witness statements were being given in court.67 The jury was thus discharged and the case postponed. Two months later, the case again came before the courts. In an extensive article, a Freeman’s Journal reporter maintained that during ‘the trial the prisoner exhibited signs of great weakness’. When the suspect recognised her sister in court she ‘became most hysterical, and sobbed loudly. She fell in the dock, crying out – “I am not guilty, sister.”  ’ Judge Lawson’s final address to the men of the jury, which emphasised that she ‘was a young woman of excellent character obliged by some seducer or other to leave the path of virtue’, was also transcribed at length in the newspaper report. Lawson stressed that if the jury ‘could see their way of finding a verdict of manslaughter, he thought

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there was no one who would complain of it’.68 Thirty-five-year-old Anne Neill was nine years older than the ‘average’ suspect in the sample but she nonetheless fitted the image of a desperate, repentant woman and was thus compassionately treated in the pages of the Irish press.69 The newspaper portrayal of Catherine Gavan in 1862 indicates that a woman who did not conform to the image of the weak, remorseful suspect was not treated sympathetically. The title of the report, ‘Heartless murder in the Phoenix Park: confession of the accused’, indicated that there was little sympathy with the mother accused of drowning her illegitimate son in a pond in the Phoenix Park. Unusually, the report provided a detailed physical description of Gavan. It was alleged that the suspect had a sallow complexion: [her] eyes are black and deeply set; her brows seem to protrude more than they really do, owing to her low, narrow forehead receding. Her mouth is large, heavy, and sensuous, and her nose is sharp and slightly hooked. The general expression of her face is sinister in the extreme.70

Consciously or unconsciously, the reporter employed recognisable elements of physiognomy. The sallow complexion and dark eyes were linked to anger, a typically unfeminine attribute. A receding forehead and a large jaw suggested a close similarity to apes, both mentally and physically.71 Even those unfamiliar with physiognomy and phrenology would have been repulsed by the image of Catherine Gavan presented by the press. She was sinister, evil and masculine, and her sharp and hooked nose would have further reminded readers of stereotypical portrayals of witches. Gavan was only twenty-five years of age and therefore younger than many of the other women accused of the crime. Her youth, however, was not used to engage the sympathy of the readers. Similarly, her unmarried status was mentioned but not commented upon. Most significantly, Gavan ‘remained quite unmoved’ while the evidence was given in court ‘and seemed to treat the fearful charge preferred against her with the greatest indifference’.72 Her failure to express remorse seemingly ensured that the press would not portray her as a woman to be pitied and thus details that were often emphasised by narrators to engage their readers’ sympathy were, in this case, ignored.

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Despite the sharp contrast between the two opposing images of the weak-willed, feminine woman and wretched, masculine suspect, the two constructs were not definitive. A woman could find herself reviled in one report and revered in another. This further illustrates that press depictions should not be taken at face value. This is evident in a subsequent report in the case of Catherine Gavan. On 4 December, a reporter for the Freeman’s Journal observed that: [t]he prisoner looked haggard and careworn, and seemed to feel the fearful nature of the charge brought against her. The air of indifference which marked her conduct and bearing on the day when she was first examined seemed to have forsaken her, and the wretched creature gave evidence by her look and manner that she was suffering acutely.

The journalist, who may have also written the earlier piece, had evidently opted to portray the woman in a more sympathetic manner. The report concluded with a touching description of the removal of the prisoner from court. The presence of the suspect’s lamenting mother, ‘an old woman, who wept most bitterly, as her daughter was being locked up to wait for the arrival of the prison van’, added some drama to the account and further directed readers towards a sympathetic judgement.73 Catherine Gavan had demonstrated typically feminine traits by indicating that she was repentant for her crime. Only then was she treated sympathetically by the Dublin daily edition. Although her physical appearance had not changed, her ‘black eyes’ and ‘sinister’ expression were not mentioned since they no longer contributed to the image that the journalist wished to portray.

‘A father’s awful crime’:74 infant murder by a father Melissa Valiska Gregory has perceived that fathers who murdered their offspring in Victorian Britain were portrayed far less sympathetically by The Times than their female counterparts.75 In Ireland, a father who displayed admirable masculine characteristics, like a murdering mother who displayed feminine traits, was generally sympathetically treated by the press. In 1883, Arthur Pine, ‘a young man of the farming class’,

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for example, was depicted as an honourable man who had accepted responsibility for his illegitimate child. When the infant’s mother was cast out of her house by her father on account of ‘her shame becoming known’, her brother had handed the baby over to Pine. Pine successfully installed his daughter in the Mallow Workhouse but was subsequently directed by the Guardians to remove her to the Mitchelstown Union. The Freeman’s Journal sympathetically described the arduous journey undertaken by the young man in order to comply with these instructions. The baby, the Freeman’s Journal reported: poorly clad, and with a bottle of milk for its sustenance, was given to him. During the night, amid frost and sleet, he walked with the infant to Mitchelstown, a distance of over twenty miles. He arrived at Mitchelstown about six o’clock in the morning, the bottle of milk, which he had kept to his bosom, being almost frozen.

The press report described a caring father, who had made gallant efforts to ensure the well-being of his infant. The porter at the gate of the union, however, refused to accept the child without a reference from the relieving officer and thus father and daughter were forced to turn back. The report alleged that several days later ‘the babe’s body was found in a wood close to the public road, wrapped in an old sack’.76 Attention was not drawn to the fact that the father had evidently dumped his daughter, dead or alive, in the woods. By passively explaining that the tiny corpse ‘was found’ the reporter continued to present the father of the child in a positive manner. He had taken responsibility for his offspring, insofar as he had attempted to have the child admitted to a workhouse to be cared for by a stranger and with public funds, and these actions were evidently to be commended. Insane men, like their female counterparts, were also generally treated sympathetically by the Irish press. In 1895, James Cotter was accused of drowning his seven-month-old daughter. The newspaper reports of the case presented him as a decent man with admirable masculine traits. Firstly, Cotter, ‘an industrious and respectable young fellow’, provided for his wife and children. The ‘intelligent and well-educated man’ worked in the Royal Irish Regiment. He had quickly risen to the positions of colour-sergeant and paymaster but subsequently ‘his mind became

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unhinged’. As a result, Cotter was demoted to the rank of corporal and later dismissed from the army. The Freeman’s Journal reporter explained that although Cotter had become ‘weak-minded’, his ‘want of employment tended to make him absolutely insane’.77 The fact that he could not get any work due to his mental state was regarded as bad luck rather than bad character. Secondly, Cotter was a good husband and father. As well as seeking employment, the newspaper reports emphasised that Cotter was ‘most affectionate’ towards his family. Thirdly, Cotter’s confession that he had murdered his child was regarded as further evidence of his good and honest character. Both the Belfast News-Letter and Freeman’s Journal, emphasising his insanity, described that Cotter ‘wandered’ towards the police station and voluntarily confessed his crime even before the police had been informed of events.78 He was thus a figure to be pitied by the press and readers. Newspaper reports describing cases of child murder committed by fathers in the latter half of nineteenth-century Ireland, like cases committed by women, could be surprisingly brief and detached. In January 1850, the Kilkenny Journal reported that: [a] man named Michael Ryan was committed to Nenagh gaol last week for the murder of his child, 10 months old. The remains were discovered on New Year’s Day near Finnoe by 3 dogs of some persons who were amusing themselves hunting.79

Child murder by a man was generally, however, more unusual and thus more ‘newsworthy’ than infanticide by a mother. Such crimes regularly involved bloodshed, whereas the majority of infants known to have been murdered by women came to their deaths from asphyxia-related causes. Additionally, the murder of an infant by a man was often accompanied by the murder or attempted murder of another victim, as in the case of Joseph Dorey, described below, who admitted to having murdered his wife and daughter in 1881. These factors undoubtedly dictated the space afforded the case in the pages of the Irish press. The alleged murder of Mary Dorey and her seven-month-old daughter, Bridget, by Joseph Dorey in Balbriggan, County Dublin was described in a number of sensational reports for Irish newspaper readers.80 The first article to appear in the Freeman’s Journal, entitled ‘Fearful

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Double Murder in Co. Dublin’, was an eye-witness account ‘from our correspondent’. The reporter informed readers that on hearing the news of the double murder, he or she travelled to Balbriggan on the next train. This was evidently a story that necessitated an immediate response. When the reporter arrived in Balbriggan, Joseph Dorey had just been ‘marched into town, handcuffed, by an escort of armed police’. Dorey, who worked as a groom for magistrate Anthony Hussey and his family for more than eleven years, had lived at the gate lodge with his wife and two children. The journalist described him as ‘aged about 30 years … a little over the middle stature, of light build, and sandy hair. He wore light sandy side whiskers, and was attired in the usual “horsey” costume of a groom.’81 The writer subsequently travelled from Balbriggan to Naul by post car and to the scene of the crime in the company of a local constable. In keeping with common practices during this period, the reporter was given full access to the house where the bodies of the two victims still lay. In some instances, the public too would have been allowed to see the body of a murder victim at the scene of the crime. Novelist Gerald Griffin, who worked as a newspaper reporter in the 1820s, described in The Collegians that authorities, locals and members of press gathered around a woman’s murdered body: the crowd of horsemen and peasants, collected into a dense mass, around one of the little channels … Several of those in the centre were stooping low, as if to assist a fallen person. The next rank, with their heads turned aside over their shoulders, were employed in answering the questions of those behind them. The individuals who stood outside were raised on tiptoe, and endeavoured, by stretching their heads over the shoulders of their neighbours, to peep into the centre … Mingled with the press were the horsemen, bending over their saddle-bows, and gazing downwards on the centre.82

Unusually for a case of child murder, the reporter in the case of Joseph Dorey described in sensational detail the ‘sickening spectacle’: ‘On a bed in the corner of one of the rooms lay the bloody and mangled corpses of the young wife and infant child … The walls and floor of the room were bespattered with blood and brains. The bed-clothing was saturated

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with blood, which dripped through the mattress and on to the floor.’83 The journalist vividly described the violence inflicted on Mary Dorey for Freeman’s Journal readers: The gory head was lying against the wall, covered with brains and blood. The back of the head was completely smashed in, the weapon of destruction used being a woodman’s axe, which was found by the police, covered with hair, blood, and brain. The right shoulder bore an awful wound, cutting down deep into the bones and flesh, and which severed the bone… . On the left leg were three similar wounds, the flesh being entirely cut away, and the bloody pieces lying on the bed-clothing.84

Another reporter for the Irish Times, imagining the scene that led to the deaths of Mary and Bridget Dorey, described that Joseph Dorey: frenzied by jealousy, and perhaps with a brain fired by drink … took, on Monday night, an axe, such as is used in felling timber, and, approaching the bed whereupon lay his sleeping wife, with her baby in her arms, struck blow after blow till his murderous weapon had dashed out their brains and reddened the clothes with the mingled blood of mother and child. Not content with having slain his wife, he continued to savagely hack her head and body till every feature and lineament of beauty was crushed into a loathsome, unrecognisable mass of gore and wounds, and her limbs were covered with the gashes made by the heavy blade of the axe.85

At the coroner’s inquest, ‘the jury came in and assembled around the bed whereon lay the butchered and mangled corpses[;] a shudder seemed to pervade them, each and all, and they reverently removed their hats and stood around talking in awe-subdued whispers.’86 The gory references to the ‘chamber of horrors’ and the ‘murderous weapon’ contrasted with the romanticised and feminine representations of Mary Dorey in subsequent reports in both the Freeman’s Journal and the Irish Times.87 The ‘well-nurtured young woman, aged about 25 years, dark-haired, and with skin as fair as a lily’, rather than the deceased ‘unoffending babe’, remained the focus of press reports.88 She was

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depicted as a loyal and pious woman who was devoted to her duties as wife and mother. While ambling through the house, the Freeman’s Journal reporter observed religious pictures on the walls and a small oratory in the bedroom, and informed interested readers that Mary Dorey’s home was ‘kept with taste and neatness’.89 The Irish Times writer also gained access to the ivy-covered, ‘comfortable, well-kept homestead’, which was ‘[c]harmingly situated on rising ground, beneath the shelter of the thick foliage of a large clump of trees’. The reporter ‘met on every side – in the adornments of the wall, the neat household arrangements, the cleanliness universally visible – the pleasing indications of that love of home, so bright a gem in the coronet of a woman’s virtues’. And although ‘covered with blood and wounds the face of the dead woman still showed a peculiar expression of comeliness not often observed in every-day life’.90 The Freeman’s Journal similarly stressed that Mary Dorey’s face, ‘which in life must have been handsome, and which the blood and brains bespattering it did not altogether hide, bore a look of placid serenity. Her innocent babe lay close beside her.’91 Mary Dorey was depicted as a devoted mother, guarding her youngest daughter even in death. It was not unusual for a reporter to comment on the demeanour of a female summoned to court for the crime of infanticide. The focus on Joseph Dorey’s expressions and conduct in Freeman’s Journal articles, however, indicates that this story was more newsworthy than a ‘typical’ infant murder case. At the first court sitting, Joseph Dorey ‘presented a dazed, stolid, and indifferent appearance. His lips were seen frequently moving, but he evinced not the least emotion.’92 A few days later, on his way to court, Dorey ‘stepped from the train briskly, carrying his handcuffed hands on his chest, and walked with quick strides and erect carriage between his armed escort’. When in the courthouse, the journalist perceived that: his eyes were blackened, and his forehead and throat were bruised and discoloured. The top of his head bore a large patch of sticking plaister [sic], striped like a cross, and during the examination (the handcuffs being removed) his hand would be occasionally raised to press the spot as if he was suffering pain from the injury to his head, and his coat was torn at the back, and the clothing in general was soiled and draggled.93

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When his shirt was produced in court, Dorey allegedly ‘eagerly looked at the blood-stained garment as it was held up to the gaze of the witness and the court’. Similarly, when the blood-stained axe was exhibited, the defendant ‘looked at it eagerly, and scanned the faces of the magistrate and those around while it was exposed, as if to witness the effect which the sight of the weapon would produce’.94 The Irish Times reporter judged that Dorey ‘betrayed but little excitement in his demeanour, the only sign of emotion exhibited being his frequent prayers and genuflexions’.95 Undoubtedly, the perpetrator’s sex, the brutality of the murders, the weapon with marks of ‘blood as if caused by the grasp of gory fingers’ and the fact that an adult had also been killed ensured that this infant murder case would be sensationally and extensively reported in the Irish press.96 That witnesses’ names and local places were spelled in a variety of ways indicates that multiple journalists covered the case. In each of the reports, readers were privy to sensational descriptions that added further drama to this ‘altogether heinous and un-Irish crime’.97 One journalist also telegraphed a short summary of the case to the London-based Press Association, thus ensuring that readers further afield were informed of events in County Dublin.98 On the day that the Freeman’s Journal carried the first account of the case ‘from our correspondent’ and the Irish Times reported that the ‘full facts can as yet be but meagrely gleaned’, publications such as the Bristol Mercury and Daily Post, Daily News, Dundee Courier and Argus, Liverpool Mercury, North-Eastern Daily Gazette, Northern Echo, Pall Mall Gazette and Western Mail each carried a summary of the case from a ‘Drogheda correspondent’.99 This tale, which ‘added a stain to the fair fame of the country’, was evidently deemed more newsworthy than a suspected infant murder in Portadown on the same day.100

‘England’s difficulty is Ireland’s opportunity’: the treatment of English cases of infanticide in the Irish press Irish local and national newspapers regularly published English news. A daily ‘London correspondence’ column in the Freeman’s Journal, for instance, carried stories from the city.101 Reports of English crimes also filtered into the Irish press. Long-winded letters to English editors,

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proposed remedies put forward by English committees and extensive editorials on the subject in England were reproduced at length in Irish newspapers. Dramatic reports of trial cases, elaborately written in the form of entertaining narratives by English journalists, were reprinted for Irish readers. A study of a selection of Irish newspapers reveals an acute awareness of infanticide debates and knowledge of individual cases of child murder that occurred across the Irish Sea. Tales of infant murders committed by English women seemed to emphasise that ‘child murder is a flourishing business in Christian England’.102 The frequent reference to English cases of infanticide could be understood if few cases of child murder or concealment of birth were known in Ireland, but this was not the reality. In July 1870, the Cork Examiner drew its readers’ attention to a case of infanticide committed in Ulster. The report, which consisted merely of one sentence, documented that a ‘girl named McLoughlin was committed for trial at Greencastle, County Donegal yesterday for beating in the skull of her infant with a mallet’.103 This brief and factual article was juxtaposed with details of a child-murder case discovered in Brixton. The English case was afforded over four times more column space than that allocated to the Irish case. In 1865, the Belfast News-Letter noted that the: horrible crime of infanticide is at present frightfully prevalent. Elsewhere we print an account of the shocking mutilation of an infant in London; and from the same city we have by telegraph a brief reference to another terrible case of child murder.104

Although they highlighted the prevalence of child murder in the English capital, the editors of the Belfast-based newspaper failed to mention the infanticide case discovered in Skibereen that same week, through ignorance or otherwise.105 Interestingly, editors often mentioned crime statistics or criminal cases outside Ireland in editorials, and vigorously emphasised the contrasting state of affairs in Ireland. In 1845, the Freeman’s Journal asserted: Take all the papers published in Ireland in five years, and take three months’ numbers of the Weekly Dispatch, and you will find that that single paper records more cases of murderous brutality or infidelity

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the press199 on the part of English husbands to their wives, and of infanticide, and infamous conduct of wives to their husbands, than the five years’ records of all Ireland. 106

This practice was not exclusive to Ireland. Carolyn Conley perceived that ‘the Scottish press gave sensational coverage to Irish crime’.107 Decades of criticism and comments on Irish ‘inferiority’ and aggression evidently had an impact on Ireland’s inhabitants.108 In an effort to challenge the image of Ireland as a backward nation of uneducated savages, and to discredit the belief that the ‘only means … of making Ireland moral, peaceable, industrious and happy, is to Protestantise her’, the editors of some Irish newspapers in the latter half of the nineteenth century attempted to uphold England as the degraded foil against which to compare the smaller island.109 Tales of British vice were thus regularly reproduced in Irish newspapers ‘for readers’ edification and titillation’.110 The 1860s witnessed a panic in England that the practice of infanticide was widespread. In his 1862 essay, William Burke Ryan described a country that seemed to be littered with infant corpses: The feeble wail of murdered childhood in its agony assails our ears at every turn, and is borne on every breeze. The sight is horrified as, day after day, the melancholy catalogue of murders meets the view, and we try to turn away the gaze in hope of some momentary relief. But turn where we may, still we are met by the evidence of a wide spread crime. In the quiet of the bedroom we raise the box-lid, and the skeletons are there. In the calm evening walk we see in the distance the suspiciouslooking bundle, and the mangled infant within. By the canal side, or in the water, we find the dead child. In the solitude of the wood we are horrified by the ghastly sight; and if we betake ourselves to the rapid rail in order to escape the pollution, we find at our journeys end that the mouldering remains of a murdered innocent have been our traveling companion; and that the odour from that unsuspected parcel truly indicates what may be found within.111

Not surprisingly, the fear that infanticide could be seen on every street corner frequently filtered into the pages of the English press. It is likely that sensational statistics were exaggerated. At the peak of the

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infanticide alarm in 1865, an editorial in The Times cautioned that the snowballing panic over widespread child murder might not reflect reality: ‘in justice to our country, and above all to our countrywomen, we are bound, in the first instance, to state that the consideration of every subject is very much obscured and embroiled by rash assumptions and exaggerated assertions.’112 This warning, however, did little to quell the fear of widespread infanticide at the time. Historians have attributed the infanticide panic to a number of causes including the development of a sewerage system that rendered infant bodies more likely to be discovered, the appointment of overzealous coroners (particularly Edwin Lankester), the need to fill newspaper columns after the end of the Crimean War and Indian Mutiny, comparisons with infanticide in India, or the growth of the press and rivalry among newspapers for sensational stories after the repeal of stamp tax.113 It has also been suggested that the focus on infanticide was the result of power struggles between medical and non-medical coroners, coroners and magistrates, and physicians and midwives, or that it was merely a response to the public thirst for sensational and sordid stories.114 The fear in 1860s England that infanticide was widespread was not mirrored in Ireland. The claims by the English press, however, provided Irish editors with an opportunity to promote a positive image of affairs at home. In 1864, the Freeman’s Journal emphasised that the ‘crime of infanticide is far more prevalent than is generally supposed. Perhaps in no country in Europe are deaths from this cause so rare as in Ireland. In England it is frightfully prevalent and on the increase.’ The acknowledgement earlier in the text that ‘not one-tenth of the infanticide cases are discovered’ evidently referred only to infanticide in England.115 In 1860, the Belfast News-Letter stressed that: [a]nother case of horrible cruelty, which terminated in the death of a child, has occurred in England. The practice of beating and starving children must obtain to a shocking extent across the Channel. Such revelations as are contained in another column are a disgrace to the civilisation and religion of the nineteenth century.116

A Cork Examiner editorial on infant death on 7 September 1865 was more passionately condemnatory:

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the press201 We do not like to be ill natured. We have no particular desire to fling our neighbours[’] sins in their faces, and abuse where we cannot hope to reform. It would be quite fair to say that their sins are their own affair not ours – that their domestic vices like their foul linen might properly enough be confined to their own washhouses, not dragged before the public by strangers. But the same rule has never been followed to ourselves. There has been no country in the world, perhaps[,] which has been so continuously held up to the scorn of mankind as this little island of ours … Dr Clarke stated to the meeting that ‘his Indian experience had convinced him that child murder was more prevalent in England than India.’ Surely no civilised nation ever before propounded of itself, and by its own citizen, any account of its condition so terrible as this. So long as that reproach can be laid at her door England must be content to lecture less and reform more, and Ireland has a right to expect a considerable immunity for the future from the scoldings of her self-righteous neighbour.117

The perceived prevalence of infanticide in the 1860s, a crime closely associated with illegitimacy, seemed to suggest widespread sexual immorality and depravity in England. Englishwomen were regularly berated by Irish newspaper editors, while the virtue of Irishwomen was stressed. In 1865, for example, the Cork Examiner insisted that in Ireland: the chastity of the women and the discharge of their religious duties marked the character of the people; and if the present condition of matters was to be maintained … Ireland would afford an example deserving of imitation by the greatest nations of the world.118

In 1867, the Freeman’s Journal condemned the number of infanticide cases in England and stressed: There is a fair share of vice among ourselves, but it is not of that inhuman character which pervades the same classes in England. Maternal affection is peculiarly strong in Ireland. It is only under the pressure of an agony amounting to insanity that the Irish mother will sacrifice her infant. She will expose it sometimes where it will be found and carried to the workhouse. From some place of observation, where unseen she

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can see, she watches until her object is accomplished and she is relieved from the burthen. Even cases of exposure are singularly rare … We believe in no other city in Europe, with one-half the population, could the same clean bill of health in this department of crime be recorded.119

This statement was printed just five days after the ‘Manchester martyrs’ were executed for the murder of a policeman during a failed attempt to rescue two Fenian prisoners.120 The Irish women who participated in the mock funerals and marches that followed were upheld as virtuous and pious and were presented as a sharp contrast to the ‘vulgar’ English women who had turned up to watch the executions in Manchester.121 One week before the executions, the Freeman’s Journal had reported that the decomposed corpse of a newborn baby had been found wrapped in a brown apron in the Grand Canal in Dublin.122 But condemnation of such discoveries was not frequent in the Irish press. Editors in some Irish newspapers determined to portray Ireland as a separate nation, distinguishable from England by her politics, history and culture.123 Comments on the prevalence of crime in England in Irish newspapers further illustrated the extent to which the Irish people differed to their English counterparts. Ballads, cartoons and poetry, like comments in the press on infanticide in England, promoted the heroic Irish character, and the virtuous Irish woman. In 1870, the Kilkenny Journal remarked that it ‘is a potent fact upon the surface of events that Ireland, lying within a few hours travel of the most criminal population in the world, can boast an almost absolute immunity from serious crime’.124 It is evident that such declarations were preferred by newspaper readers than facing the reality that some Irish women, like those in England, murdered babies.

Conclusion Fictional tales of infant murder were the stuff of entertainment in post-Famine Ireland. A journalist in 1873 claimed that everyone ‘has read “The heart of Midlothian” or at least professes to have read it, for to confess the contrary would be to plead guilty to a shameful want of senses’.125 In Sir Walter Scott’s novel, thought to be a favourite of

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William Gladstone126 and one of the texts selected by the Roman Catholic chaplain of Cork Female Prison for prisoners in his care in 1886,127 Effie Deans is wrongly tried on suspicion of child murder and is eventually saved from the gallows by the determined endeavours of her sister. ‘Jeanie Deans’, adapted from the book, regularly appeared on Irish stages in the 1870s, as evidenced by the numerous advertisements in Dublin and Belfast newspapers. In a review of a performance by ‘Miss Marriott’s company’ at the Gaiety Theatre in Dublin, the Freeman’s Journal summarised that the ‘syllabus of the play includes an infanticide, the maniac’s warning, a trial for child murder, a struggle for liberty, one gipsy shot and another thrown off a bridge, a riot, a scaffold prepared for an execution, and the pardon’.128 In 1877, Eloise Juno brought her interpretation of The Heart of Midlothian to the Belfast stage, a performance that was praised by the Belfast News-Letter as having been ‘much above the ordinary version of the dramatized novel’.129 Hamish MacCann also wrote an opera based on the book for the Carl Rosa Company, which was staged for the first time in Dublin in 1895.130 Despite public interest in fictional tales of infant murder, real-life discoveries were not generally sensationalised in the nineteenth-century Irish press. Muted, seemingly indifferent infanticide and concealment reports in local and national, daily and weekly Irish newspapers suggest that the discovery of anonymous baby corpses was of limited interest to the reading public or occurred too frequently to warrant substantial comment. Such reports, however, may have inadvertently encouraged the crime.131 Infant murder and concealment of birth trials commonly featured at assize and quarter session courts but were not regularly reflected upon in detail by journalists. Through the mass of seemingly objective reports, however, two opposing infanticide suspects emerge. In the first instance, the suspect was a young, seduced maiden, a weak-willed or mentally unstable woman, or a physically weak and grieving figure. In many cases, the perpetrator seemed to lack agency. Comments on her youth, her marital status, her financial position, her mental state, her physical features and her demeanour in court induced the reader to view the suspect sympathetically despite her crime. As Allen argued in relation to recent criminal cases, the ‘pitiful’ version of the story ‘systematically neutralises the assertion of the woman’s guilt, responsibility and

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dangerousness, and thus undercuts any demand for punitive or custodial sanctions’.132 In contrast, the second image of the infanticide suspect was of a cruel, wretched woman who had callously murdered an innocent child. She displayed indifference, defiance or a lack of remorse in court, and was not generally sympathetically portrayed in the pages of the Irish press. Judith Knelman has suggested that reports of infanticide in English newspapers were directed towards the views of the audience: ‘If a society wants to read that women who kill are insane or demoniacal, that is how they will be depicted.’133 Female infanticide suspects were usually regarded as figures to be pitied and generally only condemned as evil characters when they failed to display feminine traits; Irish inhabitants evidently preferred to read that Irish women who killed their infants were desperate rather than wicked. Newspaper reports also suggest a desire in Ireland to read about ‘immoral’ England. In 1876, the Belfast News-Letter, in an editorial on annual statistics in the British and Irish Isles, berated: Let us hope … that we may hear no more about Irish immorality and English morality; or about Irishmen in England corrupting society in that country. There is no foundation in fact for the charge, and it ought not to be repeated.134

Notes  1 Belfast News-Letter, 12 October 1897.   2 Peter King, ‘Newspaper reporting and attitudes to crime and justice in lateeighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century London’, Continuity and Change, xxii: 1 (2007), 80.   3 Heather Shore, ‘ “The reckoning”: disorderly women, informing constables and the Westminster justices, 1727–33’, Social History, xxxiv (2009), 412.  4 Stuart Hall, Charles Critcher, Tony Jefferson, John Clarke and Brian Robert, Policing the Crisis: Mugging, the State, and Law and Order (London, 1975), p. 53. Emphasis in the original.   5 Ryan, ‘The press, police and prosecution’, p. 141.  6 Knelman, Twisting in the Wind, p. 37; Marie-Louise Legg, Newspapers and Nationalism: The Irish Provincial Press, 1850–1892 (Dublin, 1999), pp. 44–5.

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 7  8  9 10

Ibid., p. 30. Belfast News-Letter, 11 May 1855. Ibid., 11 January 1875. Hugh Oram, The Newspaper Book: A History of Newspapers in Ireland, 1649– 1983 (Dublin, 1983), p. 70. 11 ‘History of the Press Association’ available at www.pressassociation.com/ about-us/history.html (accessed November 2011). 12 Oram, The Newspaper Book, p. 70. 13 Since newspaper reports were written anonymously, it is difficult to determine if the style of reporting was influenced by a reporter’s sex, age, family status or religious persuasion. 14 Cork Examiner, 10 May 1850. 15 Kilkenny Journal, 29 June 1850. 16 Ryan, ‘The press, police and prosecution’, p. 139. 17 Rose, The Massacre of the Innocents, p. 38. 18 Green, ‘Infanticide and infant abandonment’, pp. 45–6. 19 Dalley, ‘Criminal conversations’, p. 71. 20 See Ryan, ‘The press, police and prosecution’, p. 140. 21 Mark Jackson, ‘Fiction in the archives? Sources for the social history of infanticide’, Archives, xxvii: 107 (2002), 177. 22 King, ‘Newspaper reporting’, p. 94. 23 Freeman’s Journal, 26 July 1855. 24 Northern Whig, 5 March 1858. 25 Belfast News-Letter, 11 January 1856. 26 See also Kate Gleeson, ‘Sex, wives, and prostitutes: debating Clarence’, in Rowbotham and Stevenson (eds), Criminal Conversations, p. 215. 27 Londonderry Journal, 28 March 1860. 28 Sandra McAvoy, ‘Sexual crime and Irish women’s campaign for a Criminal Law Amendment Act, 1912–35’, in Maryann Gialanella Valiulis (ed.), Gender and Power in Irish History (Dublin, 2009), p. 88. 29 Dalley, ‘Criminal conversations’, p. 71. 30 Freeman’s Journal, 19 January 1852; Belfast News-Letter, 27 December 1852; Freeman’s Journal, 3 October 1856; Sligo Chronicle, 15 October 1870; Freeman’s Journal, 24 March 1874. 31 Freeman’s Journal, 21 March 1868. 32 Belfast News-Letter, 21 March 1862. 33 Ibid., 16 July 1898. 34 Ibid., 2 April 1878. 35 Ibid., 14 March 1853. 36 Ibid., 11 March 1874. 37 Ibid., 28 February 1868. 38 King, ‘Newspaper reporting’, p. 98.

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39 O’Connor, ‘Women in Irish folklore’, pp. 310–1. 40 O’Connor, Child Murderess and Dead Child Traditions, p. 104. 41 Susan Staves, ‘British seduced maidens’, Eighteenth-Century Studies, xiv (1980–1), 118. 42 Hilary Allen, ‘Rendering them harmless’, in Pat Carlen and Anne Worrall (eds), Gender, Crime and Justice (Philadelphia, 1987), p. 93. 43 Belfast News-Letter, 22 March 1850; Freeman’s Journal, 3 March 1852; Belfast News-Letter, 17 March 1864; Belfast News-Letter, 15 March 1886. 44 Lewis Perry Curtis, Apes and Angels: The Irishman in Victorian Caricature (Newton Abbot, 1971). 45 Belfast News-Letter, 17 August 1863. 46 Ibid., 26 March 1889. 47 Baptismal Register, Ballee Non-Subscribing Presbyterian Church (register in the possession of Rev. David Steer, Ballee, County Down). I am extremely grateful to Rev. David Steer for his invaluable assistance with this case. 48 Belfast News-Letter, 26 March 1889. 49 Sligo Champion, 30 July 1892. 50 Prior, ‘Women, mental disorder and crime’, p. 228. 51 See Jenkins, ‘Witches and fairies’, pp. 83–127. 52 Lady Jane Francesca Wilde, Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms and Superstitions Of Ireland: With Sketches of the Irish Past (London, 1888), p. 209. See also Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English, Witches, Midwives, and Nurses: A History of Women Healers (New York, 1973), p. 23. 53 Cork Examiner, 14 May 1880. 54 See, for example, Belfast News-letter, 16 December 1889. 55 Asenath Nicholson, Ireland’s Welcome to the Stranger, ed. Maureen Murphy (Dublin, 2002), p. 93. 56 My emphasis. 57 Cork Examiner, 23 July 1880. 58 Belfast News-Letter, 31 May 1899. 59 Cork Examiner, 14 May 1880. 60 Ibid., 23 July 1880. 61 Ibid., 29 May 1880. 62 For burial societies in England, see Thomas Rogers Forbes, ‘Deadly parents: child homicide in eighteenth and nineteenth-century England’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, xli (1986), 188–97; Knelman, Twisting in the Wind, pp. 49–52; Rose, The Massacre of the Innocents, pp. 138–58. 63 Freeman’s Journal, 5 October 1895. 64 O’Connor, Child Murderess and Dead Child Traditions, p. 88. 65 Freeman’s Journal, 20 January 1859. 66 Ibid., 2 March 1869.

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67 Ibid., 11 April 1881. 68 Ibid., 16 June 1881. 69 For further discussion of this case, see Farrell, ‘Infanticide of the ordinary character’. 70 Belfast News-Letter, 1 December 1862. 71 Curtis, Apes and Angels, p. 11. 72 Belfast News-Letter, 1 December 1862. 73 Freeman’s Journal, 4 December 1862. 74 Ibid., 12 March 1895. 75 Melissa Valiska Gregory, ‘ “Most revolting murder by a father”: the violent rhetoric of paternal child-murder in The Times (London), 1826–49’, in Jennifer Thorn (ed.), Writing British Infanticide: Child-Murder, Gender, and Print, 1722–1859 (Newark and London, 2003), p. 70. 76 Freeman’s Journal, 24 March 1883. 77 Ibid., 13 March 1895. 78 Belfast News-Letter, 12 March 1895; Freeman’s Journal, 12 March 1895. 79 Kilkenny Journal, 5 January 1850. 80 For a description of this case see Catherine Mullan, ‘ “I don’t care where I am brought to so long as you don’t take me to hell” ’, in Frank Sweeney (ed.), Hanging Crimes: When Ireland Used the Gallows (Cork, 2005), pp. 10–21. 81 Freeman’s Journal, 13 July 1881. 82 Gerald Griffin, The Collegians (London, 2008 [1828]), pp. 358–9. 83 Freeman’s Journal, 13 July 1881. 84 Ibid. 85 Irish Times, 14 July 1881. 86 Freeman’s Journal, 14 July 1881. 87 Ibid.; Irish Times, 14 July 1881. 88 Freeman’s Journal, 13 July 1881; Ibid., 14 July 1881. 89 Ibid., 13 July 1881. 90 Irish Times, 14 July 1881. 91 Freeman’s Journal, 14 July 1881. 92 Ibid., 13 July 1881. 93 The solicitor for the defence claimed that Dorey had been beaten by two inmates with whom he had shared a cell. 94 Freeman’s Journal, 18 July 1881. 95 Irish Times, 14 July 1881. 96 Ibid. 97 Freeman’s Journal, 14 July 1881. 98 Western Mail, 13 July 1881. 99 Bristol Mercury and Daily Post; Daily News; Dundee Courier and Argus; Liverpool Mercury; North-Eastern Daily Gazette; Northern Echo; Pall Mall Gazette; Western Mail, 13 July 1881.

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100 Freeman’s Journal, 14 July 1881, Sligo Chronicle, 30 July 1881. 101 Felix M. Larkin, ‘The dog in the night-time: the Freeman’s Journal, the Irish Parliamentary Party and the empire, 1875–1919’, in Simon J. Potter (ed.), Newspapers and Empire in Ireland and Britain: Reporting the British Empire, c1857–1921 (Dublin, 2004), p. 116. 102 London Telegraph cited in Kilkenny Journal, 12 August 1865. 103 Cork Examiner, 2 July 1870. 104 Belfast News-Letter, 9 September 1865. 105 Cork Examiner, 5 September 1865. 106 Freeman’s Journal, 12 November 1845. 107 Carolyn A. Conley, ‘Homicide in late-Victorian Ireland and Scotland’, New Hibernia review, v: 3 (2001), 85. 108 See Conley, Certain Other Countries. 109 ‘Ireland – its garden and its grave’, Dublin University Magazine, xl (1852), p. 382. 110 Patrick Maume, ‘The Irish Independent and empire, 1891–1919’, in Potter (ed.), Newspapers and Empire, p. 130. 111 William Burke Ryan, Infanticide: Its Law, Prevalence, Prevention and History (1862) cited in Laura C. Berry, The Child, the State, and the Victorian Novel (London and Virginia, 1999), pp. 132–3. 112 The Times, 10 August 1865. 113 George K. Behlmer, ‘Deadly motherhood: infanticide and medical opinion in mid-Victorian England’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, xxxiv (1979), 406–10; Mary P. English, Victorian Values: The Life and Times of Dr Edwin Lankester (Bristol, 1990); Christine L. Krueger, ‘Literary defences and medical prosecutions: representing infanticide in nineteenthcentury Britain’, Victorian Studies, xl (1997), 286; Rose, The Massacre of the Innocents, p. 40; Ward, ‘Legislating for human nature’, pp. 253–4. 114 Higginbotham, ‘ “Sin of the age” ’, p. 263. 115 Freeman’s Journal, 8 September 1864. 116 Belfast News-Letter, 22 August 1860. 117 Cork Examiner, 7 September 1865. 118 Ibid., 8 August 1865. 119 Freeman’s Journal, 28 November 1867. 120 See Gary Owens, ‘Constructing the martyrs: the Manchester executions and the nationalist imagination’, in L. W. McBride (ed.), Images, Icons and the Irish Nationalist Imagination (Dublin, 1999), p. 18. 121 Ibid., p. 29. 122 Freeman’s Journal, 16 November 1867. 123 Legg, Newspapers and Nationalism, p. 172. 124 Kilkenny Journal, 21 January 1870. 125 Freeman’s Journal, 23 July 1873.

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126 Belfast News-Letter, 31 May 1898. 127 NAI, GPB correspondence, 6988 1886, list of books selected by the Roman Catholic Chaplain for Cork Female Prison. 128 Freeman’s Journal, 5 September 1876. 129 Belfast News-Letter, 14 August 1877. 130 Freeman’s Journal, 12 September 1895. 131 Ryan, ‘The press, police and prosecution’, p. 151. 132 Allen, ‘Rendering them harmless’, p. 82. 133 Knelman, Twisting in the Wind, p. 13. 134 Belfast News-Letter, 3 November 1876.

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6 ‘A very great escape’:1 prisons

Twenty-nine women were found guilty of the murder of their infant offspring between 1850 and 1900. Each woman was sentenced to death for her crime, directed to be ‘hanged by her neck until dead’. Yet none of the twenty-nine convicts had their sentences of execution carried into effect. In each case, the punishment was commuted to one of transportation or imprisonment in an Irish prison. This chapter will focus on the twenty-nine women sentenced to death for the crime of infant murder. It will examine the features that influenced the lord lieutenant’s decision to commute capital punishments, the reality of the commuted sentences and the factors that affected the release of women convicted of infant murder from prison. The authorities considered the early release of a prisoner when she submitted a written petition for her discharge as well as when memorials were received from family members, friends and employers. Changing penal practices also impacted on the discharge of women convicted of infant murder from prison. Significant developments in the latter half of the nineteenth century ensured that Bridget Mann would be transported aboard the Duke of Cornwall in 1850 and compelled to remain in Van Diemen’s Land for the remainder of her life, that Mary Darby would serve more than twenty years in prison from 1866 to 1886 and that Hannah Kavanagh would be liberated after only one year in custody for committing the same crime in 1900.

‘The Lord Lieutenant has been graciously pleased to commute the sentence of death for child murder’: commutation of sentence Fifty-six women were sentenced to death by judges in Ireland between 1850 and 1900.2 Eleven sentences of death were passed on offenders for

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the murder of an adult male, while the adult victim was female in seven instances.3 Six cases of arson resulted in death penalties, the perpetrators each attempting to murder families by setting fire to their residences. In one additional case, the female perpetrator attempted to commit murder by administering poison to a number of persons. Over 55 per cent of the sentences of death recorded against women from 1850 to 1900 were for the crime of child murder. Two of these women were sentenced to death for the murder of infants who were not their own offspring, and are thus excluded from the present discussion. Twenty-nine sentences of death were returned by eighteen different judges on women for the murder of their infants. W. E. Vaughan perceived that judges James Lawson, William O’Brien and Charles Barry sentenced the most number of prisoners to death in Ireland.4 The capital sentences pronounced for infant murder do not, however, follow this pattern. Lawson passed the death penalty on two women for infant murder while O’Brien and Barry each sentenced only one woman to death for the crime. Judge Nicholas Ball returned four death sentences for the murder of an infant by her or his mother, the most number of capital sentences in infant murder cases returned by a single judge in post-Famine Ireland. It must, however, be acknowledged that Ball tried these cases prior to the Offences against the Person Act 1861. The four sentences of death were ‘recorded’ rather than ‘passed’ on prisoners, on the assumption that the women would not be hanged.5 After 1861, judges were prevented from recording sentences of death and were instead obliged to pass the capital sentence on women found guilty of the crime. Interestingly, thirteen sentences of death in infant murder cases were pronounced at assizes in Ulster. That eleven of the women were tried in the six counties of modern-day Northern Ireland follows James Kelly’s findings that ‘the outcome depended to at least some extent on the prevailing denominational and cultural attitude towards sexual incontinence, and that this was sterner in Presbyterian Ulster than elsewhere’.6 Irish judges regularly emphasised in court that they could not hold out any hope of mercy being extended to those who were sentenced to death for infant murder. The decision to commute sentences of death rested with the lord lieutenant. The reactions of sentencing judges suggest that they regarded execution as a real threat. According to the

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Belfast News-Letter, Justice Monaghan displayed ‘visible emotion’ when he sentenced Jane Carland to be hanged in 1853.7 A judge at an infanticide trial several months later was ‘very much affected’ and had to retire for several minutes to compose himself after passing the sentence of death.8 In 1882, a judge allegedly ‘burst into tears’ after he sentenced a woman to be hanged for the murder of her child.9 Justice Gibson was similarly ‘much affected’ after passing a sentence of death on Hannah Kavanagh in 1900.10 The judges were undoubtedly aware that while no woman had been executed for the murder of her own offspring in the latter half of the nineteenth century, commutation of the death sentence was not guaranteed by any official policy. Women convicted of murdering their own offspring elsewhere in Britain were rarely executed. In the 1860s, Judge Keating described the practice of passing the death sentence in such cases in England as a ‘solemn mockery’ because it was highly likely that the capital punishment would be commuted.11 That Irish women were treated with greater leniency than their English counterparts, however, is evident from the fact that all twenty-nine Irish women escaped execution. Four Englishwomen, on the other hand – Elizabeth Berry, Ann Lawrence, Louise Masset and Selina Wadge – were capitally punished in the same period for the murder of their own children.12 There were a number of factors that influenced the lords lieutenant who commuted sentences of death passed on Irish women for the murder of their infants during this period. Attitudes to capital punishment in general in Ireland undoubtedly impacted upon the decision. W. E. Vaughan has calculated that 244 suspected murderers were sentenced to death between 1851 and 1900.13 Executions, however, were not particularly frequent.14 S. J. Connolly verified that Ireland had a high rate of execution per population in comparison to elsewhere in Britain prior to 1850, but that executions were less common in Ireland than in England and Wales after 1850 (with the exception of the period 1881 to 1890).15 Baron Franz Holtzendorff confirmed that four executions took place in 1858, while in some years, no capital sentences were implemented.16 Fifty-eight hangings occurred in Ireland in thirty-two years between 1868 and 1899.17 It is plausible that British fear of insurrectionary reaction to executions in Ireland influenced the rate at which they were performed. In 1874, Neilson Hancock attributed the small number of

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executions in Ireland to the ‘strong feeling against capital punishment in that country’.18 More recently, J. F. McEldowney acknowledged a fear that law and order would break down in Ireland, since the majority of the Irish population were dissatisfied with a legal system described by Gladstone as ‘not being their own’.19 Richard McMahon has similarly suggested that officials in Dublin Castle were willing to commute death sentences after 1810, not because of humanitarian sentiment but instead due to a desire to maintain public order.20 Gender also played an important role in the decision to commute the death penalty. The capital punishment of women in Ireland in the latter half of the nineteenth century was infrequent, a practice mirrored elsewhere in Britain.21 Six women were capitally punished in Ireland during this period. In 1850, Bridget Keogh was executed alongside her brother for the murder of her employer.22 Catherine Moore was hanged in the same year for the murder of her estranged husband.23 In 1851, sixty-five-year-old Catherine Connolly was publicly executed for attempting to murder a seven-year-old girl.24 Bridget Stackpoole and her sister Honora were hanged in 1853, alongside Honora’s husband, for the brutal murder of their nephew, James Stackpoole.25 On 1 April 1870, Margaret Sheil and her brother Lawrence were executed in King’s County for murdering their neighbour, Patrick Dunne.26 The fact that women were executed reveals that the sex of the guilty party did not guarantee that she would avoid the hangman’s noose between 1850 and 1900, but it nonetheless contributed towards the decision to commute the death sentence. Petitions for clemency submitted from family, friends, neighbours and interested parties were considered by the lord lieutenant in his decision to commute a sentence of death.27 A petition signed by 123 people was submitted on behalf of Tyrone convict Mary Darby. Darby’s crime was described by the Lord Lieutenant as one of a ‘peculiar and horrible atrocity’.28 The twenty-five-year-old farm labourer had caused the death of her illegitimate fifteen-month-old son by continually beating him and throwing him against the wall and floor during the summer of 1865. She also reportedly admitted to her employer’s seven-year-old daughter that she wished the infant to die, and threatened the young girl with the ‘same sauce’ if she reported the abuse to her parents.29 A post-mortem examination of the body revealed that the toddler had

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received eighteen fractures, including fractures to the left thigh bone, the lower parts of both legs, the arms, the jaw and eight ribs. There were also indications that additional fractures of the left leg and ribs had occurred several weeks earlier and could not have been accidental.30 The petition for mercy submitted on Darby’s behalf argued that the crime of child murder ‘is in this our County one of very rare occurrence and that therefore an example of its consequences is not we believe called for’.31 The petition also emphasised that the jury had recommended Darby to mercy, that a woman had not been executed in the locality within living memory, and that Darby could not repent for her crime if she was capitally punished. The memorialists insisted that they did ‘not seek to palliate her crime’ but a commutation of the death sentence would, they ‘feel sure meet with the approval of the large majority of the community’.32 The signature of Lord Charlemont of Tyrone appeared at the top of the list. An affixed note drew the attention of the Lord Lieutenant to the fact that the memorial was signed ‘not only by persons of all classes and persuasions but that all the magistrates and deputy lieutenants of the district have affixed their names’.33 Among the 123 attached names were the signatures of members of the jury before whom Darby was tried, clerks, captains, majors, the high sheriff, deans, rectors, ministers, priests, the chaplain of Omagh Prison, medical practitioners, merchants, a bank manager, the manager of the Omagh gas works and the proprietor of the Tyrone Constitution.34 As Douglas Hay stated in relation to petitions in eighteenth-century England, petitions ‘were most effective from great men’.35 A petition did not, however, guarantee that the sentence of death would not be carried into effect. Petitions for a commutation of sentence were also forwarded on behalf of women who were executed. A ten-page petition submitted on behalf of Margaret Sheil, sentenced to death for the murder of her neighbour in 1870, included the names of local priests, rectors, the prison chaplain, magistrates, a hotel owner, merchants, a postmaster, shopkeepers, doctors and Bishop James Walshe.36 The petition from concerned inhabitants of Ireland, however, could do little to save Margaret Sheil from the gallows. It is likely that the suspicion of agrarian motives in the case ensured that her capital punishment would be carried into effect. McMahon has similarly perceived that agrarian offenders were more likely to be executed.37 On the other hand, the

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lords lieutenant were not indisposed to consider a commutation of the capital sentence passed on mothers who killed their infant offspring. The Medical Press and Circular described the public reaction that would meet the execution of a woman found guilty of child murder: A poor miserable female, broken down in health and dejected in mind, is dragged as a prisoner at the bar of a criminal court, charged with the crime of wilful murder, the victim being her own infant, whose life all the instincts of human nature should instigate her to preserve … if a conviction is obtained, the capital sentence, which would necessarily follow in other cases, is hardly ever, and, we might say, never carried into effect. Indeed, the spectacle of a wretched woman being dragged to the gallows for such an offence would in all probably so outrage the public mind that in any subsequent case no conviction would ever take place at all, and the law upon the subject would be practically a dead letter.38

A woman had responded to her personal circumstances by killing her infant and was not generally regarded as particularly dangerous to society. The personal opinions of presiding judges and their juries also impacted on the outcome of capital sentence cases. The number of recommendations to mercy submitted by jurymen suggests a lack of support for the death penalty in infant murder cases. Vaughan has proposed that a recommendation to mercy: may have been jurors’ way of nerving themselves to bring in a guilty verdict, or it may have been a way of conciliating the prisoner’s friends, or it may just have been the propensity of twelve reasonable men to put in a good word for Barabbas.39

Judges in each case also recorded their own opinions, outlining their attitudes to jurors’ recommendations to mercy. Judges’ assessments were significantly more important than jurors’ decisions and should be regarded as the most influential factor in sentence of death cases. Assize juries recommended a commutation of sentence in a number of adult murder cases. Since the judges who tried the cases did not

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always concur with the recommendations to mercy, however, the women concerned were duly executed. The jury who found Bridget Keogh guilty of murdering her employer recommended her to mercy on the grounds of her youth and inexperience. The presiding judge, however, stated in his correspondence to Dublin Castle that it was ‘not in my power to recommend her to mercy or to report a single circumstance to alleviate her guilt’. Keogh was executed on 27 July 1850.40 Judge Ball remarked in the case of Catherine Connolly that he did not support the jury’s recommendation to mercy because the prisoner had clearly intended to commit murder, even though her young victim had survived. Connolly was accordingly executed in May 1851.41 Conversely, presiding judge Baron Hughes, like the majority of judges in infant murder cases, emphasised that he agreed with the jury that Mary Darby’s execution order should not be carried into effect. A confidential letter subsequently informed Hughes that the Lord Lieutenant had commuted the sentence ‘with extreme reluctance, and only in deference to your decided and unequivocal recommendation as the judge who tried the case’.42 Indeed, the lord lieutenant never acted against the opinion of the judge in a case of infant murder during this period.43

‘It is necessary to show that these cases are not considered light’: the punishment for the crime of infant murder Eight of the twenty-nine women found guilty of murdering their infant offspring were sentenced to transportation for life, of whom only three were transported prior to the abolition of transportation. Bridget Mann, Ellen Curly and Mary Browne were transported to the ‘one big gaol’, the penal settlement of Van Diemen’s Land.44 It is evident that the authorities regarded transportation as a more lenient punishment than incarceration in an Irish prison, and were concerned that Irish inhabitants would commit a criminal offence solely to obtain passage to the colonies. In 1851, Neal McCabe, Roman Catholic chaplain at Mountjoy Prison, maintained: ‘I am sure you would not meet with five convicts out of every twenty who would not prefer transportation to remaining in their county gaol during the period of their sentences.’45 The treatment of Ellen Curly and Catherine Hennessy, described below, further illustrates

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that transportation was regarded as more lenient than a sentence of imprisonment, despite the arduous sea journey and the enforced separation from family and friends that transportation entailed. On 8 January 1851, twenty-two-year-old Ellen Fitzgerald née Curly and twenty-four-year-old Catherine Dawley née Hennessy set out from the home that they shared in Buttevant, County Cork, with Ellen’s illegitimate two-month-old baby. Curly’s husband, Peter Fitzgerald, had been working abroad as a soldier in the sixty-first regiment for a number of years.46 Curly intended to give the infant to the putative father, Amos Brooks, a soldier in the forty-seventh regiment, who had moved to Cork, and Hennessy needed to collect money from her mother-in-law in the city. When the women returned home several days later, Curly told Johanna Ahearn, with whom she also shared the Buttevant house, that Amos Brooks had taken his illegitimate daughter. A short time later, a neighbour informed the residents of the house that the police were looking for Curly. On hearing this piece of gossip, Curly exclaimed: ‘bad luck to you Catherine Dawley, you have me hung and you were the cause of my killing my child.’ Hennessy allegedly retorted: ‘Ellen Fitzgerald don’t put me from my two children.’47 On arrest, both women volunteered statements to the police. Ellen Curly maintained that when she and Hennessy had walked as far as Ballinamore, she sat down and admitted to her companion that ‘it is a foolish journey. I came because he [Amos Brooks] never helped me while at home and I shall gain nothing by my journey.’ After resting for a short while, the women continued along the road until Hennessy commented that the deserted house that they were approaching would be a suitable place to abandon the baby. Curly allegedly told her companion that she ‘would not have the heart to leave or punish the child’. Hennessey reminded her that ‘if the child was not punished it would be heard’. At this, Hennessy reportedly took the child into the deserted house at Ballinamore, intending to strangle the baby. She was forced to abandon the attempt, however, when she realised that the child’s screams would be heard by a farmer working nearby. When the women were three or four miles from Cork, they again rested. Hennessy commented: Whatever we are to do to this child, there is no use in taking it farther, you have no use in leaving the child in Cork [as] you will be only taken

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up immediately and when you come home you will be at liberty to earn for your other child and your mother and also it is less sin for you to leave it than to be supporting it for him, who never gave you anything to support it since it was born.48

Curly admitted that the pair then tied a string around the baby’s neck. She maintained that she ‘did not squeeze it but very little as my heart would not let me’. She took the struggling baby into a ruined house nearby and concealed the body in a gap in the wall, covering the infant with stones and earth. Hennessy subsequently entered the house to inspect her companion’s handiwork and allegedly retorted on her return: ‘damn your soul if I left the child the way you covered the child it would be heard screeching.’ Unsurprisingly, Catherine Hennessy contested this version of events. She maintained that when they were within four miles of Cork, Curly sat down on the road and refused to proceed any further. She allegedly stated that she ‘never will carry the child any farther, I won’t take it back to my mother and I have no business taking the child to Cork walking about Cork to its father’. Hennessy continued walking towards Cork, assuming that her companion would follow her. She saw Curly enter an old house and maintained that she ‘heard the child screech twice, she [Curly] was within a good while and came out and told me after overtaking me better than half a mile from the place, she covered it with earth and stones’.49 Hennessy later explained that her involvement in the crime was because she was young and inexperienced and ‘unfortunately unable to resist the temptations thrown in her way by her more wily and crafty accomplice (with whom the idea of the murder originated)’.50 The two women were tried at the Cork spring assizes in 1851. They pleaded guilty to the murder of Ellen Curly’s infant on the understanding that sentences of death would be recorded against them but would not be carried into effect. The presiding judge permitted this course of action in an effort to secure the convictions because he believed that ‘it was not unlikely that one of the prisoners [Hennessy], who was perhaps of the two, the more guilty, would probably escape’.51 The Attorney-General later agreed that ‘the case is one of shocking and despicable murder and Catherine Hennessy was as guilty if not more guilty than the mother’.52 Both women were sentenced to death and

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both had their sentences commuted. The assumption that Hennessy had directed the murder ensured that the pair would receive different punishments; Curly was transported to Van Diemen’s Land along with 211 other female convicts aboard the Martin Luther in the summer of 1852.53 Hennessy, regarded as the guiltier participant, was incarcerated for life in Grangegorman Female Prison. Twenty-six years after the crime had been committed, Catherine Hennessy was still in prison. Enquiries by the prison authorities in 1863 had revealed that Hennessy’s husband was living in Cork with another woman as his wife and had several children by her. Catherine’s two children were residents in the local workhouse.54 By this date, Ellen Curly (see Figure 6.1), the mother of the dead infant, had been married to ex-convict William Harris for twenty-four years and had five children.55 She had received her ticket-of-leave in 1856, four years after her arrival to Van Diemen’s Land, and obtained her conditional pardon seven years later.56 Hennessy’s mother and brother petitioned on several occasions for her release, claiming that they were: most willing to receive you. There is nothing would give us greater pleasure than that you should be once more at home with us. I never cease praying to God that in the goodness of his mercy he would again give you to me.57

Although such applications were supported by positive character references and notes of support from local parish priests, and despite her good behaviour while in prison, Catherine Hennessy’s sentence remained unchanged. In April 1877, she died in Mountjoy Female Prison, having lived more than half of her life in custody.58 In the aftermath of transportation, death sentences bestowed upon those found guilty of child murder were commuted to terms of imprisonment. Catherine Skelly and Anne Madden received commuted sentences of a specific term of years in 1859 and 1860 respectively. Skelly was sentenced to only eighteen months’ imprisonment without hard labour because it was believed that she had been affected by puerperal mania at the time that the crime was committed. The authorities were reluctant to transfer her to a mental asylum because she did not appear

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Figure 6.1  Ellen Curly, c. 1905

to suffer from the disease after the crime. It was stressed that it ‘is not alleged that she is insane now – which to put her in an asylum might make her’.59 Anne Madden received a commuted sentence of penal servitude for ten years in 1860.60 In 1874, Anne Jane Mills and Ellen Davey were sentenced to penal servitude for seven years and twenty years respectively. The seven-year sentence bestowed upon Anne Jane Mills was suggested by the judge who tried the case in consequence of the details that emerged at the trial. Mills was eighteen at the time of her conviction and was the youngest woman found guilty of murdering her infant offspring in this period. In addition, it was widely acknowledged that the son of her master had fathered her child.61

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The majority of women convicted of infant murder received a commuted sentence of penal servitude for life. Similar practices in Britain were: not done with the intention that the prisoner should in any case serve for life, but because it allows the Home Secretary a free hand subsequently to modify the sentence in accordance with the circumstances of the case, and the disposition and progress of the prisoner.62

Lord Spencer similarly explained the reason why a commuted term of years could not be fixed for the crime of infant murder: ‘It is a very important decision and to lay down a penal precedent of specific commutation may have a powerful influence on these painful cases.’63 He further admitted that it was ‘necessary to show that these cases are not considered light’.64 In a memo to the Directors of Convict Prisons in Ireland in 1873, Thomas Henry Burke outlined that the Lord Lieutenant did not wish to direct a specific law relating to convicts under a life sentence for murder but instead deemed that the circumstances of the offence, the conduct of the convict and the length of confinement served would impact upon any remission of sentence.65 A year earlier, James Murray, one of the Directors of Convict Prisons in Ireland, had noted that in his opinion, ‘in cases of child murder, by women, in which the sentence was for life, there should be no remission until after the expiration of the period of child bearing’.66 The policy to detain convicts of a reproductive age was never implemented in Ireland. Murray’s fellow director, John Barlow, noted that if prisoners were detained longer than twenty years, they would ‘generally speaking, be unable to earn their living’.67 On occasion, past practices and policies were compared in an effort to determine whether or not a specific prisoner deserved to be released. Lists of women convicted of infant murder and sentenced to death were drawn up in the 1880s and early 1890s in response to such requests. The authorities at Dublin Castle also sought information from the Home Office on the management of similar cases in England.68 In Ireland, prisoners’ cases were reviewed if petitions for their release were received, if the medical officer indicated that the prisoner’s life was in danger, or if the lord lieutenant or prison directors at Dublin Castle

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scheduled a case for review. Women convicted of infant murder could petition the lord lieutenant for a commutation of sentence at regular intervals, but they were not guaranteed a positive response. The petitions submitted from behind the bars of Irish female prisons, often written in the third person and not always in the prisoner’s own hand, should be regarded as an inmate’s attempt to convince the authorities to order her discharge; they should not necessarily be viewed as genuine sentiments of the memorialist. The reverential language employed serves as a reminder that these hand-written documents were neither personal letters nor public documents, but were instead constructed in accordance with the standards and practices of the day. Prison employees assisted with petition writing and may also have influenced or encouraged certain claims cited within. The judges who presided at the original trials or other relevant parties were occasionally requested to comment on whether or not claims made by prisioners in memorials were accurate. The prison authorities were keen to know that a prisoner would be looked after should she be released, and confirmation of concern was often sought from family and friends via the local constabulary.69 Reasons for discharge commonly outlined in petitions included the remorse or innocence of the convict, her respectability prior to her arrest, the length of time that she had already spent in prison, her poor physical or mental health, her age, the ill-health of a close family member, her duties as a mother or as a daughter towards her family, financial reasons or the early release of another prisoner for a similar crime. Successive petitions from the same prisoner did not always include the same claims. Mary Ruddy alias Anne Murray, for example, submitted at least sixteen petitions during the decade that she was incarcerated for the murder of her illegitimate daughter. In June 1894, she alleged that her widowed mother was in a very depressed state on account of her imprisonment.70 Women imprisoned in the country’s prisons played on contemporary notions about their roles as dutiful mothers and daughters, and used their gender to appeal to the authorities via the medium of these petitions. In another petition almost six months later, Ruddy claimed that she had not received a fair trial.71 She also maintained her innocence. Later that year, Ruddy admitted in a petition that she was guilty of infant murder but explained that her crime had

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been perpetrated ‘in a moment of passion’ in consequence of feelings of shame.72 She also expressed a willingness to emigrate. Although a promise to emigrate was never officially grounds for early release, it was certainly an incentive for prison authorities. Money earned by an inmate through her industry in prison was frequently put towards her emigration expenses and her release could be orchestrated to coincide with the departure of a specific ship. Mary Ruddy’s petition one year later claimed that she was ‘demented’ at the time of the crime and ‘most ignorant’ at the time of her conviction.73 Six months later she reasoned in a petition that other prisoners had been released for similar crimes after significantly shorter periods of time.74 In April 1898, Ruddy insisted that her health was affected by her incarceration.75 Physical or mental ill-health was frequently cited in pleas for discharge but did not guarantee release since an inmate could be treated in the prison hospital. Prison medical officers often contradicted or played down petitioners’ statements, or emphasised that although an inmate was ill, her life was not in any immediate danger. In February 1899, Mary Ruddy informed the authorities via a petition that her father had died since she had been admitted to prison and that her mother and sister were both very ill at home.76 Subsequent petitions made further reference to her ill-health, she having gained almost seven stone in weight since her admission to prison (a claim that was supported by the medical officer). A petition in 1901 again referred to the prisoner’s mother who: in very delicate health, she being at the advanced age of eighty years, is likely at any moment to pass away and petitioner feels very much depressed at the thought of her mother dying without her having the consolation of seeing her and getting her forgiveness.77

Ruddy’s family and neighbours also submitted several petitions for her release but these too received a negative response until her eventual discharge in 1902. It was not unusual for family members to petition on behalf of a prisoner. Some members of the public maintained a regular flow of petitions to the lords lieutenant, while others responded positively when they learned of the possibility of an inmate being released. Mary Russell’s

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family submitted several petitions on her behalf during her period of detention. She had been found guilty of drowning her illegitimate daughter, aged sixteen days, on her way home from the Cork Lying-In Hospital in 1878. Her sister and brother, who were called as witnesses for her defence during her trial, testified that she had never been pregnant and had been at home on the night that the infant had reportedly drowned in the river. Russell was nonetheless found guilty of murder, a verdict which the presiding judge admitted came ‘much to my surprise and the surprise of all in court’.78 In 1882, Russell’s father pleaded for her release on the grounds that her trial had not been fair, that she had spent much of her period of detention in the prison hospital, and that he and his wife had endured ‘great pain of mind’ since the conviction.79 A number of signatures were affixed to the petition, including the mayor of Cork, several magistrates, a rector, parish priests, a local doctor and a sub-constable. Mary Russell’s parents forwarded another petition two years later, reiterating the same points. They emphasised that their health had worsened and that they ‘feel keenly for their daughter whose position is to them a source of constant uneasiness’.80 This petition was also signed by the mayor of Cork, deputy lieutenants and magistrates. A further petition was submitted in the following year and included the name of the newly elected mayor of Cork, as well as the signatures of George John Colthurst (sixth baronet of Cork), the high sheriff of the city, several magistrates, and deputy lieutenants.81 When this petition remained unanswered over three weeks later, Michael and Catherine Russell submitted a letter of enquiry, evidently anxious to have their daughter discharged home. Personal letters received by some inmates similarly indicate that a woman found guilty of infant murder was not necessarily shunned by her family and friends. Both outgoing and incoming letters were read by the prison authorities. Letters that contained ‘improper or idle tendency … or containing slang or other objectionable expressions’ would not be issued to convicts.82 Despite the letter-writing restrictions and the limitations of the convict prison walls, communication between a convict and her family and friends could be maintained if so desired. Offers of support or assistance on release may have been prompted by a letter from the inmate. Without these transcripts it is difficult to determine

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who suggested the arrangements. Nonetheless, offers of assistance indicate that a convict was not generally feared as a danger to society and, as in the case of Anne Madden, outlined below, reveal a tolerant attitude towards those found guilty of child murder. Madden, tried in King’s County in 1860 for the murder of her illegitimate child, was initially sentenced to death but this sentence was subsequently commuted to one of penal servitude for ten years. The judge admitted in his private correspondence after the trial that he was fully convinced of Madden’s guilt and remarked that the victim: was an illegitimate child about two months old which she had suckled with all the tenderness and care of a fond mother for that time but it appeared from some expressions dropt by her as if stung by a sudden and overwhelming sense of her disgrace she committed the crime to hide her shame from her family.83

Madden submitted a series of petitions to the Lord Lieutenant for early discharge. In 1867, she remarked that her sister Maria Holmes, in ‘respectable circumstances’ in Rochdale in England, had communicated her willingness to receive her on discharge.84 Two days earlier, Maria Holmes had written a letter to her incarcerated sister. The letter named several relatives concerned for the prisoner and outlined options that would be available to her on release. The writer was undoubtedly aware that the letter would be read by the prison authorities. Holmes communicated: Dear sister, we received your kind and welcome letter and we was [sic] very sorry to hear that you was [sic] in such bad health[.] we are both in good health at present thank God and we have plenty of work … we have done as you requested us and we are willing to receive you and we have a good home for you to come any time the authorities think propper [sic] to release you from your confinement. Your Brother Lawrence and Wife are in good health and send their kind love to you. Your Brother James is doing very well in America and he says he will send for us all any time that we wish to go. Cousins Joseph Harrison and James Welsh and their Wives and families are all in good health and wish to be remembered to you.’85

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Maria Holmes also highlighted in her letter that she had given birth to a daughter two months previously ‘and it is doing very well[.] we have christened her Mary Anne.’86 Maria Holmes evidently did not consider that her sister, convicted of infant murder, would pose a threat to her young baby. The letter from Maria Holmes was accompanied by a note from a Rochdale police officer who confirmed the details cited within. He added that similar requests: have been made for a certificate to this effect some time since, but as the young woman (Ann’s sister) was unmarried and living in lodgings it was deemed advisable to postpone the recommendation until the applicant was more settled in life.87

He also reported that the sisters had lived together amicably until Maria Holmes had emigrated from Ireland about a year prior to the murder. In addition to this letter of support, flannel manufacturer Abraham Schofield provided a positive character reference for Felix Holmes, the prisoner’s brother-in-law. This was accompanied by a note from a Lancashire justice of the peace, which attested to the honesty of Abraham Schofield, although the magistrate acknowledged that he did not know Felix Holmes personally. Acquaintances, on occasion, also petitioned for a convict’s early release. In 1861, Margaret Murphy’s previous employer wrote a letter of support eight years after she had been sentenced to death for killing her infant. Grizelda Carroll, who petitioned the superintendent of Mountjoy Female Prison from her home in Cork, described that Murphy was ‘sober, quiet and trustworthy’ during the six months that she worked for her.88 Carroll volunteered that ‘if there is anything else I can say on her behalf I shall be happy to do so. Hoping she will succeed in getting her freedom.’89 Four years later, Moses F. Douglas offered to employ Murphy as a servant in his home in Mount Pleasant Square in Dublin ‘where she will be well taken care of and kindly treated’.90 In another case, Rev. David Gordon of Ballee and Rev. Joseph Henry Bibby of Downpatrick actively petitioned firstly for a commutation of convict Jane McDowell’s death sentence and subsequently for her early release. In a petition signed by over 1,000 persons in 1889, the County Down ministers claimed that:

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prisons227 it has been already proposed to raise a sum of money by public subscription to enable the prisoner to emigrate should there be a prospect of her being in a position to avail herself of an opportunity to earn her livelihood in one of the British Colonies where she would be separated from those associations which have had such disastrous results.91

McDowell was discharged from prison on the morning of 25 February 1891 and placed on the ten o’clock train bound for Downpatrick.92 As will be outlined below, religious men and philanthropic women also influenced the outcome of a number of similar cases in the 1880s. The circumstances of each case of infant murder, the petitions received, and the promises made by convicts, family members and friends, explain why one woman was released from custody while her counterpart remained behind bars over the course of the nineteenth century. A comparative analysis of cases that did not occur concurrently, however, demonstrates significant developments in the fifty-year period. The evidence most notably indicates that the length of the average sentence declined as the century progressed. Figure 6.2 illustrates the number of years that each woman served from the end of transportation in 1853 to 1900. Although there were exceptions to the general trends, such as Catherine Skelly who served eighteen months in 1859 and Mary Ruddy

Figure 6.2  Time served by women convicted of infant murder, 1853–1900

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who served ten years in 1892, a clear pattern emerges. Excluding the case of one woman who was released from prison on the grounds of illhealth, the average term of detention during this period was eight years. Of the thirteen women sentenced to death prior to 1875, only three served less than this average. Of the thirteen women similarly sentenced after 1875, only one served higher than this average. The more lenient punishment of the earlier period had evidently become the harsher punishment of the later years. Figure 6.2 also reveals that sentences became relatively more uniform in the late 1870s and 1880s than in the two decades after the Famine. In 1886, Lord Aberdeen, with the approval of Lord Ashbourne, when acting as Lord Justice, took the unprecedented decision to release all of the female prisoners undergoing sentences of imprisonment for infant murder. There are a number of reasons for this decision. Firstly, in the spring of 1886, Eliza Browne, vice-president of the Dublin Discharged Roman Catholic Prisoners Aid Society, became involved in the cases of two women under sentences of long duration for the crime of child murder. In May of that year, Browne proposed that if Annie Aylward, who was convicted of child murder in 1871, was released and entered the Dublin refuge voluntarily, she would send her to a convent in America ‘whence she is sure to get a good situation immediately’.93 Browne later claimed that of ‘the 934 girls that have been with us since our foundation in 1882 we have the pleasure of hearing excellent accounts. One convent wrote begging us to send as many girls as we could as they were such excellent servants.’94 Aylward was accordingly liberated on 12 June 1886 and proceeded to Liverpool. Browne had also secured the release of convicted child murderer Mary Darby in March 1886 after she served more than twenty years in custody.95 The second factor that affected the decision to release a number of convicts in 1886 was the prison chaplain’s interest in the fate of individual Church of Ireland women imprisoned for infant murder. In his annual report of activities at Grangegorman Female Prison, Rev. Henry Hogan recorded: I desire to draw the attention of your Board to the cases of three prisoners in the special class undergoing a life sentence for infanticide.

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prisons229 Without expressing any opinion of the merits of these cases, I submit that, if it were possible, a judicious exercise of clemency on the part of Her Majesty’s Government in mitigation of this terrible sentence, would be attended with good results.96

He compared these three cases with that of Elizabeth Eivers, convicted in 1885. Twenty-four-year-old Eivers had been found guilty of causing the death of her two-year-old daughter by drowning her in the canal at Harold’s Cross in Dublin. Since Eivers was found guilty of manslaughter rather than murder, she was sentenced to penal servitude for one year.97 Her sentence nearing completion highlighted the contrasting fate of women found guilty of murdering their infants. Charles Bourke, chairman of the General Prisons Board, submitted an extract from the chaplain’s report to Lord Aberdeen on 14 May 1886. Bourke added that Roman Catholic convicts were also in prison for infant murder.98 The medical officer recorded his opinion of the cases: whereas the three convicts … had sentence of death recorded against them, afterwards commuted to penal servitude for life – she [Eivers] seems to have been much more guilty. They made away with their infants under the excitement of their recent birth, and before the lapse of time had dulled their sense of shame. Elizabeth Eivers on the other hand, was confined in the Rotunda Hospital. Kind friends interested themselves for her, placed her infant out to nurse, and found employment for herself. Her child was two years old when she threw it into the river … On the face of it this appears a very bad case and the contrast provokes attention between the sentences passed on the other women and that awarded in this instance.99

In a subsequent letter on the subject, Bourke compared the sentences handed down for similar crimes. He acknowledged the: comparative hardship of cases of this class where one prisoner is sentenced to 12 months imprisonment … whereas for crimes that appear to be far less heinous, others of these unfortunate women driven to desperation and apparently hardly responsible for their crime, are doomed to life-long imprisonment without any appearance of hope.100

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A third factor that may have influenced the outcome of these communications was the personal opinion of the newly appointed Lord Lieutenant. Both Lord Aberdeen and his wife, Lady Ishbel, were renowned for their philanthropic activity. Lady Ishbel, described as being ‘more forceful than her husband’, was involved with refuges for ‘fallen’ women during her time in England, and with illegitimate children and unwed mothers in Montreal.101 She observed that in Montreal, the: influence of the priests keeps up a v. strong feeling about illegitimate children and the consequence is that it is accepted as a belief that the kindest thing is to baptize these children and then facilitate their exit from this world as much as possible.102

In 1886, Lord Aberdeen, on the recommendation of Charles Bourke, chairman of the General Prisons Board, and with the approval of Lord Justice Lord Ashbourne, ordered the release of all of the female inmates undergoing sentences of imprisonment for infant murder once they had served between five and seven years.103 This decision was not a response to problems of overcrowding; penal servitude sentences imposed on women for other offences were not similarly commuted in 1886.104 One year earlier, Kaye had confirmed that general murder cases ‘are not, according to rule, considered for release on licence for a period of 20 years’.105 Lord Aberdeen’s direction in the summer of 1886 to discharge women jailed on charges of infant murder established a precedent for the release of otherwise well-conducted first-offenders subsequently convicted of the crime. When involved in another case some years later, the Roman Catholic chaplain reminded the General Prisons Board that more than ‘seven years ago all the prisoners charged with the same offence were released after serving periods from five to seven years; and although nearly all returned to their own homes, nothing unfavourable has been since alleged against them’.106 Although there were some exceptions as a result of bad behaviour prior to arrest or misbehaviour in prison, the unparalleled decision in 1886 ensured that women convicted of infant murder subsequently were not forced to languish in prison like their predecessors. The 1886 decision was indicative of shifting attitudes towards the crime of child murder, despite the fact that the law remained unchanged.

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There is no indication that women in England were similarly released en masse at this time. In 1895, C. S. Murdoch noted that in Britain: More cruel cases, where e.g. the mother or the child is older, the temptation of distress not so strong, are reserved for 10 years [imprisonment]. Some very few bad cases are detained for 15 or even 20 years. The milder punishment of treating as a seven or six year sentence is usually reserved for those cases where the baby is killed absolutely at birth.107

In his research on infanticide in England, Daniel Grey determined that the Home Office authorities divided infant murder convicts into three groups: those who had murdered their newborn offspring immediately after delivery; those who had killed infants a short time after the birth as a result of shame or poverty; and those who had murdered older infants. The first group had their cases reviewed after four years and eight months, the second group after seven years, while the third group did not have their discharge considered until after they had served at least ten years. In ‘exceptional cases’, women could serve terms of imprisonment of less than four years and eight months.108 The majority of women in Ireland released after 1886 served periods of detention suggested for women who had killed newborn infants or for those cases that were deemed to be ‘exceptional’. This was in spite of the fact that all but one of the women released from prison in Ireland after 1886 had murdered infants who were older than newborn. C. S. Murdoch emphasised in 1899 that it was ‘important to reserve the milder punishment of 7 years penal servitude for those cases where the crime is committed actually at the birth of the child’.109 The decision taken by the Dublin Castle authorities in 1886 established a precedent in Ireland that would overrule the official opinions of those in the Home Office.

‘I consider the ends of justice will be satisfied if the convict is now released’:110 life after discharge Although many women convicted of infant murder maintained regular contact with family members and friends while in prison, a number opted to emigrate on release. Eleven women convicted of infant murder

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were released between 1886 and 1888. With the assistance of the Dublin Discharged Roman Catholic Prisoners Aid Society in 1886, Mary Darby emigrated to Boston aboard the SS Scynthia and Annie Aylward emigrated to New York on the SS City of Berlin.111 Margaret Slavin (see Figure 6.3) sailed to Boston in August of that year.112 In December, Mary Ellen Pritchard boarded the SS Peruvian at Liverpool, bound for Montreal.113 The superintendent had delayed her discharge by six days, allegedly with the convict’s permission, in order to coincide with the departure of the ship. Mary Brennan and Margaret Halloran were also discharged in December 1886 and similarly made their way to Liverpool, evidently intending to emigrate.114 Released after five years in accordance with Aberdeen’s direction, Kate Kelly alias Keogh emigrated to Philadelphia in 1888.115 Ellen Davey initially returned home. In October 1886, two months after her discharge from prison, she applied to the General Prisons Board for money that she had earned while in prison: as I intend to set up a little dealing in some town or village if I get the money… . It would be the greatest benefit to me to get it altogether if possible and I will be for ever thankful should I get it.116

She later explained: ‘I intend to make a little living for myself if I can and if I cannot in this country I will go to America.’117 On 21 October, she received £6 of her £11 17s 8d gratuity. In December 1886, Davey petitioned the General Prisons Board for the remainder of the money owed to her. She confirmed that she was living with her brothers and sisters in her home town, but insisted: ‘I will not remain here in this place.’ She signed off: ‘remember me to the supertenant [sic] and all the matrons[.] a hapy crissmass [sic] to all and a happy new year.’118 A local sergeant confirmed that ‘she is not quite sure as to the date she intends to emigrate. She says that she is not sufficiently strong at present but that she expects to be ready in the Spring or early in Summer.’119 On this occasion, Davey received £2. In February of the following year, Davey successfully petitioned the prison authorities for the remainder of her gratuity, explaining that she was ‘anches [sic] to get the balance of my money as intend going to America next month’. She rejected the General Prisons Board’s offer to help her

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Figure 6.3  Margaret Slavin, 1883

to emigrate, insisting that she ‘would rather arrange about my passage myself ’, and thus it is not clear if or when Ellen Davey left Ireland.120 Catherine Robinson was also among the women ordered to be released in 1886. During the term of her prison sentence, Robinson’s parents had moved to Glasgow. In 1886, the Glasgow constabulary were directed to confirm that her parents were able and willing to receive her in Scotland, and obtained a positive response. Ellen Robinson confirmed that Catherine’s family was ‘very thankfull [sic] to the Lord

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Lieutenant for his trouble[.] her mother and some of her sisters will meet her at the boat … please to be sure to let us [know] what day she will come on so as there will be no mistake.’121 Since Catherine Robinson suffered from epilepsy, however, it was not considered safe to allow her to travel alone to Scotland. On 23 August, she was discharged from Grangegorman Female Prison in company with Assistant Matron Tillbrooke.122 In Glasgow, Tillbrooke handed her over to her parents and Robinson proceeded to her new abode, a tenement house containing nineteen apartments, in Surrey Street, Gorbals in Glasgow. It appears from the evidence that Robinson remained with her parents in Glasgow for only a few months. She acknowledged that although ‘father and mother is very cind [sic] to me all the rest wants me to go to them [in Ireland] for a while’. She also commented on her persistent ill-health and explained that she intended to return home to her sister in Ireland: to see if that does me any good for this place does not agree with me and they think it will do me some good to go afar for a while … for this place is very noisy here.123

Robinson moved to Ireland but subsequently returned to Britain. In April 1899, she married thirty-three-year-old Willmott Bowker, a widower and the son of an engineer, at St Mary’s Church in Manchester.124 It appears that Robinson and Bowker lived together for little more than a year, he alleging that their subsequent separation was ‘owing to her drinking habits and the manner in which she neglected her home’.125 Bowker was apprehended several times for cruelty but was not charged because of an alleged mental condition. He was committed to the County Lunatic Asylum in Lancaster and later to the Prestwich Asylum. It was noted that ‘he attributes his derangement to his wife’s conduct’.126 Despite her marital problems, Catherine Robinson does not appear to have subsequently returned to live in Ireland. In 1907, she sought relief from the Parish of Govan in Glasgow owing to the fact that her brother Anthony, with whom she had been living for eight months since leaving Manchester, was seriously ill and facing imminent death. Her own illhealth ensured that she was unable to work and thus her application for

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entry to the Govan Poorhouse was approved. Maintenance was sought from Robinson’s estranged husband on several occasions during her stay in the poorhouse. In 1911, Bowker refused to receive his wife on the grounds that ‘he gave her several trials, and she always returned to her drinking habits’.127 He also refused to support her financially, alleging that the earnings from his small provision shop only allowed him to make a living for himself. Thomas Coghlan, detective sergeant of the Manchester City Police, described Bowker as ‘one of those individuals who will not pay unless he is forced to do so’. He reported that: as a matter of fact, I am informed that he has stated on many occasions that he hoped he would never see the woman again, and that he would never pay for her maintenance unless he was forced to do so.128

In his own letter to the Govan Parish Council in 1913, however, Bowker declared that he was: very sorry to hear from you … that my wife Mrs Kate Bowker is very poorly and that she has been with you so long; all I can say is I am unable to pay anything but the home is here when Mrs Bowker has a mind to come.129

The medical officer judged, however, that Robinson, labouring under advanced phthisis, could not be handed over to the care of her husband without injury to her health.130 She died two years later at Ruchill Hospital in Glasgow.131 Eliza Smith was also discharged in consequence of Lord Aberdeen’s decision. She was released from Grangegorman Female Prison on Thursday 15 December 1887, having served a sentence of five years for child murder. Smith proceeded to Liverpool where she reported herself to the police, and stated her intention to emigrate to America. Upon early release, women who opted to remain in Ireland were furnished with a licence for a specific number of months or years. Misconduct or a breach of the terms of the licence would result in the holder being returned to prison to serve the remainder of the sentence. Those who opted to emigrate were not furnished with a licence. In this manner, it was anticipated that discharged convicts could live uncensored lives

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abroad and escape the shame of having spent time in prison. Smith was, however, refused entry to the United States of America at the port of Boston. She returned to take up residence in Liverpool and was thus issued with a licence from the General Prisons Board in Ireland. While male prisoners were under compulsion to report to the police on the first day of every month, women who held a licence merely had to report to the local police on arrival to the district and inform the constabulary if they intended to move to another area. In the years following her release from prison, Smith gained employment at various establishments in Liverpool, although it was acknowledged that ‘she would suddenly leave without giving notice or any reason for so doing’.132 On 14 March 1890, she was arrested in Liverpool for failing to notify the local police of a change of address and thus she forfeited her licence. It was claimed that ‘she complied with the order for some short time but became very careless, and the last time she reported herself was in November last’.133 The authorities at Liverpool Prison sought directions from the General Prisons Board in Ireland. Chairman Charles Bourke admitted that because ‘this appears to be this woman’s first breach of the terms of her licence I am of opinion that she should be let off with a caution on this occasion’. He also acknowledged that it ‘seems a hardship to compel her to report herself to the Police for the rest of her life’.134 A new licence was issued on 20 May 1890 and Smith was discharged from Liverpool Prison. There are a number of explanations as to why women convicted of infant murder emigrated from Ireland on release from prison. Prison authorities may have influenced a convict’s decision to emigrate. Bourke admitted in 1885 that it ‘has been the custom when a prisoner expresses a desire to emigrate, to facilitate her doing so as far as possible and to see that she is properly taken care of up to the time of her going on board ship’.135 Beverly Smith has aptly described the emigration of convicts from Ireland as ‘the old transportation in another guise’.136 General emigration rates from Ireland were high during this period; women comprised almost half of emigrants in the 1880s.137 Like many emigrants during this period, women released from custody after serving time for infant murder may have believed that foreign lands offered them opportunities that Ireland could not. Those who had spent time behind bars

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or who were known to have given birth to illegitimate infants may also have anticipated that it would be easier to secure a job or a husband abroad than in post-Famine Ireland. Fragmentary evidence also suggests that some women suspected of infant murder were not welcomed back to their local areas. In 1896, the Tuam Herald reported that ‘Bridget Healy, who was acquitted at the last Galway Assizes, of infanticide, is now an inmate of the Tuam Workhouse. Her friends, it is said, refused to receive her home.’138 This negative reaction should not be overstated; neighbourhood attitudes to returning convicts were not uniform and may have depended on the circumstances of each case. The fact that this was Bridget Healy’s second trial for such an offence may have provoked her neighbours’ reactions. In contrast, Rev. Gordon explained to the prison authorities who had agreed to release convict Jane McDowell from custody in 1891: ‘From what I learn of the purpose of her friends in regard to her, I believe that she will find a welcome and refuge amongst those friends.’139 Mary Russell also returned home to her family after her release from custody in 1886. A few months after her arrival in Cork, a local constable reported to the prison authorities that she ‘has conducted herself very well since her return here and I have reason to know that she is about setting up a milk shop here and that she will require some little capital for that purpose’.140 On census night in 1911, sixty-two-year-old Mary Russell was still in Cork, living with her unmarried sister Kate who had testified to her innocence at her trial.141 It is not clear if Russell’s marriage opportunities, and those of her sister, were impacted by her conviction. Widow Mary Cafferky, who was found guilty of murdering her daughter’s illegitimate infant and sentenced to four years’ penal servitude, also returned home after release. Her twenty-four-year-old daughter Catherine, the mother of the dead child, had been acquitted and discharged from the Sligo court.142 Mary Cafferky was released on a licence after only one year, five months and sixteen days in custody because it was deemed that her life was in immediate danger. She was still alive sixteen years later and still head of the household in Kilmovee. Her son James married in 1897, two years after her release, and her daughter Catherine, whose illegitimate child Mary Cafferky was convicted of having murdered, married Jack Horkan in February 1899.143 In her study of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century infanticide

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in Upper Bavaria, Regina Schulte similarly perceived that ‘a conviction for infanticide did not necessarily entail the woman’s exclusion from the village community’.144

Conclusion Between 1850 and 1900, twenty-nine women were sentenced to death for the murder of their infants. In 1862, the Banner of Ulster transcribed an opinion from the Morning Herald that a ‘mother infanticide, like other blood-spillers, must die by the hangman’.145 But in Ireland, no ‘mother infanticide’ had her sentence of death carried into effect in the second half of the nineteenth century. Instead, these women were transported or incarcerated in Irish convict prisons. Ambiguity about how to treat infant murder cases resulted in disparate outcomes. Some convicts languished in prison for over a decade while others were released after a relatively short period of detention. Lord Aberdeen’s direction in 1886 to release women found guilty of murdering their infant offspring eventually established a precedent for women subsequently convicted of the crime. This decision illustrates that infant murder was increasingly seen as a crime distinct from murder despite the fact that the law remained unchanged. Jonathan Andrews has observed that little research has been carried out on the lives of women convicted of infanticide after the trial.146 Irish prison records reveal that women convicted of infant murder continued to experience life behind prison walls. They attended school and religious services, they worked, they interacted with others in the prison space and they were disciplined for bad behaviour. Life in prison was not without its dramas. When a fire broke out in the Mountjoy Female Prison laundry, Anne Moloney, along with fellow infant murder convict Margaret Murphy, ‘exerted herself in saving prison property by helping extinguish the fire and by which she considerably endangered her own life’.147 When packages of tea and sugar were found in a convict’s cell in 1884, infant murder convicts Mary Ellen Pritchard, Catherine Robinson and Mary Russell were questioned about their knowledge of the incident.148 Convicts also clashed within the prison space. In November 1883, Mary Lynch, convicted of larceny, called Mary Ellen Pritchard

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‘most vile and immoral names and a murderer. Also saying thank God she was not the lifer.’149 Convicted child murderer Annie Aylward and larcenist Margaret Burke also had a number of disagreements during their time together in prison. In January 1885, Burke assaulted Aylward by pulling her hair. In March of that year, Burke hit Aylward on the nose on her way to the laundry. On another occasion, she hit Aylward with a dust brush in the laundry, with the result that Aylward had to be removed to the prison hospital for treatment for two scalp wounds and a split thumb nail.150 Convicts could also conduct financial and personal affairs from inside prison cells. Eliza Smith requested permission from the General Prisons Board to write a letter to her father about money owed to her. The prison authorities refused the prisoner permission to write this letter but instructed the superintendent to communicate with the prisoner’s father on her behalf.151 In April 1884, Kate Kelly, who was convicted of killing her twin infants in Naas in 1883, petitioned from within the walls of the prison to have her two other children placed in an industrial school.152 Her son Henry was accordingly sent to a school in Kilkenny. Kelly’s grandmother, however, refused to give up custody of the prisoner’s daughter.153 Letters received by convicts from family members, friends and acquaintances, and replies dispatched from the female prison, reveal the strength of personal ties. The experiences of Catherine Robinson and Mary Russell indicate that offers of assistance were not merely false promises. Robinson moved to Glasgow on her release from prison where she lived with family members until her marriage to William Bowker and subsequently after this marriage failed. Mary Russell resided with her sister in Cork. Cafferky returned home to Mayo where she lived out the remainder of her life on the family farm. Eliza Smith did not, however, return home. Her intention to emigrate was thwarted by the authorities on her arrival to Boston and she subsequently chose to remain in Liverpool rather than to return home to her family in Monaghan. Although she maintained regular contact with her father while in prison, she evidently opted or was persuaded not to return to her home town. The decision to emigrate was one that many Irish women made in the post-Famine period, regardless of whether or not they had spent time in prison.

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Notes  1 Freeman’s Journal, 20 July 1888.   2 NAI, GPB CN, 5, particulars of cases in which women were sentenced to death in Ireland. Two of the crimes were committed in 1849 but the trials did not take place until the following year.   3 In one instance, the female victim was seven years old.  4 Vaughan, Murder Trials, pp. 258–9.   5 24 and 25 Vic., c 100, s. 2.   6 Kelly, ‘Responding to infanticide in Ireland’, p. 197.  7 Belfast News-Letter, 14 March 1853.  8 Ibid., 1 August 1853.  9 Ibid., 14 December 1882. 10 Ibid., 16 October 1900. 11 Report of Capital Punishment Commission, 624, [3590], H. C. 1866, xxi, 676. 12 The victims in each of these cases were older than one year. See NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, list of capital convictions of women for the murder of their children in Great Britain from 1862 to 1882 inclusive showing commutation granted and date of release in each case; precedents of early release in cases of infanticide. See also Tamar Hager, ‘Compassion and indifference: the attitude of the English legal system toward Ellen Harper and Selina Wadge, who killed their offspring’, Journal of Family History, xxxiii (2008), 173–94; Patrick Wilson, Murderesses: A Study of the Women Executed in Britain since 1843 (London, 1971). 13 Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 324. 14 Shane Kilcommins, Ian O’Donnell, Eoin O’Sullivan and Barry Vaughan, Crime, Punishment and the Search for Order in Ireland (Dublin, 2004), p. 15. For England see V. A. C. Gatrell, The Hanging Tree: Execution and the English People, 1700–1868 (Oxford, 1994). 15 Connolly, ‘Unnatural death in four nations’, pp. 211–3. 16 Baron Franz Von Holtzendorff, The Irish Convict System, More Especially Intermediate Prisons (Dublin, 1860), p. 169; Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 9. 17 Fielding, The Hangman’s Record, p. xxxv. 18 The Times, 11 November 1874. 19 J. F. McEldowney, ‘Some aspects of law and policy in the administration of criminal justice in nineteenth-century Ireland’, in J. F. McEldowney and Paul O’Higgins (eds), The Common Law Tradition: Essays in Irish Legal History (Dublin, 1990), p. 117. 20 McMahon, ‘Homicide’, pp. 512–3. 21 No woman was capitally punished in Wales during the period 1868 to 1899, while only one woman, notorious baby-farmer Jessie King, was executed

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in Scotland at this time (Fielding, The Hangman’s Record, p. xxxv. See also Conley, Certain Other Countries, p. 84). 22 NAI, CRF, K 23 1850, case of Bridget Keogh. 23 NAI, CRF, M 25 1850, case of Catherine Moore. 24 NAI, CRF, C 27 1851, case of Catherine Connolly. 25 Freeman’s Journal, 1 March 1853. 26 NAI, CRF, S 7 1870, case of Margaret Sheil. 27 It was specifically mentioned in only two cases that no memorial had been received from members of the public (NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888; NAI, CRF, H 57 1900). 28 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, report of Lord Lieutenant Wodehouse, 6 March 1866. Emphasis in the original. 29 Ibid., deposition of Ellen Murray cited in report of Baron Hughes, 16 March 1866. 30 Ibid., deposition of Surgeon William Twigg cited in report of Baron Hughes, 16 March 1866. 31 Ibid., petition on behalf of Mary Darby, 12 March 1866. 32 Ibid. 33 Ibid. 34 Women did not regularly sign petitions for mercy. See Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 317. 35 D. Hay, ‘Property, authority and criminal law’, in D. Hay, P. Linebaugh, J. Rule, E. P. Thompson and C. Winslow (eds), Albion’s Fatal Tree: Crime and Society in Eighteenth-Century England (London, 1975), p. 45. 36 NAI, CRF, S 7 1870, petition on behalf of Margaret Sheil, May 1870. 37 McMahon, ‘Homicide’, p. 502. 38 ‘Infanticide’, Medical Press and Circular, iii (16 January 1867), 60. 39 Vaughan, Murder Trials, p. 282. 40 NAI, CRF, K 23 1850, Chief Justice Blackburn to Dublin Castle, 12 July 1850. 41 Belfast News-Letter, 14 May 1851. 42 NAI, Convict letter book, CON. letter book, 5, Thomas Larcom to Baron Hughes, 20 March 1866. 43 Similarly, in eighteenth-century England, ‘the king virtually never refused to spare someone nominated by the judge who had presided at the trial’ ( J. M. Beattie, ‘The royal pardon and criminal procedure in early modern England’, Historical Papers/Communications Historiques, xxii (1987), 13). For exceptions, see Vaughan, Murder Trials, pp. 305–6. 44 Alan Atkinson, ‘Writing about convicts: our escape from the one big gaol’, Tasmanian Historical Studies, vi (1999), 16–28. 45 Annual Report of the Inspector of Government Prisons in Ireland for the Year Ended 31 December 1851 with Appendices, 70 [1634], H. C. 1852–1853 liii, 346. Emphasis in the original.

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46 Nicole Rieusset, ‘Maternal ancestry’ (unpublished paper, 1990). I am grateful to Brian and Nicole Rieusset for allowing me access to this paper. 47 NAI, CRF, H 5 1873, deposition of Johanna Ahearn, 25 January 1850. 48 Ibid., statement of accused (Ellen Curly), 25 January 1850. 49 Ibid., statement of accused (Catherine Hennessy), 25 January 1850. 50 Ibid., petition of Catherine Hennessy, 8 April 1869. 51 Ibid., report of Justice Nicholas Ball, 9 March 1851. 52 Ibid., report of Justice James Lawson, 30 March 1865. 53 NAI, GPO, CN 6, record of Martin Luther. 54 NAI, CRF, H 5 1873, Rev. Buckley to Delia Lidwell, 6 April 1863. 55 Ellen Fitzgerald née Curly was deemed to be ‘divorced by distance’ and was thus permitted to marry. See Davis, ‘ “Unfit to die” ’, p. 25. 56 AOT, Con. 41/1/35, conduct registers of female convicts arriving in the period of the probation system, 1 January 1844–31 December 1853. 57 NAI, CRF, H 5 1873, petition of Mary Daly, 13 December 1866. 58 Carey, Mountjoy, pp. 147–9. 59 NAI, CRF, S 8 1859, letter relative to Catherine Skelly, 2 May 1859. 60 NAI, CRF, M 22 1867, case of Anne Madden. 61 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, case of Anne Jane Mills. 62 NAI, CRF, A 9 1910, ‘Home Office practice re. commuting death sentences’ cited in News of the World, 26 September 1908. 63 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, Lord Spencer to William S. B. Kaye, 20 December 1882. 64 Ibid. 65 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1593 1910, Thomas Henry Burke to the Directors of Convict Prisons, 31 January 1873. 66 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1583 1910, report of Patrick Joseph Murray, 27 December 1872. 67 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1583 1910, report of John Barlow, 21 December 1872. 68 See NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, list of capital convictions of women for the murder of their children in Great Britain from 1862 to 1882 inclusive, showing commutation granted and date of release in each case; precedents of early release in cases of infanticide. 69 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, William Vernon Harcourt to A. Macononchie, 26 December 1882; Rena Lohan, ‘The management of Female Convicts Sentenced to Transportation and Penal Servitude, 1790– 1898’ (PhD thesis, Trinity College Dublin, 1989). 70 NAI, CRF, R 25 1902, petition of Mary Ruddy, 18 June 1894. 71 Ibid., 28 January 1895. 72 Ibid., 12 November 1895. 73 Ibid., 30 November 1896.

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74 75 76 77 78

Ibid., 19 May 1897. Ibid., 26 April 1898. Ibid., 4 February 1899. Ibid., 17 January 1901. NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, report of Judge C. R. Barry, 25 July 1879. 79 Ibid., petition of Michael Russell, received 21 February 1882. 80 Ibid., received 10 July 1884. 81 Ibid., received 10 September 1885. 82 NAI, Pen. 1895 31, prison regulations, pre-printed on prison letter paper. 83 NAI, CRF, M 22 1867, report of Baron Lefroy, 16 August 1860. 84 Ibid., petition of Anne Madden, 22 March 1867. 85 Ibid., Felix and Maria Holmes to Anne Madden, 20 February 1867. 86 Ibid. 87 NAI, CRF, M 22 1867, John Dorling to the director of Mountjoy Female Prison, 20 February 1867. 88 NAI, CRF, M 33 1866, Grizelda Carroll to Delia Lidwell, 3 April 1861. 89 Ibid. 90 NAI, CRF, M 33 1866, Moses F. Douglas to the Directors of Convict Prisons, 8 April 1865. 91 NAI, CRF, Mc 7 1891, petition on behalf of Jane McDowell, 8 April 1889. 92 Ibid., Thomas Stringer to William S. B. Kaye, 25 February 1891. 93 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, Eliza Browne to Dublin Castle, 18 May 1886. 94 NAI, CRF, A 11 1911, Eliza Browne to Dublin Castle, 9 December 1901. 95 NAI, Pen. 58 1886, case file of Mary Darby. 96 Eighth report of the General Prisons Board Ireland 1885–86 with appendix, 139 [C 4817] H. C. 1886, xxxv, 419. 97 Freeman’s Journal, 23 October 1885. 98 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, Charles Bourke to Lord Aberdeen, 14 May 1886. 99 Ibid., report of F. T. MacCabe, 28 June 1886. 100 Ibid., Charles Bourke to William S. B. Kaye, 1 July 1886. 101 Maureen Keane, Ishbel: Lady Aberdeen in Ireland (Newtownards, 1999), p. 10; Doris French Shakleton, Ishbel and the Empire: A Biography of Lady Aberdeen (Toronto, 1988), p. 149. She also established the Women’s National Health Association during her second term in Ireland. See Earner-Byrne, Mother and Child, p. 15. 102 Isabel Aberdeen, ‘Canadian Journals’, 29 November 1893, cited in French, Ishbel, pp. 149–50. 103 Aberdeen directed that Mary Brennan should be released after a period of ten years’ penal servitude but Lord Ashbourne later reduced this to seven

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years (NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, Lord Ashbourne to the General Prisons Board, 24 August 1886). 104 See Ninth report of the General Prisons Board, Ireland, 1886–87; with appendix [5224], H.C. 1887, xli, 535. 105 NAI, CRF, B 2 1892, William S. B. Kaye to Lord Carnavon, 20 August 1885. 106 NAI, CRF, G 19 1891, Rev. Anderson to the General Prisons Board, 14 December 1891. Rev. Anderson miscalculated the date when these women were released, which was in fact only five years previously. In addition, most of the women released at this time appear to have emigrated. 107 TNA, HO 144 series, case file A61455, minute of C. S. Murdock, Home Office Printed Memoranda, 1899, p. 113 cited in Roger Chadwick, Bureaucratic Mercy: the Home Office and the Treatment of Capital Cases in Victorian Britain (New York and London, 1992), p. 293. 108 Grey, ‘Discourses of infanticide’, pp. 116–7. 109 TNA, HO 144 series, case file A61455, minute of C. S. Murdock, Home Office Printed Memoranda, 1899, p. 113 cited in Chadwick, Bureaucratic Mercy, p. 293. 110 NAI, CRF, Mc 7 1891, Michael Harrison to William S. B. Kaye, 19 February 1891. 111 NAI, Pen. 58 1886, case file of Mary Darby; NAI, Pen. 105 1886, case file of Anne Aylward. 112 NAI, Pen. 142 1886, case file of Margaret Slavin. 113 NAI, Pen. 239 1886, case file of Mary Ellen Pritchard. 114 NAI, Pen. 240 1886, case file of Mary Brennan; NAI, Pen. 242 1886, case file of Margaret Halloran. 115 NAI, Pen. 31 1888, case file of Kate Kelly. 116 NAI, GPB correspondence, 13258 1886, Ellen Davey to the General Prisons Board, 11 October 1886. 117 Ibid., 18 October 1886. 118 NAI, GPB correspondence, 16068 1886, Ellen Davey to the General Prisons Board, 18 December 1886. 119 Ibid., P. Fitzgerald to the General Prisons Board, 31 December 1886. 120 NAI, GPB correspondence, 2188 1887, Ellen Davey to the General Prisons Board, 25 February 1887. 121 NAI, GPB correspondence, 10464 1886, Ellen Robinson to Eliza Rothe, August 1886. 122 NAI, GPB correspondence, 10799 1886, Eliza Rothe to the General Prisons Board, 25 August 1886. 123 NAI, GPB correspondence, 13186 1886, Catherine Robinson to the General Prisons Board, 6 October 1886. 124 Glasgow City Archives, D-HEW 17/591, application for relief to Govan Combination Parish Council, 6–22 May 1907. I am extremely grateful to Dr Iain Hutchison for his invaluable assistance with this case study.

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125 Glasgow City Archives, D-HEW 17/591, Manchester City Police Force, copy of report, 29 March 1911. 126 Ibid. 127 Ibid. 128 Glasgow City Archives, D-HEW 17/591, Manchester City Police Force, copy of report, 13 March 1913. 129 Ibid., Willmott Bowker to Govan Combination Parish Council, 13 March 1913. 130 Ibid., medical report of William J. Richard to Govan Combination Parish Council, 28 January 1913. 131 ‘Deaths in the district of Possilpark, in the County of Lanark’, available at www.scotlandspeople.gov.uk (accessed 9 May 2008). 132 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, John Humphreys to the General Prisons Board, 29 July 1891. 133 Ibid. 134 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, Charles Bourke to William S. B. Kaye, 14 December 1891. 135 NAI, CRF, D 30 1885, Charles Bourke to William S. B. Kaye, June 1885. 136 Beverly A. Smith, ‘The female prisoner in Ireland 1855–1878’, Federal Probation, liv: 4 (1990), 77. 137 Pauline Jackson, ‘Women in nineteenth century Irish emigration’, International Migration Review, xviii (1984), 1007. 138 Tuam Herald, 4 April 1896. 139 NAI, CRF, Mc 7 1891, David Gordon to William S. B. Kaye, 24 February 1891. 140 NAI, GPB correspondence, 12134 1886, Head Constable Brennan to the General Prisons Board, 24 September 1886. 141 NAI, Cork census, 1911 94/50, available at www.census.nationalarchives.ie/ reels/nai001885534 (accessed 25 February 2012). 142 Baptismal Register, Kilmovee Roman Catholic Church (register in the possession of Fr Farrell Cawley, Kilmovee, County Mayo). I am extremely grateful to Fr Farrell Cawley for his assistance with this case study and for the detailed information that he provided. 143 NLI, P. 4224, Kilmovee marriage register, October 1854–May 1880. 144 Schulte, The Village in Court, p. 118. 145 ‘The prevalence of infanticide’ from Morning Herald in Banner of Ulster, 28 October 1862. I am thankful to Dr Sarah Roddy for this reference. 146 Jonathan Andrews, ‘The boundaries of Her Majesty’s pleasure: discharging child-murderers from Broadmoor and Perth Criminal Lunatic Department, c.1860–1920’, in Jackson (ed.), Infanticide: Historical Perspectives, p. 217. 147 NAI, CRF, M5 1867, petition of Anne Molony, December 1866. 148 NAI, GPB correspondence, 3967 1884.

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149 NAI, Pen., 85 1887, misconduct report of Mary Lynch, 8 November 1887. 150 NAI, Pen., 57 1887, case of Margaret Burke. 151 NAI, Pen., 17 1887, petition of Eliza Smith, 8 February 1887. 152 NAI, Pen., 31 1888, petition of Kate Kelly, 4 April 1883. 153 NAI, GPB register of correspondence, 7077 1884.

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Conclusion

The fact that only twenty-nine women were found guilty of the murder of their infant offspring between 1850 and 1900 could suggest that the crime was rarely committed in Ireland and thus hardly worthy of historical analysis. This study has revealed, however, that infanticide-related offences were weekly occurrences during this period. There are 4,645 individual cases alluding to an Ireland where women killed babies and concealed births in an effort to safeguard their own survival, and where the discovery of an anonymous baby’s body did not necessarily warrant a newspaper headline or an in-depth report. Cases of infant murder and concealment of birth, regularly committed in secret by individuals acting alone, were embedded in Irish society and involved entire communities. Shared rural and urban spaces meant that privacy, for some, was limited. As case studies in this book have highlighted, domestic quarrels about pregnancies outside wedlock, the sounds of childbirth or the cries of a newborn baby could be heard through adjacent walls. Many neighbours also relied upon each other for survival; items were loaned and borrowed, particular skills were utilised and advice was shared. In addition, most Irish inhabitants travelled on foot during this period, which meant that their daily activities were often observed by their similarly pedestrian neighbours.1 As a result, attempts to hide sexual relationships could be thwarted by inquisitive neighbours, the changing bodies of pregnant women could be monitored by those who encountered them on a regular basis, and women and men attempting to dispose of the evidence of childbirth could similarly find the task difficult as a result of neighbourhood surveillance. Individual case studies also reveal that neighbours participated in local gossip and speculated about suspected relationships, pregnancies, childbirths and

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infant murder cases in their localities. Subsequently, when cases came before coroners’ courts or legal courts, members of the general public attended in their capacity as witnesses or as spectators. Newspapers also brought infanticide tales to Irish homes. Family members, as well as neighbours, friends or acquaintances, could attempt to shield the female perpetrator from discovery by assisting with the offence, denying rumours that a birth or death had taken place, or evading particular questions in public or in court. Case studies suggest that such strategies were motivated by a desire to protect the suspect and the reputation of the family or household. The fact that these suspects are included in this study reveals, however, that the attempt to keep the affair a secret failed. The evidence that communication between incarcerated prisoners and their family and friends was maintained despite prison restrictions also alludes to the support offered to a woman found guilty of infant murder or concealment of birth. As shown in chapter 6, many family members, friends and acquaintances actively campaigned for the release of a convict and offered to support her following her discharge from prison. Those in positions of authority regularly played a role in suspected infant murder and concealment of birth cases. Policemen were commonly summoned to investigate when dead infants were discovered. The fervour and commitment that fuelled many of the hunts for the perpetrators in the latter half of the nineteenth century illustrates that Irish policemen were not willing to ignore suspected cases of infant murder or concealment of birth or to allow offenders to evade detection. Doctors were also regularly called to the scene of a suspected infant murder or concealment of birth in order to examine the infant’s body or that of the putative mother. Suspect Kate Guerin evidently realised that the doctor summoned to view the dead body of a child in 1897 decided her fate. When in police custody, she surmised that ‘it all depends on the doctor whether I have to suffer for it or not’.2 Lawyers and solicitors also played a role in infanticide and concealment of birth cases, defending women accused of such crimes. Solicitors could additionally be hired to write petitions on behalf of convicts and may have been employed to write memorials pleading for mercy to be shown to women found guilty of infant murder or concealment of birth.3 Other middle-class men signed petitions supporting the commutation of sentences. The

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petitions and personal letters written to the administrators at Dublin Castle illustrate the willingness of some members of the public to get involved in capital cases and to associate themselves, their professions and their businesses with the accused and her crime. Priests and ministers are occasionally visible in infanticide cases in their role as advisors and mediators in the community. Clergymen associated with the penal system visited women in prison before their trial and after conviction. As shown in chapter 6, Henry Hogan, the Church of Ireland chaplain at Grangegorman Female Prison, influenced the release of prisoners convicted of infant murder. Philanthropic female visitors to prisons also impacted directly on the lives of women incarcerated for infant murder and concealment of birth offences. The female managers of prison refuges negotiated the transfer of several women from prison to other institutions. In particular, Eliza Browne of the Dublin Discharged Roman Catholic Prisoners Aid Society successfully secured the release and arranged for the subsequent emigration of several women found guilty of infant murder.4 Philanthropic and religious women associated with refuges, convents and Magdalen asylums came to play a more significant role in infant murder and concealment of birth cases in twentieth-century Ireland.5 While infant murder and concealment of birth cases allow us a glimpse of complex relationships among and between members of the general public and those in positions of authority, they also provide an insight into nineteenth-century sexual liaisons. The evidence suggests that premarital and extramarital sexual relationships were not uncommon in the latter half of the nineteenth century, a finding supported by Ann Daly’s recent research on contraception during this period.6 Maria Luddy, in her study of breach of promise of marriage cases, similarly perceives that premarital sex was a common feature of late nineteenthcentury courtships, suggesting ‘a greater tolerance of such activity within society than we have hitherto been led to believe’.7 Although sex outside wedlock in post-Famine Ireland appears to have been more common than historians have generally acknowledged, respectable participants, it seems, were expected to conduct such activities in private. While there was a degree of social tolerance for certain illicit affairs, proof of ‘guilt’ in the form of illegitimate pregnancies or divorce scandals was not generally accepted.8 Such attitudes were not

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necessarily class-specific. In 1886, Charles Bourke, chairman of the General Prisons Board, confirmed that: in most countries of Europe (at any rate) women of this [lower] class who happen to fall, are not excommunicated immediately from the society of their equals, and have therefore less temptation to conceal birth, or to commit Infanticide. But in this country a girl who is unfortunate in this particular … is at once discarded by her parents, and disowned and isolated from all humane society, and driven homeless in the wide world.9

Evidence that the moral landscape of post-Famine Ireland was significantly more complex than scholars have previously appreciated has survived precisely because of the births and subsequent deaths of many illegitimate infants. Although most of the known victims of infant murder and concealment of birth were illegitimate babies, putative fathers were not regularly mentioned in the sources. Some women during this period sought to rebel against the general opinion that a mother was solely responsible for the welfare of her children. In 1852, Ellen Early determinedly asserted in court that while she knew that she might be imprisoned for abandoning her three-month-old illegitimate child in a room occupied by the putative father, ‘it was no matter, as, whenever she got discharged, she should leave the child with its father, wherever the latter might lodge’. She argued that in her opinion, ‘he had a right to support it’.10 The majority of women did not, however, challenge contemporary gender roles or rebel against the double standard of Irish society that allowed men to abandon those whom they had impregnated. Infant murder or concealment of birth by the mother, and the rules of evidence adhered to in court, allowed the father of the child to evade his role and avoid his responsibilities. The legislation that equated infant murder with the murder of an adult was not amended in the latter half of nineteenth-century Ireland. Yet numerous cases undermined the law that dictated that a woman found guilty of murdering her infant offspring would be ‘hanged by the neck until dead’. The difficulties in proving live-birth and cause of death, the severe punishment for a guilty verdict, and the assumption that a

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woman had been motivated by her marital status, economic position or mental condition contributed to the sympathetic attitude and ensured that the vast majority of suspects would be acquitted or charged with a lesser offence than murder. Only twenty-nine women were confronted with the real possibility of facing the penalty of death for the crime of killing their infants in this period. In most cases, however, the juries who returned the guilty verdicts and the judges who passed the sentences of death recommended the prisoners to mercy. The administrators in Dublin Castle, by commuting each of the capital sentences passed on these twenty-nine women, similarly indicated their view that an act of infant murder did not warrant the severe penalty of capital punishment. Outside Ireland, the murder of infants was gradually being perceived as a different crime to the murder of an adult. The written responses of foreign representatives to the Capital Punishment Commission in 1865 reveal that changing attitudes towards infant murder and capital punishment in general were having an effect on legislature. Tuscany, Nassau, Anhalt, Oldenburg, the United States of Columbia and the state of Wisconsin had abolished the death penalty for all murder offences by this time. Holland, Bavaria and a number of Swiss Cantons were among those districts whose laws specifically distinguished infanticide (with varying definitions) from general murder and did not punish the former with the death penalty.11 After 1867, the murder of a newborn by her or his mother was not a capital offence in Belgium,12 while French law abolished the death penalty for infant murder in 1901.13 In 1922, the Infanticide Act was introduced in Britain.14 As a result of Independence, however, infant murder by a mother in Ireland was not legally distinguished from the murder of an adult until 1949. Despite the delayed implementation of this law in comparison with other countries and regions, infant murder had not been capitally punished in Ireland for more than a century. The Danish responses to the Capital Punishment Commission revealed that in Denmark, the convict found guilty of the murder of a newborn immediately after birth was ‘often set at liberty after a space of six or eight years’.15 The crime of infanticide was punished in Argentina after 1887 by a custodial sentence ranging from three to six years.16 In practice, women found guilty of the murder of their infants in Ireland also served terms of imprisonment after the end of transportation in 1853. The decision in 1886 to release all of the women in prison who

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had been found guilty of infant murder after they had served periods of between five and seven years was a reflection of changing attitudes towards the crime. This decision, by establishing a rough precedent, directly impacted on the length of time served by women convicted of infant murder after this date. Only two women imprisoned between 1886 and 1900 for the crime served more than five years in prison. Practices in Ireland after 1886, therefore, mirrored those enforced by official policy in other jurisdictions. Women accused of infant murder or concealment of birth in the latter half of the nineteenth century were treated leniently by the men of the Irish courts, the administrators in Dublin Castle and those involved in the prison system. They were also generally pitied by the press and portrayed as desperate figures who deserved public sympathy. In some cases, it is possible that the women did not realise that they were pregnant. Arnot points to the likelihood that ‘in Victorian England, some women – especially young women – would not have actually had the physiological understanding to know that they were pregnant and may well have proceeded through a whole pregnancy without full knowledge of what was going on’.17 It would, however, be unwise to accept unquestionably the common nineteenth-century notion that the women suspected of infant murder or concealment of birth were all naive, helpless and defenceless women. This limited view of suspects as objects of mercy ignores the reality that infant murder was a choice, even if that choice was consciously or unconsciously made in limited circumstances. A large percentage of suspects made the decision to murder their infants or conceal the tiny bodies of their offspring in an effort to protect their livelihoods, economic resources or reputations. This is not to suggest that the decision was always premeditated or lightly undertaken. The complex thought process that resulted in the decision not to raise a baby and the subsequent psychological effects cannot be inferred from surviving court documents and prison files. Nonetheless, it is clear from the evidence that many of these women were ‘rational actors’18 rather than naive and helpless victims. The view of women as seduced maidens also serves to ignore sexual relations in post-Famine Ireland. It cannot be assumed that the sexual episode that led to pregnancy and subsequently the birth and death of a child was the sole sexual experience for the vast majority of women

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accused of infant murder or concealment of birth. Suspect Johanna O’Shea admitted that she ‘never dream[ed] I would have a child this last time as I was really as bad as ever. I always go with every boy and let them to catch me and do the same crime.’19 It would, however, be similarly imprudent to regard women accused of infant murder or concealment of birth as feminists who publicly and actively engaged in sex outside marriage, and subsequently rejected motherhood. Mary Hartman has likewise dismissed the idea that murdering women in France and England ‘were social rebels, even proto-feminists, using murderous schemes to challenge outmoded codes of behaviour’.20 Women who murdered infants did not challenge gendered stereotypes about sex outside wedlock or contemporary attitudes to illegitimacy and single motherhood. In reality, by murdering or by concealing the birth of her illegitimate infant, a woman who had participated in a premarital or extramarital affair illustrated that she conformed to the general opinion that pregnancy should take place within marriage. She did not attempt to change society’s views or challenge the constraints imposed on unmarried women in Ireland, but instead sought to conceal the evidence that she had broken those boundaries in the first place. Her crime was not an attempt to stand out but was instead an endeavour to fit society’s expectations. Some of the women whose lives can be traced after court or prison married and reproduced. For example, the three women found guilty of murdering their infant offspring and transported from Ireland submitted applications for permission to marry within three years of their arrival in Van Diemen’s Land.21 This evidence proves that the infant murder or concealment of birth was not an attempt to challenge convention or a rebellion against motherhood. Women accused of infant murder or concealment of birth were not ahead of their time but were firmly positioned in the historical and cultural context of nineteenth-century Ireland.

Notes 1 2

See D’Cruze, Crimes of Outrage, p. 50. NAI, Crown files for County Limerick, 1897, deposition of Thomas Flood, 31 May 1897.

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3

Leonora Irwin, ‘Women convicts from Dublin, 1836–40’, in Bob Reece (ed.), Irish Convicts: The Origins of Convicts Transported to Australia (Dublin, 1989), p. 162. 4 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, Eliza Browne to Dublin Castle, 18 May 1886. 5 Ferriter, Occasions of Sin, p. 127; Guilbride, ‘Mad or bad?’, p. 90; Maguire, Precarious Childhood, p. 197; Rattigan, ‘ “I thought from her appearance” ’, 137; Rattigan, ‘What Else Could I do?’, pp. 208–18; Ryan, Gender, Identity and the Irish Press, p. 275; Smith, Ireland’s Magdalen Laundries, pp. 63–6, 195–200. 6 Ann Daly, ‘ “Veiled obscenity”: contraception and the Dublin Medical Press, 1850–1900’, in Farrell (ed.), ‘She Said She was in the Family Way’, pp 15–33. 7 Luddy, Matters of Deceit, pp. 10, 18. 8 Ferriter, Occasions of Sin, pp. 36–7. 9 NAI, Miscellaneous Criminal Files, 1862 1888, Charles Bourke to Lord Aberdeen, 1 July 1886. 10 Freeman’s Journal, 1 October 1852. 11 Report of Capital Punishment Commission, 475–584 [3590], H.C. 1866, xxi, 527–636. 12 René Leboutte, ‘Offense against family order: infanticide in Belgium from the fifteenth through the early twentieth centuries’, in John C. Fout (ed.), Forbidden History: The State, Society, and the Regulation of Sexuality in Modern Europe (Chicago and London, 1990), p. 31. 13 Fuchs, Poor and Pregnant, p. 203. 14 See Tony Ward, ‘The sad subject of infanticide: law, medicine and child murder, 1860–1938’, Social and Legal Studies, viii (1999), 163–180. 15 Report of Capital Punishment Commission, 562, [3590], H.C. 1866, xxi, 614. 16 Ruggiero, ‘Honor, maternity, and the disciplining of women’, 354–5. 17 Arnot, ‘Understanding women committing newborn child murder’, p. 61. 18 Gartner and McCarthy, ‘Killing one’s children’, pp. 91–114. 19 NAI, Crown files for County Westmeath, 1882–95, statement of Johanna Shea, 13 May 1895. 20 Mary S. Hartman, Victorian Murderesses: A True History of Thirteen Respectable French and English Women Accused of Unspeakable Crimes (London, 1977), p. 255. 21 AOT, Registers of applications for permission to marry, 1834–57, Con. 52/2, cases of Mary Brown, Ellen Curly and Bridget Mann. See also Davis, ‘ “Unfit to die” ’, pp. 22–32, 41–2.

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Index

Note: page numbers in italic refer to illustrations Note: ‘n.’ after a page reference indicates the number of a note on that page

abandonment 22, 23–4, 36, 92–5, 217, 250 abortifacient 21, 151, 188 abortion 18, 22, 24, 54 Abraham, George Whitley 102 accomplice 13–14, 20, 36–7, 55, 62–3, 86, 120, 121, 160, 164–5, 166, 186–8, 248 adoption 34 Adoption Act (1952) 34 alcohol 1, 143, 152, 163, 195 alcoholism 234, 235 analytical chemist 138 Andrews, William 78, 145, 148, 149 arrest 21, 27, 28, 29, 30, 36, 37, 72, 77, 83, 84, 91, 93, 103, 108, 109, 121, 122, 135–6, 138, 159, 160, 162, 169, 217, 236 caution 135–6, 160 statement 21, 27, 28, 30, 36, 37, 83, 91, 93, 103, 108, 109, 135–6, 162, 217, 218 arson 211 assault 27, 106, 148, 156, 169 Aylward, Annie 228, 232, 239

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baby-farming 35, 76, 240–1n.21 Baines, Mary Ann 76 baptism 24, 26, 187 Barry, Kate 54–5 Belfast News-Letter 179 Berry, Elizabeth 212 Board of Guardians 28, 110, 192 Boyd, Ann 86 Boyd, Jane 86 Breach of promise of marriage 27, 76, 249 breastfeeding 96, 98, 187–8 Brennan, Mary 232, 243–4n.103 Browne, Eliza 228, 249 Browne, Mary 216, 253 burial 13, 25, 50, 51, 83, 86, 135 insurance 188–9 Burke, Kate 88 Burke, Margaret 96 Burke, Thomas Henry 221 Byrne, Elizabeth 122 Byrne, Hannah 109 Byrne, Kate 188 Cafferky, Catherine 90–1, 237 Cafferky, Mary 90–1, 237, 239 Cahill, Esther 28

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Campbell, Anne 126 Capital Punishment Commission 17, 26, 78, 79, 157, 251 Carpenter, Mary 85 Carroll, Ellen 102 Catholicism 23–4 cause of death beating 30, 135, 198, 200, 213–14 burning 14, 25, 30 drowning 14, 25, 57, 103, 190, 224, 229 neglect at birth 25, 58, 59, 63, 65 poison 14, 25, 30–1, 99, 188, 211 scalding 100, 184, 188 starvation 25, 86, 200 strangulation 25, 61–2, 65–6, 98, 167, 217 suffocation 1, 14, 25, 62–3, 64, 85, 90 Carland, Jane 182, 211–12 Cavanagh, Ellen 96 censorship 180–1 Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum (Ireland) Act (1845) 104 changeling 30–1 child abuse 16, 25, 29, 50, 59, 86, 169, 186–7, 188, 213–14 childbirth 7, 13, 25, 32–4, 53–4, 61–4, 84, 73–4, 80, 86, 96, 100, 137, 150–1, 152, 155, 229, 247 denial 124–5, 126, 129, 146 signs 25, 33–4, 126, 127, 136–7, 141 child-minding 34–5 child-stealing 101 Cleary, Bridget 30 Clelland, Sarah 60–1 clergy 93, 107, 127, 128, 167–8, 176n.176, 214, 216, 219, 224, 226, 228–9, 230, 249 Collum, John 24 Connolly, Bridget 37, 89 Connolly, Catherine 213, 216 Connors, Mary 105, 106–7

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Contagious Diseases Acts 136 contraception 21–2, 249 Corcoran, Mary 95 Cork Examiner 179 coroner 17, 49, 51, 186 attitude towards 51–2 duties 49 Coroners (Ireland) Act (1846) 67n.7 Coroners (Ireland) Act (1881) 68n.19 Cotter, James 192–3 Criminal Lunatics Act (1884) 104 Crowley, Minnie 95–6, 108–9 Curly, Ellen 216–19, 220, 242n.55, 253 Curran, Mary 64 Cuthbert, Sarah 121, 124–5, 129, 130, 131, 160, 165, 166 Darby, Mary 208, 210, 213–14, 216, 228, 232 Davey, Ellen 102–3, 220, 232–3 Dawley, Catherine see Hennessy, Catherine deformity 30, 151 Dermott, Jane 92 Directors of Convict Prisons 221 Discharged Prisoners Aid Society 228, 232, 249 domestic abuse 150, 181, 234 domestic service 13, 19, 31–4, 38, 72, 73–4, 84, 93, 94, 102, 156–65, 187, 226, 228 Dorey, Bridget 193–7 Dorey, Joseph 193–7 Dorey, Mary 193–7 Doyle, Catherine 88 Drennan, Bridget 96, 104–5 Drennan, Eliza 16, 104 drunkenness 144, 152–3, 157 Duffy, Bridget alias Kate Reilly 90 Dunn, Eliza 88 Dunne, Patrick 213

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Early, Ellen 250 education 24, 38, 238 Eivers, Elizabeth 229 emigration 10n.19, 17, 18, 28, 87–8, 148, 223, 225, 226–7, 228, 231–7, 239, 244n.106, 249 see also transportation epilepsy 98, 234 Evans, Elizabeth 121, 131–57, 165 Evans, John Thomas 131–57, 166 execution 202–3, 210, 211–13, 214–16, 240-1n.21 see also sentence, death

Hagan, Sally 121, 125–9, 130, 131, 156, 165, 166, 167 Halloran, Margaret 232 Hancock, Neilson 212 Hannon, Margaret 64 Healy, Bridget 78, 185, 237 Healy, Ellen 186–8 Healy, Hanorah 186–8 Heart of Midlothian 202–3 Hennessy, Catherine 216–19 Howard, Anne 135 Hue and Cry 121, 122 Hunter, William 52–3, 60

Farrell, Margaret 92 father 26, 37, 96, 100, 185–6, 224, 234, 239 murder by 3, 30, 191–7 see also paternity Ferguson, Elizabeth 89–90 Fitzgerald, Ellen see Curly, Ellen Fitzpatrick, Bridget 77 Floody, Rose 85 foundling hospital 34, 50 Fullen, Mary 88

illegitimacy 2, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 26–7, 29–30, 75, 78–9, 126, 157, 184, 186, 191–2, 225, 230, 236–7, 249, 250, 253 incest 29 industrial school 239 Infanticide Act (1922) 251 Infanticide Act (1949) 2–3, 110–11, 251 infanticide outside Ireland Argentina 251 Australia 35 Belgium 18, 251 Canada 29, 38, 67, 78, 80, 88, 230 Denmark 251 England 18, 21, 32, 33, 35, 38, 49–50, 54, 60, 75, 80, 84, 88, 113, 130, 136, 140, 179–80, 191, 197–202, 204, 212, 221–2, 231, 240n.12, 242n.69, 252, 253 France 18, 22–23, 80, 253 Germany 19, 23–4, 25 New Zealand 77, 180 Scotland 18, 23, 25, 80, 113n.52, 127, 130, 240-1n.21 Wales 17, 18, 21, 23, 25, 42n. 65, 240-1n.21

Gallagher, Elizabeth 72, 135, 156 Gavan, Catherine 190–1 General Prisons Board 229, 230, 232, 236, 250 Gilmore, Samuel 31 Gladstone, William 203 Glennan, Anne 82 Gogarty, Mary 82 grand jury 73, 79, 145, 180 Griffin, Gerald 194 Guerin, Kate 248 Guihen, Catherine see Wynn, Catherine

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inquest 17, 48–53, 57–9, 60, 64, 65, 66, 86, 99–100, 126, 130, 135, 152, 159, 168, 179, 180–1, 186–7, 195, 248 attendance 51, 142, 248 cost 49 decision to hold 48, 54 jury 49, 51–3, 55, 60, 66, 195 verdict 14, 25, 49–50, 51–2, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 135, 159, 179 witness 49, 52–53, 55, 56–7, 58–9, 60, 61, 62, 65, 77, 86, 99, 127–8, 130, 152, 168, 186–7 see also post-mortem examination infant mortality 14, 22, 78 insanity 5, 6, 74, 95–109, 184–6, 192–3, 201–2, 204, 219–20 Central Criminal Lunatic Asylum 104, 105, 106, 107, 108 release 103–7 Cork District Lunatic Asylum 108 release 109 cure 103–5, 106–7, 108–9 dementia 108–9 Lancaster County Lunatic Asylum 234 law 103–4 lunatic asylum 103–4, 105, 106, 107, 219–20 Office of Lunatic Asylums 96 Prestwich Lunatic Asylum 234 puerperal 95, 96, 97–100, 104–5, 219–20 Sligo District Lunatic Asylum 107 stigma 108 symptoms 97, 98, 99, 101, 102–3, 105–6, 107–8 verdict 74, 75, 95–7, 102–4, 105, 107–9 weak-mindedness 95, 96, 102, 152, 193 Irvine, Jane 83–4, 182

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Jäger, Christian Friedrich, 59 Johnston, Eliza 135–6 Johnston, Elizabeth 96, 100 Johnston, Margaret 98–100 Joyce, Bridget 48–9 Joyce, Margaret 27 Juno, Eloise 203 Kavanagh, Catherine 88 Kavanagh, Hannah 210, 212 Kaye, William S. B. 3, 154, 230 Keany, Rose 182 Keegan, Bridget 37, 64–5, 96 Kelly, Kate alias Keogh 232, 239 Kent, Constance 167–8 Keogh, Bridget 213, 216 Keogh, Kate see Kelly, Kate lactation 74, 96, 128, 131, 136, 141 see also breastfeeding Lankester, Edwin 14, 200 larceny 238, 239 Lawrence, Ann 212 Lees, Catherine 72, 73–4 loss of earnings 28 lunatic asylum see insanity Lunatic Asylums (Ireland) Act (1875) 103 MacCann, Hamish 203 McCarthy, Mary 96, 163 McDowell, Jane 184, 185, 226–7, 237 McGinley, Ellen 120 McGoorty, Julia 87 McGrath, Anne alias Ross 121 McGrath, Kate 29 McIvor, Charlotte 181 Madden, Anne 219, 220, 225–6 Magan, Elizabeth alias Nowlan alias Carty 94–5 Magdalen asylum 4, 89, 249 Maguire, Mary 107–8

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Maher, Anne 34–5 Mahon, Thomas (Tom) 27 ‘Manchester martyrs’ 202 Mann, Bridget 210, 216, 253 marriage 19, 27–8, 29, 30, 92, 98, 126, 133, 135, 139, 164, 219, 234, 237, 239, 253 separation 28, 89, 148, 213, 219, 234, 242n.55 Masset, Louise 212 McKenna, Minnie 126 medical examination 90, 136–7, 138, 156, 159–60, 167, 248 refusal to complete 137–8 refusal to undergo 136–7, 138, 160 Meehan, Mary 13, 23–31, 36 Meehan, Patrick 36 menstruation 27, 33, 124, 130 midwife 30, 48, 58, 154, 182, 200 Mills, Anne Jane 182, 220 miscarriage 24, 86, 127–8 see also abortion; abortifacient; stillbirth Moloney, Anne 238 Moloney, Johanna 33 Moore, Catherine 213 Moore, Jane 26 motherhood 14, 17, 23, 26, 28, 32, 34–5, 36, 38, 96, 98, 185, 186, 187–9, 195–6, 201–2, 222, 225, 250, 253 stepmother 187 Mulhall, Lizzie 168 murder (not of infant) 2, 3, 4, 16, 19, 20, 78, 100, 110, 145, 179, 192–7, 202, 210–11, 213, 214, 215, 216, 230, 251 threat 139, 213 Murphy, Anne 189 Murphy, Margaret 226, 238 Murphy, Mary 72 Murphy, Mary alias Bridget Moloney alias Keyes 109

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Murray, Anne see Ruddy, Mary Neenan, Kate 91 neglect see child abuse or cause of death, neglect at birth Neill, Anne 189–90 newspaper 178–204, 252 headline 28, 181, 182, 184, 190, 194, 247 proprietor 214 reporter 76, 99, 180, 181–2, 183, 184–5, 186–7, 189–90, 191–7, 202, 203, 205n.13, sensationalism 181, 184–6, 193–7, 199–200 NSPCC see Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children O’Brien, Alice 28 O’Connor, Maggie 121, 157–65, 166 O’Donnell, Bridget 26, 63–4 Offences Against the Person Act (1829) 81–2 Offences Against the Person Act (1861) 2, 82–3, 89, 94, 211 O’Shea, Johanna 72, 253 paper tax 179 paternity 18, 27, 28, 29, 38, 75–7, 92, 93, 128, 129, 131, 163, 166, 167, 183, 185–6, 217, 218, 220, 250, 253 denial 18, 28, 96, 166 maintenance 27, 92, 250 physiognomy 190 Pine, Arthur 191–2 police 5–6, 16, 20, 37, 110, 121–2, 135, 136, 137, 141, 166, 187, 194, 226, 236, 248 award 155, 166–7 Dublin Metropolitan Police 15, 16, 17, 55, 74

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Police (continued) investigation 36, 48, 58, 64–5, 83, 120, 121–3, 124–5, 128, 130, 131, 134–5, 136, 138, 139, 145–6, 155, 158–60, 161, 166, 168–9, 186, 194, 217, 248 Liverpool City 235–6 Manchester City 235 Royal Irish Constabulary 15, 16, 135, 155, 166 tip-off 58, 120, 121–2, 128–9, 130, 134, 144–5, 156, 159, 160–1, 166–7, 168 poorhouse Govan 235 see also workhouse Poor Law Act (1838) 28 post-mortem examination 49, 53, 55, 56, 57–60, 61, 65, 84, 85, 90, 152, 154, 188, 213–14, 248 hydrostatic lung test 59–60, 154 Power, Bridget 1–2, 34, 162 pregnancy 7, 19, 20, 23, 24, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 34, 36, 53–4, 61, 74, 86, 95, 127, 129, 130, 131, 140–1, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168–9, 247–9, 252 denial 124, 128, 224 ignorance 61, 252 rumour 120, 122, 124, 128, 131, 140–1, 159–60, 161–2, 167, 169, 247–8 signs 27, 28, 32, 130, 137, 140–1, 161–2, 165–6 premature birth 54, 86, 98, 99, 126 Press Association 179 prison 72, 81, 83, 85, 86, 87–8, 89, 90, 94, 95, 102, 103, 104, 107, 108, 110, 147, 148, 149, 150, 153, 157, 174n.97, 187, 202, 210, 219–39, 248 Armagh 137, 139, 141, 142, 145, 149, 154 assault 196, 207n.93, 239

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Cork 203 death 219 Grangegorman 219, 228, 234, 235 gratuity 232 hospital 223, 224, 239 letters 224–5, 238 Mountjoy 219, 226, 238 Omagh 214 punishment 238 release 150, 210, 221–32, 233–4, 235, 236–7, 243-4n.103, 244n.106, 248, 251–2 Sligo 100, 107 staff 100, 102, 138, 141, 154, 182, 214 van 191 Pritchard, Mary Ellen 232, 238–9 proselytising 24 prostitution 35, 136, 145, 147, 157, 174n.97, 230 rape 29, 31, 107 refuge 88–9, 230, 249 see also Discharged Prisoners Aid Society Reilly, Kate see Duffy, Bridget Reilly, Mary Ann 109 reward 122, 123 Rice, Sarah 163 Roach, John 16 Robinson, Catherine 233–5, 238, 239 Rogers, Anne 163 Roscoe, Henry 84 Royal Irish Regiment 192 Ruddy, Mary alias Murray, Anne 222–4, 227–8 Russell, Mary 223–4, 237, 238, 239 Russell, Margaret 85 Rutledge, Jane 100–1 Ryan, Margaret 28, 137 Ryan, Mary 77, 136 Ryan, Michael 193 Ryan, William Burke 199

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Sadlier, Ellen 96 Scott, Walter 202–3 Scully, Mary 21 Seery, Anne Jane 91 sentence 110 caution 236 commutation 210–16, 218, 219–23, 224, 225–31, 235, 238, 242n.69, 243-4n.103, 248–9, 250–1 concealment of birth 84–6, 87–8, 108, 148–50 death 3, 6, 74, 77–8, 79, 102, 103, 109, 110, 182, 210–16, 218, 219–21, 225, 238, 247, 250–1 desertion 94, 95, 110 fine 90, 157, 170 lunatic asylum 104, 107, 108 manslaughter 90–1, 229 refuge 88–9 stabbing 148 vagrancy 147 see also transportation separate existence 65–6 sex 31, 148, 163–4, 180, 183–4, 201–2, 211, 249, 250–3 abuse 32, 163, 181 outside marriage 7, 18, 22, 26, 139–40, 147–8, 150, 157, 162–4, 165–6, 183–4, 186, 201–2, 211, 247, 249–50, 252–3 Shanny, Mary 159, 162, 164 Shanny, Patrick 157–165, 166 Sheil, Lawrence 213 Sheil, Margaret 213, 214 Simpson, Harry 77–8 Simpson, Mary Jane 96 Sisters of Charity 89 Skelly, Catherine 189, 219, 227–8 slander 169–70 Slavin, Margaret 232, 233 Smith, Eliza 235–6, 239 Smyly, Ellen 34–5

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Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children 22, 40n.47, 169 Stackpoole, Bridget 213 Stackpoole, Honora 213 Stackpoole, James 213 stamp tax 179, 200 Staunton, Christopher 48–9 Stephen, James Fitzjames 78 stillbirth 24, 53–9, 65, 67, 72, 84, 85, 88, 126, 127–8, 135 suicide 14–15, 26, 76, 95, 97, 100, 102, 103, 181, 184 theatre 203 Gaiety 203 ticket-of-leave 230, 235–6, 237 Tiernan, Jane 26, 76 transportation 4, 5, 6, 21, 104, 210, 216–18, 219, 227, 238, 251, 253 trial 5, 7, 29, 30, 66, 72, 73–4, 77–9, 86–7, 88, 91, 97, 100, 103, 108, 126, 142, 144, 151–2, 156–7, 164, 168, 179–81, 188, 189, 190, 196–7, 198, 203–4, 211–12, 218, 220, 222, 224, 240n.2, 249 attendance 141, 142, 148, 181 judge 28, 31, 34, 73, 74, 75, 77, 78–9, 82, 83–9, 90, 91, 94, 97, 101–2, 110, 145, 148, 150, 164, 168, 169, 170, 180, 181, 182, 188, 189–90, 211–12, 215–16, 218, 220, 222, 224, 225 jury 73–4, 75, 77–9, 81, 82, 83–4, 85, 88, 91, 100, 110, 150, 165, 182, 214, 215–16 plea 83, 84, 86, 88, 89, 94, 95, 104, 107–8, 110, 145, 218 verdict 74, 75, 78–9, 82, 83–4, 88, 89, 90, 91, 100, 102, 103, 107, 108, 110–11, 148, 150, 157, 165, 182, 189–90, 210, 215, 216, 218, 220, 224, 229, 237, 251

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trial (continued) witness 17, 26, 27, 29, 49, 64, 72–3, 83, 86, 90, 99–101, 103, 120, 128, 130, 135, 140–2, 145–8, 151–3, 155–6, 160, 167–9, 186–7, 197, 222, 237, 248 Trial of Lunatics Act (1883) 103 tuberculosis 235 United Trades Congress 77 vagrancy 147, 157 Wadge, Selina 212 Winn, J. M. 97 workhouse 4, 34, 92, 93, 192, 201–2

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abandonment at 92, 93, 201–2, 250 Ballinasloe 167–8 Ballymahon 58 childcare 34 clothing 103 Cork 219 Dublin (South) 16 Limerick 29 Mallow 192 Mitchelstown 192 staff 29, 102 Tipperary 102–3 Tuam 237 van 48 Wynn (Guihen), Catherine 100, 184–6 Wynter, Andrew 14

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