Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
No one caught it yet? Hint. It is in Edward Dennis's background. That should be enough for a loyal reader to pick out.
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Hanged for Shoplifting, Being a True History of Mary Jones’ Sad Life and Death
- Thread starter Praefectus Praetorio
- Start date
fallenmystic
Tribune
I have refrained from discussing my reservation about D/s fantasies involving real people in detail because I deemed it could be unrespectful to you or other readers of this remarkable story. But as you asked me to elaborate on my position, I'll try my best to explain it without being too judgemental about those who may have a different opinion upon this matter.
Let me first make it clear that I have no problem with stories that depict a cruel death or sexual abuse of a real person in itself because, as unfortunate as it is, it would be delusional to believe things like that can never happen in real life.
Nor I have any problem with fantasizing about a person who consented to become a 'victim' of sexual abuse. That's why I don't have any qualms about reading historical accounts of most sickening atrocities or participating in a degrading roleplay with other people in a community like this.
But when it comes to drawing enjoyment from death, suffering, or even just humiliation of a real person who doesn't have any intention of participating in such a fantasy, that's where I have to draw my lines.
If I happen to become a victim of such a cruel fate, for example, I certainly wouldn't want anyone to treat my agonizing torment before death as mere entertainment. And if I had a wife or a daughter, I would be upset if someone fantasizes about them getting raped or sexually harassed when they didn't give consent.
As such, if my imaginary wife or daughter was actually raped, tortured, or killed, and if some person openly treats that tragic event as if it was just a BDSM novel written to gratify his or her sexual desires, I would be beyond furious.
It won't matter for me if those people do such a thing before or after my death. I simply wouldn't want anyone to treat such personal tragedy of myself or my family as mere entertainment, now or hundreds of years later.
So to finally answer your question, it is "no". I wouldn't enjoy reading a sexualized account of a real person who was burned at the stake during the Inquisition period, for the reason I stated above. And I wouldn't enjoy a story depicting how Boudica's daughters got raped in front of their mother, if it was written to convey erotic excitement rather than historical accounts.
Time may heal the deepest wounds in our mind, but the right to forgive and forget such injustice lies in the victim alone, not in anyone who wants to consume such suffering for one's entertainment. So my reservation against such stories wouldn't be affected if the victim lived a few hundreds of years before my time.
I know that it's a fine line, and maybe it's also quite an arbitrary one. For example, I feel uncomfortable with such fantasies based on history but without real-life victims, but I nevertheless enjoy reading them.
If someone would press me for an answer, how it would be so essentially different indulging in a Nazi-sexploitation story, for example, from enjoying a similar fantasy about execution or torture of real person, probably I won't be able to give a clear answer.
However, most of us who have such dark fantasies as mine have to draw a line somewhere (e.g. child abuse), if we are to reconcile ourselves with our morality.
So, it's just that I have chosen this particular place to draw my lines, and that's why I generally try to be careful in judging others using the same standard, since it's essentially a personal one.
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fallenmystic
Tribune
His mother may have been killed in an accident involving erotic asphyxiation? I imagined it could be the case from these lines:
It's a long shot but that's the only thing that I can think of
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Clearly and reasonably explained. I appreciate your honesty. I have some areas of overlap and some areas of disagreement.
My father loved to quote the Latin phrase, "De gustibus non est disputandum," which is freely translated into English as "There is no accounting for taste."
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Very good try, but not halfway there.
fallenmystic
Tribune
I'll probably write down in my will to make that as the epitaph in my tombstone, just in case someone might be shocked after browsing my hard drive after I die. And who wouldn't want a fancy Latin phrase on one's tombstone?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
BTW. Is Mary the first of my stories that you've read?
fallenmystic
Tribune
No, it was "Capital Punishment in Modern Singapore," if I recall correctly. I enjoyed it but somehow got distracted with other stuffs midway, so I decided to finish it later with a PDF version.
And I wouldn't feel too ashamed if they would find it on my drive after I die, because it would attest that I wasn't entirely incapable of admiring a story with a good style. I'm usually into a bit more extreme stuffs (minus execution. You still remember 'my' epitaph, right?
) but I can enjoy such well-written stories even though they don't exactly match my fetishes.
Migoz2
Senator
I must admit on reading Edward's background that I wondered why you were dropping hints and not explaining things that otherwise had no real need to be mentioned. Thanks for the prompt! All is now totally clear.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Harpier cries, “'Tis time, ’tis time.”
It's been a day and it's time for the reveal.
Migoz's comment seems to show he's figured it out, but I will make it explicit for the rest.
If you read carefully Edward Dennis's (a real person) background, you will put together that he was born in 1729 to a William and Rebecca living in the Seven Dials section of London. My "loyal readers" should recognize William Dodge and Rebecca Dodge née Godwyn of 27 St. Andrews Lane. When Edward was born, Rebecca would have been 24.
The "cheat" here, for those who still don't get it, is that this couple is a fictional invention of mine in my story Rebecca and the Bloody Codes. I did this cheat from a devious desire to tie, ever so delicately, the stories of Mary and Rebecca together. Both set in London, 50 years apart, revolving around unjust sentences of death for sweet young women.
However, Rebecca's is pure fiction, and Mary's is pure fact. Therefore, it is a "cheat" to have Edward as Rebecca's son. But it adds such a nice touch of irony to have Rebecca's child become a hangman and enact a scene eerily reminiscent of his mother's (unknown to him) story.
It's been a day and it's time for the reveal.
Migoz's comment seems to show he's figured it out, but I will make it explicit for the rest.
If you read carefully Edward Dennis's (a real person) background, you will put together that he was born in 1729 to a William and Rebecca living in the Seven Dials section of London. My "loyal readers" should recognize William Dodge and Rebecca Dodge née Godwyn of 27 St. Andrews Lane. When Edward was born, Rebecca would have been 24.
The "cheat" here, for those who still don't get it, is that this couple is a fictional invention of mine in my story Rebecca and the Bloody Codes. I did this cheat from a devious desire to tie, ever so delicately, the stories of Mary and Rebecca together. Both set in London, 50 years apart, revolving around unjust sentences of death for sweet young women.
However, Rebecca's is pure fiction, and Mary's is pure fact. Therefore, it is a "cheat" to have Edward as Rebecca's son. But it adds such a nice touch of irony to have Rebecca's child become a hangman and enact a scene eerily reminiscent of his mother's (unknown to him) story.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
October 16th 1771
Mary had slept for what seemed to her only a few minutes, when the goalers came around waking the condemned, about 6:00 AM, shortly before dawn. Simple, small meals were delivered – the concept of giving the condemned a special “last meal” had not yet formed.
Instructions for dress were given. Though many, such as Mary had few changes of clothes, strict guidelines were given. No shoes or stockings. Clothes were not, of course, to interfere in any way with the actual hanging. In addition, those removing the bodies afterward did not wish to deal with many elaborate garments. So, the prisoners were ordered to dress in only one layer, no undergarments, and no elaborate extras or stays. For Mary, complying was simple. She removed her few underclothes and just wore her plain, blue cotton dress, rather closely fitting on her waist and hips. After finishing the breakfast, Mary sat, holding Abby to her chest and hummed the child a soft lullaby.
All too soon, the goalers came, calling out the condemned for their last journey. There were five that morning slated to hang at Tyburn: Mary, James Allen, who had been convicted of stealing in a dwelling house and beating the owner almost to death, and the trio of William Penn, Richard Thompson and John Hogans, highway robbers, suspected of having killed several persons (not convicted of such since the witnesses were all dead).
The execution process began at around 7 o'clock in the morning when the condemned men and women would be led in fetters (handcuffs and leg-irons) into the Press Yard in Newgate. Here the blacksmith would remove the fetters.
Immerging from the blackness of the Condemned Hold into the bright morning sun, stumbling in the wrist- and leg-irons, Mary was temporarily blinded. When her eyes adjusted, she perceived the large company assembled for the journey to Tyburn. Two score men along with three horse-drawn carts were lined up by the gate. One, with chairs was for the officials accompanying the procession. The other two had coffins, for the condemned to sit upon. This was regarded as another salutary symbol to remind the prisoners of the wages of sin.
William Brunskill, leading the hangman’s assistants, who were known as the Yeomen of the Halter, went down the line, and placed the chosen rope (or halter, as it was known) round their necks, coiling the free end round their bodies. The noose was just a slip knot like the halter used on cattle and not the coiled type typically shown in films.
He came last to Mary. He held her lovely red-golden hair aside as he put the somewhat light rope chosen for her around her thin, delicate neck. The girl gave an involuntary shiver, feeling the Bridport hemp encircle her throat.
Leading the official company was the City Marshal, in a floor-length black robe and wearing a gold chain of office and carrying a silver-tipped stave. Assisting him was an Under-Marshal, by the name of Breaker(I) responsible for prisoners with a guard for each of the condemned. Also present was the Reverend John Wood, the Ordinary, the hangman, Edward Dennis, and his four Yeomen, including Brunskill. A two dozen mounted javelin men provided security.
The Rev. Wood came up to Mary and said a prayer for her. Just then, Breaker came with a guard to have her prepared. Her irons were removed and next they were to tie her arms. Mary begged them what to do with Abby. Wood hesitated for a moment and then said he’d hold her. Mary, tears streaming down her cheeks caressed her child for the last time, and then handed over her baby to the priest. The guards grabbed her arms and tied them behind her back with a cord above the elbows and another on her wrists.
Wood stood by her, talking to Abby and bouncing her, but she became more and more restless and cooed and reached for her mother. Mary recognized the sounds of hunger from the girl and felt her milk drop in response.
“Please, Sir,” she asked the guard. “May I feed my little one, the last time?”
The rough man laughed and ignored her. Even Wood’s entreaty failed to move him. Wood appealed to Breaker. On hearing the explanation, he expressed a lack of interest, but, with repeated appeals by Wood and the weeping Mary, he relented.
“We don’t untie a condemned, but we can bare her breasts and you can hold the babe, Reverend,” he said, and went off to finish his arrangements.
The guard drew his knife and turned to Mary. “Well, if I has to let you suckle the bastard, we might as well haves a show.” He sliced through both shoulders of the dress and ripped it down, forcefully. He didn’t stop when he got it below her magnificent breasts, but kept pulling below her midriff and even to her lovely deep navel.
The guards and javelin men hooted and cheered the display as Mary’s sexy young body was exposed to broad daylight. Not a few made rude and lewd comments on her spectacular mammaries.
John awkwardly held the baby to a breast and supported her head as she eagerly sucked at her mother’s sweet milk. Mary sighed with the pleasure of the sensation but also groaned at Abby’s strong attack on her nipple.
Soon all was prepared. Breaker checked that the clock on the wall was nearing 8:30, and ordered the prisoners loaded. The three highwaymen were placed in one cart and Mary and Allen, the housebreaker, into the other. John Wood climbed up beside her with Abby who went right back to feeding as if nothing were happening. At 8:30 on the nose, the City Marshal gave the order, the outside gates were opened, and the mournful procession left the prison to begin the three-mile journey to Tyburn.
The time might have seemed early to get to the gallows before noon, but due to streets often being crowded with onlookers, the journey could last close to three hours.
Bridport hemp - Bridport is a market town in Dorset, England, near the confluence of the River Brit and its tributary the Asker. Its origins are Saxon and it has a long history as a rope-making center.
Mary had slept for what seemed to her only a few minutes, when the goalers came around waking the condemned, about 6:00 AM, shortly before dawn. Simple, small meals were delivered – the concept of giving the condemned a special “last meal” had not yet formed.
Instructions for dress were given. Though many, such as Mary had few changes of clothes, strict guidelines were given. No shoes or stockings. Clothes were not, of course, to interfere in any way with the actual hanging. In addition, those removing the bodies afterward did not wish to deal with many elaborate garments. So, the prisoners were ordered to dress in only one layer, no undergarments, and no elaborate extras or stays. For Mary, complying was simple. She removed her few underclothes and just wore her plain, blue cotton dress, rather closely fitting on her waist and hips. After finishing the breakfast, Mary sat, holding Abby to her chest and hummed the child a soft lullaby.
All too soon, the goalers came, calling out the condemned for their last journey. There were five that morning slated to hang at Tyburn: Mary, James Allen, who had been convicted of stealing in a dwelling house and beating the owner almost to death, and the trio of William Penn, Richard Thompson and John Hogans, highway robbers, suspected of having killed several persons (not convicted of such since the witnesses were all dead).
The execution process began at around 7 o'clock in the morning when the condemned men and women would be led in fetters (handcuffs and leg-irons) into the Press Yard in Newgate. Here the blacksmith would remove the fetters.
Immerging from the blackness of the Condemned Hold into the bright morning sun, stumbling in the wrist- and leg-irons, Mary was temporarily blinded. When her eyes adjusted, she perceived the large company assembled for the journey to Tyburn. Two score men along with three horse-drawn carts were lined up by the gate. One, with chairs was for the officials accompanying the procession. The other two had coffins, for the condemned to sit upon. This was regarded as another salutary symbol to remind the prisoners of the wages of sin.
William Brunskill, leading the hangman’s assistants, who were known as the Yeomen of the Halter, went down the line, and placed the chosen rope (or halter, as it was known) round their necks, coiling the free end round their bodies. The noose was just a slip knot like the halter used on cattle and not the coiled type typically shown in films.
He came last to Mary. He held her lovely red-golden hair aside as he put the somewhat light rope chosen for her around her thin, delicate neck. The girl gave an involuntary shiver, feeling the Bridport hemp encircle her throat.
Leading the official company was the City Marshal, in a floor-length black robe and wearing a gold chain of office and carrying a silver-tipped stave. Assisting him was an Under-Marshal, by the name of Breaker(I) responsible for prisoners with a guard for each of the condemned. Also present was the Reverend John Wood, the Ordinary, the hangman, Edward Dennis, and his four Yeomen, including Brunskill. A two dozen mounted javelin men provided security.
The Rev. Wood came up to Mary and said a prayer for her. Just then, Breaker came with a guard to have her prepared. Her irons were removed and next they were to tie her arms. Mary begged them what to do with Abby. Wood hesitated for a moment and then said he’d hold her. Mary, tears streaming down her cheeks caressed her child for the last time, and then handed over her baby to the priest. The guards grabbed her arms and tied them behind her back with a cord above the elbows and another on her wrists.
Wood stood by her, talking to Abby and bouncing her, but she became more and more restless and cooed and reached for her mother. Mary recognized the sounds of hunger from the girl and felt her milk drop in response.
“Please, Sir,” she asked the guard. “May I feed my little one, the last time?”
The rough man laughed and ignored her. Even Wood’s entreaty failed to move him. Wood appealed to Breaker. On hearing the explanation, he expressed a lack of interest, but, with repeated appeals by Wood and the weeping Mary, he relented.
“We don’t untie a condemned, but we can bare her breasts and you can hold the babe, Reverend,” he said, and went off to finish his arrangements.
The guard drew his knife and turned to Mary. “Well, if I has to let you suckle the bastard, we might as well haves a show.” He sliced through both shoulders of the dress and ripped it down, forcefully. He didn’t stop when he got it below her magnificent breasts, but kept pulling below her midriff and even to her lovely deep navel.
The guards and javelin men hooted and cheered the display as Mary’s sexy young body was exposed to broad daylight. Not a few made rude and lewd comments on her spectacular mammaries.
John awkwardly held the baby to a breast and supported her head as she eagerly sucked at her mother’s sweet milk. Mary sighed with the pleasure of the sensation but also groaned at Abby’s strong attack on her nipple.
Soon all was prepared. Breaker checked that the clock on the wall was nearing 8:30, and ordered the prisoners loaded. The three highwaymen were placed in one cart and Mary and Allen, the housebreaker, into the other. John Wood climbed up beside her with Abby who went right back to feeding as if nothing were happening. At 8:30 on the nose, the City Marshal gave the order, the outside gates were opened, and the mournful procession left the prison to begin the three-mile journey to Tyburn.
The time might have seemed early to get to the gallows before noon, but due to streets often being crowded with onlookers, the journey could last close to three hours.
Bridport hemp - Bridport is a market town in Dorset, England, near the confluence of the River Brit and its tributary the Asker. Its origins are Saxon and it has a long history as a rope-making center.
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
if Edward had been born in 1724 there would have been doubts about fatherhood (given Rebecca's misadventure of 1723) ... but not about Edward's professional inclination.
Attachments
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
But perhaps you should have de mortuis nil nisi bonum
'(speak) nothing but good of the dead'
indeed, I remember playing Oranges and Lemons - and even being corrected when I sang 'bells of Old Ditch' -Even in Korea, children sing about the remarkable @Eulalia !
and feeling the thrill of excitement if I got the chop. Intimations of immorality?
twonines
LIMERICUS
The other nursery rhyme with grisly connotations is "Ring a Ring a Roses" The "Atishoo, Atishoo,all fall down " chorus is said to derive from people sneezing profusely before dying in the Great Plague.But perhaps you should have de mortuis nil nisi bonum
'(speak) nothing but good of the dead'
indeed, I remember playing Oranges and Lemons - and even being corrected when I sang 'bells of Old Ditch' -
and feeling the thrill of excitement if I got the chop. Intimations of immorality?
that's a firmly-held bit of mythology - there's no mention of it in any of the very detailed and lively accounts that exist of the Plague Year, notably Pepys and Defoe, or any trace of it until late Victorian times, and even in those, 'sneezing' words aren't connected with falling down. And parallels from America, Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, Netherlands, all very similar otherwise, end with the little girls sitting, bowing, curtseying, kneeling etc. - but not sneezing. Like many 'traditional' nursery rhymes and games, it probably 'jus growed' in many varying versions, but only took its 'traditional' form in Victorian or Edwardian nurseries, versions taught by nursemaids or the grown-ups.
Interesting. I’ve been told it was from the plague a numbers of times. FAKE NEWS turns up everywhere these days. CF is always educational!
'Oranges and Lemons' has a rather more definite antiquity, at least games of a similar kind, ending with head-chopping, are on record from the Tudor court (where art imitated life 
), the song about the London churches is on record (in various versions)- and similar ones from other towns from late 18th century, the connection with the 'chopping' game from the early 19th.
), the song about the London churches is on record (in various versions)- and similar ones from other towns from late 18th century, the connection with the 'chopping' game from the early 19th.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
No dispute of what you say, but it also appears likely that whenever it was composed and by whom, the resemblance to plague symptoms is uncanny and must be intentional. Red splotches around the face, A pouch (or pocket) of flower herbs (nosegay) said to ward away the "unhealthy vapors." Ashes, Ashes is even closer to the death rattle often described than simple sneezing.