Gentlemen Rogues and Wicked Ladies
A Guide to British Highwaymen & Highwaywomen
Fiona McDonald
History Press 2020
Pb, 224pp, £10.99, ISBN 9780750994675
Though discussing a fascinating topic where historical evidence and romantic myth-making battle to create a stereotype owing considerably more to the latter than the former, this book only offers an entry-level survey of the material. First published in 2012, it consists of short biographies of the criminals in question with details drawn largely from the Newgate Calendar, proceedings from the Old Bailey and contemporary pamphlets. The introduction mentions these documents but as the individual accounts offer no reference to specific sources, the reader cannot judge how the narratives might be shaped by the nature of the original records.
Fair enough; this is not an academic work, but even as light reading it rambles from one (very) brief life to another, alphabetically rather than chronologically, revealing an inevitable list of similarities. The two main variants involve rich boys who go wrong or poor lads attracted to an easy life of ready money. They fall in with a bad crowd, often engaging in housebreaking en route to a career on the highway. The worst ones rape, maim and kill, while more sympathetic examples display a degree of panache and consideration.
Among anecdotal episodes reading as though concocted by pamphleteers (or perpetrators who lingered long enough to write their own histories) interesting details of social history do emerge. Legitimate trades range from soldiering to becoming a grocer, soap-maker or “doctor of smoking chimneys” and things worth stealing include not just cash and jewels but shirts, mutton, butter and human hair (sold to a wig-maker.)
Time not on the road is usually spent in gambling, drinking and fraud, including Claude Duval’s convincing impersonation of an alchemist. Duval (1643–70) comes closest to the popular dashing ideal, who will dance with a lady as soon as rob her, while Dick Turpin emerges as a psychopathic bully.
Despite the title, female highwaypersons were rare, and the author admits that fact cannot be disentangled from legend in the career of Katherine Ferrers, the original Wicked Lady. Better documented is the life of petty thief Mary Bryce, recaptured after her escape from transportation to Botany Bay but eventually pardoned following a campaign by James Boswell; fascinating, especially her recent elevation to heroic status, but you might discover more from her Wikipedia entry.
Illustrations by the author are vague sketches from unnamed sources (Duval’s bizarre pose only making sense if you recognise the wholly idealised Victorian painting it derives from). And unless you count the odd final repentance, the sordid repetition of deaths on the gallows can’t even offer any happy endings to justify the jaunty authorial tone.
Gail-Nina Anderson
★★