Edinburgh knows Burke and Hare almost too well. Their names have become part of the city’s folklore, sitting somewhere in the shadows of ghosts, graveyards and old closes. We have seen them in films, books, tourist attractions and even merchandise, while their names have even found their way into modern commercial life. Perhaps familiarity has made them almost harmless, but Andrew Johnston’s Fringe talk encourages us to think again about the real horror behind the legend.
Johnston keeps things moving, taking us back into an Edinburgh of poverty, whisky, pioneering medical science and crowded lodging houses. What emerges is not simply a story of two murderers, but a story of a city caught between rich and poor, church and anatomy, respectability and the underworld. This is the talk’s real strength: it turns familiar history into a sharper account of a city shaped by contradiction. The demand for bodies was real. Edinburgh was at the forefront of medical education and anatomical study, with advances in understanding disease and deformity.
Robert Knox, working from Surgeons’ Square, was one of the leading figures in this world. His lectures were popular, and his appetite for fresh bodies was considerable. His problem was supply. By the 1820s, grave robbing had become an industry, meaning churchyards were guarded by night watchmen and parishioners, while the trade in bodies extended beyond Edinburgh to Ireland. Yet the popular description of Burke and Hare as body snatchers is misleading. There is no convincing evidence that they ever robbed a grave. The reality is far more terrifying.
William Burke was born in County Tyrone and had served in the Donegal Militia before coming to Scotland, leaving behind a wife and family. He eventually became involved with Helen McDougal and settled in Edinburgh. Johnston presents Burke as a man who possessed some charm and popularity. William Hare is a different proposition, a nasty, violent and unpleasant character. Johnston admits that he found himself warming to Burke while regarding Hare as an altogether more sinister character during his research. It is an intriguing response because Burke’s charm does not make what follows any less appalling.
Drinking sits at the centre of the story. Whisky becomes the mechanism by which vulnerable people are made comfortable, trusting and eventually helpless. Their first body came from a natural death at Hare’s lodging house. They discovered that Knox would pay for a fresh corpse. A system develops and they begin to prowl for the vulnerable and the dying. Music, dancing, laughter and whisky create an atmosphere of conviviality before the mood changes. Suffocation becomes their method of killing and a new word enters the language: burking.
The supply chain connecting Edinburgh’s poorest inhabitants with one of its most ambitious medical establishments could hardly be darker. Johnston is particularly effective when he brings the victims back into view. Mary Paterson is one of the first names to puncture the anonymity of the story. Then there is James Wilson, known at the time as ‘Daft Jamie’, a harmless young man with intellectual and physical disabilities. He was familiar around Edinburgh, and his disappearance was noticed. Then comes Margaret Docherty. On Halloween, Johnston conjures drinking, music and merrymaking. The music soon gives way to murder, and the tenants become suspicious. They search the lodging house and discover Docherty’s body beneath the bed. The police become involved, and the full grim horror begins to unravel.
The precise number of victims remains uncertain. At least 16 are generally accepted, although Johnston suggests the true figure may have been higher. What is clear is that Burke and Hare had developed a system that depended upon the vulnerability and invisibility of their victims. Burke and Hare are arrested, but only Burke is eventually convicted, while Hare escapes prosecution by turning King’s evidence against his partner. It remains one of the most extraordinary elements of the case. Burke goes to the gallows while Hare, astonishingly, walks free.
The wives and partners add another layer of complexity. Helen McDougal, Burke’s partner, was never convicted but was pursued by an angry mob. Margaret Hare also escaped prosecution. The public thirst for justice did not necessarily distinguish between guilt and association. Then there is Dr Knox. Why was he never prosecuted? Knox didn’t order the murders, and there is no evidence that he knew beforehand what Burke and Hare were doing. But he failed to ask sufficient questions about where his suppliers were obtaining their bodies. Edinburgh’s anatomists were making important advances. But the pursuit of knowledge existed alongside a system in which poor and vulnerable people could become, in effect, bodies before they were seen as lives. Knox went from popular medical figure to folk devil.
The venue is a tight space; I found it hard to hear due to air conditioning but Johnston is an excellent story teller. His greatest achievement is that he does not simply tell us a story we already know. He makes us look again at the familiar streets of Edinburgh. Behind the folklore were real victims who had lived hard lives. We think we know Burke and Hare. After Andrew Johnston, you’ll think again.
Burke and Hare: Body Snatchers, Serial Killers, Ulstermen
Greenside @ Riddles Court, Edinburgh Fringe
11–23 August, 11.25am
Greenside @ Riddles Court, Edinburgh Fringe
11–23 August, 11.25am
