We’ve already discussed here on the blog the strange link between beer and witchcraft. But the link becomes even more apparent through the tale of Camden’s Mother Red Cap.
The short version of the story is that Mother Red Cap lived in a small cottage in Camden Town. The spot where the house stood was “a wild, solitary, and altogether deserted one, with few roads, of evil repute”. This was the waste ground where London thieves and highwaymen hid, including Mary Frith, aka Moll Cutpurse (Doubleyew 1879: 514).
By all accounts, the men in Mother Red Cap’s life disappeared or died in mysterious circumstances. People both feared her as a witch and sought her out for her skills with herbs.
Eventually, one visitor turned up to her cottage that even Mother Red Cap couldn’t scare away—the Devil himself. He went in but never came out, and her neighbours found her dead by the fireplace the following day.
The cottage became a pub, and her name became synonymous with a London watering hole. But who was Mother Red Cap? Was she really a witch? And are any of the parts of the legend likely to be true? Let’s find out!
So Who Was Mother Red Cap?
The original house in Camden was built by Jacob Bingham, a bricklayer and pedlar. His wife was the daughter of a Scottish pedlar and considered a witch, “a teller of fortunes and worker of charms” (Doubleyew 1879: 514). The couple had one daughter, Jenny. She too was considered a witch and fortune-teller—and became Mother Red Cap.
While we don’t know the exact year of her birth, it seems Jenny Bingham was born during James I’s reign. That puts her birth between 1603 and 1625. It’s worth noting that Camden didn’t exist then as it does now, and London had not yet expanded northwards beyond the area known as St. Giles, or modern Covent Garden.
So far, so good. We have a real person and a location! But the stories grow wild from here.
The Mysterious Deaths around Mother Red Cap
If you believe the gossip, death followed Mother Red Cap from a young age. First seduced by a man named Colter at 16, she lived with him until the authorities executed him at Tyburn for sheep stealing (Doubleyew 1879: 514). Some stories claim she had a child with Colter, but this child disappears from the stories, which emphasises Mother Red Cap’s solitude.
Following the execution, Jenny replaced Colter with a drunkard named Darby. He suddenly disappeared and no one ever found out what happened to him (Doubleyew 1879: 514).
At this point, her parents were arrested for witchcraft, accused of causing a girl’s death. They were hung for the crime (Tate 1879: 4). Unfortunately, the accusation of witchcraft could and did often ‘stick’ to family members as well. If people didn’t like Jenny before, this gave them a reason to dislike her now.
A third partner arrived, called Pitcher. No one knew anything about him, except the fact his crouching body was discovered burnt in an oven. According to gossip, he often hid in the oven to avoid Jenny’s harsh tongue, and people believed his death may have been an accident. Thus, Jenny was acquitted (Doubleyew 1879: 514).
Another man ended up living with her after seeking shelter from his pursuers in her house. He offered money for her protection and got it. The man continued to live with her even after the danger passed. When he eventually died, her neighbours accused her of poisoning him. The inquest found no poison in his body so she walked free (Doubleyew 1879: 514).
Yet the run of mysterious disappearances and deaths continued. The next was of a young woman, and people blamed witchcraft. They accused Mother Red Cap, and both she and her husband were hung at Tyburn. It seems their old neighbours pelted them with rubbish on the way there.
Where did the witchcraft association come from?
It seems that Jenny found herself alone following her parents’ death. No one came to visit, and people shrank away from her. Locals taking walks in the area would throw stones at her house, running away when she came to the door. The gossip claimed she could be found at night, gathering roots and herbs from under hedges. Naturally, these were considered to be used in baneful witchcraft, since she collected them by night.
The fact that she might have gathered them by night to avoid nosy neighbours or bumping into mean former acquaintances seems to be overlooked! Her black cat was her only companion. Naturally, people assumed the cat must be a familiar.
No one knew how she earned a living, so people believed she must be up to something nefarious. The fact the same article describes how people sought her out for fortune-telling services goes some way to explaining how she earned a living. People even bought charms from her to heal their ailments. I bet those roots and herbs don’t look so scary now, eh?
Other people have claimed she “cast nativities, practised palmistry, compounded love philtres, and philtres for purposes quite opposite to those of love” (Ripon Observer 1891: 7). It sounds like she dabbled in astrology, as well as palmistry and potion-making.
Apparently, Mother Red Cap was considered “awfully ugly”, with a “hideous head, wrinkled and sallow, shaggy of brow, sunken and bleared of eye, hug of nose, wide of mouth, and sullen of look” (Doubleyew 1879: 514). She started wearing a red cap, hence her name. Some thought the black fabric patching her grey cloak took the shape of bats.
It seems somewhat churlish to immediately assume anyone that doesn’t meet arbitrary beauty standards must be a witch. But society’s obsession with people’s looks didn’t start with Instagram. And if you want to describe someone as a witch because they’re rude or you just don’t like them, pointing out their looks is a good way to get a reputation to stick.
The Devil Claims His Own?
As the story goes, the Devil turned up “in his proper person” (Doubleyew 1879: 514). Despite the isolation of her house, hundreds of people said they saw him enter. Yet no one saw him leave.
The following day, a couple of brave souls ventured into the cottage. I’m not sure why, or what they hoped to see. Apparently, they discovered Mother Red Cap, stiff with rigor mortis beside the fireplace. The story claims she was so stiff the undertaker had to break her limbs to get her into the coffin (Doubleyew 1879: 514).
The people who ventured in found a teapot full of herbs on the hob. For some unknown reason, they gave it to the black cat. Two hours later, the cat’s fur began to shed, and it died soon after. This, as far as they were concerned, was proof that Mother Red Cap was up to no good. The brew is described as both a potion and poison, so one way or another, the story seems to confirm her status as either a witch or a poisoner.
I’m sure you’ve already spotted the plot hole. How could this lonely old witch have died while entertaining the Devil…and also be hung alongside her husband at Tyburn?
The House Becomes a Tourist Attraction
Following her death, which is sometimes cited as being in 1676, her cottage became a sort of tourist attraction. People walked up to see it on Sundays from London. Eventually, someone realised there was money to be made, and started selling refreshments for those who’d made the journey. A sign appeared outside, featuring a portrait of Mother Red Cap in her infamous headwear.
In the middle of the 18th century, it was a double building. A small cottage with a sloping roof stood on one side. It’s likely this was the original house Jacob Bingham built. A larger building with a pointed roof clung to its side, with the swinging sign outside.
This larger building at one time was intended as a form of a mortuary. In 1776, the Home Secretary ordered that any criminals sentenced to death at the Old Bailey should be executed at the crossroads outside Mother Red Cap’s house. The intention was to stop crowds gathering, but the authorities continued to use Tyburn, and eventually, the order lapsed (Ripon Observer 1891: 7).
Even 10-year-old Charles Dickens was said to have visited the original building in 1822, fetching beer for his parents since they lived nearby (Ripon Observer 1891: 7). Keep in mind that some people say the old building was demolished in 1809, and others claim it was 1820, so we might have to bear this with a pinch of salt.
One pub was demolished in 1850, with another inn built in the 1870s. Eventually, the pub was renamed in 1985 and became the World’s End pub.
Did Mother Red Cap Exist Then?
Jenny Bingham existed. Whether or not she fulfilled the witch role bestowed on her as Mother Red Cap is another question. One thing that does make it a little more fuzzy is that other pubs bear the name of Mother Red Cap around the country. A character of the same name also appears in 19th-century pantomimes.
Jennifer Westwood and Jacqueline Simpson note the theory there was a later Mother Red Cap. She was just the inn’s hostess and was apparently noted for her good-quality ale. According to The Lore of the Land, a placard outside during the 19th century read:
Old Mother Redcap, according to her tale,
(2005: 462)
Lived twenty and a hundred years by drinking this good ale!
It was her meat, it was her drink, and medicine beside,
And if she still had drunk this ale, she never would have died.
Is it possible that this Mother Red Cap was simply a sanitised version of the original? Or did someone re-use the name in an example of early branding?
What do we make of Mother Red Cap?
The problem with the main legend is the variations. In one, Jenny apparently murders a series of men, but is then tripped up by killing a young woman. While she’s accused of burning alive one partner and poisoning the other, she’s suddenly accused of witchcraft for the woman. It’s also not specified how the young woman died, or what link she had with Mother Red Cap. In this version, she dies on the gallows.
In the other, she lives an isolated life, with little mention of male companions, and dies at the hands of the Devil. This version stresses her use of witchcraft to earn a living, but it doesn’t seem to include any actual deaths. It also has few identifying details.
The former seems more likely, but the latter makes the better story.
I can’t help thinking that the case with the burned husband gives us a key to this all. She’s already branded a shrew by this point, and considered to be quick with her tongue. Is it possible that history has simply been so cruel because she didn’t fit the socially acceptable role assigned to women? You decide.
Do you think Mother Red Cap was a murderess or misunderstood? Let me know below!
References
Dalkeith Advertiser (1935), ‘Mother Shipton and Mother Red Cap’, Dalkeith Advertiser, 7 March, p. 4.
Doubleyew, A. H. (1879), ‘The Old “Mother Redcap” in Camden Town’, Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, 9 August, p. 514.
Ripon Observer (1891), ‘Mother Red Cap, Camden Town’, Ripon Observer, 21 May, p. 7.
Tate, Matthew (1879), ‘Mother Red Cap’, Blyth News, 28 June, p. 4.
Westwood, Jennifer and Simpson, Jacqueline (2005), The Lore of the Land: A Guide to England’s Legends, London: Penguin.
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The one thing science can argue about in the tale of her death is that rigor mortis doesn’t last forever…it passes and leaves the body limp again, so you do not have to break limbs to fit into a coffin…in less this another v ariation on the tale of the ghoulish undertaker
off limbs to be able to use a smaller – and cheaper – coffin.. (H.P. Lovecraft wrote a story called “In The Crypt” that features this in a 19th century setting, but within the last 5 years an actual case occurred of juist this happening. https://www.thestar.com/news/world/2009/04/03/tall_man_was_cut_short_to_fit_his_coffin.html)
There was a Mother Redcap on the Wirral, in the eightennth century, I think, not regarded as a witch but a smuggler. I woonder if the Red Cap was associated with the French Revolution?