From 'The Mary White', a novel based on the true story of a young girl in the 18th century who went on to save countless lives by building a rescue boat, the forerunner of today's modern crafts

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It is my first hanging. Whilst I am interested to discover what draws the huge crowds to a ‘collar day’, I particularly want to see an end to this gang of north Kent men, who have caused my Stephen so much heartbreak.

The road circles the town to the west and a few minutes later, the stark outline of six gallows at the Place of Execution is visible on the skyline. Papa turns to talk to Mama. “We have to leave the cart here, Mary. We must walk the last few furlongs.” I jump down and lead Princess to a tethering post. She whinnies when she sees the other horses and tosses her head.

“Quiet, Princess. You must wait here until it’s all over. I have a nosebag for you and here’s an apple.” My voice and the treat calm her and she allows me to tether her. Papa gathers up the reins and knots them loosely around the harness. He helps Mama down from the cart and then swings Johntee down, too. “Excited, John?” he says with a grin and a manly hug. In reply, my little brother grabs his mother’s hand and hides behind her skirts.

We join the surging crowd. I run ahead and walk with Thomas. “What happens, Tom?” I ask. My stomach flutters with nervous anticipation.

“The criminals will be led up onto the platform and will wait there, the nooses around their necks, until the hangman’s ready. He’ll take his time, mind. He’ll have demanded a tithe from the hawkers, who want to sell their wares before the show starts.” Thomas carries a basket in which Mama has prepared a ‘pique nique’. These French outdoor meals have become very fashionable. All around us, folk settle down on the frosty grass to enjoy cold ham, chicken joints and fruit tarts. Jugs of ale are passed around and ladies sip at contraband gin.

“This’ll do nicely,” says Mama, who is panting a little with the exertion of climbing the steep rise directly in front of the gallows. “Lay out the carpite, Mary, so we can sit down in comfort.” I do as she bids, taking the coarse thick cloth from the top of the basket and spreading it over the grass. She hands round roasted chicken wings and chunks of brown bread. Thomas passes ale to Papa, and Mama pours out thimbles of brandy for herself, Johntee and me. I sip the amber liquid which burns its way down my throat, and I wait for the warm glow in my stomach. It’s all most enjoyable.

There’s a roar from the crowd and I jump up to see the prisoners being led onto the platform. They are shackled and their hands are tied in front. “That’s so they can pray if they feel so inclined,” chortles Thomas. The hangman loops a noose around each neck and unties the shackles. “They won’t try to escape with the rope around their collars,” he adds. “They’ll throttle themselves if they do.” Papa and Mama laugh; the crowd jeers and applauds. Johntee disappears behind Mama again.

I watch the proceedings with horrid fascination. People near the platform throw rocks and rotten vegetables at the pitiful victims. Each man is given the chance to say a last word, and there is much laughter as one poor soul gabbles incoherently. “What’s he saying, Tom?” I ask.

“He’s talking nonsense, probably the result of too much ale!” He looks down at me. “Do you want to sit astride my shoulders, Mary? Can you see enough down there?”

I feel slightly sick. It could be because of the brandy or what is about to happen. shake my head and look down. Thomas takes my hand and squeezes it. “Don’t worry, it’ll soon be over. I remember my first hanging. It can be a little troublesome.”

There’s a resounding clatter as the boards beneath the victims’ feet drop. A huge cheer goes up as the six men are hanged. I thought it would all be over in seconds, but two of them continue to kick and scream. “What’s happening?” I shout in terror.

“Neck’s not broken,” Thomas mumbles. “Never fear, they’ll strangle all too quickly.” I watch the two men thrash, scream, gag, choke and vomit. I am overcome with the horror of it all. This could have been Stephen. This could have been me! I am aware my body is shaking uncontrollably, and tears are streaming down my face. I shout out in fear:

“Oh God, let them die! Why can’t you let them die?”

Thomas puts an arm around my shoulders, and I turn away from the dreadful scene. I bury my head into his coat and allow him to comfort me. He holds me tight and strokes my hair. “Hush, Mary. It’ll soon be over.”

It seems to go on forever but he’s right, it’s soon over. Within a few minutes, a final roar from the crowd goes up and I turn slowly around. The victims’ bodies are limp like the others and the six men hang by their necks, their heads lolling to the side. Men scramble onto the platform as the hangman cuts off pieces of the prisoners’ clothing. I see money changing hands. Pieces of the hanging rope are also in demand. “Souvenirs,” Thomas mutters as bewildered, I look up at him. “Amazing what some folk’ll give for a souvenir of a stretching.”

By Gillie Bowen

From: France

Website: http://www.gilliebowen.fr

Twitter: AmuseBoucheCook

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