The Story of the Gnome Fly Part 2 - Introducing Signor Hervio Nano; Harvey Leach (1801-1847)

In late 1837, after almost eight years working exclusively on the continent, the American born performer Harvey Leach returned to England with a new identity, as the Neapolitan Signor Hervio Nano, and a sensational new act, the Gnome Fly. A notice of the previous night’s performance at the Adelphi in The Times of February 1st 1838 gives some idea of Leach’s extraordinary act:

A very curious performance was exhibited at this theatre last night. The plot of this, to use the phraseology of the 'Philologos’ of the theatre, Bizarre Flights of Fancy, is scarcely worth detailing. It consists in the loves of the rightful heir to the kingdom of Tartary and the heiress of the estates of the Great Mogul. The plot and the Incidents of the drama are all very good in their way; but they are all ancillary to the performance, and it may be justly said the most astonishing performance of a very astonishing personage, called Signor Hervio Nano, who enacts a baboon and a fly. To what order of animals or Insects this very strange gentleman belongs would puzzle the most recondite students of entomology to determine. He represents a baboon with such aptitude to nature that everybody would take him for a monkey If It were not that in a few minutes he is seen buzzing and fluttering across the stage in the shape of an enormous fly, and though innoxious in his transport, sufficiently alarming from his size to give terror to those by whom he is beholden. - In a word, Signor Hervio Nano performs some of the most astonishing feats ever exhibited within the walls of a theatre. He appears to fly from the stage to a lofty tower, with the celerity of an insect; he runs up places perfectly perpendicular; he climbs, without any apparent exertion, along the side of the theatre, gets into the upper circle in a moment, catches hold of the projection of the ornaments of the ceiling of the theatre, crosses to the opposite side, and descends along the vertical boarding of the proscenium. It is a most extraordinary performance, and if it creates a rather nervous sensation during its actual process, it affords a commensurate admiration at its termination. Signor Hervio Nano is the most extraordinary man in his way. It is difficult to describe a performance of this kind; it must be seen even to be understood. It will suffice to say that it deserves to be seen by all who are anxious to see something out, very much out, of the common way, and to encourage the uncommon in dramatic excellence. The performance was given out for repetition by Mr. Yates, amidst the loudest applause from a very crowded house.

So popular was the Gnome Fly that when Leach refused to take the stage at the Royal Theatre in Birmingham because of a dispute over £10 that he felt the management owed him, the audience took his side and there was a near riot. This is from Aris's Birmingham Gazette of Monday 8th October 1838;

A disgraceful riot took place at the Theatre in this town on Monday night last. It appears that a dispute had arisen between the Manager and Signor Hervio Nano, with reference to a pecuniary demand of the latter in a settlement which took place on Saturday. Hervio Nano at the time when his presence was required for his part on the stage, was seated in one of the boxes of the theatre, and on being applied to, in an audible voice refused to take his part until a settlement was made to his satisfaction. The Stage Manager explained that there was no claim existing on the part of the complainant, as a full settlement had been made with Mr. Yates of the Adelphi, to whose company the Signor was attached. An attempt was made to remove Nano forcibly from the box, and in the scuffle the latter passed over into the pit and on to the stage, and in the course of the struggle was aided by some of the audience —from the stage he proceeded again to the boxes. After another attempt on the part of the Manager to proceed with a different piece, Signor Nano addressed the audience, and being so advised, proceeded to the greenroom, soon after which a scuffle was heard on the stage, and Nano, having raised the curtain, was seen struggling with several persons. A rush was made by some of the audience from the pit and boxes, but to no avail, as the subject of sympathy did not reappear. Hereupon the occupants of the gallery, having given notice of their intention to those assembled in the pit to clear away, began to tear up the benches of the gallery, and to throw them into the pit, breaking the chandeliers and whatever came in the way of the missiles, the havoc and confusion continuing until the lights were extinguished. At the Public Office on Thursday and Friday last the above riotous proceedings were the subject of long investigation. On the first-mentioned day, Mr. Simpson, the stage-manager, charged Hervio Nano with an assault, which after a lengthened hearing was dismissed. The defendant was then charged with disturbing the audience, and instigating others to outrage and violence; and depositions having been taken, warrant for his apprehension was granted and being subsequently bailed he appeared to answer the charge on the latter day. After a long examination of witnesses for the prosecution and defence, it was agreed that the defendant should enter into sureties to appear at the Sessions to answer any charge that may be made against him; and having done so to the extent of 50/. Mr. Simpson was bound over to prosecute. Mr. Edmonds defended the accused, and Messrs. Suckling and Greatwood appeared for the prosecutor — it will be observed that a reward of 10/. Has been offered by the Proprietary of the Theatre, for the detection and conviction of any participator in the outrage.

I can find no reference to further charges being pressed against Leach in Birmingham and presumably, in time, his £50 surety was returned. He did not let the matter drop though, and we know from later bankruptcy proceedings in 1843 that the battle was fought out in the courts with Leach taking an action for false imprisonment against Mr. Simpson, the manager of the Birmingham Theatre, and a police constable named Rook. The action was not successful and Leach found himself liable for £266 of his opponent’s costs which, typically, he did all he could to avoid paying.

Just five weeks after the Birmingham episode, on Thursday the 15th November the Gnome Fly found himself in further trouble when he became involved in an altercation with a man called John Williams on Ludgate Hill. According to William’s testimony he was the completely innocent party. He had tried to overtake Leach, who was riding with a lady in a chaise, on his pony and the showman swerved the carriage to knock William’s off his horse. When William’s tried to remonstrate with Leach he had been lashed with a horsewhip. Refusing to give up the argument William’s received further injuries. Leach was summonsed to appear at the Guildhall in Early January to answer charges of assault. The Morning Chronicle, of January 3rd, 1839 gives this account of what happened:

Harvey Leach, the 'Gnome Fly', was brought up on a warrant by Herdsfield, charged with having assaulted a young man, named John Williams, residing in Water-lane. The complainant stated that as he was riding a valuable pony down Ludgate-hill, on the 15th of November, he overtook the defendant who was driving a lady in a chaise, and seeing an opportunity to pass, he attempted to do so. This gave offence to Mr. Leach who swerved from the [illegible] to throw him down on the pavement, and did so. The pony's hock was cut. He went up to the chaise, to ask why he had served him so, and immediately received a cut from the defendant's whip, which laid his cheek open. He approached him again, and received a cut over the hand which drew blood; and, on going to stop the defendant's horse, till he got his address, the defendant cut him round the neck, and pulled him off the pony. Two gentlemen had given him their cards, but neither of them was able to attend that morning.

 The defendant denied the charge and said he would draw a refutation from the complainant himself in five minutes. His questions were for the purpose of showing that the young man had followed him from Cheapside to Ludgate-hill; had holden up his hand to draw attention to the defendant; that the whip was intended to be applied to defendant's horse to extricate him from the complainant's hold; and that complainant gave defendant's horse a thump in the face. The complainant, however, answered none of the questions to Mr. Harvey Leach's satisfaction, and Mr. Alderman Gibbs ordered the defendant to find bail for his appearance at the London Sessions on Saturday next.

The London Courier and Evening Gazette of the 7th January briefly reported on the hearing at the London Sessions, getting Leach’s name wrong but making it clear that the bench accepted Williams’ version of events:

At the London sessions on Saturday, Mr. James Leach, alias Senhor Hervio Nano, alias the Gnome Fly of the Adelphi Theatre, was tried for horse-whipping a man on Ludgate-hill. The particulars of the case were recently given in a police report. The defendant conducted his case in person, and indulged in violent language against the complainant, for which he was called to order by the Chairman. He was found guilty, and sentenced to pay a fine of £20

Was it a completely unprovoked attack? It seems unlikely. Leach clearly reacted strongly to any attempt to ridicule him in public but there are no accounts of him launching one-sided attacks on other people for offences as trivial as overtaking his chaise on the public highway. Perhaps this was an early incidence of ‘road rage’ but it seems highly likely that Williams would have launched a few choice insults in Leach’s direction and may well have misjudged his opponent’s physical strength, allowing himself to be fooled by his diminutive status. It was a costly error for the young man though. The matter did not stop there – a couple of weeks later William’s was back in court, this time at the Alderman’s court, demanding damages for the assault. It quickly becomes clear that at the Sessions hearing Leach had been given the opportunity to pay William’s £10 in damages or to be fined £20 and that he had preferred to pay the larger fine rather than give anything to his supposed victim. This account is from The Times, January 16th;

Yesterday a Court was held for the despatch of business; Alderman Harmer presented a petition from a poor man named Williams, who prosecuted the dwarf called Hervio Nano (Harvey Leech) for a most desperate assault at the last London Sessions. Tho petition stated that the defendant was convicted of the assault, and was fined £20, with permission to speak to the prosecutor, and upon the understanding that if the defendant gave £10. to the prosecutor the penalty would be remitted that the defendant refused to give any remuneration to the prosecutor, and paid the penalty of £20; that the prosecutor having sustained considerable injury from the assault, and having lost the situation which he possessed at the time, he threw himself on the humane consideration of the Court, and begged, that as they considered the case an aggravated one, and recommended a course which was calculated to make some amends, but which was rejected, and as the prosecutor had been put to expense they would make an order for the payment of such part of the penalty to him as they might think fit. There was a strong feeling in the court that the prayer of the petition should be complied with. The Recorder said, that there was a fund out of which the corporation could make remuneration to the poor man. Alderman HARMER said, that the object of the Court at the time of the trial was to obtain some remuneration for the injury inflicted by the defendant, and as the sum they considered the prosecutor entitled to was £10., he moved that that amount be handed over to him. (Hear, hear.) Alderman LAINSON seconded the motion, which was carried unanimously, and gave a great deal of satisfaction, The bad feeling of the defendant has thus been completely disappointed, for he calculated that by paying £20 he would have prevented the injured man from receiving a farthing.

In 1839 February Leach began working at the Royal Victoria Theatre in London in two specially written dramas, ‘The Monkey of the Pyrenees or Woman’s Faith’ and ‘The Shipwreck or the captain and the monkey’ but his triumphant return to England was now irremediably soured and he was soon making plans to leave the country again. He was gone for almost the next three years, initially to the United States where he appeared in Boston and Philadelphia, then touring Europe, (Antwerp, Rotterdam, Alkmaar, Amsterdam, and Paris) before returning to the US for theatre appearances in New York and Washington. He returned to England in late 1842, performing at the Theatre Royal in Liverpool as the Gnome Fly before appearing before Commissioner Merivale at the Court of Bankruptcy in London in December and January. It seems Leach would rather declare himself bankrupt than pay the £266 costs still owed to Mr Simpson, the manager of the Birmingham Theatre, he had sued for false imprisonment. Leach was forced to admit that he had £400 deposited in a French bank but told the court that this “was all disbursed for travelling expenses in a professional tour he, with other parties, made through Antwerp, Rotterdam, Alkmar, Amsterdam, &c., which, like many other theatrical speculations, proved a failure.” He was back in court in January, by this time his creditors had given up all hope of ever receiving their money and did not appear. According to the Globe of 19th January 1843, “Mr. Commissioner Merivale said that no party appeared on the other side; he thought, however, that as the insolvent was an actor, a conditional order for the benefit of his creditors might be made out of his future engagements; but as no person appeared, he should not interfere. The Court made final order.” And with that order Leach was finally free of his debt which had started, let us not forget, with a dispute over a £10 appearance fee. 

Charles Freeman, the American Giant, as depicted by the Illustrated London Life of 9th April 1843 

Leach’s career was now in the doldrums; although he continued to work, he struggled to recapture the successes of previous years. In February he was engaged to appear again at the Adelphi and the Theatre Royal in a specially commissioned piece by William Leman Rede ‘Son of the Desert or the Demon Changeling’ with Charles Freeman the American giant. Freeman, who was just shy of 7 feet tall, was a 22-year-old from Michigan who had earned his living as a non-descript in American Freakshows until employed to take part in staged exhibition matches with the English heavy weight boxing champion Ben Caunt who was then touring in the US. Caunt brought Freeman to England at the end of 1842 where he took part in two much hyped matches with William Perry, the Tipton Slasher. ‘Son of the Desert’ was an attempt to capitalise on Freeman’s short-lived celebrity but it did not prove to be especially popular. The piece had moved to the Olympic theatre by March where the management announced that  “the Lessee begs to announce to the Nobility, Gentry and the Public generally that he has entered into an Engagement with Mr. CHARLES FREEMAN, the American Giant, the great Pourtrayer of the Passions, and with Signor HERVIO NANO, the Miracle-achieving Dwarf, who will have the honour of making their first appearance at this Theatre.” Within a week or so ‘Son of the Desert’ was abandoned and Leach was appearing as an orangutan in the story of ‘The Indian Maid and the Shipwrecked Mariner’ and Freeman was appearing separately as Frankenstein’s monster.  According to the Pictorial Times of Saturday 1st April 1843, neither were a great success:

At the Olympic Theatre the dwarf "Hervio Nano" has been disguising himself in a monstrosity called the Ourangoutang, and the American Giant, in the drama of the Monster, or the Fate Frankenstein, has been drawing as much as a man of his dimensions can be expected to draw, seeing that he is not aided by the advantages of histrionic talent. A great deal has been said about these human curiosities, but we have good reason to suppose that neither the performances of the one, nor the deformities of the other, are calculated to improve the fortunes of the theatre.

Struggling to make a living in England Leach decided to once again return to the continent. He did not return alone, taking with him three young brothers, the Cottrell’s, who, according to a report in the Gazette des Tribunaux of 29 December 1844 were full of “boldness, grace, and lightness” and were discovered when Leach, who the paper called l’homme-mouche (the human-fly) was:

passing near a house in a London suburb, where the three Cottrells were frolicking in games. Harvey Leach, a true connoisseur, noticed their youth and precocious dexterity; he entered and, addressing their father, a poor man, offered to have the following children taken to France: 1. Henry, aged eighteen; 2. Thomas, aged six; 3. and finally, there was little Alfred, barely four years old. Mr. Leach promised to treat, house, feed, and clothe them properly, and even to give the two little ones all the care required by such a tender age. Armed with the father's consent, the human-fly instructed the children and exhibited them with him in the performances given in France

On the 26th October 1844 Leach signed a contract with a Monsieur Philippe, a magician, who had a theatre on the Boulevard Bonne-Neuvelle to appear in the theatre, along with the Cottrells (who were billed as ‘les jeunes Américains’, the Young Americans) for up to 100 performances over a five-month period, five performances a week at 200 francs per performance. The contract allowed Monsieur Philippe to terminate the agreement after ten performances with at least two weeks’ notice, if the performance did not meet the approval of the audience. Although Leach and the Young Americans were a decided hit with the public Monsieur Philippe’s theatrical license only allowed him to stage conjuring tricks and ‘physiques amusantes’ (educational scientific experiments) and the authorities threatened to revoke it unless he cancelled the human-fly’s performances. Le Courer des Spectacles of the 28th December reported that Leach had only performed 17 times when Monsieur Philippe was forced to cancel the show. He paid Leach a further 600 francs as notice but the performer was not happy with this and sought redress through the courts. He lost the case and to compound his problems, the Cottrells were unhappy with his treatment of them and managed to get word to their father who turned up in Paris demanding the return of his children. When Leach refused to give up the three boys, Cottrell senior swore out a complaint at the Civil Tribunal in Paris alleging “that none of the magnificent promises made by the impresario to the poor father  to persuade him to abandon his offspring, had been kept, despite the lucrative income they had generated; that, not content with this, Mr. Harvey Leach daily mistreated the Cottrell children, beating them violently, and even going so far as to arm himself with a knife to stab them.” (Gazette des Tribunaux) Leach surrendered the three boys before the case was heard at court but his lawyer argued that as a dispute between two foreigners, the court had no jurisdiction over it. The judge was inclined to agree, especially as the boys had been returned to their parents, but in any case, he ordered Leach to return the rest of the boy’s property to their family within 24 hours.

A French playbill, possibly from 1845, when Leach was appearing in Le conte de fées 

Despite the action taken by Cottrell senior Leach evidently still hoped to use the boys’ services for another act he arranged to stage at the Théâtre de l'Ambigu-Comique on the boulevard du Temple. Le Courer des Spectacles of the 20th December, reports that Leach will be appearing in Le conte de fées along with ‘les jeunes Américains’ but says there is no word of the giant Leach has promised to bring from England, presumably Charles Freeman, to show off feats of strength. Le conte de fees did go ahead, quite probably without either Freeman or the Cottrells, until the 7th January when the management were forced to close because Leach was indisposed; Le Courer des Spectacles reported that a doctor had certified that he was suffering from inflammation of the lungs and needed several days rest. The show was closed for one night only though as the management of the Ambigu-Comique announced Leach’s place as the Breton Fairy would be taken by one Monsieur Alexandre. The theatrical journal L’Argus on the 9th January took up the story;

Now, do you know who Mr Alexandre is, the audacious acrobat who has unexpectedly replaced the astonishing, the surprising, the incomprehensible Harvey Leach, the human-fly? Well? Mr Alexandre is a young man, the manager of the Ambigu, whose devotion is unwavering and who had wisely judged that Mr Harvey Leach’s gymnastic feats were mere showboating and that he, a complete and agile fellow, could easily perform the exercises of the monstrous, shapeless individual. No sooner said than done: the Breton Fairy descended as nimbly as usual, astride her broomstick; then the fly took flight with equal lightness; the monkey was even more agile, funnier and less repulsive. Mr Alexandre cut the human-fly in two and we advise Mr Antoine Beraud to rid himself as quickly as possible of this heavy-handed cripple who lounges in a tilbury after having exploited the graceful talent and supple agility of the three young children whose guardianship was removed from him by the court due to mistreatment.

Monsieur Alexandre’s ability to perform all of Leach’s celebrated feats was a fatal blow for the performer. He never returned to the stage in France and no doubt humiliated and mortified he chose to take himself away from Europe altogether and return to the United States where he was engaged by Thomas Hamblin at the Bowery Theatre. We catch an extraordinary glimpse of him just a few months after the debacle in France, on the night of April 25th 1845, when the notoriously fire prone theatre burnt down to ground for the fourth time in less than twenty years. Shortly after 6pm, the fire, which started in one of the carpenters’ rooms, quickly engulfed the building, completely destroying it in less than an hour. In the account of the fire published in Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper on the 18th May, appears this:

Amid the turmoil of the scene, no one was more active than Hervio Nano, on the roof of Messrs. Bartlett's Hotel, in the Bowery, calling out for those below to send him up a hose, and crying aloud that he would save the buildings. But he was unheeded; not that it appeared to be actually necessary, but, at the same time, no one could have exercised himself more energetically.

An engraving of the fire in the Illustrated London News of 24 May 1845 shows a huge crowd watching the flames consume the theatre while the fire department direct three or four inadequate streams of water at the conflagration. Standing on the roof of the building next door to the theatre is a diminutive figure – is this Leach calling for a fire hose? 

The burning of the Bowery Theatre from the Illustrated London News of 24 May 1845

 

The Story of the Gnome Fly Part 1 - The American Dwarf; Harvey Leach (1801-1847)

From the February 1954 issue of the US comic 'Nightmare'

I believe the name "Hop-Frog" was not that given to the dwarf by his sponsors at baptism, but it was conferred upon him, by general consent of the seven ministers, on account of his inability to walk as other men do. In fact, Hop-Frog could only get along by a sort of interjectional gait - something between a leap and a wriggle … But although Hop-Frog, through the distortion of his legs, could move only with great pain and difficulty along a road or floor, the prodigious muscular power which nature seemed to have bestowed upon his arms, by way of compensation for deficiency in the lower limbs, enabled him to perform many feats of wonderful dexterity, where trees or ropes were in question, or anything else to climb.

Edgar Alan Poe – Hop-Frog (1849)

On the 4th April 1840 the Philadelphia Gazette suggested its readers take themselves to see “Signor Hervio Nano, the dwarf, who is performing at the Chestnut Street Theatre... this evening. His strength and agility, notwithstanding his peculiarities of figure, are very extraordinary, and his feats, especially as the ape, are of a surprising character.” An advertisement for the theatre on the following page, promised that “SIG. HERVIO NANO, the celebrated Metempsychosian Actor, the greatest wonder of the day,” would be starring as “Bibboo, the Island Ape, or Ourang Outang,” in the new drama of The Shipwreck. One of those who almost certainly took up the Gazette’s suggestion was the newly appointed editor of Graham’s Magazine, Edgar Allan Poe. He was probably a member of the audience for at least one of Hervio Nano’s performances and Dwight R. Thomas in ‘Poe in Philadelphia’ (1978) speculates that Nano “is a probable source for Poe's story ‘Hop-Frog,’ whose title character is a crippled dwarf. Possibly Poe had Nano's portrayal of “Bibboo” in mind when writing “The Murders in the Rue Morgue”; certainly both men were trying to capitalize on the contemporary fascination for ourang outangs and other large primates.” Poe’s revenge story also captures something of Nano’s irascible personality, his pugnacity and, when his amour-propre was threatened, his occasional swings into violence.  

Leach as portrayed in Sir William Fergusson's  ‘Lectures on the Progress of Anatomy...' 1867  

Hervio Nano was the stage name of the American performer Harvey Leach (1801-1847). Although only 3 foot 5 inches tall and generally described as a ‘dwarf’ Leach did not suffer from achondroplasia or any of the other medical conditions that are generally considered to constitute dwarfism.  His diminutive stature was the result of a congenital deformation of the bones of the leg in which the tibia of the right leg was missing and the femurs of both legs almost entirely absent.  His right leg, from heel to hip measured only nine inches and his left, sixteen. Despite this he “was one of the most remarkable gymnasts of his day. Notwithstanding the distortion of his lower limbs, he had marvellous power in his feet. As an arena horseman he was scarcely excelled whether in sitting or standing He walked and even ran fairly well, and his powers of leaping, partly from his hands, partly from his feet, were unusual, yet his lower limbs were so short that as he stood erect on the floor, he could touch it with his fingers.” (Sir William Fergusson ‘Lectures on the Progress of Anatomy and Surgery During the Present Century’ 1867) Other extraordinary feats regularly performed by Leach included ‘following a horse at full speed on the hands and feet, and suddenly springing on its back like a monkey, or jumping ten feet in the air’ and in theatres ‘walking on the ceiling, head downwards’, an accomplishment which earned him the dubious sobriquet of the ‘gnome fly’.   Although contemporary newspapers occasionally lapsed into the use of derogatory language when discussing Leach, the Literary Gazette for example called him an ‘extraordinary cripple’ and a ‘man-monkey’, but generally this happened only after his death.  The relatively polite tone most newspapers adopted when writing about him may have had something to do with his rather touchy temperament and, as the Gazette also noted, that ‘his mode of fighting, too, was most original; he used to spring in the air, and at the same instant deal the most terrific blow upon his unwary antagonist's head, so that he was a very formidable combatant.’

Hitherto not much has been known about Leach’s early years. In the Auguste Rondel collection of the National Library of France, there is an undated, autographed note by Leach which confirms that he was born on the 27th July 1801 in New York State (some sources say in Westchester County). The note goes on to say that he, “after having travelled south to Savanah in 1810 took a passage to Liverpool in England, went to London for an engagement at Drury Lane Theatre after many successes contracted engagements for all the country theatres in 1829 was engaged at Paris Theatre du Cirque Olympique.” An article occasioned by Leach’s engagement for the Christmas Pantomime at Drury Lane, originally from The Herald (presumably the Glasgow newspaper) but reprinted in the Morning Advertiser of 25 November 1828 gives further details of the ‘American Dwarf’s early life and career. It claims that Leach’s father, perhaps both in the United States and in England “was wont to wrap a blanket round the boy and go a-busking with him, as professional technicalities term it: that is, carry him round to the parlours of public-houses, and seek his reward for exhibiting the natural prodigy from the voluntary contributions of the company.” The writer of the notice implies that the elder Leach was given to abusing his son, claiming that he was neither “exceedingly abstemious nor yet over careful” and that Leach junior “often felt the effects of it.” With the death of his father Leach took over the direction of his own career, demonstrating rather more ambition and drive than the old man had, showing “himself a man of business he soon arrived the top of his profession as a master exhibitor and proprietor of a splendid travelling pavilion, with a numerous train or suite in gaudy fantastic liveries, who trumpeted his fame throughout the towns and villages in the kingdom,” where he “was considered the first object of attraction at all the fairs and rural festivities which he attended, for the peculiar structure of his person, as well as for his performances.”

According to the writer of The Herald article Leach then ran into problems in Ireland where he “had the misfortune to form a partnership with a brother exhibiter, and not being in the habit of attending to the out-door departments of the concern, he was run aground in his affairs, and was involved in many difficulties.” The Dublin Correspondent of 28 August 1823 details that among the attractions that year at Donnybrook fair were “the Irish giant; in another the American dwarf,” (as well as a “lady so highly accomplished, that you are told that she will put her body into a hundred different positions, and no two positions alike.”) The Irish Giant was almost certainly Charles Hamilton (7 foot six inches) and it seems probable that the American Dwarf was Leach.  Following his troubles in Ireland The Herald says;

he appeared in public on ordinary occasions, and only attached importance to his feats. He might then have been often seen exciting the merriment of the rustics by bis matchless drollery, as Vampo the Clown on the stages of the respectable show folks, and in this capacity be acquired great notoriety. Mr. Bannister, who was monarch of an extensive equestrian travelling establishment, afterwards allowed him the use of a horse and his riding school to practise equestrian exercises and our hero so soon became a proficient that henceforth he started in a new train of wonders as a horseman, and introduced feats before unheard of, and which none but himself are ever likely to repeat.

The tricks Leach learned at Bannister’s Circus were put to good use and soon he was appearing in theatres all over the United Kingdom. At the Olympic Circus in Newcastle, an advertisement from 1822 bills him as ‘that astonishing Phenomenon, THE AMERICAN DWARF. (One of the greatest Wonders of the age) who will ride his Act of Horsemanship on his Hands!!! And whose and Agility cannot be imitated by any other Man.’ A notice in the Tyne Mercury dated 19 November 1822 notes that the “American Dwarf, as he is called, is a kind of natural phenomenon. His face and body are those of a full-grown man, but he has no thighs, and his feet resemble those of a boy. We find that when nature denies particular members or organs, she makes up for the defect by some extraordinary gift in other respects. This American Dwarf appears to have as much strength in his hands, as others have in their feet, and shows it by walking, rather running on them perpendicularly as fast other people run or walk in the natural way.”

In November 1824 Powell’s Olympic Circus on Chichester Street in Belfast staged a performance:

For the Benefit of Mr. LEACH,
THE AMERICAN DWARF,
And his LAST NIGHT; having to fulfil Engagements in London
and Paris, who will, for this Night, take the part of
CHATTER-BOX, GOBBLE-JOKE, CLOWN
POWELL’s OLYMPIC CIRCUS
Chichester Street
This Present Evening Saturday, November 6^th
the following entirely new Performances will be
brought forward: —For this Evening only, Mr. LEACH’s
wonderful and most surprising
DESCENSION
On his Hands, from the top of ladder, FORTY FEET HIGH!!
without touching the rounds; he will also
Climb a Pole to the Roof of the Circus,
And extend himself on the top to an horizontal position, and support himself
on one hand, at same time take up several pieces of money with the other;
with numerous other unequalled Feats peculiar to himself,
and which have never been attempted by any other person. 

And if that wasn’t enough Leach would finish the evening with the circus’ equestrians, riding ‘his antipodean act of horsemanship, on his hands, the horse in full speed,’ and when he wasn’t performing, ‘tickets to be had of Mr Leach, at the circus from Eleven till Two o’clock.’

The Nelson monument at Calton Hill, Edinburgh, the scene of one of Leach's exploits in 1826

In 1826 we catch glimpses of Leach in Scotland where he played at the Caledonian Theatres in Edinburgh and Glasgow. In February he was making his way to the theatre when he was “attacked in Goosedubbs by a lame fellow, with a crutch, who attempted to snatch off his hat”, according to the Glasgow Chronicle.  “In this he failed, but soon after his accomplice succeeded in the attempt. Mr. Leech passed on, and saw his first assailant standing in an entry, and immediately seized him, and the night being exceedingly wet, threw him down in the gutter, and ducked him very handsomely. He then took his prisoner to a public-house, and detained him there till the accomplice coming in, restored Mr. Leech's property.” A couple of months later in Edinburgh, the Scotsman reported that “Mr Leach, the dwarf of the Caledonian Theatre, ascended for a wager to the top of the flag staff on Nelson's Monument, Edinburgh, to which he fixed his hat, where it still remains. The wind at the time he went up was blowing with great violence, otherwise he would have gone through some manoeuvres at that great height.”

The marriage of Harvey Leach and Elizabeth Martin at St Peter's Liverpool 22 June 1828

The Herald piece ended by noting that “should the little stranger make a hit in London at a winter house, it will be the means of shedding comfort more amply to an accomplished wife and an interesting daughter that compose the family of the American Dwarf.” Leach had married Elizabeth Martin at St Peter’s in Liverpool on the 22nd June that year. He gives his occupation as ‘Equestrian’. Although she must have been born before November 1828 to be mentioned in The Herald’s article, the couple’s daughter Elizabeth was not baptised until September 1829 at St John the Evangelist on Waterloo Road, a short distance from where they were then living at Charlotte Terrace, just off the New Cut in Lambeth. Leach gave his occupation as ‘gentleman’ on this occasion, no doubt raising some eyebrows in the church vestry. The reference to Leach’s infant daughter as ‘interesting’ in the newspaper may suggest that she too suffered from some physical abnormality. But we know very little of Leach’s family and nothing of their eventual fate; Elizabeth is sometimes mentioned as accompanying her husband’s act on the piano but I have been unable to trace her or her daughter in official records other than the marriage and baptism in Liverpool and Lambeth. 

Until 1828 when he was engaged for the Christmas Pantomime at Drury Lane, Leach seems to have worked almost exclusively in the provincial theatres or, perhaps when other work was in short supply, in the Freak shows. The Nottingham and Newark Mercury of 03 January 1829 mentions that “Mr Leech, the American dwarf who exhibited at Cooke’s Circus during Nottingham Goose fair” would be performing in the Drury Lane pantomime. In September 1828 he had appeared at London’s riotous St. Bartholomew’s Fair in Smithfields among “a collection of nondescripts, which was veritably stated to be ‘under the patronage of his Royal Highness Prince George of Cumberland, and the rest of the Faculty’!!! Under this head were exhibited, as the placard had it, ‘a nondescript pig faced lady, a Burmese giant, captured at the siege of Bhurtpore, by Lord Combermere, with his own hand, and presented with unanimous approbation to his Majesty — a wonderful Scotch Boy and an American Dwarf." (New Times (London) - Thursday 04 September 1828) Times must have been very hard for Leach to demean himself by taking part in an exhibition of nondescripts; he also now had, of course, a wife and child to provide for.  

The Drury Lane pantomime proved to be Leach’s big break. It was reviewed in the London Evening Standard of 27 December 1828 where he received a glowing notice:

DRURY LANE THEATRE The Queen Bee, or, Harlequin and the Fairy Hive, the new Christmas pantomime at this. house, was very successful last night, and we have no doubt that it will have a considerable run……Certainly, the most extraordinary exhibition of the night was the American Dwarf -a human being, whose arms serve him instead of legs, and they had need to do so, for his legs are only two or three inches long. His name is Leech; and though a native of the United States, he has been long in this country, exhibiting his most strange performances in Scotland and Ireland, as well as England, Wales, and the town of Berwick upon Tweed. He leaps down half a dozen tables placed upon each other, upon his hands only, and balances his whole body on his thumb: we are told that he can do so on horseback at full gallop, and we should say that to him nothing of the kind is impossible. He is first dressed like a gouty old man upon crutches, and then, his legs being mowed away, he slips off his dress, and appears as some wild animal, more like a bear with the activity of a monkey than anything else; and as Arbuthnot says, "Astonishes all beholders most astonishingly." His proportions above the waist seem to be those of an ordinarily well grown man. The pantomime was given out for repetition with encouraging applause.

Leach as Le Nain Americain, pictured during his time in France

There were no further London engagements, by 1829 Leach was engaged at the Theatre du Cirque Olympique (also known as the Cirque Franconi) in Paris as ‘le nain americain’, and by the end of September The Age was reporting that “Apropos of Hans of Iceland [Victor Hugo’s first novel, published in 1823]: a melodrama, founded on that extraordinary production, called The Dwarf of Sunderwald, is now performing at the Theatre Franconi, which the American dwarf, who was, I think, at the Coburg Theatre some time since, performs the principal character.” Leach spent most of the 1830’s on the continent, dropping out of sight of the English newspapers until 1837 when Freeman’s Journal reported (20 September) that “Mr Harvey Leach, the extraordinary dwarf man, with the long arms and short legs, who excited much attention in Ireland some years ago, and has since been making a tour of the continent with great success, has been performing at the Varieties in Paris, as a baboon, in a piece called Les Betes Feroces de Bois de Boulogne, to the infinite delight of the amateurs of the Boulevards, and is shortly to come out as a ‘Fly!’ and crawl about the ceiling of the theatre &c. What will our ingenious neighbours think of next?” This is the first mention of what was to become the mainstay of Leach’s act when he returned to England a few months later. There are no further mentions of his prowess as an equestrian; instead, he was become the “that extraordinary and unrivalled Metempsycosian Performer” who has been “celebrated on the continent for his wonderful illustrations of that fanciful doctrine, which in his person, must be called TRANSMIGRATION OF BODIES”. Indeed, when he returned to England he was no longer Mr Leach, the American Dwarf, but Signor Hervio Nano who Mr Yates, the manager of the Theatre Royal, Adelphi, had “succeeded, after a long correspondence with the Italian Managers of Rome, Milan, Naples &c,” in bringing to England to star in “an entirely New Bizarre Flight of Fancy, entitled THE GNOME FLY”! (advert in the Weekly True Sun of 28 January 1838). 

To be continued....

 

What a way to go! 10 unusual causes of death at Kensal Green Cemetery

1.  Frank Linsly James – Killed by an elephant 1890

Frank James was the son of wealthy American merchant Daniel James, a founder partner of the firm Phelps, Dodge & Co, who moved to Liverpool in 1831 to run the British side of the business and where James was born in 1851. With apparently no need to earn his own living Frank spent his adult life as an adventurer and explorer, travelling in Sudan, Somalia, India and Mexico and sailing his steam yacht, the Lancashire Witch. He wrote accounts of his African explorations in ‘Wild Tribes of the Sudan’ (1883) and ‘The Unknown Horn of Africa’ (1888). He was killed during an expedition to Gabon in 1890. On the 21st April, to celebrate his 39th birthday, Frank went hunting in the bush with his best friend Ethelbert Lort-Phillips. When the pair unwisely enraged a bull elephant by taking pot shots at him with their rifles, they were charged by the angry pachyderm; Frank was gored in the chest by the elephant’s tusk and died of his injuries within the hour. Ethelbert managed to narrowly escape without serious injury.

This account of the accident is from the Western Daily Press of Friday 30 May 1890;

LATE MR FRANK JAMES. Detailed accounts have now reached this country with respect to the accident by which the late Mr Frank James lost his life at Gaboon, in West Africa. It appears that Mr Lort Phillips was the only one with him at the time the fatality and it is believed he must have been in the act of firing when he was transfixed by the elephant’s tusk, death resulting in about an hour. Phillips himself had a narrow escape, having been twice charged in the dense jungle by the same elephant after his rifle had been rendered useless by his inability to withdraw the empty cartridges from the barrels, as they had become swollen and sticky in consequence of the soaking they had received from the heavy rain. The funeral of Mr James took place yesterday at Kensal Green.

Frank’s body was taken to Southampton on the Lancashire Witch and then transported to Kensal Green where his funeral took place on Thursday 29th May. He left a fortune declared to probate as being worth £100,009, 5 shillings and 1 penny (but not including any of his assets in the USA), probably the equivalent of around £20 million today. He left several large bequests to charity including £5000 each to the Hospital for Incurables at Putney and the Cheyne Hospital for Sick Children at Chelsea. He also left £500 to the captain of his yacht and £10,000 to his best friend Ethelbert, along with a lifetime annuity of £1200 a year.    

2.  Captain Henry Charles Le Blanc Newbery– killed by an avalanche of coal 1865

Captain Newbery was a 33-year-old officer in the 51^st Madras Infantry of the Honourable East India Company who was on home furlough at the time of his death. On the evening of the 16th May 1865 he was making his way home to Randolph Road in Maida Hill, passing by Paddington Station, when an avalanche in a pile of coal in the yard of Lilleshall Coal Company brought down the coal yard wall on top of him. The following account is from the Sun (London) of Friday 19 May 1865

The Fatal Accident to Captain Newbery, Yesterday afternoon Dr. Lankester held an inquiry at the Bank of England Tavern, Church-street, Paddington, into the death of Capt. Henry Charles Le Clame Newbery, of the 51st Madras Native Infantry. The deceased was 33 years of age, and a son of the late Col. Newbery, of Park-lane, Hyde-park. He had been on furlough from India, and while proceeding home by the road leading from Praed-street to Bishop's-road, Paddington, a boundary wall which was attached to a coal depot connected with the Great Western Railway fell and caused his death. Mr. A. Newbery, a brother of the deceased, said he saw Capt. Newbery in the hospital after the accident. At that time he was sensible, but could give no account of the accident. In answer to the coroner the witness said that everybody of whom he had made inquiry knew that sufficient care was not taken with regard to the wall. Mr. S. Woodman, house surgeon at St. Mary's Hospital, said that deceased was brought in about half past 6 o'clock on Monday evening. He was suffering from severe wound on the left eye. The frontal bone was fractured, and the back part of the head was much injured. His death was not caused by any operation. He had made a post-mortem examination and should say the immediate cause of death was exhaustion from the shock the deceased sustained, coupled with the injuries. Police-constable Fisher, D 293, deposed to seeing the wall fall down, about half-past 6 o'clock on Monday evening. The wall was near to the gates belonging to the Great Western Company. On hearing a noise he went to the spot, and found a man's hat in the road. The coals inside the wall had fallen down, and some persons began at once to clear them away. Witness, finding that the gentleman whom he had seen passing disappeared, concluded that he was buried under the coals. The people removed two or three feet of coal before they could get to deceased, a circumstance which induced the coroner to remark that it was a marvellous thing how he could have survived at all. A cab proprietor, named Hogben, was called, and said that he was waiting for the express train, and saw the wall fall. He had often called the attention of a person he supposed to be connected with the railway to the dangerous condition of the wall, but he had never known it to fall before. It was a mere parting wall, one brick thick. The jury expressed a wish to know what was the quantity of coals placed against the wall; and Mr. John Scott, who described himself as an agent of the Lilleshall Coal Company, was called, and promised that if the inquiry were adjourned he would be prepared with the fullest information. He thought about 40 tons of coals had fallen, and he attributed the accident to vibration caused by the railway trains. The coroner, addressing the jury, said they had heard enough to show what was the nature of the accident, but a great deal of evidence must necessarily be forthcoming, and an adjournment would be indispensable. The inquiry was then adjourned until 10 o'clock on Monday, the 29th inst.

Harold Maxwell-Lefroy

3. Professor Harold Maxwell-Lefroy– the entomologist, poisoned by pesticide in his laboratory 1925

During Harold Maxwell-Lefroy distinguished academic career he was Entomologist for the Imperial Department of Agriculture of the West Indies 1899-1903, Imperial Entomologist in India 1903-12, Honorary Curator at the Zoological Gardens 1913-25 and Professor of Entomology at Imperial College Entomology at Imperial College London from 1912 until his death. He was also the founder of the firm Rentokil. He was deeply interested in pest control and at the time of his death was trying to find a way to kill house fly larvae using poison gas.

On Saturday afternoon, the 10th October 1925 the Professor bid goodbye to his wife at their home in Stanhope Gardens, South Kensington and went off to his lab at Imperial, not much more than a ten-minute walk away. At the inquest on his death his colleague gave evidence on the events of that afternoon:  

Mr Francis Maclean Scott, a friend of deceased, said that on the Saturday he noticed the professor staggering, and spoke to him about it. Deceased said, “Yes, I have had too much,’’ meaning the vapour. The professor had told him he was experimenting on the larvae of house flies. He was trying to destroy them with a vapour, which he called wood oil. Later he said ‘‘The little beggars have got the best of me this time.” Subsequently the professor said he would have to go back to the college to lock up the larvae. Witness accompanied him, and in a chamber he pointed to a bottle on a shelf, and remarked— ‘‘I am not going to touch that, because if it fell we should not survive for a second.’ Deceased afterwards saw witness off. (Aberdeen Press and Journal - Saturday 17 October 1925)

The story is continued in the Daily Express of Monday 12 October 1925

When he failed to return to dinner his wife went to the laboratory about eight o'clock to look for him. She was met by the caretaker, who was positive that he had gone. Mrs. Lefroy went up to the laboratory to make certain. The door was shut, but she could hear the heavy breathing of a man in a stupor. Opening the door she found her husband lying unconscious. He was at once removed to hospital, where his wife, in great anxiety, has remained beside him. The state of his lungs on admission to the hospital supports the view that the professor, who is famous as an experimenter with gases, had inhaled a noxious vapour. There was a strong smell of some mysterious gas in the room. His lungs were so full of a thick frothy liquid that he was on the point of suffocating, and he had to be held upside down to enable them to clear.

Professor Lefroy, who is forty-eight years of age, narrowly escaped with his life last March when he inhaled some of the deadly and odourless Lewisite gas which would have been used against the enemy had not the war come to an end in 1918.

He died four days later in hospital.

4.  Henry Taylor – the pallbearer, killed by a coffin 1872

Since being featured on the BBC News website in December 2013, in an article called ‘10 truly bizarre Victorian deaths’, the accidental death of pall bearer Henry Taylor at Kensal Green has become something of a minor internet phenomenon, helped no doubt by a lurid illustration from the Illustrated Police News showing the moment of Henry’s demise.

In their account of the accident, which occurred on the 19th October, the Police News explain “the day being damp, the foreman directed the coaches with the mourners to proceed to the grave by the foot-way, and the hearse across the grass towards a grave-digger, who was motioning the nearest way. The coffin was moved from the hearse and being carried down a path only three feet six wide, by six bearers, when orders were given to turn, so that the coffin, which was what is known in the trade as a four-pound leaden one, should go head first. While the men were changing, it is supposed that the deceased caught his foot against a side stone and stumbled; the other bearers, to save themselves, let the coffin go, and it fell with great force on to the deceased, fracturing his jaw and ribs”. Henry was not killed instantly; he was taken to University College Hospital where he finally died of his injuries five days later.

Sheldon Goodman from the Cemetery Club, feeling that poor Henry deserved to be remembered for more than simply dying beneath a coffin, carried out some research and discovered that he was a verger and undertaker of the Camden Chapel (a chapel of ease for St Pancras New church) and lived at 86 Camden Street with his wife Charlotte and their 8 children. He was 66 years old at the time of his fatal accident and he was buried, not at Kensal Green, but in the eastern side of Highgate Cemetery.

5.  Robert Higham – a gravedigger who died on the job 1926

In the days before mechanical diggers became the norm in cemeteries, grave digging was tough, physical, dangerous work and serious accidents, even fatalities, were not uncommon.

 In January 1926 51-year-old Robert Higham of Felixstowe Road, Kensal Rise, returned to work at the cemetery after a couple of weeks absence due to bronchitis. On Tuesday the 12th January Higham was working with George Crock digging a common grave in the southern part of the cemetery. Crock was at the bottom of the grave with his spade, deepening the already 19-foot-deep hole even further, and Higham was up top, winding up the buckets of earth as Crock filled them. When Crock paused his excavating and glanced up, he saw Higham’s head hanging over the side of the grave and staring, unblinking at him. Realising something was wrong Crouch climbed out of the grave and ran to get help. Someone was sent to get Dr. McElroy from his surgery on the Harrow Road but Higham was dead before he arrived. In Dr. McElroy’s view death was due to a cerebral haemorrhage. No post-mortem was carried out, Dr. McElroy’s opinion obviously deemed sufficient evidence of the cause of death; at the inquest the coroner recorded a verdict of ‘death by natural causes’.

6.  Clara Vestris Webster – immolated onstage at Drury Lane 1844

On the 15th December 1844 the 21-year-old dancer Clara Vestris Webster had been appearing in the 'Revolt of the Harem' at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane when her dress caught fire on stage and she burst into flame in front of a full house.  

The Weekly Chronicle reported the incident under the headline 'Frightful and Fatal Accident to Miss Clara Webster';

An intense excitement was created at Drury-lane theatre, on Saturday night last, by the ignition of the dress of Miss Clara Webster, which we regret to add was attended with the most serious consequences to this accomplished actress. In the 'bathing scene' which occurs in the second act of The Revolt of the Harem the gas which lights up the transparent gauze-work intended to represent the water caught the dress of Miss Webster, and in an instant, she was completely enveloped in flames. The terror was universal—the ladies in the boxes were aghast and screaming, while the poor girl rushed shrieking round the stage. In her agony she seized upon Mdlle. Plunkett's dress, which had also kindled. Fortunately, the Frenchwoman, possessing more presence of mind, avoided the dangerous contact, and escaped the approaching danger. When first the dress of Miss Webster was discovered to be on fire, the whole corps de ballet, who were on the stage with her, closed round her almost simultaneously and as if by instinct, to crush and extinguish the flames; but, terrified at the appearance which almost simultaneously presented itself, they retreated, and she rushed forward alone towards the front of the stage. At this moment a man sprang from the wing of the stage, and throwing himself upon the young lady, threw her down, and extinguished the fire by rolling upon her.

Clara died two days later on the 17 December at her apartments in Upper Norton Street in Marylebone (now Bolsover Street). The funeral at Kensal Green took place on Christmas Eve. Again, the Weekly Chronicle:

The whole of the funeral equipments were white, an arrangement which had the effect of materially increasing the melancholy interest occasioned by the progress of the cortege through the western districts of the metropolis on its way to the cemetery The funeral reached Kensal-green about half-past two o'clock, and upon arriving at the chapel, the body... was placed on a bier in the centre of the chapel, where it remained during the first portion of the service, and by means of which, at the ordinary period, it was lowered to the catacombs beneath. The body was contained in a leaden shell, encased in an outer coffin, which was covered with black cloth, and studded with silver plated nails, but otherwise nearly devoid of ornament. On the centre of the lid was a plate bearing the following inscription:—" Clara Vestris Webster, obiit December 17, 1844, aetat 21."

The newspaper also reported that Clara's stay in the catacombs was to be only a temporary measure while a mausoleum for her was constructed in a 'sequestered part of the grounds'. But this never happened and to this day she still lies in the catacombs.

 

7.  John Phillips Potter – the dangers of dissection 1847

John Phillips Potter was just 29 when he died on the 17^th May 1847. He was a promising young surgeon, mentored by one of the greatest surgeons of the age, Sir Robert Liston, and was already Demonstrator of Anatomy at University College and Assistant Surgeon at University College Hospital. Sir Robert had asked his protegee to dissect the body of the circus performer Harvey Leach who had donated his body to the surgeon. Leach, who was also known as Hervio Nano, the American Dwarf and the Gnome Fly, was only 3 foot 5 inches tall and suffered from congenital deformation of the bones of the leg in which the tibia of the right leg was missing and the femurs of both legs almost entirely absent. According to Sir William Fergusson he “was one of the most remarkable gymnasts of his day. Notwithstanding the distortion of his lower limbs, he had marvellous power in his feet. As an arena horseman he was scarcely excelled whether in sitting or standing He walked and even ran fairly well, and his powers of leaping, partly from his hands, partly from his feet, were unusual, yet his lower limbs were so short that as he stood erect on the floor, he could touch it with his fingers.” Leach was apparently hoping that Liston would have his body embalmed and displayed in a glass case in the University museum and did not expect to be dissected. Phillips Potter was apparently in something of a hurry when he carried out the dissection on the 22ndd April and he carelessly managed to puncture the skin on his knuckle with one of his instruments during the post mortem. Thinking nothing of it he finished up the dissection and then went about his business as normal. The next day the wound was red and inflamed but still nothing much to worry about, the anatomist thought. Bell's New Weekly Messenger of Sunday 06 June 1847 gives the following account of what happened next, drawn from a much longer article in the previous weeks Lancet;

The Dangers of Dissection. —ln the death of Mr. John Phillips Potter, F.K.C.S., Demonstrator of Anatomy in University College, and Assistant Surgeon of University College Hospital, have record melancholy and disheartening instance of brilliant talent and promise blighted in the bud. For some weeks before his illness, he had been assisting Mr. Liston in dissections, which were always done early in the morning, and on the 22d of April, was engaged in taking a pelvis, with diseased hip-joint and abscess, from a subject, and being pressed for time, received some very small puncture on the knuckle the forefinger, which was disregarded at the moment, but on the following day it became painful, and after the early morning dissection, he came home, complaining of feeling chilly and very unwell. The little wound was inflamed, and the swelling and redness soon extended up the arm to the axilla and side of the chest, accompanied with severe pain, and great constitutional disturbance. After two days symptoms of great depression came on, accompanied with complete jaundice, and other dangerous symptoms, which led his medical attendants, Mr. Liston, Mr. Travers, Dr. Watson, and Dr. Brodie Sewell, almost to despair of his rallying. It was thought advisable make two deep incisions in the seat of pain, in hopes of finding matter, but none issued from the wound. Stimulants were administered, and he rallied considerably, but on the 17th exhaustion again came on, and death relieved him from a state of great suffering.    

Over 200 people, mainly colleagues and medical students at University College, attended Phillips Potter’s funeral at Kensal Green on Saturday the 22^nd May.  

 

8.  Herbert William Allingham – the dangers of operating 1904

An interesting detail on Herbert William Allingham’s memorial is the figure of his German wife, Fraülein Alexandrina Von der Osten, reclining on a large cushion, clutching a bunch of lilies in her right arm, a loyal lap dog laying on her left, apparently on her death bed. She died in January 1904 after being an invalid for several years. Her husband died barely ten months later in November, committing suicide in a hotel room in Marseille at the age of 42.

Allingham was a talented surgeon and teacher who trained at St George’s Hospital (long before it moved to Tooting, when it was still at Hyde Park), went on to work at St Marks and the Great Northern Hospitals before returning to St George’s as Elected Assistant Surgeon. He was also Surgeon to the Household of King Edward VII and Surgeon in Ordinary to the Prince of Wales (later King George V).  As well as practicing and teaching he wrote several well-regarded books and articles on surgical procedures. In its obituary the British Medical Journal said that “he had, in an exceptional degree, the qualities most important for a successful operator. He was always perfectly cool, quick to decide, and extraordinarily quick to carry out.” In 1903 he was operating on a ‘puzzling rectal condition’ when he gashed open his thumb. The mysteriousness rectal condition soon explained itself when the patient developed the unmistakable symptoms of syphilis. Much to Allingham’s disgust he developed the same symptoms a few days later.

When his beloved wife died early the following year Allingham’s grief gradually froze into apparently incurable depression. In November, heartbroken and syphilitic the doctor set off on a long holiday to Egypt in a forlorn attempt to cheer himself up. In Marseille he succumbed to despair after an evening of enforced jollity dining with friends at the Hotel du Louvre. Alone he returned to his room to compose a letter of apology to the hotel manager for any inconvenience caused by using his establishment as a place to die before injecting himself with a fatal overdose of morphine. His body was found next morning by the hotel staff.

9.  Baron Farkas Kemény – the revolutionary patriot who died of heartbreak 1852

Can someone die of a broken heart? Thomas Wakley, celebrated surgeon, founder of The Lancet and coroner for Middlesex certainly thought so.  At his 1852 inquest into the death of the Baron Farkas Kemény, he told the jury that had never seen “a clearer case in which a poor creature had died of a broken heart”.

In 1852 the Baron Farkas Kemény was a hero of the 1848 Hungarian revolution, at 55 a man of mature years, battle hardened and stoical in the face of adversity, who had lost his fortune and his place in society fighting for the liberation of his country from the Austro-Hungarian empire and now lived in exile, in poverty, in London. Kemény, who once, at the battle for Piski Bridge, held off a superior force of 15,000 Imperial Austrian troops with a ragtail regiment of 1100 irregular soldiers and 100 Hussars, and who, more than once, saved the life of his commanding officer, General Józef Bem, was dealt his mortal blow by an article in the Daily News casting aspersions upon his honour and financial integrity. The offending article, an open letter written by a supposed friend of Hungary, the lawyer and political theorist Joshua Toulmin Smith, questioned what Kemény had done with £520 raised by charity and entrusted to him for the relief of fellow Hungarian refugees. Reading the piece at his lodgings in Foley Place, Fitzrovia, the shocked, and totally innocent, Baron had collapsed into the arms of his secretary, begging him to call for assistance. By the time help arrived in the form of Mr John Geldard, surgeon of Great Portland Street, he was already dead. Unable to save his patient Geldard instead performed a post mortem and told the inquest that “in the pericardium he found 1 ½ oz. of coagulated blood, which had escaped from the heart through a rupture in that organ, both ventricles and the valves of which, however, were in a perfectly healthy state. Death had resulted from the rupture of the heart…”

It wasn’t until the 1990’s that medical science finally came to agree with Thomas Wakley that heartbreak can kill when Dr. Hikaru Sato and his team at Hiroshima City Hospital identified what came to be known as Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy or broken heart syndrome. With symptoms similar to a heart attack, triggered by massive surges of stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol, the syndrome can stun the heart, causing the left ventricle to enlarge and pump poorly. In a rare complication affecting less than 1% of sufferers the syndrome can cause fatal cardiac ruptures such as the one that affected Baron Kemény.

10.         Major Charles Gustavus Jones – killed by his cavalry pistol 1843

On Saturday 18 February 1843 Coroner Thomas Wakley opened an inquest on Major Charles Gustavus Jones, who had died the previous Thursday at his home in 33 Upper Montague Street, Marylebone. As was usual in those days, the inquest was held in the nearest public house, in this case the Montague Arms at number 3, Upper Montague Street just 15 doors away from the deceased’s former home. Before hearing the evidence of witnesses, the jury were instructed to walk to number 33 to view Major Jones’ body, which had a sizeable wound to the left side of the head.

The Major was a veteran of the Peninsular War, where he had received a sabre wound to his head at the Battle of Sahagún in 1808, and of Waterloo. He was a friend of Prince William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland; the Duke gave away the bride when Major Jones married in 1818 and later appointed him as his Aide-de-Camp when he became King of Hanover in 1837. At the time of his death the 61-year-old Major had retired from military life and from his duties as a courtier and was living quietly with his family in Marylebone. The first witness called to give evidence was James Sanctuary, the Major’s footman, who told the inquest that on the previous Thursday he had called to the Major’s dressing room and asked to clean a brace of large cavalry pistols. The major had already dismantled one of the guns which was lying in pieces on the table. Sanctuary told the court that the Major had instructed him to get on with cleaning the pistol on the table while he dismantled the other, remarking “that he was afraid that he should have some trouble with the other pistol, as it was loaded with large shot.” Whilst Sanctuary rummaged in a closet for the pistol case the Major added that he “had had those pistols many years, and liked them very much, as they were given to him by a nobleman, and he had used them in France, Germany, Spain, and Portugal, in shooing foxes.” The household were preparing to travel to Germany to stay with the King of Hanover and the Major asked Sanctuary if he was ready to pack his clothes so that they could set off that morning. As the footman could not find the pistol case the Major told him not to bother and handed him the dismantled pistol to clean. As he turned away to find a cloth there was a loud bang and the Major slumped face forward in his chair and onto the floor. Sanctuary screamed for help and the Major’s son was the first to respond, turning his father over and then sending the footman to fetch a surgeon. But Major Jones was already dead, killed by the stock of the pistol exploding when the trigger had been pulled accidentally.

Wakley questioned Major Jones’ son and asked him if he believed that his father had deliberately shot himself. “l not believe so, so help me Heaven,” was the reply, “My father was in excellent health and spirits, and more so at his intended journey upon a pleasure trip to visit the King of Hanover, which he was much delighted.” Mr Wakley told the jury that he no doubt, from what he had heard, that this was a case of accidental death. The jury concurred.