PART ONE

THE HARTLEPOOL MYSTERY.

An enquiry into the events which took place during the Napoleonic Wars.

The story of the Hartlepool monkey has been told thousands of times, in many different ways - The popular story has it that during the war with Napoleon a monkey was washed up, clinging onto ship's wreckage, on the shore of the fishing town of Hartlepool on the North East coast of England. The local people are said to have caught it, and thinking it to be a French sailor, hung it by the neck until it was dead.

Here is my version of events. I may take a little poetic license in the dramatisation of it, but in essence it is the same as most of the others.

A great bolt of lightening lit up the sky, showing through the pouring rain it's reflection on the heaving, turbulent sea. From the window of his room overlooking the headland, Thomas, a local fisherman, caught a glimpse of something being tossed up onto t he beach. He immediately put on his heavy fisherman's clothes and rushed out into the cobbled street, banged on the door of the next house shouting "Simon there's a wreck down there. I think there's someone on it" and ran, stumbling in the blackness of night and blinding rain, down to where he thought it was. Nearing the waters edge he could just see something being rolled and pushed up onto the shingle, it could have been a rowing boat of some sort but he could not be sure. Wading into the water a little way he tried to get nearer to it, very cautiously so as not to get hit by it or washed off his feet by the current.

"Tom, where are you?" he heard his friend's voice through the noise of the storm. "Over here" Thomas shouted, then kept repeating "Over here" so that Simon could follow the sound of his voice. "Is there anything worth having?" said Simon when he got near - for the poor fishermen and their families life was hard, and anything that could be used in any way was salvaged in those days. - "Don't know, can't rightly make out what it is". The two men waded around, examining the wreckage for a few seconds, when they saw what looked like a body washing onto the beach, they both bent over it.

"I think he's alive" shouted Tom "Quick give me a hand". They picked it up and took it farther up the beach out of the water. "Why, it's only a slip of a boy" said Simon "An ugly one at that poor mite, more like a monkey!" Just then there was a movement from the creature, it started to cough, then it breathed heavily for a few seconds. It's eyes opened and he looked around, then, in terror he screamed and jumped up. Tom held his shoulders down "It's all right young fellow, we're friends" said Tom. The creature took no notice and began to struggle, throwing his arms about, and kicking his legs violently. Simon took the rope that he used as a belt and tied it's hands together, keeping hold of the other end of the rope. As soon as Tom let go of his shoulders the creature began to run around and scream in a high pitched voice. Simon held tightly to the rope. The two men tried to talk to him and soothe him but to no avail, so they decided to take him to Tom's house.

By the time they reached the cobbled street, local people who had been alerted, had gathered with oil lamps to see what was going on. They rushed up to the trio "Keep back" shouted Simon. "What is it" "Who is it" "What's going on" shouted the crowd, pushing towards them in excitement. "Keep back, he's dangerous" shouted Simon once more as the creature pulled and tugged, scampered around and screamed.

At this point I must remind readers that England and France were at war. The people, as is natural during wartime, were a little paranoid, every little misfortune was blamed on Napoleon and his countrymen. Every stranger was a potential spy. Anybody who had a foreign accent was regarded with suspicion. If a ship or even a small boat that was not instantly recognised appeared, it was thought to be part of an invasion fleet. With this in mind it is not hard to understand the reaction of the crowd.

"He's mad he must be a Frenchie" shouted someone in the crowd, "He's only a boy" shouted Tom "Let him be". Somebody else heard the word Frenchie, this stirred him to start a chorus "Frenchie, Frenchie". Inevitably the name was coupled to the word spy, and soon the rest of the crowd were joining in. "French spy" was the chant from the now excited crowd as the little creature that they could not really see, was dragged off to Tom's house.

Once inside, Tom and Simon, along with two other locals forced the door closed and bolted it to keep out the crowd, who by now had become a lynch mob, shouting and yelling "Hang him. Hang the French spy" and many other obscenities associated with such a crowd.

The relative warmth and calm of the house seemed to quieten the creature a little, and in the light of the oil lamp the men could see it better. Why, it's a monkey! said one man, "No wonder he's wild". They got a blanket and wrapped him in it, this settled him some more. "I'll bet the poor thing's starving" said Tom "What can we feed him on?". "You can feed him if you want to, but he's not going to bite my fingers" said one man and they all agreed. "Undo his hands and let him feed himself, we can tie the rope round his neck so he can't run off" said another. They all agreed to this, so Simon very gently undid the rope from the monkey's wrists and tied it in a noose round his neck. A piece of bread was brought and offered to him and after a little coaxing he took it in his hand.

Meanwhile outside the house the mob had decided that no French spy was going to take refuge in Hartlepool. They brought a stout plank of wood, and with the crowd screaming for blood, four hefty men took it and charged into the heavy wooden door, bursting it open.

Just as the monkey was about to take a bite out of the bread, the door burst open and in the mob poured the frenzied mob that would have frighten the very devil. The monkey screamed and made a mad dash over the crowd's head, taking with it the blanket and yanking the rope out of Tom's hand. The crowd gave chase and someone managed to catch the rope. "String him up" "Hang him" "Slit his gizzard". The mob was in a blind fury, all being carried along with the atmosphere of the event.

There is no justification for the actions of a mob, reason, logic, common sense, all decency, or humanity, disappear in the blindness of the moment. No one actually took a good look at the monkey. Nobody actually cared what it was .In their incensed state with numbed minds unable and unwilling to think for themselves, they blindly took the monkey to a nearby cross beam, threw the end of the rope over and secured it, leaving the monkey hanging by it's neck until it strangled to death.

The little beast had survived the beating and pounding of a storm in the cruel north sea, the raging tide and bitter cold, but the madness and cruelty of the raging mob was to be his end. There was no knight in shining armour to save him this time.

And so the legend began, the details may vary but the basis is the same

HARTLEPOOL HUNG THE MONKEY!!!

BUT THIS IS ONLY THE LEGEND. WHAT IS THE TRUTH? FIND OUT IN PART TWO. 

This extract was taken from the book

The monkey illustrations on these pages were done by Emma Brown, to whom I give thanks

LINKS