Large Fierce Mammal

No – it’s NOT the Necronomicon. (Source: Huffington Post UK)

Back while Dark Sentiments 2011 was in full swing, a Physician I hold in high Esteem placed in my hand a very curious artifact indeed. It was a whip fashioned in the form of three knotted leather falls that splayed forth from a darkly stained, wear polished handle crafted from a Human tibia – the primary lower leg bone. In design, weight, and balance, it was obvious the item was no tool of livestock management … at least insofar as most would understand the meaning. An instrument of torment festooned with a fragment of one of its maker’s victims? Beyond what its physical presence could tell me, I know nothing of its origin beyond that it had come to my Friend by way of another Physician with whom he had some history. Naturally I requested an opportunity to properly photograph and document the object, but after ruminating over my request for several days, my Friend declined in consideration of the very literal Human component – on grounds of respecting what might be left of the hapless progenitor’s dignity. A compelling argument to which I was then, and will forever be, disinclined to make any attempt at refutation.

To the current incarnation of society that most of us live in, crafting artifacts out of human body parts would be considered barbaric in the extreme, incredibly titillating, or even gratifying depending on who the parts came from and who you’re talking to; and that alone should tell you something. Well, no matter which side of the divide you find your self on, we are here today to talk about a documented artifact that, while not an implement born of pain and intended to inflict more of it, nevertheless comes to us from a legacy of homicide. The very object, in fact, that adorns the top of this article – a fashionable pocket notebook bound in the skin of one William Burke, presently housed at Surgeons’ Hall of The Royal College of Surgeons, Edinburgh.

Holding a Book Bound in Human Skin is the title of a  recent Huffington Post UK article by Dr. Lindsey Fitzharris, herself more than worthy of a Dark Sentiments examination in her own right. Click on her name, read her bio, and you’ll get my meaning. She actually got to hold the item in question, albeit while properly gloved, and of William Burke, she says in part:

In 1828, William Burke and William Hare murdered 16 people over the course of 10 months. Masquerading as bodysnatchers, the two murderers then sold the fresh corpses onto surgeons in Edinburgh where the bodies were then dissected in private anatomy schools dotted around the city.

Burke and Hare were eventually apprehended when one of their victims was discovered in the dissection room of Dr Robert Knox, who had been purchasing many of the suspiciously fresh bodies from the two men over the past several months. Hare turned King’s evidence and was released, while Burke took the blame and was sentenced to death. What awaited him at the end of the rope was much worse than even he could imagine.

As to the good Dr. Knox, I will briefly hand you over to our Friends at Horrible Histories for enlightenment.

The accomplished, eloquent, and fetching Dr. Fitzharris describes the Burke pocketbook as she experienced it:

After my initial reaction, I begin inspecting the pocketbook more carefully. It is remarkably well preserved considering this was meant to be a functioning item. Indeed, the original pencil that came with the pocketbook is still tucked neatly inside its covers. Looking at it, I can hardly believe someone would use it to carry money. Even for me–the Queen of Macabre–this is all a bit too much.

Its covers are soft and pliable after all these years, reminding me that this was indeed used on a regular basis. In faded gold letters, the front reads: BURKE’S SKIN POCKET BOOK. When I turn it over in my hands, the words–EXECUTED 28 JAN 1829–complete the story.

She further quotes Emma Black of the Museum:

Emma Black, who heads public engagement at the museum, talks to me off camera about the pocketbook. As with any museum containing human specimens, Surgeons’ Hall has several pieces on display that are controversial. Interestingly, Burke’s skin book isn’t often mentioned as one of them. She wonders if, given the atrocity of the crimes committed, some of us have come to accept that this object is suitable for display. At the time, the dissection and book acted as a further punishment for Burke’s crimes and was seen as a form of justice which fitted the horrific nature of the murders themselves.

For me, however, the pocketbook is much more than this. It represents the growing need for bodies in the dissection room at the beginning of the 19th century, and the willingness by some anatomists to turn a blind eye to the dubious doings of those who procured the dead on their behalf.

An interesting path weaves its way to modern surgery.