now I had stuff to research. Felix had texted me that morning, asking how I was going, and I’d responded that I was making progress and informed him that I was going to Mistley. He’d replied that he was disappointed he couldn’t come too and asked me if I was free next week. I sent him a text saying that I could always make myself available for him. And he’d returned my open-ended answer with a ‘Good,’ and an emoticon of a smiley face doing a wink.
I was pleased that he’d contacted me. It was like a line of normality that took me back to my other purpose – the book. So, with that in mind, I left the Inn and headed into Manningtree along the riverside road.
I wasn’t meeting Amelia till eight o’clock so I had time to explore Manningtree and started with a visit to the small museum in the town’s library.
The display on the witch hunt was small but it mentioned two significant sites: The Causeway at the bottom of Cox’s Hill where it was thought the guilty were hanged, and Hopping Bridge, perhaps named after Hopkins, where local legend had it the witches and Hopkins himself were ‘swum’.
I jotted them down on my map of Manningtree and asked the curator if I could take a photograph of the display. He was polite when I explained why and we engaged in conversation. Phillip was a congenial chap in his fifties with an academic manner. Though he didn’t want to be drawn into the more sordid aspects of the witches, he did comment on the period.
‘I’m more interested in that part of our story from a social history perspective,’ he said. ‘This period of civil war, when the institutions responsible for law and order break down. The idea that without them you can do basically what you like. That’s why Hopkins is of interest. One only needed a powerful personality to rise up and take control. Let’s face it – it was disgraceful. The prosecutors were rich. The accused were poor. They were a burden on the town. This was probably a good way of getting rid of a serious drain on the financial purse of the parish. Everyone colluded.’
Phillip clasped his hands together. ‘True, Hopkins was a man of his time. Having said that, I’m aware that although we like to think we’ve put it all behind us, witch hunts are still alive and kicking up the twenty-first century … Look at Africa – there’s a resurgence of belief in Ghana. Old women are being targeted there and burned alive. Kenya’s still burning witches too. Child abuse related to witchcraft is on the rise in Nigeria. Children get slashed, burned, starved, drowned and buried alive because their villages believe them to be witches. There are “baby farms” in some parts, where young girls are paid for their newborns. Some are adopted illegally, others are bought for their body parts as their innocence is thought to make charms stronger.’
I shook my head to convey frustration not disbelief – it was all true. I’d kept an eye on this sort of stuff in the papers. Only last week, there’d been an article on the murder of albinos in Tanzania. The locals believed their organs and blood would bring good luck. ‘You’re very knowledgeable on the subject.’
He nodded sadly. ‘An organisation called Stepping Stones is my church’s chosen charity for the year. They highlight this sort of thing. You couldn’t make it up, could you?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘And,’ he continued, ‘it’s not confined to Africa. Only two Christmases ago there was the case of that fifteen-year-old boy, Kristy Bamu, murdered in Newham. He and his siblings were kept without food, sleep and water till they confessed to sorcery and being a witch. Then he was beaten with a hammer, cut and finally drowned. Ring any bells?’
I nodded bleakly. They were virtually the same methods that Hopkins used.
Phillip shook his head. ‘And look at that poor boy – Adam. The “torso in the Thames”. He’d only been in the UK a few days before he was murdered and he had ingested a potion containing herbs and ingredients used in African ritual magic. People must have known about it. Why didn’t they come forward? Fear? Cowardice? Or more likely they thought some bad luck would befall them. We haven’t moved on much.’
I sighed. ‘That’s why I’m writing this book. To get across the fact that the witches weren’t witches. Same as today. They