Morpathia: A nice day out - Hexham House of Correction

It is not open to the public as a rule, but the lovely people at the Old Gaol made special arrangements last month for the two weekends of the Heritage Open Days.

We began at the Old Gaol, from where our guide led us on a 20-minute walk through Hexham in torrential rain.

The gutters ran like rivers, roads and footpaths were flooded, and water poured out of the spouts, and even in one place through the joints of a stone wall. Nevertheless, it was well worth the visit and we were a jolly crowd despite being wet through.

Houses of Correction were prisons for petty criminals, often women and children. They date back to the time of King Edward VI – he gave his Palace of Bridewell to be a house of correction, as a result of which they were often called bridewells.

They were meant to reform the poor prisoners rather than merely punish them, but in practice were no better than ordinary prisons.

Men, women and children were miscellaneously crowded together; food, exercise and the means of keeping clean were scant or non-existent, and since the gaolers were unpaid, they lived by mulcting money from such of the prisoners as could pay.

John Howard, the 18th Century prison reformer, proposed the creation of purpose-built houses of correction with salaried gaolers, exercise yards, adequate food and medical care, and the females segregated from male prisoners.

A house of correction for Hexham was proposed as early as 1712. The call was renewed from time to time, but nothing was done until 1784 when a house on the present site was acquired.

It was extended in 1820, ceased to be used in the 1860s and was sold in 1871. It was used as commercial premises for a time and was later converted into four houses. Most of it was demolished in the 1960s by an over-zealous contractor.

Our plan of c.1849, from the Hexham Historian website, shows the building to have been a reversed L-shape. The surviving part (outlined) consists mainly of the 1820 extension, together with the wall that formerly enclosed the exercise yard, and a small part of the earlier building. The westerly of the two prisoners’ yards was for men, the easterly for women.

The Governor’s quarters were in the south-east corner, including a large kitchen and a good sized yard with a privy. He also had charge of the weights and measures.

The three narrow rooms beyond the weights and measures room were sleeping cells for the prisoners.

The plan does, however, raise questions when compared with what is visible now. It shows a central door into the men’s yard, with a window each side, but the existing arrangement has the door to one side and four slit windows, three of them close together in the centre.

The fireplace in the day room is much bigger than what is there now and the privy under the stairs is not shown.

The north side of the building consists entirely of fine masonry and appears to be a modern restoration rather than original work. The open space in front of it was the men’s yard and the wall on the right was the boundary wall of the exercise yard.

On the other side of the wall was the Governor’s garden.

The south or street side is built partly of good ashlar, but worn and blackened, suggesting that it is the original work of 1820. The remainder is coursed rubble like the boundary wall. The ground-floor was the men’s day room – marked “fire proof” on the plan – with a heavily vaulted ceiling, a privy and a small fireplace.

Above were the night cells. All the rooms had shackle loops and cast-iron doors with heavy bars to keep them secure.

Despite John Howard’s good intentions, it still looks like a place of punishment and I don’t think we should be misled by the clean, white-painted rooms.

Whitewash – made with slaked lime – was a recognised disinfectant, but you can be fairly sure that, back in the day, the rooms weren’t as white and bright as they are now.

There is plenty of interpretive material around the walls. Some of the inmates were lunatics rather than criminals, some were women found guilty of prostitution, others vagrants and yet others children caught begging.

The story of two of the prisoners is given in some detail. Jonathan Martin came from Haydon Bridge. He was a tanner and fought as a sailor in the Napoleonic Wars, but was mentally unbalanced and in 1829 set fire to York Minster.

He fled to Hexham, where he was arrested and taken to the House of Correction until he could be taken back to York for trial. He was adjudged insane and died in a lunatic asylum several years later. It’s quite likely that he was housed in one of the upstairs cells in the present building.

He was the brother of John Martin, the painter of dramatic scenes of terror and destruction, some of whose pictures you can see at the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle.

Frank Pickering was just an ordinary prisoner. He was gaoled in the House of Correction for an offence connected with the Poor Law and was given the job of bringing coals into the house.

Finding himself outside, he took his chance and made for Tyne Green, but the Keeper was after him straight away with a dog. He tried to cross the river, which was swollen with heavy rain, fell in and was drowned.

Alnwick and Morpeth both had houses of correction. The one at Alnwick was behind the former police station, now Youth Hostel, in Green Batt. Part of it, with barred windows, survives in the yard at the back.

The one at Morpeth was in Castle Square, but it was demolished in 1830 to make way for Telford Bridge.