I'm now a regular attender of the special exhibitions hosted by the National Museum of Scotland in Chambers Street, Edinburgh. Each event runs for a few months and tickets cost £10. The current display is titled Anatomy: a matter of life an death. Charting 500 years of medical exploration, the exhibition considers the social and medical history surrounding the dissection of human bodies. Edinburgh became a world centre of medicine study in the 18th century and our capital city is still renowned for its degree courses and advanced research. Today's tale was given a macabre twist by examining the murkier side of early Scottish anatomy schools. Just where did all these corpses come from?
It was a fine October morning as I arrived on Princes Street and made the familiar trek up to the museum. I've easily made over 100 visits during my lifetime and I'll never tire of the grand old building - particularly the main entrance hall. I snapped a few photos of this Victorian light-flooded space from the middle and upper balconies just after opening, before heading into the temporary exhibition gallery. I paid at the door and had to physically write my name and email address on a piece of paper before tapping my card. An e-ticket was mailed to me but it seemed a cumbersome process, which sort of defeated the efficiency of the contactless system. Paper-free ticketing which required me to supply my personal details on paper. Someone has to type in the address too. Surely many people walk up on the day and could simply present card or cash and be instantly issued with a receipt? Restrict the email communication to those who have booked in advance. Oh well, I was in and the first display case contained a set of anatomical drawings by legendary polymath Leonardo da Vinci. They were loaned to the museum by (the now late) Queen Elizabeth. One can only guess at the extent of the royal art collection! Da Vinci is reckoned to have dissected 30 humans plus countless animals. The drawings included both types of subjects and the accompanying text said the Italian genius had correctly sketched every foot bone but had made a mistake with the arch - perhaps because he was working from a specimen that had already degraded. It was certainly an impressive opening to the exhibition. Photography was strictly forbidden and I purchased the image below as a postcard for 70p. Somebody somewhere on the planet will have this illustration dropping into their mail box in the near future. A quote on the wall from Da Vinci read "you who say it is better to see a dissection than these drawings, would be right" - this pointed to a theme running through the entire exhibition, right up to the present day. No artwork or textbook can truly replicate the experience of observing the actual human body. A see for yourself approach provides the best insight.
The first purpose-built anatomy theatres emerged towards the end of the 1500s. They were attended by medical students, qualified doctors, dignitaries and curious souls who could afford the entry fee. The official line was that executed people provided the necessary raw material. In the early days of this emerging science, private dissections were allegedly performed upon bodies sourced from hospitals and even the graveyard. Pioneering schools in the field were the universities of Padua (northern Italy) and Leiden (Holland). The latter institution published notes in Dutch, Latin, French and English. The lingua franca for international scientific learning back then was Latin and indeed many students came from other countries to further their knowledge. The other languages were probably for the benefit of non-academic visitors. Artists were often hired to accurately represent the human interior on paper and some of them performed their own dissections in order to gain practice. Artwork depicting the actual ritual of dissection also began to appear on the market. The exhibition contained a selection of charms used to ward off infectious diseases, along with details of home remedies and concoctions. The massive medical strides made in the 17th and 18th centuries did not lead to ordinary people receiving better care. Few working folk sought the advice of medical professionals. There would be rigid class barriers in place here! Edinburgh's first public dissection took place in 1702. David Myles had been hanged for incest and was duly cut up over a period of eight days. The exercise began with a general discourse of the body before moving on to an inspection of key organs such as the stomach, intestines, liver, kidneys, parts of generation, the brain and finally the muscles of the extremities and the resulting skeleton. Phew! By 1726, the first medical school in Edinburgh had opened with support from Edinburgh University and the burgh council. It was part of a plan to develop the city as a seat of anatomical learning. The venture proved successful and the establishment of further institutions increased the demand for fresh bodies. A temporary solution was found in 1752 with the passing of a law enshrining execution followed by dissection as the automatic punishment for murder. Finding voluntary subjects - either from living individuals or the families of the dead - was nigh impossible as the dissection process was regarded as a violation. People had an inkling that more bodies were ending up on the slab than were dangling from the gallows and this provoked public unrest, particularly among the poor. There weren't many wealthy guinea pigs.
Edinburgh had a small population in relation to the demand for corpses and there were tales of the dead being shipped in from further afield. In 1826, a total of 33 bodies packed into salt casks were discovered at Liverpool docks. They were due to be transported to Leith and the dead had all been taken from a local cemetery. Body snatchers were sometimes known rather euphemistically as resurrectionists and the growing practice was part of a sinister trade engulfing Edinburgh. The grave robbers were prepared to source cadavers from well beyond the city boundaries and competition developed between medical schools. The snatchers soon got to know who would pay the highest price for their illicit wares. Coffins began to be placed inside heavy iron mortsafes in an attempt to protect the dead but this was an expensive method not affordable to everyone. Lookouts were hired to keep watch over graveyards but sometimes they fell asleep, or were bribed to look the other way. The most prolific purchaser was Robert Knox, Edinburgh's leading lecturer of anatomy who had even been commissioned to inspect the first duck-billed platypus brought to the city. The flamboyant professor's professional life was flourishing but he would soon become embroiled in a scandal far exceeding the removal of dead people from graveyards. After all, would it not be more efficient to cut the burial process out of the equation and expedite delivery by resorting to murder? Two names appeared on the scene that were to become lodged firmly in public memory - Burke & Hare. Both men originated from Ireland and the literate William Burke was born into a middle-class family in County Tyrone. After the breakdown of his first marriage he decamped to Scotland, becoming an itinerant labourer and working on the construction of the Union Canal. He set up home with Helen McDougal and they later moved to Edinburgh, where Burke became a cobbler. Less is known about William Hare's background and he was described as an uncouth quarrelsome individual. In November 1827, a lodger in Hare's house died while owing £4 back rent. Hare bemoaned the financial loss to his friend Burke and the pair decided to sell the body to one of the local anatomists. A fee of £7.10s was received and apparently the men were told the school would gladly do business again. Thoughts turned to murder and 16 people were suffocated by the deadly duo in a spree that became known as the West Port murders. The victims were poor and either residing in Hare's lodging house or lured there with the promise of a drinking session. Each body netted the killers between £8 and £10. After almost a year of this activity, things went awry when the body of the final victim - an Irish woman named Margaret Docherty - was spotted in the lodging house, lying in a bed of straw. The police were alerted but when they arrived, the corpse had been already taken to Robert Knox. The authorities tracked down Mrs Docherty and the murderers - along with their wives - were taken into custody. Although the police were sure at least one of the four was guilty, there was difficulty in securing enough hard evidence for a conviction.
Two forensic specialists were appointed and they concluded it was probable the victim had been murdered by suffocation, but this could not be medically proven. As for the other 15 poor souls, well they had already been dissected and the remains presumably disposed of. Knox was not prosecuted, which outraged many in Edinburgh. His house was attacked by a mob and his professional standing suffered long-term damage. The only option left to the authorities was to try and persuade one of the alleged culprits to turn king's evidence. Hare was offered immunity from prosecution (a courtesy extended to his wife Margaret) if he provided a statement. He accepted the deal and three formal murder charges were brought against Burke and McDougal. Legal wrangling meant Burke was convicted of just the death of Mrs Docherty but it was enough to warrant a death sentence. McDougal walked free after the jury delivered a not proven verdict. There are no clear accounts of her later life. Burke was hanged at Lawnmarket before an estimated 25,000 onlookers. He was publicly dissected a couple of days later and his cleaned skeleton given to the Edinburgh Medical School, who retain ownership to this day. Rarely seen by the public, Burke's bones greeted visitors as they approached the final parts of the exhibition. I sneaked a quick photo and noted the cast of his death mask in the adjacent cabinet. There was also a note written in Burke's own blood by Professor Alexander Monro during the dissection. Hare was released and fled to Dumfries, but was run out of town. He was taken by local police to the Annan Road and instructed to make his way to the English border. There were no subsequent reliable sightings of him and his eventual fate is unknown, aside from rumours that he died as a beggar in London. Margaret Hare is believed to have returned to Ireland. The aftermath of the case saw legislation introduced that gave anatomists first dibs on people who died without a traceable next of kin in public facilities such as prisons, workhouses and asylums. The new law also permitted living individuals to offer themselves to medical research upon death but only six people in the whole of the UK are known to have done this in the decade following the Burke & Hare crimes. Nowadays of course, attitudes are completely different and the introduction of the NHS prompted a rise in those donating their own bodies to science. By 1975, unclaimed corpses were no longer required by the profession. It's often said about society that certain things had to happen to lead us to where we are today. Well, the advancement of anatomy was one hell of a grisly road.
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