Watching a classic episode of Weir’s Way the other day, Tom was in Applecross and related a local story regarding notorious body-snatcher William Hare (the one who turned King’s Evidence and got off). Local legend had it that after the trial Hare did not in fact go to London, but to Applecross instead. He married a local woman and lived out his life peacefully as a weaver. I have done zero investigation on the truth of this…but I do love a good story.
Chatting with a colleague today, he told me he was planning to climb Arthur’s Seat to the Salisbury Crags, while off work next week. Something he’s never done before. I said he should also try to find “the spot where the wee coffins were discovered” and he had no idea what I meant. Neither did the next person I mentioned it to… or the next.
This is really surprising to to me since I honestly thought everybody knew this story. I thought is was part of Edinburgh lore, like Deacon Brodie, Burke & Hare or Greyfriar’s Bobby. I thought is was known.
I do not recall how I learned this story myself. I do know that when Ian Rankin mentioned it in his Rebus story “The Falls“, I knew exactly what he was talking about. Did my dear grandad tell me…
I was recently asked to write a short piece – based on my post The sad history of the Faculty Mummy – for the Scottish Egyptology society newsletter. I gratefully accepted, and took the opportunity to update the story a little by investigating what exactly Dr. Sandison discovered when he was “working on the histology of such remains”. With thanks to Egyptology Scotland for the inspiration to dig a little deeper [archeology pun]
The sad history of the Faculty Mummy
As published in Scottish Pharaonic: Newsletter of Egyptology Scotland, September 2020 Vol. 20 Issue 2
Once upon a time a man lived, died, and was mummified in ‘late period’ Egypt. We know little more about him – except that death was only the beginning of his story…
The Earl of Morton In 1748 James Douglas, 14th Earl of Morton presented an Egyptian mummy to the Faculty of Advocates.[1] It is unclear why the Earl bestowed this gift but it was duly accepted by the Faculty and “set up in their Library”.[2]
The Advocates Library was never a repository for books alone. From earliest times Members of Faculty collected artworks and curios alongside books and manuscripts. The Mummy was probably resident in the Laigh Hall when Samuel Johnson toured the Library in August 1773, though (advocate and biographer) James Boswell failed to mention him.
The life of Samuel Johnson: including A journal of a tour to the Hebrides, Volume 1, James Boswell, 1832, p. 333
In his Handbook to the Parliament House (1884) Faculty Treasurer James Balfour Paul makes passing yet poetic reference to:
“An old mummy…[who] slumbers in a dark corner as calmly as if it were in the tombs at Memphis” (p.78)
Pharaoh’s Daughter During its time in the “dark corners” the Faculty Mummy suffered more indignities than an Egyptian gentleman should. From partial unwrapping, to bayonet target for the Members’ Rifle Corps! During this time too, the male Mummy became known as “Pharaoh’s Daughter”. He did have a standing invitation to the Faculty’s Annual Dinner where (we are told) there were songs and toasts to the health of the Pharaoh’s Daughter.
The Scotsman, 2 June 1958, page 4
The Mummy nobody wants Eventually it was decided the Faculty didn’t need an Egyptian Mummy anymore. He was offered to the Royal Scottish Museum in 1906 but after examination the poor Mummy was “found to be in a condition unsuitable for exhibition” [3]
In 1954 the Faculty tried again to rid itself of the unwanted artefact. Cyril Aldred – assistant keeper of Art and Ethnology at the Royal Scottish Museum – examined the Mummy and returned a brief though scathing report:
“The case is dilapidated beyond hope of recovery having lost its entire outer and inner surfaces: in addition the lid is missing… The mummy itself appears at one time to have been unwrapped and then re-wrapped, a cloth of modern type replacing the outer most wrappings. It is difficult to be certain of this, however, as the liberal coating of grime tends to obscure such niceties… If [the Faculty Mummy] is never seen again by mortal eye, I can assure you that neither science, scholarship nor aesthetics will suffer in consequence” [4]
Attempts were made to locate other museums willing to take him – none were found. ‘For sale’ ads in newspapers brought no takers. When the Faculty at last tried to throw the Mummy away, even the Council cleansing department refused to uplift on the grounds it was human remains – but remains which could not be buried without a death certificate!
In May 1958 The Scotsman published a piece entitled “Riddle of the mummy nobody wants”. The amusing article detailed the farcical trouble the Faculty was experiencing in its efforts to dispose of the artefact [5].
Subsequently, the story was picked up around the world and the Faculty began receiving letters. While some correspondents wrote with (un)helpful advice on the situation, many offered the Mummy a new home (with varying degrees of credibility).
One, according to the Clerk of Faculty, had “a much more respectable offer than the others.” [6] Dr AT Sandison, a lecturer and radiologist at Glasgow University’s Pathology Department, was keen to take the mummy off the Faculty’s hands. He had “been working on the histology of such remains” and would be willing to collect.[7] On the 18th June 1958 the Faculty accepted Dr Sandison’s offer and in August the Mummy left the Advocates Library for the last time.
The Sandison Collection At the Forty-First meeting of the Scottish Society of the History of Medicine, Dr. Sandison read a paper entitled “A pathologist looks at Egyptian mummies”:
“I spent some time in the Middle East while serving in the R.A.M.C., partly at 63rd B.G.H. near Cairo and was able to visit not only the important sites at Gizeh, Memphis and Sakkarah, but also the wonderful collections in the Cairo Museum. After my return to civil life, I was reluctant to abandon all interest in Egyptology and decided that, as a pathologist in a University department, I might investigate histological structure of Egyptian mummies, this being a study in which laboratory medicine and Egyptology come together. Through the kindness of the curators of several Scottish museums, I was able to obtain samples of mummy tissues and began a series of studies which have not been without interest…” [8]
Dr. Sandison published various medical works on mummies. Articles such as “The eye in the Egyptian mummy”(1957) [9] and “Diseases in Ancient Egypt” (1980). [10] When he died his accumulated antiquities passed into the care of The Burrell Collection in Glasgow. When I contacted Senior Curator Simon R Eccles in 2008, he confirmed receipt of ‘The Sandison collection’ in 1982 – but had no information about the Faculty Mummy. He did tell me about two mummies they had in storage, neither with proper provenance… nor a head.
He described the headless artefacts as follows:
One female; her wrappings in good condition, with decoration – like painted jewellery – around her neck and wrists
The other male; in such bad condition he was little more than a skeleton…
I have a feeling that tatty auld bag of bones is the former Faculty Mummy.
So, there you have it. The sad history of the Faculty Mummy: shuffled from one dusty corner to another; prodded with pointed instruments; and now, (probably) headless and in storage. We should be thankful he’s not the sort of mummy who comes with a curse.
Footnotes: [1] ‘The affair of Lord Morton’s Mummy’, Iain Gordon Brown, Egypt through the eyes of travellers, Starkey and Kholy (eds), 2002, p.95 [2] Minute Book of the Faculty of Advocates, volume 2, 1713-1750, The Stair Society, 1980, page 237-238 [3] Faculty Records, 14 June 1906 [4] Letter from Cyril Aldred to William Beattie, 13 July 1954, [Faculty of Advocates ‘Mummy file’] [5] The Scotsman, 26th of May 1958, page 8 [6] Letter from AT Sandison to the Secretary, Faculty of Advocates, 27 May 1958 and a note (on a compliment slip) from RDI, 28 May 1958 [Faculty of Advocates ‘Mummy file’] [7] ibid. [8] Dr. A.T. Sandison, “A pathologist looks at Egyptian mummies”, The Scottish Society of the History of Medicine, REPORT OF PROCEEDINGS SESSION 1961-62, p. 8-14 [9] A.T. Sandison, “The eye in the Egyptian mummy”, Med Hist. 1957 Oct; 1(4): 336–339 [10] A.T. Sandison, “Diseases in Ancient Egypt” in Mummies, Disease, and Ancient Cultures, Cockburn (1980), p.29-44
Chatting with a colleague today, he told me he was planning to climb Arthur’s Seat to the Salisbury Crags, while off work next week. Something he’s never done before. I said he should also try to find “the spot where the wee coffins were discovered” and he had no idea what I meant. Neither did the next person I mentioned it to… or the next.
This is really surprising to to me since I honestly thought everybody knew this story. I thought is was part of Edinburgh lore, like Deacon Brodie, Burke & Hare or Greyfriar’s Bobby. I thought is was known.
I do not recall how I learned this story myself. I do know that when Ian Rankin mentioned it in his Rebus story “The Falls“, I knew exactly what he was talking about. Did my dear grandad tell me the tale when I was a wee smout? I’ve seen the remaining coffins displayed at NMS but did I stumble upon them that first time or seek them out? I can’t remember.
However I learned it, this is a unique Edinburgh story that deserves to be told. NMS has compiled an excellent and detailed retelling here so I only need to summarise…
In 1836 some boys playing on Arthur’s Seat discovered a hidden stash of tiny wooden coffins. 17 coffins were apparently found but some were broken or lost. The remainder eventually found their way to NMS years later and can be viewed there now.
There was, of course, great excitement in the press at the time. No one knew who had built the tiny coffins or why. There were various theories but none answered all the questions surrounding the find. My own favourite, and I believe the same explanation given in The Falls, is that these tiny graves were made in remembrance of the victims of Burke & Hare, the infamous Body Snatchers. There may be a slight discrepancy between the number of coffins and the known Body Snatchers victims… But couldn’t it be that they killed more people than they admitted to? It’s not as if they were paragons of virtue.
And who made the 17 tiny offerings? This is still an absolute mystery but I do have my own thought about that.
There was insufficient evidence to convict both Burke and Hare so, the authorities convinced William Hare to turn “King’s evidence” and betray his co-conspirators. Beginning on Christmas Eve 1828, William Burke stood trial for murder in a courtroom which has since become part of the Advocates Library! Burke’s co-accused was his “common law wife” (i.e. his bidey-in) Helen McDougal. Burke was found guilty and was hanged – after which his body was sent for dissection – but the case against McDougal was not proven. She was released and nothing much is known about her life after that.
I wonder if Helen McDougal, in guilt and shame, could have had anything to do with the making of the tiny coffins. Small offerings to the dead she had partly responsibility for. Hidden away… but placed on the city’s most prominent feature. There is no evidence of this that I’m aware of, it’s just my own theory, but it’s as likely as anything else in this odd story.
And finally – Coffin number XVIII. In December 2014 NMS received a mysterious package containing another tiny coffin. The craftsmanship and accompanying card point towards this being a work by Edinburgh’s mysterious, magical Book Sculptor. I think this makes a wonderful end to this twisty tale.
Vincent Van Gogh, that glorious nutter, was born today in 1853. He died at the age of 37 after a short life filled with genius and despair.
Some years ago I read Martin Gayford’s book The Yellow House: Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Nine Turbulent Weeks in Provence. This excellent work uses old letters to reconstruct the few months Van Gogh spent living and working with Paul Gauguin in a house in Arles. I was left with the overriding feeling that Van Gogh wanted nothing more in life than to be loved and understood (I can so relate to that).
Vincent invited Gauguin to stay because he deeply admired his work and imagined he could learn much from the older man. In preparation for Gaugin’s arrival at the Yellow House, Vincent painted his iconic Sunflowers series just to decorate the walls of Gauguin’s room! But Van Gogh’s mental illness made…
An external enquirer asking for the case: Lord Hamilton v Glasgow Diary Company. “Ooh!”, I thought, “I wonder what that was about. Some salacious case of intrigue and scandal no doubt”…
Found the case. It’s the Glasgow Dairy Company (1933 SC 18). If there’s anything salacious in that I really don’t want to know.
To paraphrase the dearly departed Eric Morecambe, they used all the right letters, just not necessarily in the right order.
While the exploits of Whitehall Cats – Palmerston and Larry most recently – have been recently making the news, cats in Government employ are nothing new. In fact, here at National Records of Scotland, we have evidence of a feline curiosity – a cat tasked with protecting records more than three centuries ago. The Exchequer […]
I am minded to write a short article for one of the horological journals…
This is an actual quote from an email I received this morning. Gloriously olde-worlde as this is, it was only the second archaically worded email I got today (both from external enquirers). The other regarded a case from 1807… and could have been written by a gentleman of that time!
image: National Museums Scotland 
Vincent invited Gauguin to stay because he deeply admired his work and imagined he could learn much from the older man. In preparation for Gaugin’s arrival at the Yellow House, Vincent painted his iconic Sunflowers series just to decorate the walls of Gauguin’s room! 
A Very Fine Library 
