For over six centuries, Tyburn was the grim theatre of London’s most infamous executions. This wasn’t some discreet back-alley affair. No, the gallows at Tyburn—particularly the notorious ‘Tyburn Tree’—became an institution of death, justice, and grotesque public entertainment. Executions here were brutal, bloody, and, disturbingly, something of a city-wide social event.
A Death Sentence with a Scenic Route
Tyburn’s gallows were situated near what is now Marble Arch. Condemned prisoners were paraded from Newgate Prison in the City of London on a three-mile procession known as the ‘Tyburn journey.’ This was no sombre march to the afterlife. Instead, it was a slow-moving, raucous parade, lined with thousands of spectators, hawkers, pickpockets, and drunken revellers eager for the show.
The prisoners often stopped for liquid courage at taverns en route (yes, the condemned were often plied with ale before their demise), while crowds jeered, cheered, or threw rotten food at them. If they were lucky, they might have a sympathetic executioner who would ensure their suffering was brief—though ‘luck’ was relative in such matters.
The Origin of the Phrases “One for the Road” and “On the Wagon”
It is believed that the phrase “one for the road” originates from this very journey. As condemned prisoners made their final procession to Tyburn, they were often given a final drink at one of the many taverns along the way. This last drink, meant to steady their nerves before their inevitable fate, became known as “one for the road.” Over time, the phrase lost its grim association and evolved into a casual expression used when having a final drink before departing from a social gathering.
Conversely, the phrase “on the wagon”—meaning to abstain from alcohol—also has a possible connection to these grim events. Some accounts suggest that prisoners who declined their final drink, choosing instead to remain sober for their execution, were said to be “on the wagon” as they continued their journey to Tyburn. Others argue that the phrase later evolved to refer to prisoners being transported in carts or wagons to the gallows, unable to partake in further drinking.
The Ingenious and Horrific ‘Tyburn Tree’
In 1571, a new type of gallows was constructed: the Tyburn Tree. Unlike the traditional single-beam gallows, this was a triangular wooden frame with three posts, allowing multiple people—up to 24 at a time—to be hanged simultaneously. This efficiency was necessary, as London’s crime rate and penchant for capital punishment ensured there was no shortage of condemned souls.
The spectacle was designed for maximum public consumption. Hanging wasn’t always quick; some prisoners strangled slowly unless bystanders or executioners took pity and pulled on their legs to hasten the process. And for traitors? A far worse fate awaited: they were hanged just enough to avoid death, then cut down, disembowelled, and quartered.
A Morbid Spectacle for All Classes
The execution day was a grand affair, attended by everyone from beggars to aristocrats. The best spots near the gallows were sold to spectators who wanted an unobstructed view. Pamphlets detailing the crimes of the condemned were distributed like theatre programmes, while vendors sold food and drink—because nothing pairs with a hanging quite like an ale and a meat pie.
For the wealthy, it was an event to be viewed from the comfort of a rented coach. For the poor, it was a chance to revel in some rare free entertainment. The idea of death as public spectacle wasn’t unique to England, but few places embraced it with such ritualistic fervour.
Celebrity Criminals and Executions
Some condemned figures became folk heroes, their last words immortalised in print. Highwaymen like Jack Sheppard, a dashing rogue who repeatedly escaped prison, drew massive crowds eager to see whether he had one last trick up his sleeve. (Spoiler alert: He didn’t.)
Then there was Jonathan Wild, the self-styled ‘Thief-Taker General’ who ran an elaborate double-crossing crime syndicate, orchestrating thefts and then ‘heroically’ recovering stolen goods. When his corrupt schemes were uncovered, he faced the noose at Tyburn, where the crowd who once cheered him now bayed for his blood.
Perhaps the most famous of all was Catherine Hayes, who in 1726 was burned at the stake for murdering her husband—a fate so gruesome that even the hardened Tyburn audience recoiled when the executioner botched the job, forcing her to burn alive rather than die swiftly by strangulation first.
The End of Tyburn
By the 18th century, public opinion began shifting. The raucous nature of Tyburn executions, once a useful tool for deterrence, had become a lawless carnival of debauchery, crime, and excess. By 1783, the authorities moved executions to the more controlled setting of Newgate Prison. The Tyburn Tree was dismantled, its legacy lingering only in street names and history books.
Today, a plaque at Marble Arch marks the spot where thousands met their grisly fate. The execution site may be gone, but Tyburn’s morbid legend remains—proof that Londoners have always had a dark sense of spectacle.
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