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The story of John Baskerville is a gripping mix of typography, haunting history and a surprising link to the legendary adventure of Sherlock Holmes, writes ANDREW HOMER
Any mention of Baskerville, and most people obviously think of Sherlock Holmes and the Hound of the Baskervilles rather than Birmingham, even though there is a connection.
However, the Birmingham Baskerville is John Baskerville, who is best known for designing his Baskerville font in 1757. This font is still in common use and you almost certainly have a copy on your computer or laptop.
Who was John Baskerville?
John Baskerville was born in Wolverly, Worcestershire, and taught handwriting in Birmingham from 1726. He later applied this skill to carving gravestones in cemeteries before starting a very successful Japanese business, an early form of enameling.
By all accounts he was a flamboyant, if not eccentric, character who favored brightly colored clothes even when conducting business. He cared little for the conventions of the time, was a committed atheist and lived openly with Sarah Eaves, whose husband had left her, although they did marry after his death. His carriage was as flamboyant as the man himself, with beautifully japanese panels with naked cupids and flowers, drawn by two beautiful cream-colored horses.
He made his fortune from Japanese wares, which allowed him to turn his attention to his first love, typography and printing. This venture proved even more successful when he developed improved inks and printing presses to complement his Baskerville typeface. For an atheist, it is ironic that one of his best-known printed works was a beautiful folio edition of the Bible.
Thanks to this success, John bought an eight-acre estate in Easy Hill, Birmingham and built a large house. Although no longer there, the land is now occupied by the Hall of Memory and Baskerville House, a former council building on Centenary Square.
Before his death in 1775, John Baskerville left strict instructions that his body was not to be buried in consecrated ground. Instead, he had the conical base of an old windmill in the grounds of Easy Hill House converted into a private mausoleum. His epitaph, written by Baskerville himself, left no doubt about his atheism:
STRANGER-
UNDER THIS CONE IN UNCONSCRATED (sic) GROUND
A FRIEND FOR HUMANITY’S FREEDOMS
Ordered his body to be inhumed
MAY EXAMPLE CONTRIBUTE TO THE emancipation of your spirit
OF THE USEFUL FEAR OF SUPERSTITION
AND THE EVIL ARTS OF THE PRIESTHOOD
This should have been the end of the story, but John Baskerville’s body was not allowed to rest in peace. After his wife Sarah died in 1788, the house passed to John Ryland, a religious dissenter.
During the (priestly) riots in Birmingham of 1791, it was stormed by a mob who wanted to destroy the house in the name of ‘Church and King’. Some rioters, however, were much more interested in the contents of the wine cellar. So much so that they didn’t realize that fellow rioters had set the house on fire. The ensuing inferno trapped them without any hope of escape.
Since then, the atmosphere in the basement of the 1930s-built Baskerville House on the same site has been known to change, with people experiencing feelings of intense fear for no apparent reason. A group of three ghostly figures have also been seen occasionally. Fortunately, they are only seen as shadows, given their gruesome deaths trapped in the basement of the burning building. Ironically, the rioters targeted the homes of dissenters in the name of religion and a perceived support for the French Revolution, something that John Baskerville, as a committed atheist, would have deeply regretted.
On the death of John Ryland, his son Samuel leased the land to Thomas Gibson, who began building a canal. During this time the mausoleum was demolished, but Baskerville still lay relatively undisturbed. This would change just before Christmas 1820, when workmen digging for gravel discovered the lead coffin, but covered it up again.
According to the Freeman’s Journal of 29 May 1821 (reprinted from the Birmingham Chronicle), the box was subsequently excavated in May 1821 to make way for the construction of a canal wharf. It was taken to the Gibson and Sons warehouse in Cambridge Street. Here it was decided to inspect the contents of the coffin, and the newspaper contained a description of the body, which was wrapped in a linen shroud:
…The body was in a special state of preservation, as it had been underground for about 46 years. The skin of the face was dry, but perfect. The eyes were gone, but the eyebrows, eyelashes, lips and teeth remained. The skin of the abdomen and body was generally in the same condition as that of the face. An extremely offensive and oppressive effusion, very much like spoiled cheese, arose from the body and made it necessary to close the chest in a short time.
As if this disrespectful treatment of Baskerville’s remains wasn’t bad enough, it was about to get even worse. There were several reports that people were ordered to view the remains. A near neighbor claimed they were charged 6d (six old pence) per head, while other sources claim it was 1s (twelve old pence). After about eight years, Baskerville was on the move again. This time it was to plumber John Marston’s shop.
By this time the body gained a reputation for being cursed. A surgeon from Newhall Street had torn off a small piece of the shroud as a souvenir and put it in his pocket. Within a few days he was dead. There were other stories of people becoming ill or suffering serious setbacks as a result of Baskerville. A piece of the shroud is held in the Pershouse Collection at the Birmingham Archives, along with the sketch made by Thomas Underwood in 1829. No doubt the archivists wore their protective gloves when handling the fragment of the shroud. To be sure!
Understandably, John Marston and especially his wife were eager to rid themselves of the apparently cursed coffin. Unfortunately, this was not an easy task. The rector of nearby St. Philip’s Church refused, even though Baskerville’s wife was buried there. A press release was issued stating that Baskerville had been buried at Cradley Chapel, where his family had connections. This was a deception. A bookseller called Nott even said it would be an honor to have it in his family vault at Christ Church in Birmingham. This was arranged secretly through the church warden, and the coffin was buried in secret. Baskerville was at peace again, albeit now on consecrated ground. It wouldn’t last.
In November 1879, The Birmingham Weekly Post published a letter from a WJ Scolfield revealing what had actually happened to Baskerville’s remains.
This and a lecture by author Talbot Baines Reed at Baskerville prompted the discovery of Baskerville’s coffin in Christ Church in vault 521. This was reopened to an invited audience, which by all accounts was by now quite a hideous sight. .
Not only that, but it was now an illegal act and caused quite a stir even when it was being discussed in parliament. Ultimately, HH Asquith, the Home Secretary, ruled that it would not be in the public interest to take further action.
Baskerville was left alone, albeit on consecrated ground, for five years before setting out again. Christ Church was demolished in 1899, requiring the vaults to be emptied.
Baskerville’s coffin was one of many others reinterred at Warstone Lane Cemetery. Historian Chris Upton describes how the six hundred or so ‘internees’ were transferred under cover of darkness in ‘an endless procession of funeral carriages moving slowly towards the Jewelery Quarter’. It must have been a scary sight to see.
Once there, Baskerville was buried again, this time in a vault under the chapel above the catacombs. The chapel was demolished in the 1950s, but Baskerville was left alone this time.
While there are no reports of John Baskerville haunting Warstone Lane, he would certainly have a good reason. For such a committed atheist, a Church of England cemetery is the last place he would want to spend eternity.
And what is the connection between Sherlock Holmes and The Hound of the Baskervilles? There can be little doubt that the subject of the curse, the dog itself, was based on the many Black Shuck or Black Dog stories.
However, at the time of WJ Scolfield’s letter in the Birmingham Weekly Post, a young Arthur Conan Doyle was staying with a doctor on Aston Road.
It is very likely that Conan Doyle was well aware of the Baskerville curse resulting from the death of a local doctor. After all, he was in Birmingham, where he himself trained as a doctor and began writing stories in his spare time.
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