An exhibition for the 200th anniversary of a prison building sheds new light on the criminal underclass and harsh punishments of the time. Ruth Campbell examines the mugshots on display

FROM the outside, the imposing old redbrick prison looks grim and forbidding. But for those inside, locked in bare cells with hard wooden beds and metal slop buckets, the reality was often worse.

One old ledger held at Ripon’s Liberty Prison building holds hundreds of what are believed to be among the first criminal mugshots taken in Britain 150 years ago, capturing the sullen, bewildered expressions of Victorian criminals immediately after arrest.

And the barbaric instruments still on show, including a birching stool, crank, treadmill and stocks, illustrate the sort of swift and brutal punishment these characters, who would not look out of place in a stage adaptation of Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist, were likely to face.

Charges range from vagrancy and petty theft to child cruelty and rape and the offenders, wearing a mixture of scruffy, grubby clothing and stylish formal wear, reflect a cross section of the Victorian criminal classes.

The eerie North Yorkshire Criminal Records photographs are part of a series of displays created from the Ripon Museum Trust’s extensive collection of police and prison memorabilia to mark the 200th anniversary of the construction of the prison building.

Back in 1816, the building, built as an addition to the former early 17th Century House of Correction and Liberty Gaol, which housed vagrants, lewd women and those sentenced to hard labour, was designed to discourage people from a life of crime.

“It was built deliberately to frighten people,” says local historian Anthony Chadwick.

But, for those on the fringes of society, life could be harsh and many, trapped in a life of poverty, were imprisoned for stealing food or clothes. Sentences were often severe for what seemed like trivial crimes, from begging to being drunk and disorderly.

It is hard to believe that here, in Ripon, Anne East was transported to Australia in 1833 for stealing a pair of boots. Or that nine-year-old John Greening was whipped, followed by two months of hard labour, for stealing a coat, his first offence, in 1871.

As well as bringing to life the characters from the criminal underworld of the time, Ripon’s exhibitions highlight the often hopelessly inadequate attempts by police to keep law and order at a time when officers were poorly trained and members of the public were reluctant to give evidence or cooperate with them.

Before the introduction of mugshots, which became a legal requirement after 1871, all police had to rely on in their quest to keep tabs on habitual criminals, who would inevitably give false names, were written descriptions.

Among those desperate, gaunt faces staring out from Ripon’s fascinating collection of sepia photographs is Emma Child, a 35-year-old housekeeper fined for stealing a sweater in a nearby village.

More than a century before the invention of face recognition software, DNA fingerprinting and computer databases, this was the cutting edge technology of the time.

Each mugshot is accompanied by a detailed description of the culprit, including deformities, brandings and signs of disease. Teenager Harry Eyeington, who with Frederick Payne stole cash and a watch from a farm outside the city, is described as “sulky, simple and easily led, with a slouching gait and slight stammer”.

Frederick, sent to an industrial reform school at 13 for stealing a pair of shoes, was described as having “parents in poor circumstances” and of associating “with persons of doubtful character”.

The author adds that he “will develop into a good thief”.

Notorious Pateley Bridge poachers John and Elisha Sinkler, who were eventually transported to Australia for their crimes, which included assaulting a gamekeeper, were harder to pin down.

Since the Enclosure Acts had robbed them of their common land and common law right to game, they won much public sympathy. “They were quite popular for standing up to the landlords.

It was hard to get local juries to convict,” says Mr Chadwick, adding that part of the problem was that, before the mid-1800s, Ripon had relied largely on parish constables to enforce the law.

“They were neither trained, uniformed or paid and never responded to anything, criminal. They would run away.”

Thomas Sweeting, responsible for arresting the Sinkler brothers, was the first uniformed police officer in Ripon, appointed by the mayor in 1836.

Known for being rough and ready, he was, says Mr Chadwick, repeatedly in trouble with the mayor’s office for wielding his truncheon illegally.

“At one stage, he was dismissed but sued for arrears of salary and won.”

At around this time Ralph Snowden, a chief constable in Richmond, became so frustrated at the inability of poorly-trained officers to outwit criminals, he produced a guide to common scams.

One example was a woman screaming rape, who would gather a crowd around her before being brought into a house to be given a glass of water or brandy while her accomplices took advantage of the distraction to empty the property of valuables.

It wasn’t until 1856 that the government agreed to a professional, paid constabulary in North Riding, consisting of Chief Constable Captain Thomas Hill and 50 trained, uniformed men.

It wasn’t long before Capt Hill had lost 48 of them.

“They couldn’t stand the pace,” explains Mr Chadwick: “They didn’t like the training and couldn’t cope with square bashing. They didn’t forgo alcohol in pubs and they were incapable of discretion.”

But Hill managed to persuade the county to provide funding to pay, equip and train 100 officers, along with providing a headquarters and transport for his new force, covering eight divisions in Leyburn, Whitby, Pickering, Stokesley, Gilling, near Richmond, Easingwold, Malton and Northallerton.

Today’s exhibitions shed new light on how both police methods and our modern system of law and order have evolved since then.

But it is the bleak and gloomy 200-year-old prison building itself which provides a tangible and chilling reminder of just how far we have come.

  • Ripon Police and Prison Museum, 1 St Marygate HG4 1LX. T: 01765-690799; riponmuseums.co.uk