8:36 AM
On
the weekend of Mothering Sunday, author Jeremy Clay tells the singular
story of a dying wish, a dutiful daughter and a mum with two graves -
4,000 miles apart.
Claire Taylor was as good as her word. She'd made her
promise, and she was going to stick to it. And so, on a spring day in
1891, she set out from her home in Midwestern America to honour her
mum's dying wish. It wasn't a simple undertaking. For a start, there was
the matter of an 8,000-mile round journey to Europe and back. And then…
well, then there was the contents of her luggage. Dr Taylor was
travelling with three ebony cases, each numbered and bearing a
single-word inscription in silver-headed nails: Mother. In one, was her
mum's heart, in the second, her feet, in the last, her hands. All had
been pickled for three years in alcohol.
Continue reading the main story
Victorian strangeness
A series of bizarre episodes culled from 19th Century newspapers by Jeremy Clay.
Struck blind by lightning in her
60s, the unfortunate Mrs Verge had died of a stomach tumour in 1888 in
her daughter's house in the Indiana town of Peru. She was buried without
a service in nearby Somerset. It was a one part of a macabre
compromise. Mrs Verge was French, and wanted to be laid to rest in
Normandy. Knowing that wasn't to be, for reasons left untold in the
newspaper reports of the time, she agreed to be buried largely in the
US, if her daughter vowed to take a small selection of her anatomical
highlights on a return trip across the ocean.
Continue reading the main story
Life hadn't been kind to Jack McKenna. His wife ran off with
his best friend and left for America. His daughter was dying of
influenza. He, too, was struck down with the flu. Only a few shillings
stood between him and starvation. Read more
More from the Magazine
Soon after she died, two doctors,
the undertakers and what the Miami County Sentinel called "a few
curious spectators" gathered at Dr Taylor's home to segment Mrs Verge.
It would be three years before Dr Taylor left for New York, on the first
leg of her pilgrimage to Normandy, with what the Gloucester Citizen
called her "ghastly burden". "But her fame preceded her," said the
Citizen, "and the landlord of the hotel in New York refused to admit her
unless the boxes were sent to the baggage room and left there."
Dr Taylor agreed and busied herself until her Atlantic
crossing. Until it was discovered that Box No. 2, containing the feet,
had vanished. "There was a dreadful scene," said the Citizen. The hotel
was searched and telegrams were fired off in every direction, but to no
avail. It wasn't until several hours later, with Dr Taylor frantic with
worry, that a message arrived from Boston, from a traveller who had
been staying at the same hotel. "Have among my trunks a small black box
marked Mother No. 2. Did I take this with me by mistake?""This morning they were returned by express and Mrs Taylor is once more quite happy," noted the Citizen. "She will now sail for England on Wednesday and unless the steamship company make objection to her bringing her three rather gruesome ebony boxes with her, she will within two weeks be able to carry out her mother's wishes and bury the hands feet and heart in the spot indicated."
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