'How to Fake a Dragon' by Karen Maitland

A Jenny Haniver
Photo: M.Violante

It is so important to take children to museums, I mean proper museums with real objects in glass cases, not ones simply filled with interactive computer screens.

I vividly remember a childhood trip to a museum where I became enthralled by a dry, brown creature in a case that looked exactly like a mummified imp with bat-like wings, spiky tail, and a demonic, human-like face. I felt I was staring at a grotesque that had come to life and flown down from the roof of a gothic Cathedral. The label stated that the dried imp was a 'Jenny Haniver', a fake, but it looked as real as any of those two-headed chicks, shark pups or goat embryos preserved in jars, which lined our biology lab at school.

And the sight of that creature fascinated me so much as a child that, decades later, the image would wriggle to the surface of my mind and become a clue to an assassination plot in my Jacobean thriller ‘Rivers of Treason.’

'Little Dragon' form of Jenny Haniver
(Made from a stingray in 18th Century)
Photo: Didier Descovens
Museum de Toulouse

The term Jenny Haniver is used to refer to the corpse of any real animal that is fashioned to resemble a mythological creature such as a demon or dragon. Jenny Hanivers started to be made in great numbers in 16th and 17th centuries, the centuries of exploration, when travellers and sailors were returning to Europe with tales of the wonderous animals they had encountered. Jenny Hanivers were usually fashioned from the carcass of a ray, skate or devil fish that had been tied into a monstrous shape and dried, resulting in a mummified specimen. Since these flat fish have eyes and mouths that resemble human or mammalian faces, the features could be moulded into grotesque expressions. They also have barbed tails and so was possible to make them look like demons or small dragons by cutting and shaping the body to create wings or limbs before drying the carcass. 

Face of a Ray fish
Photo: JoshBerglund19

These fakes were manufactured in great numbers in the ports of Belgium and Holland, where they were sold as curios to mariners and travellers to take back home, to show the monsters they’d encountered on their voyages. It has been suggested that one possible explanation of the origin of the name may be the French phrase jeune d’Anvers – Anvers being the French name for Antwerp– which English sailors corrupted into Jenny Haniver. 

Jenny Hanivers were crafted to look like imps, baby basilisks, newly hatched dragons, wyverns and even the legendary ‘sea monks’ and ‘sea-bishops’ which were believed to conjure storms at sea. 

Sea Monk & Sea Bishop
Illustrations from 1669
Taken from a woodcut of 1558
Carver: Conrad Gesner (1516-1565)

An illustration of a Jenny Haniver appeared in Konrad Gesner’s Historia Animalium in 1558, where Gesner firmly states that these are simply dried rays, and that people shouldn’t be tricked into believing they are dragons or monsters. However, the tales of the creatures encountered by European sailors visiting tropical islands, as well as the skins and often badly stuffed specimens brought back by those exploring the Americas, only served to convince a public who had never seen such animals before that these fakes might also be real.

Later, in the 19th century, people in Europe paid to view dried mermaids brought back by merchants and sailors from Japan. Japanese fishmen had learned to supplement their income by creating grotesque little mermaids from monkeys and fish. The fishermen would claim they had found a mermaid alive in their nets, who before she died, had warned of a terrible plague about to sweep the land from which people could only be saved if they wore a mermaid charm. Naturally the fishmen ensured that they just happen to have these charms for sale.

Mummified mermaid
Archivio fotografico 
Museo Civico di Modena

And it seems we are still just as willing to believe in strange creatures from distant realms as our forebears did. In 2023, two small mummified ‘alien’ corpses from Peru were subject to months of scientific investigation and journalistic speculation about whether these diminutive, three-fingered beings could possibly be real ‘aliens’ from outer space or an elaborate hoax. The consensus of most scientists in the end was they were composites of pre-Columbian human remains and animal bones coved in plaster or glue. But the question remained, were they created as part of an ancient Peruvian burial rite or mocked-up in our own century by someone out to make money, just like those creative Jenny Haniver makers of Antwerp? Human nature doesn’t change!

A Jenny Haniver
Photo: Vassil
Museum d'Histoire Naturelle de Geneve, 
Geneva

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Rivers of Treason, set in 1607, is the 3rd book in the Daniel Pursglove thriller quartet by KJ Maitland. Book 4, Plague of Serpents, is out now.

Forgotten Women

During lockdown, a group of a dozen women, who knew each other through family history events and courses, began to meet online for mutual encouragement with various research projects. We were aware that women's stories are often overlooked in the historical narrative, in particular, stories of those women who found themselves on society’s margins. We decided to create a website where we could showcase short biographies of some of these women and A Few Forgotten Women was born. The website went live in December 2022.

In Britain, it is usually men who perpetuate the family surname. Men are more likely to make wills, to appear in records of land ownership and land transfer, in polls books, electoral rolls and service records. Men also predominate in other occupational records, apprenticeship indentures and directories. Women comprise fifty percent of the population, so we sought to give them equal prominence with the men. In order to do so, we often needed to be more creative and to set them into the social historical context of their times.

Our focus is on women who may have been overlooked or stigmatised by society, those who might find themselves in prisons, workhouses or asylums, the disabled and those who have no descendants to honour their memory. We began to post stories of our own relatives and of those we encountered during local history research and other projects. Occasionally, when we met together on Zoom, we researched a woman collectively. We realised that, with only twelve of us, all of whom had other commitments and busy lives, the site would grow very slowly. We began to accept guest contributions, providing the woman was not already well researched and that she fitted one of the criteria listed on our website.

Our collective online research was great fun and we realised that we could share that experience and dramatically increase the number of stories on the website at the same time. The concept of Forgotten Women Fridays was born. Every few months we choose an institution and usually using a census return as a basis, invite volunteers to research one of the women or girls associated with that data set. There is an optional all day Zoom that volunteers can drop in and out of if they wish; some stay all day. We have ranged across England to investigate a school of housewifery, homes for inebriate women, an industrial school, a teacher training college and a children’s hospital. The latest project involves the girls who attended two schools for the deaf. In this way, we have, so far, been able to ensure that more than 350 women or girls are no longer forgotten.

The aim is that the site should be useful to those studying women’s lives, so we add background information about the institutions we research and the site contains a timeline of women’s history and an extensive and expanding  bibliography, as well as a few articles. It is very much a work in progress, one that is entirely unfunded and dependent on voluntary contributions but hugely rewarding.

The Bristol Conference -- Bookish History Girl Fun! by Sheena Wilkinson

I've just returned from a wonderful conference in Bristol, with a suitcase full of old books, friendships made and renewed, and a head full of facts -- what schoolgirls wore under their uniforms in the early twentieth century; what girls were reading in 1924; how English folk songs were used in children's books -- the sort of slightly esoteric information I have always found fascinating and which, I believe, is what made me a History Girl many years ago.

The Bristol Conference Website 

This conference, Twentieth Century Schoolgirls and Their Books (https://thebristolconference.org/) is held every two years in Bristol, and has grown from strength to strength since the first gathering back in 2008. It's run by two stalwart women, Sally Dore and Betula O'Neill, whose commitment, enthusiasm and attention to detail have made the conference a summer highlight for many readers. This year saw the eighth conference -- there was none in 2020 for obvious reasons, and as I unpacked it occurred to me that many History Girls and readers of this blog might like to hear about it. For, although the conference isn't overtly focussed on history, its remit -- twentieth century children's books is, de facto, of interest to a historian. 

Example of one day of the programme 

Who attends the conference? It's a mixture of readers, booksellers, collectors, academics and enthusiasts. We tend to be female, and we are not, on the whole, young. We have unapologetically continued to enjoy the books of our childhoods -- which often means, as well, the books of our mothers' childhoods, or we have discovered the joy of old-fashioned books in later years. I was a child of the seventies, but my own preference is for books written between the twenties and the sixties, from the heyday of the girls' school story to the mid-century golden age of children's books.

One of my favourite talks this year was about underwear 

The talks are always wide-ranging, and every conference I try (and fail) to resist the lure of a new author to collect -- (not) helped by the onsite specialist bookstall! This year I picked up a book I hadn't read by Evelyn Smith, one of the best, if not the best-known 1920s school story writers, as well as Nora O'Flangian, Prefect, a book from my own personal history, as I used to borrow a battered old copy from the P6 library in 1979 (where nobody else did, and only now am I wondering how it got there) plus a book by Doris Pocock, another lesser-known but pretty good writer. I'm calling these purchases research, since I'm writing books set in the 1920s at the moment!

my haul

All being well, the next conference will be held in 2026, and I'm already looking forward to it. It's so lovely to have the chance to discuss old-fashioned, mostly forgotten books with fellow enthusiasts. Of course we all chat online, but it's not the same as face to face. I'm guessing a lot of History Girls would love this conference -- maybe I'll see some of you there in two years' time. 

The writer Mary K Harris was the subject of my own talk

Crofting in the 1940s - Joan Lennon

 

A lovely film. Make yourself a cup of tea and let the voices wash over you. It's wartime and has been for some time, but the sheep still need gathered and clipped and the children still are in the midst of everything. And the dogs!

Joan Lennon website

Joan Lennon Instagram

​A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 18THC GWYNEDD ... by Susan Stokes-Chapman

‘To understand it,’ Linette begins, ‘you must know our history. Many of the Welsh estates have dwindled dreadfully in recent years, to the detriment of those who relied on the landowners for their care. I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s little to entertain here – many of the gentry took to the cities. As a consequence they left their estates under the care of agents who leeched money from tenants and the land into the purses of their employers, who then squandered it. Some could curtail their spending, like our neighbours Lord Pennant and Sir John Selwyn, but many others were plunged into debt and passed their estates on to English gentry. My grandfather was one of these men. He preferred the delights of London and spent so freely there it put Plas Helyg on the edge of ruin.’ ~ Extract from: The Shadow Key

Harlech Castle, from Twgwyn Ferry, Summer's Evening Twilight (1799) - Joseph Mallord William Turner

Gwynedd, a county stretching across North-West Wales, is defined by its dramatic mountainous landscape and an extensive western coastline that gazes out over the Irish Sea. Renowned primarily for Snowdonia National Park — recently restored to its original Welsh name, Eryri — this region is home to Wales’s highest peak, Yr Wyddfa, more commonly known as Snowdon. Rich in history, boasting countless castles, stunning beaches, abundant wildlife, and vibrant culture, Gwynedd is today a celebrated destination for travellers and tourists alike.

However, the eighteenth-century Gwynedd was a very different place.

At that time, the area was known as Meirionydd, a land largely isolated from the rest of Wales and England by the rugged mountains of Eryri and a scarcity of easily navigable routes. Travel was predominantly on foot or horseback, following ancient drovers’ roads—pathways used to move livestock across the hills. Many of these routes traced back to medieval times or even earlier, winding treacherously through rocky terrain and offering little in the way of safety or comfort. As a result, the people of Meirionydd were often viewed as living in a remote backwater, with customs and ideas deemed ‘backward’ by outsiders.

This perception was actively reinforced through the spread of English culture by landowners who sought to ‘tame’ their Welsh tenants. Many estates, having fallen into disrepair due to irregular income, were acquired by absentee English proprietors who treated these properties merely as summer retreats. By the mid-eighteenth century, only a handful of the great Welsh estates remained in the hands of their original families. The incoming English gentry imposed sweeping modernisations on these estates, often with little regard for the impact on local tenants. Many native inhabitants were displaced, left without work or even shelter.

Unsurprisingly, this bred considerable resentment, particularly as language barriers compounded the difficulties in communication. Throughout the eighteenth century, English was the language of power, governance, and opportunity — an essential tool for anyone wishing to ‘advance in life.’ Consequently, the remaining Welsh gentry adopted English, while many among the lower classes faced the enforced imposition of a foreign tongue, fuelling discord and occasional uprisings, especially in matters of church and religious reform.

This linguistic and cultural divide lingers in some communities even today — a lingering echo of a troubled past where the Welsh endured harsh treatment at the hands of the English, making such tensions all the more understandable. [For further reading, see Hope and Heartbreak: A Social History of Wales and the Welsh, 1776– 1871 by Russell Davies, Welsh Gothic by Jane Aaron, and The Remaking of Wales in the Eighteenth Century edited by Trevor Herbert and Gareth Elwyn Jones]

The primary sources of income in the region were varied: shipbuilding thrived in Barmouth, fishing flourished along the coast, farming sustained the inland communities, and the mining of slate, copper, lead, iron, and gold fuelled industrial growth. Mining, in particular, experienced rapid expansion during the Industrial Revolution, and eventually, North-West Wales became home to some of the largest mining quarries in the world. These sites have since been recognized as World Heritage Sites and are renowned internationally. Notably, the famous jewellery brand Clogau traces its origins to the gold mine nestled in the hills just outside Dolgellau.

Yet, it is important to acknowledge that these mines were typically owned by the gentry, while the men who laboured within them endured grueling conditions. Miners were often compelled to purchase their own tools from their meagre wages and worked over ten hours a day — six days a week — with only Christmas Day as respite. The work was brutal and unforgiving, carried out in hazardous environments that resulted in a frighteningly high death toll.

Moreover, the influence of the Pennants of Penrhyn Castle serves as a stark reminder of the darker side of this wealth. The Pennants were involved not only in mining but also in the slave trade, owning several plantations in Jamaica. This connection underscores how the Welsh gentry amassed their fortunes through the exploitation of those they deemed ‘the lesser man.’

Despite these harsh realities, Meirionydd remained (and still is) a breathtakingly beautiful corner of Wales that drew visitors from near and far, helping to put the county firmly on the map for future generations. Among those captivated by the region was another member of the Pennant family, the naturalist Thomas Pennant. Between 1778 and 1781, he undertook an ambitious journey across Wales, culminating in the publication of two volumes celebrating his travels. His The Journey to Snowdon, featured in Volume II, offers a richly detailed and lyrical eighteenth-century portrayal of his native land, capturing the essence of Wales with both affection and keen observation.

Wales also drew many pilgrims of a literary and spiritual nature. Among them was the Reverend Richard Warner of Bath, who documented his travels in A Walk Through Wales (1799) and its sequel, A Second Walk Through Wales (1800). Even the renowned Romantic poet William Wordsworth harboured a deep affection for the country. During his first visit in 1791, he traversed much of North Wales, an experience immortalized in his Descriptive Sketches. Wordsworth vividly recalled ascending Snowdon by night to witness the sunrise, a moment so powerful that echoes of it can be found within his seminal work, The Prelude:

[...] When from behind that craggy Steep, till then
The bound of the horizon, a huge Cliff,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Uprear’d its head. I struck, and struck again
And, growing still in stature, the huge Cliff
Rose up between me and the stars [...]

Gwynedd/Meirionydd is a county steeped in history. We often celebrate its rich tapestry of myths and legends — like those immortalised in The Mabinogi — and its pivotal Medieval chapter, notably Edward I’s conquest between 1277 and 1283, marked by the construction of the formidable castles at Harlech and Caernarfon. Today, Wales is widely cherished as a beloved summer holiday destination, yet it is equally important for those who cherish the nation to reflect on the often-overlooked “middle years.” These centuries, though less frequently examined, played a crucial role in shaping the Wales we know and revere today.

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I explore Welsh eighteenth-century social history in Gwynedd in my second historical novel The Shadow Key, published in hardback in April 2024. You can order a copy by clicking the image below:

www.susanstokeschapman.com

Instagram: @SStokesChapman