By Theseustoo / Astyages
I realise it’s been some time since I posted anything here and that my next episode of HH is way overdue, but so much has been happening lately, I just haven’t been able to ‘settle’ to write it yet… However, in the meantime, I’ve found an interesting little story to share with you all. I was having a chat with a fellow from Hartlepool in the Northeast of England, just about 13 miles south of where I used to live in Easington Colliery… The inhabitants of Hartlepool are known, more or less affectionately, as ‘monkey hangers’ as the result of an interesting little tale which goes back to the Napoleonic wars. Although this story is not mine, as it was found in a site which is all about advertising the delights of Hartlepool, I don’t suppose they’ll mind if I reproduce it here… It also includes a folk song about the same story too:
The Hartlepool Monkey, Who hung the monkey?
Home > History of Hartlepool > The Hartlepool Monkey, Who hung the monkey?
The monkey-hanging legend is the most famous story connected with Hartlepool. During the Napoleonic Wars a French ship was wrecked off the Hartlepool coast.
During the Napoleonic Wars there was a fear of a French invasion of Britain and much public concern about the possibility of French infiltrators and spies.
The fishermen of Hartlepool fearing an invasion kept a close watch on the French vessel as it struggled against the storm but when the vessel was severely battered and sunk they turned their attention to the wreckage washed ashore. Among the wreckage lay one wet and sorrowful looking survivor, the ship’s pet monkey dressed to amuse in a military style uniform.
The fishermen apparently questioned the monkey and held a beach-based trial. Unfamiliar with what a Frenchman looked like they came to the conclusion that this monkey was a French spy and should be sentenced to death. The unfortunate creature was to die by hanging, with the mast of a fishing boat (a coble) providing a convenient gallows.
In former times, when war and strife
The French invasion threaten’d life
An’ all was armed to the knife
The Fisherman hung the monkey O !
The Fishermen with courage high,
Siezed on the monkey for a French spy;
“Hang him !” says one; “he’s to die”
They did and they hung the monkey Oh!
They tried every means to make him speak
And tortured the monkey till loud he did speak;
Says yen “thats french” says another “its Greek”
For the fishermen had got druncky oh!
Hammer his ribs, the thunnerin thief
Pummel his pyet wi yor neef!
He’s landed here for nobbut grief
He’s aud Napoleon’s uncky O!
Thus to the Monkey all hands behaved
“Cut off his whiskers!” yen chap raved
Another bawled out “He’s never been shaved”,
So commenced to scrape the Monkey, O!
They put him on a gridiron hot,
The Monkey then quite lively got,
He rowl’d his eyes tiv a’ the lot,
For the Monkey agyen turned funky O!.
Then a Fisherman up te Monkey goes,
Saying “Hang him at yence, an’ end his woes,”
But the Monkey flew at him and bit off his nose,
An’ that raised the poor man’s Monkey O!
In former times, mid war an’ strife,
The French invasion threatened life,
An’ all was armed to the knife,
The Fishermen hung the Monkey O!
The Fishermen wi’ courage high,
Seized on the Monkey for a spy,
“Hang him” says yen, says another,”He’ll die!”
They did, and they hung the Monkey O!. They tortor’d the Monkey till loud he did
squeak
Says yen, “That’s French,” says another “it’s Greek”
For the Fishermen had got drunky, O!
“He’s all ower hair!” sum chap did cry,
E’en up te summic cute an’ sly
Wiv a cod’s head then they closed an eye,
Afore they hung the Monkey O!.
—————————-
So is it true? Did it really happen like that? You won’t find many people in Hartlepool who say it didn’t. They love the story.
The term was originally derogatory and for a long, long time after the event, people from neighbouring towns used the tale to mock Hartlepool and its inhabitants, and Hartlepudlians were often on the receiving end of the jibe: “Who hung the monkey?” , and is often applied to supporters of Hartlepool United Football Club by supporters of their arch rivals Darlington. However it has been embraced by many Hartlepudlians, and only a small minority still consider the term offensive; indeed, The local Rugby Union team Hartlepool Rovers are known as the Monkeyhangers, Hartlepool United F.C.’s mascot is a monkey called H’Angus the Monkey. In 2002, Stuart Drummond campaigned for the office of Mayor of Hartlepool in the costume of H’Angus the Monkey and narrowly won; he used the election slogan “free bananas for schoolchildren”, a promise he was unable to keep. He has since been re-elected twice.
Then there are some who point to a much darker interpretation of the yarn. They say that the creature that was hanged might not have been a monkey at all; it could have been a young boy. After all, the term powder-monkey was commonly used in those times for the children employed on warships to prime the cannon with gunpowder.
Whatever the truth the story of the Hartlepool monkey is a legend which has endured over two centuries and now enters its third as strong as ever.
In June 2005 a large bone was found washed ashore on Hartlepool beach by a local resident, which initially was taken as giving credence to the monkey legend. Analysis revealed the bone to be that of a red deer which had died 6,000 years ago. The bone is now in the collections of Hartlepool Museum Service.

Reading this makes suicide a real option
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IHey Hung,
once ate a herring from herring stall in The Hague and kept dipping the fish in the raw chopped onions that were there on a plate. The fish monger (nice term) said don’t keep redipping your herring after you have taken bites out of it, it’s not very hygienic.
It was a kind of ‘fuck off’ as well, still it was meant well..
Keep complimenting us, Hung.
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Gez, you never cease to crack me up 🙂
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That’s a very interesting tale Asty. You say the North East. I spend some time in Yorshire along the coast and remember Whitby and its Abbey. It also had still a real kipper smoking factory, the last one still operating in the UK ( Iwas told) There was also some Robbin Hood coastal village, all very charming.
In Whitby there was a cottage that Captain Cook was supposed to have sailed from. I was taken for ‘pudding’, which was in the afternoon and involved tea and cake, all very nice and hospitable. Afterwards I took the train to Peterborough and a ferry to Rotterdam.
It was all a long time ago.
That monkey poem was a good reflection of those times I feel. Those French and their strange lingo, they might even have looked a bit like the monkey, they thought, especially dressed in uniform. Poor monkey, squealing and strung up..
You know, that some tales are known in other countries better than in the country of origin. In Holland I never heard of the story of the boy with the finger in the Dyke. Odd. On the other hand may be it just never did the rounds in the environment of my youth.
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Yes, Yorkshire is gorgeous, isn’t it Gerard! (You can revisit Yorkshire anytime you want if you check out the serial, “Last of the Summer Wine”, in which the Yorkshire countryside is an unwritten character!)
Whitby, if I remember my history correctly, was actually Captain Cook’s hometown… and the ship he captained was actually a converted collier-ship! In the city of York itself, I have lain down on the very bed, in the very prison cell that Dick Turpin spent his last night on this benighted planet, before they hung him! It is now, of course, a museum for the tourists…
As for Yorkshire pudding… the recipe is very simple; a plain batter mix… but its uses are manifold and various: You can have it as part of your main course, with roast beef and gravy with roast potatoes and vegetables… or you can have it as a desert, with jam, honey, golden syrup, or anything else you’d like to top it with… Wonderful stuff… but make BIG yorkshire puds… not little ones in little ‘cup-cake’ trays… I’d suggest using something like used ‘Fray Bentos’ steak-and-kidney pie tins… or even a large baking tray; the fat must be very hot before you pour in the mixture though (and I mean ‘smoking’ hot!), or they won’t rise… or maybe some other disaster will occur… The traditional recipe calls for the batter mixture to be ‘beaten for twenty minutes by the hands of a strong Yorkshire woman’…
Yes, I always did feel sorry for the poor monkey; but I also felt almost as sorry for the Hartlepudlians for their ignorance…
As for the ‘finger in the dyke’ boy… such tales as this tend to be very localised in their home country… even though they may be taken abroad as examples which ‘typify’ the folk-culture of the whole country of origin. For example, I’ve never heard the story of the Easington Hare outside of Easington! And the Lambton Worm is only current in the Northeast… but these are admittedly less well known abroad than the ‘dyke’ story…
Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed this story; I’ll try and find complete versions of the Easington Hare and the Lambton Worm… the latter will be quite easy to find, even if I have to present it as the folk-song, which is written in Geordie! That should amuse Voice, if no-one else! (Voice may indeed be the only piglet properly able to translate it, other than yours truly… But I’m sure the rest of you will have fun trying! Maybe I can even find the ‘dyke’ story for you… We’ll see!
🙂
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Not only did these Hartlepudlians not know what a Frenchman look like, they obviously didn’t also know what a monkey looked like!
I wonder if the bard did, though!
Sounds like, sort of like, kind of, one of them scapegoating stories, asty. Simianscaping, thingy.
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I can see what you mean, Ato… if you can’t find the real culprit, hang the nearest monkey! Sounds like a scapegoating ritual to me too! You notice they tortured the poor critter before they hung it…? That’s all part of the ritual too… the ‘blame’ must be laid on the back of the scapegoat and the two ways of laying the blame onto the scapegoat were through blessings and/or blows…
Ato, when I first started studying scapegoating rituals, I was amazed how ubiquitous they are! Indeed, I came to the conclusion that the scapegoating ritual was a paradigmatic form of violence… and also that our whole modern, western, post-industrialist, capitalist, colonial-imperialist social economic system is one huge ongoing scapegoat ritual… derived from the cosmological scapegoating ritual that has been at the heart of our society for the last two thousand years… the crucifixion of Jesus… because, as I’ve said in my book ‘Aesthetics of Violence’ (see AOV on Astyages’s Weblog: astyages.wordpress.com) social process follows cosmological process (quoting Emile Durkheim: “The Rules of Sociological Method). This, above all other reasons, is my reason for repudiating christianity…
🙂
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I noticed also the line in the song “Wiv a cod’s head then they closed an eye, afore they hung the monkey-o!” and can’t help wondering if this isn’t the origin of the phrase, “Better than a slap in the face with a wet fish!”
😉
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Reminds me of John Doremus. He get’s a nostalgic gig every now & again on local radio.
http://www.gracegibson.com.au/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&catid=38%3Adramaserials&id=127%3Athe-passing-parade-with-john-doremus&Itemid=61
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I meant to say that..The Passing Parade, just came into my head, when I reed your story. It was, sort of redolent.
Well done for picking something odd out.
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I remember the ‘Passing Parade’ Vee-ell… and I just love those old folk-tales, don’t you? Maybe one day I’ll post another couple from the same part of the country: “The Lambton Worm” is a lovely tale; and there’s one from where I used to live called “The Easington Hare”. The school I used to go to had a school badge on its uniform (which I refused to wear, along with the school tie!) which depicts a hare jumping through a laurel wreath. I’ll see if I can find complete versions of these stories though, as my own memory of them is a little sketchy…
🙂
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Good grief. Extraordinary.
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Strange, perhaps, Vivienne, but true!
🙂
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I have found out that often the weirdest stories are the true ones. Same can be said about the funniest ones…we are all but poor story writers when compared to happanings in real life.
Interesting one indeed, asty.
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Thanks Helvi… glad you enjoyed it!
🙂
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