Witches of Warboys
20th October 2025 by | UncategorizedThe rafters strain as the wind drives rain against the windows, a constant drumming that seeps into the bones of the house. Wax runs down the side of my candle, hissing as it pools, while the shadows shift and lean across the room. Nights such as this belong to dread — and dread belonged to Warboys in 1593.
It began with the Throckmorton children: the daughters of Robert Throckmorton and their young cousin. They were seized with fits that confounded both family and neighbours. Their limbs twisted in contortions; their voices rose in shrieks and laughter that chilled the marrow. At moments they barked like dogs; at others they fell stiff and silent, insensible for hours. They complained of pinching, of invisible pricks and stabs, and of being forced to cry out against their will.
When Alice Samuel, an elderly neighbour, entered their chamber, the convulsions worsened beyond bearing. The children screamed that she tormented them. Neighbours gathered, ministers prayed, and magistrates were summoned. Suspicion became certainty, and certainty was sharpened into accusation.
By April 1593, Alice, her husband John, and their daughter Agnes stood trial at Huntingdon. The afflicted children were brought into court, where they writhed and cried out at the very sight of the Samuels. The judges needed no further persuasion. All three were condemned.
They were hanged, and their goods forfeited to endow a sermon against witchcraft, to be preached each year so that Warboys might remember and ‘beware.’ What began as children’s fits became a sermon for the realm, binding one village’s grief into England’s wider fear.
The past is never silent.
