The Medieval Universitas

This article has been contributed by Marci Freedman, a medieval historian who has recently completed her PhD at the University of Manchester. Her research profile is available on: https://manchester.academia.edu/MarciFreedman

The University as an institution is often associated with the built environment. Its infrastructure reflects a certain gravitas and they seem to breathe an air of erudition. Universities are incredibly proud of their buildings which highlight their beginnings and their heritage; no campus tour is complete without these points of interest. Whilst this may provide the history of a specific university, it is not the physical environment which can inform us about the early rise of the university as a socio-cultural development of the twelfth century. In fact, the infrastructures of universities across Europe often do not accord with their earliest years as the majority of buildings are late medieval or early modern foundations. To truly understand the rise of the university in the Middle Ages, one must turn to the people and cities who provide the backdrop. It is the purpose of this post to explore who comprised the earliest universities, their position within respective university cities and what this reveals about the university as a place of learning in medieval European society.

Medieval uni

The true beginnings of Europe’s oldest universities are obscure. What is certain is that the university is a development of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Within these uncertain beginnings are wandering scholars – men who travelled to seek out masters of a specific subject, or who followed these masters from city to city. Masters attracted scholars through their reputation which led to students hiring them for instruction, thereby establishing a learning group known as a universitas (learning community). Other universities were established by the Church who paid the masters, and others still were established by the nobility and state. The earliest university structure was predominantly transient and comprised of lectures organised in ad hoc locations, often private halls and Churches. Certain cities did emerge as the leaders in specific fields – Bologna for law, Paris for theology (to name just two), with students travelling from across Europe to attend them. This tied universities to the urban expansion that was occurring across medieval Europe.

With the influx of students into cities the demand for goods, services and accommodation rose, as did the prices of these necessities. A student would typically require a range of supplies and services, including (but not limited to) stationary, books, clothes, food, ale/wine and money changers. In the natural course of supply and demand, prices could be extortionate. In response, students and masters began to organise themselves into guilds against the exploitations of townsmen. One means was to threaten to leave the city and take their learning elsewhere (as students in Paris did in 1229). A second option was to negotiate a charter with the town which would grant privileges to masters and students – such as price fixing and student exemptions from civil jurisdiction (although they remained subject to the ecclesiastical courts). To further mitigate the inflated prices of room and board, purpose-built colleges were erected in some towns, particularly in Oxford. The beginnings of the University as an institution – one which was self-governing and insular – caused tensions between “town and gown” (the city and the university) and, at times, erupted into violence (such as Oxford’s famous St Scholastica Day of 1355). Nonetheless, teaching continued and physical structures were gradually built which further tied universities to specific cities and entrenched them within the urban landscape.

The student body was entirely comprised of literate men, anywhere from their mid-teens to thirties, who arrived at the university with a range of motivations and incomes. All were proficient in Latin, the lingua franca of medieval learning and allowed for men of different nations to converse. It is difficult to trace the daily lives of students, and little evidence survives which shed light on this section of urban society. Some of the documentation which has been left to us include: university and college statutes, student manuals, court and law records, sermons, as well as letters from students themselves. Much of this data provides a one-sided portrayal of lazy, reckless and haughty students who were a nuisance to the general populace. Townspeople might typically complain about ‘brawling, whoring, dicing, swanking around in inappropriate clothing, singing, dancing, carrying weapons and insulting not only the respectable citizens but also the forces of law and order’.[1] The extant evidence does little to differentiate between the different classes of students – the idle and aimless versus the diligent and academically gifted students – and can offer quite a negative image. Amongst the paucity of evidence is a body of letters which does shed some light on the daily lives of students. Reinforcing this image is a letter from a father to a son who sternly writes:

I have recently discovered that you live dissolutely and slothfully, preferring license to restraint and play to work and strumming a guitar while the others are at their studies, whence it happens that you have read but one volume of law while your most industrious companions have read several. Wherefore I have decided to exhort you herewith to repent utterly of your dissolute and careless ways, that you may no longer be called a waster and your shame may be turned to good repute.[2]

Those who did attend university for academic pursuits were by far the larger group; though they remain less conspicuous in the documents. Of those that have survived, we are often presented with an image of the cash-strapped student which may resonate with their modern counterparts. For example, two twelfth-century brothers wrote to their father requesting funds:

This is to inform you that, by divine mercy, we are living in good health in the City of Orleans, and are devoting ourselves wholly to study…We occupy a good dwelling, next door but one to the schools and market-place, so that we can go to school every day without wetting our feet. We have also good companions in the house with us, well advanced in their studies and of excellent habit…Wherefore lest production cease from lack of material, we beg your paternity to send us by the bearer…money for buying parchment, ink, a desk, and other things which we need, in sufficient amount that we may suffer no want on your account (God forbid!) but finish our studies and return home with honour…[3]

Although only one example, it begins to balance the view and reveals that there were plenty of assiduous students in attendance. The majority of requests were replied to by parents who remitted the desired amount – though some parents might have added a caveat for the student to moderate their expenses.

Medieval learning was a transmission of knowledge from masters to students. This was accomplished through lecturing from a specific text as well as through disputations, all of which were in the pursuit of knowledge. The university, however, was primarily an institution of vocational training; graduates were the clerks of government, high-office holders of the Church (bishops and theologians) as well as lawyers and doctors. The university thus offered a rare avenue for social mobility, providing poorer students opportunities not available before. Learning was especially useful to the State as governments ‘modernised’ trade, tax collection, record keeping and legal systems. Thus, it was university-educated men who increasingly came to underpin the bureaucratic machine of both Church and State.

Notes

[1] Hunt Janin, The University in Medieval Life, 1179-1499 (Jefferson: NC, McFarland & Company, Inc., 2008).

[2] Charles Homer Haskins, The Rise of Universities (New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1923) pp.79-80

[3] Ibid.

Between War and Revolution: Trinity College Dublin 1914-22.

This post has been contributed by Dr Tomás Irish, lecturer in Modern History at Swansea University. He has recently released a new book looking at Trinity College Dublin in war and revolution, 1912-1923, available here.

TCD_web

On 24 April 1916, nationalist rebels seized the General Post Office in the centre of Dublin, inaugurating the Easter Rising which would lead to a week of fighting in the name of a newly-proclaimed Irish republic. At Trinity College Dublin, the university’s porters, fearing the worst, quickly locked the gates to the venerable institution, already depopulated owing to the ongoing war. In the hours that followed, a motley crew of students, professors, and alumni organized the defence of Trinity. They were joined in this by a small number of soldiers on leave from the front, from Australia, New Zealand, Canada and South Africa. On the first night of the Rising, this improvised garrison numbered 44 men who acted in the full expectation of an attack upon the university, one which ultimately never came to pass.

In the week ahead, Trinity would become the hub from which British forces suppressed the nationalist rising, although it would in turn inspire a war of independence leading to the secession of 26 Irish counties from union with Britain in 1921. Trinity, traditionally a unionist institution with strong links to both the government in Westminster and the British Empire, was out of tune with the nationalist revolution and found itself sidelined by the new Irish Free State, which prioritized funding and influence for the National University of Ireland, where many of the revolutionaries had been educated. This left Trinity both emotionally and practically distant from the new state in the decades following the latter’s establishment.

Trinity College Dublin forms an unusual example of a university which saw its normal activities turned on their head by not one, but two conflicts in the second decade of the twentieth century. It found itself, in 1916, a site of mobilization for conflicts being fought at home and abroad. While the First World War was a transformative moment for universities in most belligerent states, few universities found themselves directly threatened by military action (with the notable exception of Belgian universities in August 1914). Moreover, none, to the best of my knowledge, found themselves unwitting participants in two different military affairs with conflicting aspirations. This was the experience of Trinity College Dublin in the period 1914-1922.

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British troops in Trinity College Dublin during the Easter Rising, 1916.

Image owned by, and reproduced here with the kind permission of The Board of Trinity College Dublin: https://www.tcd.ie/Library/digitising-the-treasures/

Exhibition material from the Long Room Exhibit ‘Dublin; The College and the City’ as compiled by the Manuscripts Department, Trinity College Library, October 2009

The example of Trinity College Dublin, founded in 1592, exemplifies both the richness and the challenges of writing university history. At the turn of the twentieth century, TCD formed part of a wider academic world, with its lecturers travelling to international conferences, receiving honorary degrees from institutions elsewhere in Europe and North America, and its graduates frequently gaining employment elsewhere in the British Empire. This was exemplified by its tercentenary celebrations of 1892, where scholars came from across the world to honour one of Europe’s ancient universities.

In an Irish context, Trinity was seen as antithetical to resurgent nationalism which had grown in strength in the decades before 1914: it had, until 1793, excluded Catholics, and was still a strongly Anglican institution. It was initially resistant to the teaching of Irish, central to the nationalist cultural revival, and it was a politically unionist institution. Moreover, TCD’s graduates elected two representatives to the Westminster parliament who were unionist in outlook. Indeed, Sir Edward Carson, the unionist leader by 1912, represented Trinity College Dublin (Dublin University) in parliament between 1892 and 1918. Cultural nationalists and nationalist publications frequently cited the institution as exemplifying all that was wrong with British rule in Ireland. The Leader, an especially vituperative nationalist newspaper, frequently referred to Trinity as ‘the Parochial University’ and ‘England’s Faithful Garrison’.

The institution’s experiences in this period exemplify the tension between national and international concerns that mark the experiences of universities in this period, where academics and institutions (almost) universally supported the war and their respective national causes, leaving the appeals to the scholarly internationalism to one side while the conflict was ongoing.

The period of the First World War was transformative for universities around Europe. The conflict was a ‘total war’, meaning that states mobilised the entirety of national resources available to them in their bid to both sustain and win the war effort. For universities this meant that, as the war progressed, national governments increasingly leant on them for expertise and resources. Specialist learning, from the humanities to the hard sciences, was applied to war and its associated problems, with historians and philosophers writing propaganda, physicists and chemists applying their knowledge to weaponry, geographers and legal scholars planning the post-war settlement, while sociologists and economics managed the wartime division of labour. The historian and president of the Board of Education, H.A.L. Fisher, noted in 1917 that ‘the Professor and the Lecturer, the Research Assistant, and the Research Student have suddenly become powerful assets to the nation.’

The engagement of universities in the war was not restricted to academic staff. Students volunteered for service in great numbers, with over 3,000 Trinity students, staff, and alumni undertaking some sort of military service over the course of the war, leaving classrooms empty and universities deprived of student fees. Cumulatively, the university was deeply invested in the prosecution of the First World War. The population of the university dropped from an average of 1,200 before the war to a low of 721 by 1917-18, while students and teaching staff mostly swapped academic work for war work for the conflict’s duration.

Like their counterparts at universities elsewhere in Europe, TCD students volunteered for a myriad reasons: for adventure, out of a sense of solidarity with their fellow students, out of a belief in the righteousness of the cause. To this list can be added two more reasons: in 1914, the two major political factions in Ireland (unionist and constitutional nationalists: both of whom were led by Trinity alumni: Carson and John Redmond) were united in support for the war, and many Trinity students enlisted for this reason. Radical nationalism was still a minority movement at this time; indeed, in November 1914, Patrick Pearse, the man who would lead the Rising in 1916, was forbidden from speaking to the student Gaelic Society owing to his anti-recruitment activities. John Pentland Mahaffy, the Provost of TCD who numbered King George V and Kaiser Wilhelm II amongst his acquaintances, did not want ‘a man called Pearse’ disseminating his ‘traitorous views’ at Trinity College Dublin.

The Easter Rising occurred in the middle of this unprecedented mobilization for war. Its leaders allied themselves to Germany and explicitly rejected the allied war effort. The Trinity community was steadfastly against the Rising and its goals and shocked by the devastation to property across Dublin’s inner city. However, the execution of the leaders of the Rising by the British authorities did much to lend popular support to the republican nationalism which grew in the years that followed, culminating in a War of Independence fought by nationalist insurgents and British military between 1919 and 1921.

Trinity College Dublin found itself caught between two major national movements. In a British context, the wartime efforts of universities transformed their relationship with the state. The establishment of the University Grants Committee in 1919 created a mechanism through which British universities could claim state funding from a centralized body, remuneration universities for their wartime privations and ensuring ongoing state funding of higher education and university research for the first time. To prepare the way for this, a Royal Commission sat in 1920, recommending a capital grant of £113,000 and an annual grant of £49,000 for the university.

In Ireland, the revolution established a new state which was unsympathetic to TCD, its unionist traditions, and its wartime record. Following the signing of the Anglo-Irish treaty on 6 December 1921, Prime Minister David Lloyd George made it clear to TCD that all future financial claims should be taken up with the new Irish government, and the Free State government, in turn, made it clear that they would not honour the recommendations of the Royal Commission of 1920.

It was not until 1947 that Trinity College Dublin would receive a state grant for the first time from the Irish government. This followed decades of slow adjustment to the new political regime. While Trinity still displayed the trappings of the old regime – singing ‘God Save the King’ and flying the Union Jack into the late 1930s – it also attempted to build a solid working relationship with the new one, giving honorary degrees to leading figures in the Free State, such as the President of the Executive Council (and veteran of the 1916 Rising) W.T. Cosgrave, in 1926. The process of readjustment was fraught, contested by students and staff alike, and fought out in official ceremonials, student societies, and in the day-to-day business of the university.

Trinity College Dublin’s experiences a century ago are most likely unique in the history of universities. A.A. Luce, one of three fellows of TCD to fight in the Great War and one of the defenders of Trinity on 24 April 1916, commented in 1965 that ‘historians may say that Trinity backed the wrong horse’. Trinity’s case demonstrates the richness of university history and the tensions between the international connectedness of scholarship and its national and local environments.

 

Early Fundraising: An Approach to Local Industry

This post has been kindly contributed by Dr Triona Fitton, who has recently published a monograph on the hidden history of philanthropy at the University of Kent. Dr Fitton also blogs about her research here.

The philanthropic foundations of the University of Kent were laid during the early fundraising efforts of the ‘Sponsors of A University in Kent’; the collective of influential local people whose aim was to put forward a bid for a University in the county. Their first appeal began informally in June 1960 when University supporter Lord Alfred Charles Bossom, a former architect and Conservative MP, hosted a luncheon at his house in Carlton Gardens. The plan for the luncheon was to invite key local industrialists and businessmen, with an aim of enticing them to contribute to a fund for the new University in Kent.

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Bossom’s invitation to Commander Thompson, courtesy of the University of Kent Archives.

Just prior to the luncheon, the Sponsors received word that Pfizer Ltd., an American pharmaceutical company, had pledged a donation of £50,000. This is equivalent to over £1 million in today’s money – the first and largest of any company donation. Pfizer had developed a subsidiary in the UK in the early 1950s, establishing a vast 80-acre site in Sandwich in 1954 and cementing its ties with the county.

Pfizer remain one of the top donors in the history of giving to the University of Kent. In the last 20 years they have also funded a chair in Medical Statistics, provided over £500,000 to fund the head of Medway campus’ School of Pharmacy, and given £20,000 to the Kent Institute of Medicine and Health Sciences for library materials. Their strong bond with the University’s scientific and industrial progress is demonstrated by Kent Innovation and Enterprise (‘KIE’, the University’s dedicated business support department) moving some of their services to Discovery Park, the former Pfizer site in Sandwich, which is now an international hub of biotechnology, life sciences, medical research and business. Pfizer still retain a presence at the site, but the relocation of KIE will aid the development of networks and collaboration between industry, students and academics.

The original donation from Pfizer established a pattern of knowledge-transfer and industry partnerships which has an enduring legacy at the University of Kent.  Back in 1960,  the donation marked a momentous start to the University’s initial appeal. The gift was announced during Lord Bossom’s prestigious luncheon, and became a marketing tool for encourage other local industries (which included breweries, cement manufacturers, paper makers, oil refineries and engineering companies, among others) to themselves contribute. However, although the Pfizer donation was succeeded by many other generous donations by companies such as BP, Shell, Unilever and Associated Portland Cement, no early corporate donation came close to the £50,000 donation that started it all.

times pfizer donation
Image courtesy of “University News.” The Times [London, England] 1 June 1960: 16. The Times Digital Archive.

(This blog contains excerpts from Hidden History: Philanthropy at the University of Kent, available now)

Hannah Beswick, the ‘Manchester Mummy’

Guest Contribution by Robert McCombe

The history of the University of Manchester is far from straight forward, entailing physical relocations, mergers, separations and expansion. As might be expected, the ideas that underpinned the various bodies and institutions have shifted almost as much over the years. One way to approach these movements is through a particular aspect of the University – its Museum and the people associated with it. There are a large number of recognised and lauded figures who played prominent roles in this history, but this article approaches one very particular woman; Hannah Beswick (1688-1758). Her relationship to the University reflects its evolution, touching upon the unconventional and unsavoury through the merging of two very distinct entitles; Owens College and the Manchester Natural History Society (MNHS).

Hannah was wealthy Oldham resident who became recognised for her subsequent mummification following her death and the display of her remains at her surgeon’s house and latterly the Museum of the Manchester Society of Natural History, before her eventual burial in 1868. Her preservation was a reflection of a personal preoccupation with mortality and a fear of being buried alive. The use of her body traced the increasingly formal and respectable atmosphere engendered within museums as ideas of curiosity and morbid voyeurism became replaced with notions of education and respectable taxonomies.

As both a person and an object she was explicitly local in her context and her treatment encapsulates the development of University and Museum and the shifting boundaries between spectacle and science, boundaries that saw both physical and intellectual shifts. Yet unlike the numerous other human remains in Manchester Museum, she no longer remains on display, nor is any mention made of her. What I want to argue, in fact, is that there is a rich history of unseen objects and local history that eventually became literally reburied as it refused to fit emerging ideals of a morally respectable and civic culture that emerged through the establishment of the University’s predecessor, Owen’s College and the nascent Manchester Museum.

Charles White, mediumDr. Charles White, Manchester Surgeon

To return to the question of Hannah Beswick’s identity; she was the daughter of John Beswick of Failsworth, Hannah was born in 1688, into a wealthy family. Apparently increasingly fearful of being buried alive, following an experience of her brother’s near living burial in York, she commissioned her family physician, the Manchester surgeon Dr Charles White (1728-1813), to ensure that a similar fate did not befall her.[1] Popular stories indicate that Dr White was paid a significant sum of money to embalm Hannah. However, the lack of any such explicit mention of this process within the will suggests that a briefer period of close observation was intended rather than any more permanent solution such as embalming.[2] Nonetheless, White, a well-recognised collector of curiosities (such as the skeleton of highwayman Thomas Higgins) and student of the anatomist William Hunter (1718-83) was familiar with the principals of embalming and conducted the process upon Hannah.[3]

While the details of Hannah’s preservation are unknown, Hunter’s preferred process (and therefore White’s probable approach) consisted of injecting the body with a mixture of vermillion, turpentine, and oil of lavender and rosemary. Following this, organs were removed and cavities packed with plaster of paris. [4] Following her preservation at Cheetwood, Hannah was placed within a wooden case in White’s home in Sale, Ancoats Hall, where she remained until his death. She was bequeathed to a Dr Ollier, who then in turn donated the remains to the recently established NHSM Museum in 1828. The donation to what was ostensibly a collection focusing primarily upon Natural History was not as odd as it immediately appeared. Contributions to the Society provided a point of patronage and social recognition and covered a variety of objects from the obvious to the obscure and curious including other human remains such as a bitumen coated Peruvian mummy, a Maori head and one Egyptian mummy ‘Asroni’.[5]

The wider fascination with displays of human remains had continued into the nineteenth century in a variety of guises. At the more professional – and therefore respectable – spectrum was the philosopher Jeremy Bentham’s (1748-1832) desire to become an auto-icon and tool of anatomical education.[6] In stark contrast were the public unwrappings that formed part of an emerging trend known as ‘mummymania’. Taking place across the country, Egyptian remains were displayed and dissected in both private and public displays, designed to, nominally at least, inform, but primarily to entertain.[7]

The display of Hannah in Manchester fell somewhere between these two extremes mentioned above. Despite the Society’s focus upon fauna, flora and conchology, she highlighted the often arbitrary methods of collecting and her designation and display as a ‘curiosity’ emphasised this. Nonetheless, contemporary museum guides made some attempt to provide a little information about her origins, but were unable to place her within an obvious taxonomic framework. This uneasy situation continued until the collection in its entirety was sold to the recently established Owen’s College in 1868, as the Society was unable to continue financially or logistically.[8] The geologist William Boyd Dawkins, then head of the College’s own collections, expressed his dismay at the lack of obvious organisation of taxonomy with the Museum.[9]

As problematic as the collection itself and the display of remains such as Hannah’s may have been, the College itself was far from unimpeachable. At the point of sale, Owens College had recently relocated to its current site on Oxford Road, but its earlier establishment in 1851 on Quay Street had seen as variety of criticisms levelled at it. A Free Lance article of 4th January 1868 described the area as ‘difficult to imagine a public edifice in a less reputable and pleasing locality.’[10] Henry Brierly, a loyal member of the College agreed, observing that

‘the entrance from Deansgate was guarded by a very Scylla and Charybdis of disreputable licenced houses…traditions of our day reported that a former Owens College porter had been inveigled, robbed and ejected in puris naturablis[11]

Such an environment was greatly at odds with the aspirations of the College. Aware that other Institutions in Birmingham, Durham and even Kings College, London were in financial difficulties, the decision was made to move to more salubrious quarters and expand on Oxford Road under the auspices of Thomas Ashton.[12] It was also at this stage, well over a century after her death, that Hannah was permanently removed from display.

The use of a new site on Oxford Road from 1868 can be seen as a deliberate attempt to engineer a location towards the purpose of polite middle class discourse for the College and through this, the Museum.  Given Owens’ establishment of the College, a key figure in the role of patronage can be established, although his direction through his will was minimal, meaning that these decisions cannot be attributed to an individual, but rather the various governing bodies of the College. The relocation and design of the new buildings by Alfred Waterhouse can also been seen as part of a wider attempt to redefine the role of both College and Museum. With Waterhouse having designed the South Kensington Museum (Now the Natural History Museum), the choice of architect reflected ambition and aspiration in a specific museal context. Considered within the context of Manchester city itself, the Museum can be viewed as an extension of middle class control tied together by one architect. Waterhouse also designed the Assize Courts and Town Hall. While out on the city’s periphery, the Museum can be seen as an architectural shift from civic control towards a place of cultural control, or at least influence.[13]

As well as the upheaval of a physical relocation and architectural redefinition, Hannah’s removal was also due to the role of another significant individual from the Museum’s history. R.D Darbishire, one of the early members of the Museum Committee and its Commissioner, had been involved since the early days of the 1868 Commission that sifted the Natural History Society’s collections for ‘suitable’ material as well as acting as a personal donor. His most notable donation was the collection that became known by his name – the Darbishire lithics.[14] He was also a Legatee and Committee member of the Whitworth Institutive (later to become the Whitworth Art Gallery), and he played important roles in establishing both sites and the nature of their collections. Objects considered to lack an edifying or educational purpose were disposed of by the commissioner of the newly formed Manchester Museum.[15] The difficult and complex meanings placed around Hannah’s remains evoking troubling concepts of spectacle and entertainment, rather than morally certain education meant that her exclusion had always been probable. Yet others, such as Asru, emerged with the opening of the Museum in 1889, while predating the establishment proper of an Egyptian collection, reflecting the continuation of an ad hoc approach to the Museum’s collections.

Yet if she was not to be put on display, the troubling question of what to do with Hannah’s Christian remains…remained. Following consultation with the Bishop of Manchester, surviving relatives and the Home Secretary, a discreet and unmarked burial took place at Harperhuy Cemetery, near Manchester.[16] The reason given for the secrecy was the fear of grave robbers, who might seek to profit further from Hannah’s notoriety. Although the worries proved unfounded, descendants viewed the incident as a ‘scarcely creditable episode’.[17]

Hannah Beswick’s preservation, exhibition and movement through private to public viewing reflects the ability of the modern, as well as the ancient dead to have new meanings placed around them post mortem and for these in turn to evolve, become forgotten and rediscovered.  She went from being an individual, to a source of wealth and bequests, to a curiosity, and an inconvenience before finally being recognised as an individual again in the course of her final internment.

Selected Further Reading

Alberti, Sam (2009) Nature and Culture: Objects, disciplines and the Manchester Museum (Manchester, Manchester University Press)

Anon. ‘Response to Miss Ann Beswick’, The Manchester Guardian March 31st 1900

Dobson, Jessie (1953), “Some Eighteenth Century Experiments in Embalming”, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences (Oxford, Oxford University Press) 8 (4), 431–441

Fiddes, Edward (1937) Chapters in the History of Owens College and of Manchester University (Manchester University Press, Manchester)

Grimshaw, William (1900) ‘Miss Ann Beswick’, The Manchester Guardian, 4th May

Gunn, S. (1999) ‘Middle class. modernity and the provincial city: Manchester 1860-80’ in Kidd, A, and Nicholls, D, (1999) Gender, Civic Culture and Consumerism: Middle class identity in Britain 1800-1940 (Manchester University Press, Manchester)

MacGregor, Arthur (2008) Curiosity and Enlightenment (Yale, Yale University Press)

Rogers, Beverley (2012) ‘Unwrapping the Past: Egyptian mummies on show’, Popular Exhibitions, Science nad Showmanship, 18401910 (London, Pickering and Chatto), 199-218

Zigarovich, Jolene (2009), ‘Preserved Remains: Embalming Practices in Eighteenth-Century England’, Eighteenth-Century Life (Duke University Press) 33 (3), 65–104

[1] Grimshaw, Wlliam ‘Miss Ann Beswick, The Manchester Guardian 4th May 1900

[2] Ibid  and Anon. ‘Response to Miss Ann Beswick’, The Manchester Guardian March 31st 1900

[3] Dobson, Jessie (1953), ‘Some Eighteenth Century Experiments in Embalming’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences (Oxford University Press) 8 (4), 433

[4] Zigarovich, Jolene (2009), “Preserved Remains: Embalming Practices in Eighteenth-Century England”, Eighteenth-Century Life (Duke University Press) 33 (3), 86

[5] Asroni (now Asru) is the sole survivor of the earliest human remains collected by the Society and is currently on display in the Egyptian Gallery at Manchester Museum.

[6] MacGregor, Arthur (2008) Curiosity and Enlightenment (Yale, Yale University Press), 279-80

[7] Rogers, Beverley (2012) ‘Unwrapping the Past: Egyptian mummies on show’, Popular Exhibitions, Science and Showmanship, 1840-1910 (London, Pickering and Chatto), 199-218

[8] Alberti, Sam (2009), 20-2

[9] Alberti (2009), 22

[10] Fiddes, Edward (1937) Chapters in the History of Owens College and of Manchester University (Manchester University Press, Manchester), 25

[11] Brierly, Henry Memories of Quay Street and Owens College (Private Printing), 6-7

[12] Fiddes (1937), 63-6

[13] Gunn, S. (1999) ‘Middle class. modernity and the provincial city: Manchester 1860-80’ in Kidd, A, and Nicholls, D, (1999) Gender, Civic Culture and Consumerism: Middle class identity in Britain 1800-1940 (Manchester University Press, Manchester), 116-118

[14] Manchester Museum Annual Report 1908-9, 9

[15] Alberti (2009), 22

[16] Grimshaw, Wlliam ‘Miss Ann Beswick, The Manchester Guardian 4th May 1900

[17] Grimshaw (1900)