William Roblin: The Last Man Hanged in (1821)

William Roblin has achieved a striking notability in the annals of local crime since he was the last person to be executed in the county at on Easter

Monday 1821. His story has been much quoted, and a number of accounts have been published including those penned by W.D. Phillips, Charles Sinnett, B.G. Charles, G.

Douglas James and latterly by Andrew Roberts. There seems to be nothing new to tell, we know all the facts and the matter can be allowed to settle where they are. Or do we?

The Roblin story is in fact, one of the best local examples of where fact and fiction effortlessly merge to create a version of events which surprisingly not accurate in many vital respects. Historical accounts are always subject to interpretation and the possibility that our knowledge can change with the discovery of new material. Sometimes startling new discoveries are the fruit of determined and dogged research and sometimes by serendipity, chance, luck, accident, whatever you want to call it.

Our knowledge of the Roblin story will never be complete with all too many gaps in our knowledge and years of his life where no narrative can be made. Nevertheless, the discovery of a comprehensive account of his life and crime is now possible to read in the pages of the Haverfordwest & Telegraph in 1863 in a column entitled

‘Pembrokeshire Murderers.’ A number of the characters of this episode were still then alive. This account provides us with information which none of the previous writers

1 appear to have incorporated into their texts. This new account is by no means a direct, sober description but it does introduce genuinely new threads into the tale.

We trace our story back to the very beginning to the rural idyll of in the year

1776. In America, the colonists were rebelling against King George III while in this corner of the county William Roblin was born to a poor farmer called Richard Roblin. No record of his baptism appears, adding to the sense of his origins as being murky and mysterious. Most inhabitants of the parish eked out a living from the land while the small local collieries employed men women and children. We know absolutely nothing of

Roblin’s early years except for the precious moral condemnation later heaped upon him.

It was alleged how his early days were passed ‘in the society of the most dissolute and profligate companions, amongst whom drunkenness, blasphemy and desecration of the

Sabbath by cock-fighting, dog fighting and outdoor gambling. These activities were carried out to an extent, and with a recklessness of all social and moral obligations unknown and even undreamt of to the present generation of Pembrokeshire people.

This early, unattributed account of his early years continued by describing how Roblin

‘imbued these pernicious and soul-polluting characteristics which played such a prominent part in his later career, and ultimately brought him to an inglorious career.’ It seems certain that William Roblin, a yeoman, did imbibe to a great extent. It was easy to moralise and condemn these practices. Much less encountered was the examination of why people drank. It was usually a response to squalid living conditions; environmental

2 and standards of living were often factors why people drank; a temporary release from misery. In industrialised areas of northern England the consumption of wine, beer and spirits was known as ‘the road out of Manchester’ an effectual, if short-term remedy from polluting squalor.

William Roblin was possessed of a fiery temper, which, when combined with drink, caused him to be discharged from one employer to another. By 1814 William Roblin was employed as a servant, probably of the agricultural kind, rather than as a house servant.

His employer was one Richard Barzey, whose family had been at Arnolds Hill, in the parish of , since at least 1715. Later the property was acquired by the Baron de

Rutzen. According to this hitherto unpublished Victorian account of the murder, Barzey was frequently called upon to remonstrate with Roblin on account of the latter’s brutal treatment of animals on the farm. His species of ferocity was apparently visited upon these dumb creatures, especially after he had consumed quantities of ale. Mr Barzey had enough of his errant employee and threatened him with dismissal unless he mended his ways. This however, Mr Barzey was not to put into effect. He died suddenly at Arnolds

Hill in the parish of Slebech on 17 February 1814 aged 71. There is no evidence of foul play and no cause of death can be ascribed, although some rumour mongers said ‘it was under suspicious circumstances.’ Further, a portion of his cash which he kept in his house mysterious disappeared at the same time. The corrosive effect of rumour and innuendo, not for the first time, ate away at Roblin’s reputation. They had the cumulative effect of

3 making the Black legend which is still with us today. Did Roblin kill his employer and use some of the stolen money to set up on his own? It seems unlikely but we will never know for certain. While at Arnolds Hill farm, Roblin met his future wife Margaret who was also in service there. Margaret Thomas was baptised in Lawrenny Church on 5 May

1776, the daughter of Martha and Morris Thomas. The couple had courted and they married in the following year.

Their marriage took place at St Petrox Church, where the Norman tower stands out in proud isolation facing towards the Castlemartin peninsula. They married by licence on 22

October 1815. William Roblin of Mounton was described as a yeoman while Margaret was simply described as a spinster. At 38 years of age Margaret would have been considered very old for the marriage market, although she was of course the same age as her husband. Soon after their nuptials they took a lease of a small farm at Deep Lake in

Uzmaston parish, three miles from Haverfordwest on the Turnpike Road between

Haverfordwest and . They also ran a public house in a small thatched dwelling on the farm. Alehouse licenses show how John Paige opened an ale-house at the bottom of Arnold’s Hill in 1811. He was still there in 1815 and he was probably succeeded by William Roblin in late 1815 or early 1816. At any rate, by Michaelmas

1819 the farmhouse was called ‘Home Bound’ probably an abbreviation for Homeward

Bound, a sign calculated to appeal to weary country folk on their way home from market and then faced with the daunting sight of a very steep climb up Arnold’s Hill. For this

4 clarification we are indebted to Keith Johnson from his voluminous history of

Pembrokeshire public houses. For many years’ Roblin’s inn was erroneously described as the New Inn. This name in fact only appeared forty years after Roblin and even then the name of the inn was the Carpenter’s Arms before that. It stood near the

Lodge gate.

Deep Lake in the parish of Uzmaston where the homicide took place in 1820 from an early Ordnance Survey Map

In the four years or so that Roblin, yeoman cum innkeeper and contractor lived at Deep

Lake he attracted an unenviable reputation. He allegedly pursued ‘a course of dissipation and lawless disturbance towards who he considered his enemies, or who had given him the cause of offence, however slight.’ He became the terror and dread of the

5 neighbourhood who seemingly ostracised him and his wife. Despite their late marriage

Margaret gave birth to two children. Their first child was very possibly a son named Isaac who died when he was two months old. A second child, a daughter named Martha was born at Deep Lake in around 1818 and was described as a ‘sweet and interesting girl in her fourth year’ at the time of her father’s execution. The ‘Home Bound’ was a veritable vortex sucking in vicious tales of murder and debauchery. Many of the reports in circulation centred upon Roblin’s drunken conduct and the extreme looseness with which his house was managed. One popular and persistent rumour centred upon an Irish hawker who visited the house and apparently was never seen again. The Irishman’s sudden and singular disappearance added much to Roblin’s ill-fame and it was broadly asserted how

Roblin had murdered his guest and buried the body. One of the most damning aspects of

Roblin’s character was his alleged antipathy to religion. The author of a contemporary pamphlet, Richard Grimes, contains a reference to Roblin’s desire to join Lord Milford’s cavalry. This auxiliary military unit was paid for and sponsored by the peer of Picton

Castle. When asked why he wished to become a volunteer soldier he replied ‘To pull down all the damned meeting houses.’ He added how he could take care of his own salvation and that he did not need the services of those damned preachers. So as to spare the readers’ sensibilities the word damned was politely abbreviated to the first and last word together with four asterisks.

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Life is full of strange ironies and unexpected occurrences. Roblin supplemented his farming, more properly small holding and inn keeping by carting materials for local farmers and builders. On one occasion he was employed carting stones to the castle site where a new prison was being built in the grounds of Haverfordwest Castle . In the summer of 1820 the work on being the new gaol was well underway. During his haulage work Roblin was noted for his inhumanity towards the horses, together with his coarse and uncouth language. His work mates who were then in the course of building ‘the drop’ told him, providentially that they feared they were building something which he would undoubtedly be brought to unless he changed his wicked ways. On one occasion, we are told, Roblin beat his disobedient horse so that Mr Jones, the prison governor, felt constrained to warn him that if he observed a repeat of his conduct he would personally take him before a magistrate. Roblin acerbically replied that it was his own horse.

Nevertheless he never repeated his brutal actions, at least in sight of Mr Jones.

On Friday 18 August 1820 Roblin was employed bringing a load of coals to the county gaol. He was heavily intoxicated at the time and was warned about his unfit state. He angrily retorted ‘I like a drop to drink, and will have it and take nobody’s leave.’ On that same day, William Davies, aged 23, who had formerly been employed in Roblin’s service was engaged in carting ashes from the residence of Mrs Smith, confectioner, High Street.

Much bad blood existed between the two men on account of Roblin’s habits and also because Roblin owed Davies arrears of wages. The description of Davies’s character is a

7 far from sympathetic one. Described as having a ‘hare lip’, he possessed a most sinister countenance and was of a most brutal disposition. He had in fact served a prison sentence for a particularly odious crime. On 10 March 1818 he entered the county gaol, which was then within the walls of the medieval castle, having been convicted of flaying a calf while it was still alive. He served a year in custody and was released on 23 March 1819.

Presumably afterwards he entered Roblin’s service. On 19 August 1820 both men encountered one another at the Cartlett lime kilns. A vicious slanging match erupted over the matter of the outstanding wages. Roblin and Davies almost came to blows and were prevented from doing so by one of the lime burners who was working there. Both left town in the direction of Slebech; both were heavily intoxicated and a couple of miles outside town they resumed their quarrel. Davies challenged Roblin to a fight. Roblin went into his own house. What happened next is disputed with two very differing accounts.

After William Davies left Roblin’s service, he was later engaged by Thomas Thomas of

Boulston. Later that day, according to one account, the two men were walking past

Roblin’s cottage. Roblin and Davies began a heated exchange which culminated in

Roblin rushing back inside to retrieve a pistol with which he shot Davies in the head. The whole shocking affair was witnessed by Thomas Thomas who lost no time in reporting this to the authorities. A different account of how Davies came to be shot argues how

Davies was banging on Roblin’s door threatening and offering all sorts of insults and

8 challenges. Margaret Roblin went outside and desperately tried to persuade him to go away, fearful of her husband’s explosive temper, especially in drink. Roblin rushed outside and in a scuffle a shot rang out. Instantly Davies was stretched on the ground, insensible and welting in his own blood. Whatever the precise circumstances it is clear that cries of ‘murder’ soon rang out although Davies was still alive although critically ill.

Davies was taken to Haverfordwest’s eminent surgeon, George Llewellin Millard a man who considered speed in the execution of surgery as essential. These were the days before anaesthetic. He must have immediately recognised that Davies had no hope of survival.

Recovering from his state of intoxication Roblin soon realised what he had done, and he fled the scene. Did his wife Margaret assist him in his flight and thus make herself an accomplice to the deed? Roblin knew the countryside well and concealed himself at a number of locations. The law enforcement agencies, such as they were, the Uzmaston parish constables, George Evans and Joseph Perkins, set off in pursuit of Roblin. They were assisted by Denis Corker and Levi Griffiths who were sworn in before the Rev

James Thomas of St Mary’s, Haverfordwest to be special constables. Another constable,

Thomas Jenkins, joined the search on 3 September 1820. According to one account,

Roblin fled to a place called Tibourn, Martletwy, his home parish. He stayed at the house of John Thomas and his daughter Margaret, a fugitive from justice. One of Roblin’s pursuers, Levi Griffiths, had a most interesting previous military career. He had served in

9 the British army during the peninsular War against Napoleon and had participated in the famous retreat by Sir John Moore at Corunna in 1809. Griffiths lived at Priory Stile

Cottage which stood at the foot of Union Hill where he died in 1864. The constables searched in vain for eighteen days. The searchers were encouraged and indeed directed by Lord Milford of Picton Castle, an interesting involvement which may have played a decisive role in Roblin’s fate. On one occasion the constables arrived at a cottage near

Silverhill, a farm where Roblin’s father Richard kept. It was from here that Mr Roblin senior would leave food for his son at predetermined places in Canaston Woods. Upon arriving at the cottage the woman occupant hesitated to answer the door, fearful that it

‘might be Roblin.’ He had already assumed the mantle of the local bogeyman. While the two constables remained in conversation with the woman she seemed genuinely terrified about the supposed close proximity of Roblin’s lair. She promised the constables every possible assistance and would report any sighting immediately. On the eighteenth day of the search Griffiths and Corker caught sight of Roblin in Canaston Woods walking among the trees and undergrowth. They chased him and called upon him to surrender. He ran like a frightened deer and so they discharged their firearms at him. Their pistols were loaded with ball which they fired three times each. The weapon was not terribly accurate especially at a running target shielded by numerous trees. They lost him and he went to ground. Lord Milford had offered a bounty of forty guineas, an unusually large gratuity, although the constables failed to locate him. They did eventually receive a consolation of

10 five guineas each on account of their valiant endeavours. Interestingly, Roblin later recounted a tale, told from his prison cell, of how he was actually present in the cottage at

Silverhill when the two parish constables were talking to the old woman. Apparently she had already willingly provided him with sanctuary. He was hiding under floor boards, covered with a dusty old bag and was close enough to have taken one of the constable’s hats off their head. As with so much else of this tale, how he came to be apprehended is disputed. He was taken on 4 September 1820 whilst away from his hiding place at

Tibourn. The newly discovered account paints a different picture. On the day on which the special constables shot at him Roblin was a man in utter despair and desperation. He left his hiding place of his own volition and gave himself up to a Mr Phillips a farmer residing at Merryborough in the parish of Wiston. He begged the farmer to take him to

Haverfordwest in his cart covered with straw so that he (Roblin) might be spared the malevolence of the local population. The request was complied with and William Roblin was delivered into the custody of Mr Jones, the prison governor. He was committed to

Haverfordwest Gaol on 5 September 1820 charged with battery, since Davies was still clinging to life. After languishing for three weeks William Davies died on 13 September

1820. The charge Roblin was indicted for immediately became one of wilful murder.

Two days later an inquest was held into the death of Davies before Henry Stokes, coroner, at Deep Lake. It is interesting to note that Henry Stokes was the father of the future Admiral Stokes and he dwelt at Scotch Wells. The jurymen included solid

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Pembrokeshire yeomen like Henry Adams, David Beddoe and John Noot. They found that William Roblin, late of the Parish of Uzmaston and Margaret his wife, ‘not having the fear of God before their eyes but moved and seduced by the instigation of the Devil’ on 19 August 1820’ whereby William Roblin used a certain pistol of the value of five shillings to shoot Davies with a leaden bullet so as to penetrate his brain.’ Further,

Margaret, the wife of William Roblin, was found to have ‘feloniously, wilfully and of malice aforethought was present abetting, aiding, assisting, comforting and maintaining’ her husband in the commission of the crime. Suspicion had long fallen on Margaret

Roblin as being an accomplice. She fled from her house at Deep Lake and she was at large for two days before she was detained by Constables Evans, Perkins and Jenkins.

Presumably the couple’s daughter Martha had been with her mother. Margaret Roblin was taken into custody on 15 September 1820 on suspicion of having committed a felony. On that self-same day at Uzmaston Churchyard William Davies, aged 23, was buried in a service conducted by the Rev George Phillips. The wound which caused his death was obvious. At the post mortem George Llewellin Millard had opened up his head, abdomen and thorax.

On 18 September 1820 William Roblin was ‘riveted’ at the county gaol and he was placed in Ward 7. Was this the old prison or could the new prison possibly have been partly occupied by then? Margaret Roblin was ensconced in Ward 1, along with little

Martha. Prison life must have been particularly arduous and stressful, especially given the

12 nature of the charges which the couple were facing. Early nineteenth-century justice did not lack a hard edge. On 18 February 1821 William Harries of Dew Street, surgeon to the county gaol, entered Margaret Roblin on the sick list with bilious fever. He prescribed a special diet for her of white bread, milk and a bottle of wine. William Roblin too fell ill.

He was entered on the sick list on Friday 23 February 1821 again from an attack of fever.

He had sufficiently recovered by 4 March to be removed from the list. We only have a sketchy idea of Roblin’s thoughts and actions in prison over the seven month period.

There was certainly no contact between husband and wife it seems. In conversations

Roblin strenuously denied killing William Davies, or indeed that he even owned a pistol, although he certainly did. One question never posed in the earlier accounts is what became of the murder weapon? Did he cast it into the Cleddau or bury it in Canaston

Woods never to be recovered? Sometime Roblin would indulge in horseplay with the other prisoners, oblivious to the dreadful position which he found himself in.

On 16 April 1821, the Monday before his trial, with tears in his eyes he asked the prison governor if he could see little Martha saying, ‘I shall never see her again.’ His daughter was being kept in another part of the prison with her mother. At seeing and parting from her he showed the tenderest paternal feelings, strong proof, as one account stated, that

‘Roblin’s heart was not deadened to the holiest and brightest flower that can bloom in the breast of a father.’ His love for his innocent offspring ruled his wayward and erring nature.

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Calendar of the prisoners and the crimes for which they were indicted at the Pembrokeshire Great Sessions Spring 1821

The Spring Great Sessions for the County of Pembrokeshire where the most serious criminal cases were heard, were held at the old Guildhall at the top of High Street near St

Mary’s Church on Tuesday 17 April 1821. Here the calendar of criminal cases included the names of William and Margaret Roblin who were jointly charged with murdering

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William Davies. Other indictments were for crimes of highway robbery, smuggling, theft and poisoning. The evidence of witnesses and other vital testimony is sadly not recorded.

Evidence was obviously provided by Thomas Thomas of the parish of (the key witness) since on 6 September 1820 he had entered into a recognizance of £20 to personally appear at the next Great Sessions of Gaol Delivery to give evidence to a Bill of Indictment proffered against William Roblin for the wilful murder of William Davies.

The trial was presided over by Judges John Balguy and Samuel Heywood. Mr George

Llewellin Millard, surgeon, proved that the cause of death was a pistol bullet which penetrated Davies’ skull in one place and came out in another. Writing in 1863, the author of the sadly anonymous article wrote how he had seen the head of the deceased on more than one occasion. The mortal wound was an inch wide and three inches deep.

According to the Cambrian newspaper ‘the facts appeared so clear against the prisoner that the jury pronounced him Guilty and the learned Judge, after an effecting address, sentenced him to suffer death on Monday 23 April 1821. His corpse was then to be dissected and anatomised. Probably no evidence was offered against Margaret Roblin and she was acquitted. What is remarkable to modern minds is the exceptionally short period before sentence and execution, three days. Roblin would not have been legally represented and there was no possibility of an appeal. According to the 1863 narrative, bearing in mind the violent and argumentative nature of the deceased, the jury declined to return a verdict of wilful murder but one of manslaughter only since there had been an

15 element of provocation. The judges, most unaccountably, refused to accept this verdict and it was said that they peremptorily directed the jurymen to find for the charge of wilful murder. They complied ‘under this extraordinary species of coercion.’ If this really did happen, and we will never know for sure, was it at the instigation of Lord Milford who perhaps felt that his family honour had been besmirched by a killing committed in his own backyard?

Upon sentence of death being passed, Roblin shuddered convulsively and for a moment or two his features, it was said, reflected the ‘livid hue of death.’ He was fearfully agitated, and every bodily faculty was frightfully prostrated.’ He was removed from the dock and from thence to the prison, aided by Mr Jones, the governor and another person named Morris. Between the sentence of death and the execution Roblin spent many long hours in the company of local clergy and nonconformist ministers from the town’s various denominations. They visited this desperate man after whose careful and soothing admonitions and Christian exertions he became reconciled to his fate. On the evening of the trial Roblin was visited by the Rev T. Rogers, a Wesleyan Methodist minister who found the condemned man full of enmity against his accusers. Roblin was under the closest of scrutiny lest he avoid the sentence of the court by harming himself. On one examination he was found to have concealed iron pins in a sleeve of his jacket with the intention of piercing his veins in different places and bleeding to death. Roblin stated

‘Justice has not been done me, but I shall have justice in another world.’ The Rev David

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Adams, the Rev James Thomas, the prison ordinary and others visited Roblin in his cell.

The Rev Daniel Warr of the Tabernacle Chapel once told Roblin that he had but a short time to live. Roblin wept and said ‘A man is a long time coming up, and now I am to be cut off in a moment.’ He once confided in Mr J. Lewis under-sheriff, how he had struck

Davies with a pistol but denied he had shot him.

The execution was fixed for Monday 23 April 1821. At six o’clock in the morning the

Rev David Adams and another person entered the condemned cell. The clergyman read a portion of the 55th chapter from Isaiah after which Roblin called for pen, ink and paper.

He had eaten but little since Friday and he had a pain in his stomach. He called for tobacco, since he liked smoking. Rev Adams asked him candidly about the Irishman who he rumoured to have murdered at his farm. Roblin answered with a composure of a man who was fully aware of his situation and he replied ‘I am clear of that.’ ‘Why should I conceal it? They could do no more to me,’ meaning that he was being hanged anyway and had nothing to lose by confessing. He went o ‘I always liked the Irishman for he always drank a good deal and paid very well.’ ‘I have been guilty of swearing, drinking and of Sabbath breaking but not of his death.’

There is, not surprisingly, given the twists and turns of this story, some confusion as to the site of Roblin’s execution. In 1821 and in 1824 the gaoler’s diary and visiting book mention a drop in the tower being in need of some repair. If the tower with the drop was to fall, it went on, it would hit the houses in Bridge Street. The problem is compounded

17 by reports that the site was at the castle gate and that people watched from the back of houses in Dark Street. It seems clear that this public execution did take place on the bank overlooking Castle Lake car park today. The Rev David Adams (to whom there is a memorial tablet in Haroldston St Issels Church) wrote down Roblin’s dying sentiments.

‘William Roblin, as a dying man, and in the prospect of eternity, is desirous of parting out of this miserable world in love and charity with all mankind.’ He freely fully and heartily forgives all those whom he may have considered his enemies and he hopes for forgiveness at the hands of God.’ His heart’s desire to God is that He will in particular look with mercy upon and protect his poor wife and little girl.’ He hoped his fate would be an example to others so that they might earnestly avoid drunkenness and intemperate passions.’ On the day of his execution he received the sacrament from the Rev James

Thomas, prison chaplain, at a cost of 1s. 4d. borne by the prison authorities.

The expense of 1 shilling and four pence as recorded by the prison authorities for the administration of Holy Communion to Roblin before his execution

The execution was attended by the High Sherriff of Pembrokeshire, Joseph Harries of

Llanunwas. The condemned man was accompanied to a chamber at the side of the stairs

18 leading to the fatal sport, presumably a specially constructed platform. He was pinioned by the executioner (who was disguised) although Roblin gave him a significant look of recognition with the words ‘Ah I thought it would come to this,’ There were eighteen applications for the post of hangman, and in 1863 that person was said to be still alive, although his identity was never revealed. Rumour had become rife that Roblin, even at this final stage, would daringly make an attempt to escape. Mr Blethyn, a local blacksmith, was employed to erect a strong iron railing around the platform, around which the sheriff’s javelin men were placed in serried array. A very large concourse of people had gathered to witness Roblin’s execution, the first in the town for perhaps ten years. When asked at the last if he had anything to say he replied ‘No, I have nothing- I suppose you want me to confess murders of which I am not guilty,’ another reference to the dogged rumours of the murdered Irishman. He resumed his prayers ‘Lord Jesus receive my spirit’ till the drop fell. After a few strong throes of apparent pain had passed over his frame all that remained of William Roblin was the ghastly spectacle of his inanimate corpse suspended between heaven and earth. Who was the last surviving person to witness Roblin’s hanging? Hundreds of local people would have been present but in subsequent obituaries and published memories of old residents printed between

1850-1910 not a single person mentions it. A child of 10 could have seen the execution and lived up to the time of the First World War. A very strange collective lack of expressed local memory.

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Margaret Roblin was released from prison with her daughter on 21 April, two days before the execution. At the very least she had been an indirect participator in the crime. The body of her husband was later given over to George Llewellin Millard (another accounts states that the corpse was given to William Harries) for dissection and anatomisation. It was afterwards stated how Mr Millard thought Roblin’s skeleton was the most perfect in every part and form which had fallen under his expert medical inspection. Later Roblin’s remains were buried within the precincts of Haverfordwest Castle.

The execution of William Roblin was not the end of the story. On Tuesday 7 May 1821

William Llewellin of Rosehill, Uzmaston, wrote a letter of concern to a local magistrate alluding to ‘some particulars of the report which have so long a float about the death of the Irishman at Deep Lake.’ Several persons had witnessed Richard Roblin, William’s father, talking loudly about the Irishman who was murdered at his son’s house. For a premium of £5 he stated he could show enquirers this body and also another body of an unknown female. One of the bodies was buried in the cabbage garden to the rear of the cottage at Deep Lake. It seems probable that Roblin was being grimly humorous by testing the credulity of those who would believe any sort of wickedness against his late son. John Thomas of Tibourn told William Llewellin how Roblin, when he stayed with him as a fugitive from justice, confessed in drink how he had once buried a woman’s body under, or near to a Pear tree in the orchard. Roblin issued a braggart oath that he knew where the Irishman was buried.

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Bailiff Edward Ridgards sent five witnesses, overseers and churchwardens to assemble at

Deep Lake in response to Llewellin’s information on Tuesday 16 May 1821. Labourers were required to dig up the orchard there in search of the two supposed victims of

Roblin’s psychopathic rage. The coroner, Henry Stokes, also attended. The next day the labourers also dug up the clay pit in search of bodies. They dug exhaustively but nothing was found. Not a vestige of human remains were encountered; William Roblin would have been highly amused. The author of the 1863 narrative considered how Roblin suffered from a gross act of injustice which would not be allowed then. Davies’ death was not premeditated but could be argued to be manslaughter. Excessive drink had inflamed passions made worse by the taunts and epithets from Davies. The conduct and language of the deceased was ‘of an exceedingly aggravating nature.’ The jury were ruthlessly over-ruled and a sentence of death was practically forced from them. It was a mercy that the cruel system of tyrannical dictation was soon abolished. Speaking to

Richard Grimes, author of a pamphlet entitled Murder and Death, Effects of Drunkenness or a Brief Memoir of William Roblin, Margaret Roblin the widow, confessed ‘drink was the cause of all this.’ William was quiet as any other man when he was not drunk, but when he had imbibed he offended other people and that is why everybody turned against him.

Traditional accounts of the sad story normally end with William’s execution. No one has sought out the fate of his wife and child. They must have been deeply traumatised and

21 haunted by the experience and probably shunned and treated like pariahs. Margaret

Roblin, once tried for murder, must have spawned many lurid tales and rumours. She must have kept a very low, if not to say invisible profile for many years after. On 17 June

1837 Martha Roblin was married to Lewis John at Slebech Church. William and

Margaret’s daughter was illiterate and was only able to make her mark. The witnesses were Thomas and William John. It is not clear whether Margaret was even present. A void of nearly thirty years covers the movements of Margaret Roblin. There is no one listed in the 1841 census for for anyone with that name. Where did she go? We know that her only daughter Martha, son-in-law Lewis and their children were living at

Boulston in 1841. Did Margaret live under an assumed name and live away until the dust had well and truly settled on the events of 1820-1?

The next definite sight of Margaret Roblin comes in 1851 when the 76-year old laundress was living on St Thomas Green, Haverfordwest. The household consisted of two other people, Elizabeth Jones, a 60-year old laundress and a retired grocer named Frances

Allen. By 1861 Lewis John with his wife Martha and their children William (aged 20, a shipwright and surely named after his dead grandfather) Elizabeth, Maria, Lewis, Stephen and Charles, were living at New Pennar in the parish of St Mary, Pembroke. Margaret

Roblin, then aged 84, a very good age indeed for the mid-nineteenth century, was also living with them. She must have been overjoyed to be living in the bosom of her growing family after so much disgrace, hardships and years of exile. Margaret Roblin died in

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1862. At the time of researching this talk I am still searching for her burial place, so far it has eluded me. Margaret’s daughter Martha lived on until 1895 when she died herself an old woman aged 77. She must surely have reflected upon the awful trauma of her childhood. The stigma of being a murderer’s daughter would be difficult to overestimate, although the facts as we now see them are capable of disputation. Did Martha have any memories of her father? They would have been mere fragments of memory, a distant echo stretching back 74 years. Martha was a tragic, innocent victim of circumstance.

William Roblin was destined never to rest in peace. Around 1860,, when alterations were being done to the prison his body was exhumed and remarkably sold to a sailor as a mere trinket or curiosity. Did no one think of giving them back to his widow or daughter?

Roblin had paid for his crime with his life but a decent resting place was still denied him.

The late Alderman William Williams of Haverfordwest, chemist, bought the skeleton for

1s. 4d. In May 1914 Dr Williams of St David’s has Roblin’s remains moved to his house, a very grisly reminder of the crime nearly a century before. The remains were placed in a box and delivered by an errand boy. Nobody seems to have thought of the ethical question of whether Roblin’s mortal remains should be treated with more respect rather than be traded as a fairground curiosity. Roblin’s skull is now in , in a storeroom but the rest of his skeleton has been lost. How it came to Pembroke Castle is not known. The castle once had a fine museum near the entrance gate. I remember the

23 feeling of terror when I saw this human skull stare out of a windowless dark gloom when

I visited as a child in the early 1970s.

The skull of William Roblin (1776-1821) showing clear signs of medical examination, Post Mortem

The notoriety of William Roblin in the annals of Pembrokeshire crime is assured since he was the last person to suffer capital punishment in the county 194 years ago. He was a troubled and undoubtedly a bad man with many demons but perhaps we should not overdo the contemporary condemnation of him. He lived at a brutal time. He and his family paid a fearful price for the crime, which retrospectively we might call manslaughter. He was perhaps not the complete monster of legend; certainly the facts and issues to be found in the 1863 narrative make the old story nowhere near clear cut as once we believed.

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Acknowledgments

Thanks are due to the helpful assistance of the staff of the Pembrokeshire

Archives, Morag Evans and Brenda Saunders in the preparation of this article.

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