Enduring mystery surrounds Edinburgh’s eerie fairy coffins

In future weeks, I will be dealing with infamous unsolved Scottish murders that will include mysteries such as who was Bible John, the serial killer in Glasgow in the late 1960s, and who killed Janet Rodgers a century earlier in the Mount Stewart murder of 1866 in Perthshire.

Today, however, I am concentrating on a genuine mystery dating from the 1830s, one which has never been solved and will probably never be solved after such a passage of time.

The story of the Fairy Coffins began on a summer’s day in Edinburgh in 1836. A group of boys, possibly three or four of them, were searching for rabbits’ burrows around Arthur’s Seat in Holyrood Park (which is now also known as King’s Park – the name changes to correspond with the sex of the monarch).

The boys were on the north-east side of the hill when they either dug up or stumbled upon a hole sealed by pieces of slate.

One contribution to a newspaper some years later gave an account of what happened: “While I was a resident at Edinburgh, either in the year 1836 or 1837, I forget which, a curious discovery took place, which formed the subject of a nine days’ wonder, and a few newspaper paragraphs.

“Some children were at play at the foot of Salisbury Crags, when one of them, more venturesome than the others, attempted to ascend the escarpment of the cliff.

"His foot slipped and to save himself from a dangerous fall, he caught at a projecting piece of rock, which appeared to be attached to the other portions of the cliff. It gave way, however, beneath the pressure of his hand, and although it broke his fall, both he and it came to the bottom of the crag.

“Nothing daunted, the hardy boy got up, shook himself, and began the attempt a second time. When he reached the point from whence the treacherous rock had projected, he found that it had masked the entrance to a large hole which had been dug into the face of the cliff.”

Perhaps that is a trifle fanciful, not least because it was not a “large” hole and there is no proof of the hole’s existence at the bottom of Salisbury Crags, while some have speculated that it was on the other side of Arthur’s Seat.

What is certain is that in the hole the boys found 17 miniature coffins, each containing tiny recognisably human figurines – male, judging by the clothing that enveloped them. Boys being boys, they dug out the coffins and began to play with them, hurtling them around, causing some damage.

No matter how they were discovered, the news of the Fairy Coffins spread quickly and the following day one of the children’s teachers, a Mr Ferguson, went to Arthur’s Seat and retrieved the coffins. That fact adds credence to the location of the find as being on the southerly side of the hill, as there was a Findlay Ferguson then teaching at Easter Duddingston School.

He took the coffins to the local archaeological society of which he was a member, and eventually they found their way to city-centre jeweller Robert Frazier, who presumably paid for them, as he then installed them in his private museum.

The story was picked up by newspapers in the latter half of July 1836, and The Scotsman was able to give a description of their boys’ find place: “The mouth of this little cave was closed by three thin pieces of slate stone, rudely cut at the upper ends into a conical form, and so placed as to protect the interior from the effects of the weather.”

According to The Scotsman, each coffin: “Contained a miniature figure of the human form cut out in wood, the faces in particular being pretty well executed. They were dressed from head to foot in cotton clothes, and decently laid out with a mimic representation of all the funereal trappings which usually form the last habiliments of the dead.

“The coffins are about three or four inches in length, regularly shaped, and cut out from a single piece of wood, with the exception of the lids, which are nailed down with wire sprigs or common brass pins. The lid and sides of each are profusely studded with ornaments, formed with small pieces of tin, and inserted in the wood with great care and regularity.”

THE Times of London, no less, picked up the story: “In the coffins were miniature wooden figures. They were dressed differently in both style and material. There were two tiers of eight coffins each, and a third one begun, with one coffin.

“The extraordinary datum, which has especially made mystery here – that the coffins had been deposited singly, in the little cave, and at intervals of many years.

“In the first tier, the coffins were quite decayed, and the wrappings had moldered away. In the second tier, the effects of age had not advanced so far. And the top coffin was quite recent-looking.”

So two rows of eight coffins and one on top, but with no explanation as to how they got there and no evidence to back the The Times’s claim that they had been put there over time.

It wasn’t until the 1990s that two experts, Edinburgh-based historian and curator Allen Simpson and his fellow historian and researcher Samuel Menefee, compiled a comprehensive report on the coffins.

They gave the definitive description of the eight remaining coffins: “Each coffin contains an ‘occupant’ and has been hollowed from a solid piece of wood. Each also has a lid which has been held in place by pins of various sizes, driven down through the sides and ends of the coffin base.

“In many instances, the pin shafts are still in place, though some are bent over; when the lids were prised off the coffins most of the hand-wound pin heads became detached … Although the type of wood has not previously been commented on, it has now been identified as Scots Pine.

“Coffin dimensions vary … those now accessible for study are 3.7 to 4.1 inches long, 0.7 to 1.2 inches wide, and 0.8 to 1.0 inches deep with their lids in place … Judging by the longitudinal scoring on the base of the recess, a sharp knife – probably a hooked knife – has been used.

"The fact that the surfaces at the ends of the recess are so cleanly cut indicates that the knife has been very sharp, but the user has apparently not been a woodworker by trade because he has not had access to an edged tool such as a chisel to cut out the base of the recess, and has had difficulty in controlling the depth of the cuts (which have even penetrated the base of coffin No 5).

“There are two types of external shape. Five of the coffins (Nos 1, 2, 4, 6 and 8) have been carved with square-cut corners and edges, although most have slightly bowed sides so that the coffin has a taper at each end.

“However, the remaining three (Nos 3, 5 and 7) have a pronounced rounding of the edges and ends of the coffin; this suggests a different manual approach … and may indicate that the coffins could have been carved by two different individuals.”

BACK in late July 1836 many theories emerged as to the meaning of the coffins and their figurines. The Scotsman stated: “Our own opinion would be – had we not some years ago abjured witchcraft and demonology – that there are still some of the weird sisters hovering about Mushat’s Cairn or the Windy Gowl, who retain their ancient power to work the spells of death by entombing the likenesses of those they wish to destroy.”

Soon afterwards, the Edinburgh Evening Post got a bit fantastical, saying the coffins represented: “An ancient custom which prevailed in Saxony, of burying in effigy departed friends who had died in a distant land.”

The Caledonian Mercury opined: “We have also heard of another superstition which exists among some sailors in this country, that they enjoined their wives on parting to give them a ‘Christian burial’ in an effigy if they happened (to be lost at sea).”

The problem is that there is no evidence of either tradition existing in Edinburgh in the early 19th century.

Theories about the origins of the Fairy Coffins have been around practically since they were found. Modern science has established that they definitely date from the 1830s.

The fact there were 17 coffins could well be significant. A few years previously, Burke and Hare’s bodysnatching was at its height, and the murderers were know to have killed 17 people (though many victims were female and the coffin figures were all in male garb).

Edinburgh readers may recall the old skipping rhyme: “Up the close and doun the stair, But and ben wi’ Burke and Hare. Burke’s the butcher, Hare’s the thief, Knox the boy that buys the beef.”

Simpson and Menefee proposed that the coffins could have been made by someone sympathetic to the victims of Burke and Hare, and it certainly seems more than coincidental.

You can see the remaining eight coffins in the National Museum of Scotland to which they were donated in 1901.

NMS states this on its website blog about the coffins: “Eight of these coffins survive to the present day and are on display in the National Museum of Scotland. Few objects in our collection excite as much intrigue. Who made the intricate carved figures? Who did they represent? Who placed them in their secret sepulchre … and why?

“The figures all appear to be made by the same hand, although it’s possible the coffins were crafted by two different people. Some of the materials and tools used – wood, iron embellishments, nails, a sharp, hooked knife – indicate the coffins could have been fashioned by a shoemaker. 

“The figures seem to form a set, and their upright bearing, flat feet and swinging arms suggest they may have been toy soldiers. Their eyes are open, making it unlikely they were originally designed as corpses. Some of the figures are missing their arms – perhaps removed so that they would fit in the sepulchre.”

Author Ian Rankin features the coffins in his 2001 Inspector Rebus thriller The Falls.

NMS states: “In the introduction to the book, he explains how a member of staff alerted him to their presence: ‘Plenty of people over the years have come up to me with their excited notions of plots for my next book. I’ve found precious few of them to be helpful, or viable, but I was intrigued by these “little dolls” … which is how I made the acquaintance of the Arthur’s Seat coffins.

‘As soon as I saw them, I knew they would make a great story, especially as no-one had come up with an incontrovertible interpretation of their meaning. In other words, there was a story to tell about them …’.”

The Fairy Coffins play a big part in the novel so I won’t tell you much, just to say that even the great Rebus can’t solve their mystery, even if he does solve his criminal case.

Having viewed them many times, my own conclusion is that the figures were originally made as dolls for children to play with and, their usage over, they were then placed in coffins and buried by a superstitious person who did not want bad luck by burning them.

I’ve no evidence but then everything about the Fairy Coffins – except the facts I have shown – is guesswork.