"The Infamous Barrel Stocks"
Tif
Castle an' Dinas, Cornwall, England 1522, "The Infamous Barrel Stocks" were
available for hire to any tradesman or noble who thought he could benefit
from the use of their services. Victims, unfaithful wives, were incarcerated
in these medieval devices, then tortured in various ways, usually to extract
confessions of unfaithful lovers. First they would be left for several
hours, sealed into this very uncomfortable wooden barrel, unable to move
body or limbs. Often they would urinate and defecate. This increased the
discomfort as they were forced to sit in their own excrement whilst awaiting
their fate. When eventually the irate husband decided he would try to
extract a confession, it would be done using several methods, usually
beginning with the wife's feet being "Prepared" Preparation usually
consisted of the hard or dry skin being removed from the soles of her feet
using an early form of sandpaper and chemical balm made from citric acid.
This had the effect of stripping the skin and making a victim, who before
had been slightly ticklish on her feet, suddenly have extremely ticklish
feet.
One of the records that exists is of a woman called Irene Tudor of Goss
Moor, 15 years of age and married to John Tudor, town magistrate. It is
reported that she was actually tickled to death over a period of 6 days, by
two masters of interrogation. The following is an actual translation from
old, to modern day English, of events recorded by Henry Bartholemew the
village Priest. I fear some seriousness of the event has been lost in the
translation.
In The Year of our Lord, 1522
Monday November 3rd: Irene Tudor of Goss Moor, spouse of John Tudor, upon
his Order was first stripped naked, then left secured in the wooden barrel
stocks with three padlocks and chain. The Barrel was then positioned in the
Village square for all to see her, and to make her consider the seriousness
of the accusations against her. Her boots had been left on to protect her
feet from the elements.
Tuesday November 4th:. This was no ordinary interrogation. John Tudor was an
extremely determined man and being the local Magistrate had many contacts. I
felt much mercy for Irene and pity. John Tudor had called in "Specialists"
from London to do the interrogation. They spent the whole of the day until
sunset working on Irenes feet, with sandpaper and acid balm. When they had
finished, her feet were as clean and soft as a newborns loins. Her boots had
then been replaced.
Wednesday November 5th: I am a man of strong resilance, but I came home from
the Village square early and wretched today. What I had just witnessed was
the work of the devil himself. When I had left, Irene Tudor's face had
looked like something from hell itself. Her eyes on stalks, bulged with
absolute terrified fear. Her mouth formed stretched exaggerated movements as
she tried desperately to scream in between the breathlessness. The
Interrogators were the most skilled of professionals I have ever introduced.
Each grasped one of Irenes largest toes. Each then methodically poked sharp
pointed sticks into the most vulnerable areas between her toes. Sometimes
they would make contact, other times they would just let Irene scream and
convulse in anticipation of contact. Thus the interrogation and tickling
continued.
Thursday November 6th: I arose at 5am today and went to the village square
with food and beverages. The least I could do to help Irenes torment was to
give her sustenance. As I approached the barrel stocks, the smell of Urine
and faeces was disgusting. Irene looked up at me approaching with a face
which revealed utter fear and submission. Its only me my child, your village
priest, I assured her. Oh master, help me. I cannot bare anymore, had been
her reply. They have ways of tickling my soles that destroy my very being.
It's totally unbearable. Please kill me and end my suffering! As I held the
bottle of wine to Irenes lips I could not help but notice the red sores
around her trapped kneck, wrists and ankles were she had struggled. The
rough wood of the barrel stocks insured major discomfort in these areas. I
left Irene, telling her I would return the next day with more food and
comfort.
Thursday November 6th: I was unable to visit Irene today, as I layed in my
bed suffering from consumption I could easily hear her torment and desperate
screams for mercy. Her crying had started around 8am and had continued non
stop through the day until sunset.
Friday November 7th: Even though I expected the worst, I was alarmed at what
met my gaze when I went to visit Irene this morning. She had become insane.
Her mind had become a blank. She did not know me, and just gazed with
bloodshot eyes into the horizon. I pleaded with Magistrate John Tudor to
show her some mercy, but he was a man scorned. He ordered the interrogators
to carry on with their dastardly task. Irene again began screaming, but now
they were the high pitched screams of a lunatic. She did not see the sunset
today, but passed on to the next life through shear exhaustion and shortness
of breath. I feel very ashamed. ... Henry Bartholemew.
There are many other such stories of the dreaded Barrel Stocks. Here at
www.femfeet.co.uk <http://www.femfeet.co.uk/homepage.htm>, we intend to make
quite a few more... See our films made using our very own original "Barrel
Stocks"... Downloadable in the members area, now.