Inquests on babies were a distressingly common feature of Victorian newspapers. But the benefit of the doubt was almost invariably given to the mother if there were neither witnesses not medical or forensic evidence to point to a different conclusion - even if, as was sometimes clear from the tone of the report,there was plenty of room for scepticism.
The Inquest
I took my oath I would enquire,
Without affection, hate, or wrath,
Into the death of Ada Wright -
So help me God! I took that oath.
When I went out to see the corpse,
The four months babe that died so young,
I judged it was seven pounds in weight,
And little more than one foot long.
The Inquest
One eye, that had a yellow lid,
Was shut - so was the mouth, that smiled;
The left eye open, shining bright -
It seemed a knowing little child.
For as I looked at that one eye,
It seemed to laugh, and say with glee:
“What caused my death you’ll never know -
Perhaps my mother murdered me.”
When I went into court again,
To hear the mother’s evidence -
It was a love-child, she explained,
And smiled, for our intelligence.
“Now, Gentlemen of the Jury,” said
The coroner - “this woman’s child
By misadventure met its death.”
“Aye, aye,” said we. The mother smiled.
And I could see that child’s one eye
Which seemed to laugh, and say with glee:
“ What caused my death you’ll never know -
Perhaps my mother murdered me.”
WH Davies
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