In 1966, Harry Ludlam published an account of the Hannah Beswick story that combined ghost story with some research into the woman’s life and family. Although this story replicated some details from older versions, specifically in terms of the woman’s desire to be left unburied and the supernatural phenomena that followed her death, it was notable for its inclusion of careful genealogy and details of local geography. Nevertheless, as the Hannah Beswick story began to circulate on the internet towards the end of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first, this care and detail was obscured by confused and inaccurate variations. This chapter explores some of the more recent iterations of the narrative, arguing that the story of the Manchester Mummy remains a ‘curiosity’ to be understood through fanciful and sensationalized story rather than serious academic scrutiny. The chapter goes on to explore some of the ways in which a type of civic amnesia (the forgetting or obscuring of aspects of Manchester’s past, such as the response to the Jacobite rebellion of 1745) has created a space in which the more fanciful narratives can circulate without any challenge. The first part of the book concludes that almost all the versions of the story explored so far should be treated with a degree of suspicion or cynicism.

The book’s epilogue offers a personal reflection on graves and burials, beginning with an anecdotal account of a local supermarket built on the site of a former cemetery. This reflection goes on to consider the numerous bodies in the book that have been kept out of the grave or disinterred after burial to unsettle a notion of the grave as a permanent or final resting place. The epilogue ends by returning to the idea of the unburied corpse as the source of entertainment, particularly around the time of Halloween, concluding that anxieties around the unburied corpse still sit alongside entertaining tales of post-mortem reappearance, just as they did when Hannah Beswick’s body was a museum exhibit.

This chapter introduces and narrates Hannah Beswick’s life and family history, using a variety of archival and genealogical records to narrate the facts. In addition, contemporaneous primary sources, including diaries, commonplace books and property deeds, are used to give this history some context. The story that emerges differs from those recounted in the first part of the book, and it is one that draws on the reality of eighteenth-century Manchester to allow Hannah Beswick’s life to be better understood. The chapter concludes by asserting that Hannah Beswick was a fairly normal, though very wealthy, member of a gentry family, whose daily life likely included socializing with friends and family, music, dancing, and the management of property and the estate. This assertion serves as a precursor to subsequent chapters, which will explore how this ‘normal’ woman came to be embalmed and displayed in a museum.

This chapter explores developments and changes in the medical profession during Hannah Beswick’s lifetime. Specifically, it considers the separation of the barbers and the surgeons, and the impact this had on the teaching of anatomy in London and Edinburgh. This provides context for a narration of the career of Charles White, the man responsible for mummifying Hannah Beswick’s body, but also the scientific impetus for the ‘body-snatching’ and public dissections discussed in previous chapters. Various techniques for preserving a corpse are described, which illustrate the scientific principles being tested and demonstrated. Not only does this explain the intentions of the surgeons who embalmed body for display and teaching purposes, but it also suggests possible reasons why an individual might consent to the post-mortem procedure.

This chapter explores the significance of the bequest made by Hannah Beswick to i her funeral expenses. It examines the changes in funeral practices between the death of Hannah’s mother, Hannah’s own death, and the time of her delayed burial, and the ‘professionalisation of death’ that occurred during this time with the rise of undertaking as a commercial profession. Alongside this, consideration of the average costs of funerals during this period is used to argue that Hannah’s bequest is far too high (and too specific) a sum for an ordinary funeral. The chapter goes on to explore the history of embalming as a funereal practice, including explanations for the purpose and techniques employed. The chapter ultimately argues that, while the ‘mummification’ and display of Hannah’s body has been described as a ‘ungenteel fate’, a standard funeral is not a guarantee of a ‘genteel fate’. Through further consideration of the detail of Hannah’s will, alongside the recorded disiy of human remains at Cheetwood discussed in a previous chapter, this chapter concludes by positing that Hannah Beswick actively chose post-mortem preservation of her corpse at the hands of a surgeon, likely for religious reasons or other sensibilities, and that her viscera were ceremonially interred at Cheetwood Hall with the full knowledge of her friends and family.

This chapter continues the narration of Hannah Beswick’s life, including consideration of her social circle. It offers minute examination of Hannah’s will, exploring the implications of her bequests. Using archival and genealogical sources, the identities of Hannah’s heirs and executors is revealed, including Mary Greame, a woman who has previously been overlooked in earlier versions of the story. The chapter gives biographical information about Mary Greame, suggesting a close but non-familial relationship between the two unmarried women. There is also some consideration of other previously overlooked, but nevertheless revealing, bequests in the will, including Hannah’s somewhat pointed reference to the practice of the ‘heriot’ (a form of feudal inheritance tax). The chapter argues that the will contains indications of Hannah’s character, as well as her final wishes in relation to property and money.

This chapter explores the foundation of the Manchester Infirmary, and the social circumstances that led to its establishment. It gives an overview of the socio-economic background of eighteenth-century Manchester, as well as the public health challenges the expanding town faced. The foundation of the Infirmary is illustrated through the use of a triumphant poem that appeared on the front page of Manchester’s newspaper, and the role of Charles White and other surgeons and physicians is explained. Hannah Beswick was an early, and generous, supporter of the new infirmary, and her donation is presented within the context of other members of the gentry. The chapter argues that Hannah’s early contribution suggests that she was familiar with the plans for the infirmary and was likely contacted directly by one of the founders during the fundraising stage of the hospital’s development. The chapter goes on to suggest that the level of trust such a donation requires means that Hannah had some prior knowledge of the person requesting the donation, and that her subsequent actions certainly allow us to believe that Charles White would be a person who commanded that degree of trust.

The body of Hannah Beswick was displayed as an exhibit in the museum from its opening in 1835, alongside other ‘Mammalia’ (including ancient mummies and taxidermied animals). Among Hannah’s companions at this time were the Egyptian mummy now known as Asru (presented to the Natural History Society by Robert and William Garrett in 1825 and still in the collection of the Manchester Museum), a number of ‘tattooed heads of New Zealand chiefs’, and Old Billy, a barge horse who worked for the Mersey and Irwell Navigation Company. In 1838, the society removed its members-only policy, allowing members of the public to view this mixture of local curiosities and exhibits of antiquarian and academic interest for a shilling (sixpence for the working classes). This chapter offers analysis of ‘The Manchester Mummy’ as a museum exhibit in Victorian Manchester. As no complete catalogue was ever produced for the museum, the chapter uses testimonies from contemporaneous visitors to examines the way in which Hannah Beswick’s body was displayed and contextualized within the museum setting, highlighting the vagueness of description and interpretation offered by the museum, as well as the ways in which the museum both shaped and reflected popular mores, including fears of body-snatching and premature burial.

We are so used to the idea of consumer power as a force for sustainability that it has become one of the primary selling points of many products. Green claims are ubiquitous and consumers look for them, hoping that an ethical purchase will be a small way to combat climate change. This is the illusion of green capitalism. On the high streets of the rich world, there is barely a product on sale today that does not make green claims of some sort. Yet, in the messy and complex world of the global factory, these claims are merely a lucrative illusion: greenwashing at best, outright lies at worst. Removed from the direct political governance of national production, manufacturing in the global factory is effectively a black hole. Companies enact standards on their supply chains, but these standards are self-defined and self-enforced. Without independent oversight and scrutiny, global corporations are effectively free to make any claim they wish; naturally, a situation that suits them. A green image is highly lucrative because consumers want green products, so without having to worry about the veracity of their claims, global corporations are able to devote their attention to publicising them.

Greenwashing is not the preserve only of companies, but of a political establishment that has quickly familiarised itself with the tricks of more than half a century of ‘sustainable’ trade. Even on the grandest stages, the language of the climate emergency, as it is employed by world leaders, is in most cases a smokescreen; window dressing for the environmental status quo. It is onto this terrain that the battle over climate change policy has shifted in recent years, sowing discord and disruption from within, rather than engaging in open combat. Yet, as with many high-stakes conflicts, it never erupts into open battle, but plays out in the proxy terrain of culture, values, and knowledge. Proponents of both radical and incremental action share the same fora and ostensibly hold the same goals. Yet hidden beneath the surface is fundamental disagreement, much of which comes down to a fundamental question: can we continue to increase the amount we produce and consume without doing permanent damage to the planet’s ecosystems and those who depend on them?

Carbon emissions are the greatest environmental threat facing the planet and have been subject to ever more stringent regulation in recent decades. The UK, EU, and even the notoriously lagging US have made significant strides in changing the direction of their emissions, apparently bending down curves that had strained ever upwards for centuries. Yet the majority of these gains are a fallacy: a product of richer nations diminishing their share of global industry and ‘outsourcing’ carbon-intensive processes to the global South. These outsourced emissions now account for a quarter of global CO2 emissions, a figure that highlights the scale of wealthy nations’ ability to move emissions off their environmental books. There is even a name for this practice. The ability to effectively outsource emissions from richer to poorer nations has been described as ‘carbon colonialism’. Wealthier countries, overwhelmingly responsible for climate change both historically and currently, have set the terms of carbon mitigation at the negotiating table. Naturally, these terms favour the biggest emitters, allowing larger economies to offshore production processes to smaller ones, whilst maintaining the economic fruits of that production. In an era of global climate breakdown, this is as avoidable as it is pointless, yet the persistence of this line of thinking speaks to a centuries-old mindset. In a globalised system of unequal power, it is sufficient simply to outsource environmental problems like carbon. Bring in what is necessary and out, across the border goes (or stays) the rest.

We are used to the idea that climate vulnerability depends on geography, that certain parts of the world are more exposed to floods, droughts, or sea-level rise, and their populations are more exposed as a result. Yet, in reality, geography is only a part of the story. Within any given place, whether it be London or the Sri Lankan highlands, our experience of the climate is far from universal. Monsoon rains, even landslides, mean something quite different to someone surrounded by sturdy walls than they do to a person whose ceiling is in danger of collapsing. Economic inequality, the result of a long history of unequal accumulation, is the single biggest determinant of how climate change impacts the world’s populations. The poorer you are, the more vulnerable to climate change you are. If your livelihood is precarious, then you are climate precarious. Whether shivering in the safety of a London flat or braving the frontline of the climate crisis in the monsoon-lashed highlands of Sri Lanka, the environment we experience depends upon who we are and what we have.