How did English and Welsh medical practitioners enter the common-law courtroom as expert witnesses, and how can one assess their influence on crime-scene investigations and courtroom testimony? Witnesses offering specialist opinions were hardly novel in the eighteenth-century London courtroom, but their participation grew at such a pace that, by the early 1900s, they had become regular participants in police investigation and criminal trials. Even as their presence grew, their evolution was not a singular event: defense lawyers, judges, and juries were experiencing qualitative changes in their roles in the adjudication of crime just as prison surgeons, asylum superintendents, and hospital medical officers entered the witness box. It is the singular achievement of this important study that Katherine D. Watson has isolated critical moments in the growth of medicine's role while embedding the practitioners’ rise within the shifting dynamics of criminal prosecution in early modern England.

This article presents an edition and translation of an Irish didactic poem found in a large compilation of remedies, charms and prayers that was written in the early sixteenth century by the Roscommon medical scribe Conla Mac an Leagha. The contents of this poem, and of the treatise in which it occurs more generally, are of inherent interest for our understanding of the history of medical learning in medieval Ireland. However, the poem is also of particular significance due to the fact that its penultimate stanza, which invokes the authority of one ‘Colmán mac Oililla’, is attested in two much later sources that provide insight into the transmission and reception of medieval Irish medical texts in the early nineteenth century, as well as into the relationship between manuscript, print and material culture during that period. The two sources in question, one of which is a previously unprovenanced signboard now kept in the Wellcome Collection in London, can both be connected with the work of the Munster ‘herb doctor’ Michael Casey (1752?–1830/31), who in 1825 advertised the publication of a new herbal containing cures derived from much earlier Irish-language medical manuscripts.

The current historical consensus is that English common law was somewhat confused, but that coerced servitude was legal in England before 1772, and certainly in its empire, where English law on slavery did not reach, because it was “beyond the line” of English justice. The common law is characterized by an effort to see continuity and consistency, and historians (despite our natural desire to track change) often look for those patterns too. Such efforts to provide a consistent overview of an England that was free and colonies that created slavery on their own—have obscured the vibrant struggle over slavery within the English judicial system—the common law—over more than a century. Not only did the common law on slavery change profoundly during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: the common law became an instrument of crown policy. It did so within a federal empire, wherein colonial legal norms had to adhere, in crucial ways, to that common law. English high court judges thus provided the legal foundation for an imperial common law of slavery that allowed people to be deemed absolute property. That definition of people as property was closely connected to absolutism, both in theory and practice. In theory the absolute power of kings over subjects was connected to that of masters over slaves. In practice, the crown's use of the courts to create laws without parliamentary consent (to bypass parliament) also increased crown revenue and thus their independence from parliamentary control. These powerful legal mechanisms made it possible to “recover” enslaved people as assets for debts, a legal definition that was essential for a market in people to function sucessfully. This history reveals the absolutist character of early capitalism, and the extent to which the character of capitalist development depends on the legal rules that define markets and justice.

Convents and convent-run institutions occupied an undefined legal space during the late nineteenth century. As homes for unmarried women, they combined religious ideas of holy seclusion with contemporary ideas of the feminine private sphere. However, women religious were also major providers of charity and welfare in Britain and Ireland, with many running charitable institutions. This brought them in closer contact with the state. As factory and workshop legislation towards the end of the nineteenth century expanded to include laundries, Catholic politicians used this ambiguous societal role to argue that Magdalene asylums deserved less inspection than for-profit laundries. In so doing, they both re-enforced nuns’ right to domestic privacy and promoted their operations as a social good. This created a legal exemption for convent-run laundries, which allowed them to operate with limited scrutiny or interference. An examination of the debates surrounding factory and workshop legislation from 1895 to 1907 exposes a precedent which continued well into the twentieth century.

But here are four fragments that will possibly play a part in a longer work: I begin with a sketch of what it is to do legal history today, in the wake of the enormous growth and development of the field of legal history in legal education, over the past forty years. I continue with an extended examination of the answers Willard Hurst, the founder of the modern discipline of legal history, gave more than fifty-five years ago to the question, what does legal history do. Finally, in the two final fragments, I spin off from Hurst to begin the work of suggesting an understanding of legal history less tied to legal thought and legal advocacy. How to practice a legal history that is something apart from legal scholarship.

From the mid-nineteenth century, seamen were increasingly identified as vectors of epidemic diseases such as cholera. The rising acceptance of the germ theories of disease and contagion and the transition from sail to steam at this time increased the fear of the rapid spread of contagious diseases through these mobile people. This article examines how the British naval authorities, ship surgeons and the medical and municipal authorities in the Calcutta sailortown sought to improve maritime health and hygiene to prevent the spread of cholera among and by British seamen. Nineteenth century Calcutta is an ideal context for this study on account of its epidemiological notoriety as a disease entrepot and the sea route between Calcutta and British ports was one of the most closely monitored for disease in the Empire. The article argues that a study of cholera among British seamen can generate important insights into the relationship among disease, medicine and colonialism and in doing so shed light into a neglected aspect of the history of nineteenth century cholera, the British anxiety regarding disease dispersion, practice of hygiene and sanitation and British seamen’s health.