In which the cat explores the relevance of the ‘authentic’ in folklore and its ethics, introducing the concept of ‘forced knowledge’ to discuss the challenges of authenticity, and how this may be reconciled with opportunities to foster more healing and compassion between communities.

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The life and death of one, Joan Wytte

The practice of modern Paganism in Cornwall is deeply intertwined with the region’s folklore, shaped by a reverence for its many ancient sites and legendary creatures, such as the helpful Knockers or mischievous Piskies. Among the stories that hold particular significance to pagans in the duchy is that of Joan Wytte: a local 19th century wise woman and healer whose remains were once on display at the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic (MWM) in Boscastle. And whose story has travelled so widely, it has since spread beyond Cornish borders, becoming influential to the practices of cunning folk the world over (Semmens, 2010).

But this story begins in earnest in the 1950s, when founder Cecil Williamson is said to have acquired a skeleton from nearby Bodmin Gaol, yet rather than treating it with care, he “hung it unceremoniously from a hook in the ceiling” (Cornish, 2014), where it remained on display for several decades. According to the label of this crude exhibit, written by Williamson himself, the remains had belonged to “a witch […] born in Bodmin in 1775 and [died] in 1813 from bronchial pneumonia in Bodmin jail, aged 38”. Available for consultation in the museum’s online catalogue, this label also claimed that Joan had been imprisoned due to an abscess in her wisdom tooth, which had allegedly altered her temperament and earned her the moniker ‘Fighting Fairy Woman of Bodmin’, owing to her supposed small stature and frequent public altercations.

However, when the museum changed hands in 1996, its new curator, Graham King, began to express feeling “uncomfortable with Joan’s presence” (MWM, n.d.), while visitors poured in to report strange occurrences around the remains, including claims that Joan’s skull could turn on its own (Patterson, 2017a). Concerned by this ‘unsettling’ atmosphere, King rightly deemed the display was no longer appropriate and, with the help of a team of volunteers, arranged for Joan’s remains to be properly laid to rest in an undisclosed location near Minster Woods. This widely publicised burial ceremony took place in 1998, with a subsequent gravestone installed near Minster Church bearing the inscription:

“Joan Wytte. Born 1775, died 1813 in Bodmin Gaol. Buried 1998. No longer abused.”

Nonetheless, this was not the end of Joan’s story, as her spirit continues to be honoured through this gravestone, where ritual deposits have often been found. Similarly, although her skeleton is no longer on display, the museum has since created a permanent exhibition featuring an effigy of an elderly healer—who is affectionately called Joan. Such a figure resides within a reconstruction of a “nineteenth-century wise woman’s home” (Cornish, 2020), smiling gently at visitors, while dispensing spells and charms via a looped audio recording (that you can conveniently purchase from the museum’s shop).

When I became a volunteer at the Museum of Witchcraft in 2017, I was immediately captivated by this display—least of all as it reawakened fond memories of the Aldeia Museu José Franco, a site I used to visit as a child in Portugal, where similar puppets inhabit similar replicas of rural and old-fashioned buildings. Most curiously, I also find myself sharing an unexpected connection with Joan—not only through our human matching names, but through the peculiar misfortune of a troublesome wisdom tooth. And so, the spell was cast.

Image Description: The cover of an audio CD titled “Joan’s Cottage Spells & Charms: a soundtrack from the Museum of Witchracft and Magic”, featuring a photograph of a replica stone cottage kitchen, where the effigy of an old wise woman is sat at a table, surrounded by magical instruments and her taxidermied orange cat. Image Credit: Museum of Witchcraft and Magic.

Cecil Williamson: Authenticity or Conjuring?

Fast forward to 2021, I was based at the Wheal Martyn kaolin mine during my experience with the Citizen Curators programme, when I decided that for my research, I would be returning to Joan’s story. Specifically, the claim in Williamson’s label that she had been the daughter of a ‘tawner’—that is, a leatherworker who apparently used china clay to produce “white leather dancing shoes for [young ladies]”, such as these, housed in the Museum of Witchcraft’s collection itself. However, what I discovered—or rather, what I didn’t discover—proved to be deeply disappointing.

Although Williamson’s label had described at length how Joan’s family trade had involved applying kaolin to leather, my inquiries with several leatherworkers (including one site that has operated for over 400 years), revealed no record of such a technique ever being used in tanning. Likewise, if china clay had indeed been used in the manufacture of dancing shoes, they explained, it would have been in very small quantities, and only as a texture-enhancing agent. It would have certainly never been applied in the amounts described by Williamson is his label—so extensively that supposed prolonged contact had caused it to seep into Joan’s bones. Most inconsistently, although Williamson claimed that forensic experts had been commissioned to provide this conclusion, further on in the text, he proposed that the kaolin in Joan’s bones had actually been the result of drinking water heavy in “natural fluorides”—even going so far as to speculating that Joan had frequently visited a local holy site called Scarlett’s Well, which appeared to be the sole connection to be made between her and her magical practice. If so, then the reasoning that she was a ‘witch’ simply because she visited a well appears to be quite the stretch!

But having received this response from the tanners, I then broadened my research to determine whether Joan Wytte had even existed at all, looking through online parish records via the OPC Cornwall website for a Joan Wytte born in 1775 and deceased in 1813—yet none appeared. The closest I got was a Joanna White: aged 50, and admitted to Bodmin Bridewell in 1850 for “wandering and begging at Stratton”. Consequently, I then turned to the work of previous researchers—particularly Dr. Peter Hewitt, former curator of the Museum of Witchcraft, and Dr. Helen Cornish, anthropologist and historian of British witchcraft—as both had conducted extensive research into Joan’s life and death (see Cornish, 2013; 2014; 2020), and raised critical questions about her existence. While Hewitt acknowledged that the museum held no copies or records of the supposed “forensic report” commissioned by Williamson, Cornish suggested that Joan had been entirely “conjured out of tangential stories and folklore by Cecil Williamson” himself. Furthermore, Cornish offered that contemporary analysis of the skeleton had revealed that it was likely a composite of several individuals (Patterson, 2017a), used for anatomical teaching in the late 19th century—which entirely contradicts Williamson’s claim that this was a complete skeleton retrieved by him from Bodmin Gaol.

Nevertheless, the alleged mistreatment of Joan’s remains at Bodmin Gaol is no doubt what has played a major role in attracting the sympathy of museum visitors. Notably, that after dying of pneumonia in Bodmin Gaol in 1813, Joan’s remains had been kept by Governor William Hicks for display at the Hunterian, but ended up being used as ‘dinner-time entertainment’ in mock séances instead—with Hicks allegedly pretending to use her skeleton to speak to the dead. However, as noted by Cornish, “it is likely that the account of [Joan’s] life and death was conjured by Williamson to situate evocative accusations of witchcraft in a local, albeit anomalous, historical context” (Cornish, 2020)—therefore suggesting that Williamson had purposefully incorporated verifiable historical figures like Hicks into Joan’s tale, simply to lend her an aura of authenticity.

From such lack of evidence, it is clear why researchers like Cornish have since concluded that Joan’s story was entirely crafted by Williamson, in a clear case of what I have personally come to describe as ‘forced knowledge’— a phrase which I first heard during an online talk by Will Wright (founder of Wyrd Zine), to describe how our current understanding of ancestral cultures may have been deeply distorted by Victorian interpretations. Applied to the heritage sector, the term therefore highlights that knowledge may have effectively been ‘forced’ upon audiences by authoritative figures of the past, whose reputations alone lended the necessary credibility to their claims, even when their sources were questionable or entirely absent. Although ‘forced knowledge’ is very much a term that I have been using on my own now, it is also true that its essence has long been discussed in the field by other heritage scholars. As explored in one of my favorite books on the subject, A Museum Studies Approach to Heritage (Watson et al., 2019), heritage is “not given, it is made” (Harvey, 2019) [emphasis added]—especially since it is usually constructed by both individual and societal imagination, based on loose interpretations of mere traces left behind by past human activity (Bender, 2019). Especially since determining the ‘most authentic’ interpretation has historically been tied to the assumption that expertise and authority, particularly from the 18th century onwards, belonged to those considered above the grip of superstition (Sully, 2007). However, as Landry (2011) has pointed out, expertise has more often than not been determined not by knowledge—but by “the political economy of taste [and] a matter of power”.

Additionally, folklorist Regina Bendix reminds us that “the notion of authenticity implies the existence of its opposite, the fake, and this dichotomous construct is at the heart of what makes authenticity problematic” (Bendix, 2019), highlighting how this issue can also permeate folklore and folkloristics, as scholars and laypeople alike have often fallen into the trap of distinguishing “real folklore” from supposedly inauthentic counterparts. In that regard, heritage studies professor Rodney Harrison has warned that disciplines dealing with memory—be that folklore, heritage or museums—must be aware that they are always navigating treacherous waters, since the act of ‘preserving’ or ‘remembering’ the past inevitably entails the exclusion of narratives deemed less worthy of conservation (Harrison, 2010).

In that sense, what some folklorists call “preserving the past” may, in reality, be an act of enforcing past interpretations by privileged figures in the field as unquestionable truths. And as the case of Joan Wytte illustrates, the ethical implications of challenging this assumption are now particularly complex: as not only has the pagan community been ‘forced’ to accept Williamson’s version of events, but he may have also fabricated an entirely fictional character using the traumatic legacy of the witch trials as its foundation. At the same time, as noted by Cornish, simply dismissing Joan’s story outright could pose a monumental issue of ethics, particularly as it would risk undermining her cultural and personal significance to pagans and laypeople alike (Cornish, 2013). Because as highlighted by museum ethics scholars:

“Objects that have important cultural significance and have been created for ritual use or have ritual prescriptions attached to them are often considered to be ‘culturally sensitive.’ These objects may be considered ‘sacred’ in that they are believed to contain an intrinsic quality of ‘holiness’ or power […] In other words, not all ritual objects are considered ‘sacred’ by their originators, but there may still be great cultural significance attached to them and the rituals surrounding them.”

Clavir, 2002

With this in mind, while we can agree that fabricating folklore is ethically questionable, we must also ask: how ethical would it be to erase it? After all, dismissing Joan’s story would be a challenge not only for current and future curators at the Museum of Witchcraft, but I am also aware of the pitfalls of even discussing it here in this blog. For that reason, I always try to abide by the ICOM Code of Ethics for Museums in these situations, specifically point 3.7 which states that “research [on] materials of sacred significance [must] take into account the interests and beliefs of the community”. So, far from this article being an outright dismissal of Joan Wytte’s story, might we instead ask ourselves: how can museums and researchers reconcile Joan Wytte’s ‘forced knowledge’ with ethical concerns—and, more importantly, how can situations like these be done in a way that benefits the affected communities?

Reconciling Ethics and Authenticity—Through Emotional Heritage

According to Williamson, his justification for displaying human remains at the Museum of Witchcraft had been that they were instrumental to his success, as prior to settling in Boscastle, he had struggled to keep the museum in one location because “local Christian communities persistently [drove him] out of town” (Cornish, 2013). And all that changed when he acquired the remains of “Joan Wytte”, a local Cornish ‘witch’ who came to protect Williamson in several “major incidents, all of which ended to [his] advantage in an unexpected and startling manner” (MWM, n.d.). And as Semmens (2010) has noted, “what better exhibit [for a museum of witchcraft] than the remains of a local witch mistreated by authorities?”

Sadly, Williamson’s justification was not without irony, as although he claimed to have saved Joan from obscurity and ridicule, he himself came to display her remains rather cruelly, by hanging them from the ceiling for decades on end. Likewise, while Graham King’s intentions may have been well-meaning at first, when it was decided that the remains (whoever they truly belonged to) deserved a proper burial, King may have inadvertently perpetuated their exploitation as well. Because, for instance, not only did King’s burial event turn into a media spectacle, the commemorative gravestone placed in Boscastle has since begun to attract increased visitor footfall—which is being accompanied by an equally increasing amount of ritual litter. This is extremely concerning, because as seen with some holy well cleaning initiatives, unchecked ritual deposits can become an environmental issue, especially when they are not biodegradable.

Image Description: A side-by-side comparison of two photos of Joan Wytte’s gravestone, where a noticeable increase in ritual deposits can be observed between 2017 and 2025. Image Credit: Superstition Sam (left) and JCalderbank (right).

Nevertheless, what this sheer number of ritual offerings currently found by Joan’s grave suggests, is that she has since become deeply meaningful to many people. Because, regardless of (lack of) evidence pointing towards Joan’s story being a creation of Williamson, later cemented by King, its themes—of a woman persecuted for her beliefs and alleged aggression—still resonate strongly, particularly in communities grappling with religious or gender discrimination. And that is where the work of storytellers, poets, and creatives such as Kathy Wallis (Wallis, 2003) or even Patterson (Patterson, 2017b) have been so instrumental, as by adding new interpretations to events, more and more communities have become able to find healing through Joan’s tale.

Such a widespread emotional connection to Joan’s story therefore highlights the power of emotional heritage in the cultural sector, as well as its potential for making folklore more inclusive. Although some folklorists have used authenticity as a gatekeeping tool to dismiss evolving traditions, heritage scholars are beginning to recognise that authenticity is subjective. As Watson et al. (2019) have argued, authenticity has often been wielded by those in power to establish authority over history. Meanwhile, in museums, the tangibility of objects has been known to be fundamental to establishing an aura of wonderment (and no doubt, Williamson knew this himself), but the truth is that visitors can be quite aware of and comfortable with the blending of fact and fiction (ibid.). As such, today, the concept of heritage is acknowledged as not only an object or site—but as a performance, that helps construct and negotiate identities, social values, and cultural narratives (Smith, 2005). Likewise, the true power of heritage is that it allows people to “make sense of [their] everyday lives” (Jones, 2019), as its significance is principally derived from the meanings people attach to it (Carla and Mitterhofer, 2019). In that sense, heritage is thus not at all about static authenticity, but about continuously reinterpreting the past, in order to reflect evolving cultural, social, and political needs (Smith, 2005).

Still, with this I do not mean authenticity should be dismissed entirely, but rather that historical and folkloric narratives gain value when they incorporate all sources, including oral traditions and emotional connections (Casey, 2007; Watson et al., 2019). And in the curious case of Joan Wytte, regardless of whether she was a real person in a historical sense, she has indeed been made real in the minds of those captivated by her story—whose emotions are as authentic as anything else. Because, as stated by folklorist Regina Bendix:

“The greatest strength of [folklore] is the perennial finger [it holds] to the pulse of what human beings, through their expressive culture, crave or fear most deeply.”

Bendix, 2019

Conclusion

Museum owners and curators of the past were often unafraid to craft narratives around the objects they owned, using these stories to assert both their institutional and individual authority. The result was that privileged figures of the past have projected their own personal interpretations onto the history we tell today, ultimately shaping knowledge in ways that have (whether premeditatively or not) continued to justify divisive narratives in our society. For instance, although some of the stories that we enjoy today—such as that of Joan Wytte—do not seem to have originated from historical facts, they have since become part of history itself, and are none the less valuable for that. Because such narratives may still be useful, as they can be utilised as vehicles for communities to engage with emotions, and reconcile both collective and individual trauma (Landry, 2011).

Increasingly, museum and heritage scholars have been recognising that preserving the past in a stasis is no longer sufficient. After all, exhibitions are not just about displaying objects or providing factual labels; they are also about the emotional impact they have on visitors. Some scholars are even beginning to argue that psychology is “key to maximizing the empathic impact of a museum exhibit or programme,” as fostering perspective-taking can lead to greater compassion and prosocial behavior (Nilsen & Bader, 2016). In that sense, although Joan Wytte may not have been a historical ‘witch’—or even a real person—her story can still resonate with people, allowing them to engage with, reinterpret, and appropriate it as a means of shaping their identities, while also connecting with others in similar circumstances. With this lens, folklore can then become a “marvellous, malleable creation” that will enable us to acknowledge, understand, and embrace one another (Harvey, 2019). And ultimately, isn’t that where the truly ethical and authentic value of folklore resides?

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References and Recommended Reading:

Ashworth, G. J. and Graham, B. (2019) ‘Senses of place, senses of time and heritage’ in Watson, S., Barnes, A. and Bunning, K. (eds.) A Museum Studies Approach to Heritage. London: Routledge.
Bender, B. (2019) ‘Introduction to Contested Landscapes: Movement, Exile and Place’, in Watson, S., Barnes, A. and Bunning, K. (eds.) A Museum Studies Approach to Heritage. London: Routledge.
Bendix, R. (2019) ‘In Search of Authenticity: The Formation of Folklore Studies’, in Watson, S., Barnes, A. and Bunning, K. (eds.) A Museum Studies Approach to Heritage. London: Routledge.
Casey, D. (2007) ‘Museums as Agents for Social and Political Change’, in Watson, S. (ed.) Museums and Their Communities. London: Routledge.
Carla, A. and Mitterhofer, J. (2019) Coming to Terms with Controversial Memories in South Tyrol: The Monument to Victory of Bolzano/Boze, Europe Now, April 2, 2019. Available here.
Clavir, M. (2002). ‘Conservation Values and Ethics’, in Preserving what is valued: Museums, conservation, and First Nations. Toronto: UBC Press.
Cornish, Helen (2013) ‘The life of the death of The Fighting Fairy Woman of Bodmin: storytelling around the Museum of Witchcraft’, in Anthropological Journal of European Cultures, 22(1).
Cornish, H. (2014) ‘Joan Wytte: the life of the death of the “Fighting Fairy Woman of Bodmin”’, in The Cauldron, 154.
Cornish, H. (2020) ‘In Search of the Uncanny: Inspirited Landscapes and Modern Witchcraft’, in Material Religion: The Journal of Objects, Art and Belief, 16(4), pgs. 410-431.
Harrison, R. (2010) Understanding the Politics of Heritage. Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Harvey, D. C. (2019) ‘Heritage Pasts and Heritage Presents: Temporality, Meaning and the Scope of Heritage Studies’, in Watson, S., Barnes, A. and Bunning, K. (eds.) A Museum Studies Approach to Heritage. London: Routledge.
Jones, C. (2019) ‘Understanding our encounters with heritage: The value of ‘historical consciousness’’ in Watson, S., Barnes, A. and Bunning, K. (eds.) A Museum Studies Approach to Heritage. London: Routledge.
Museum of Witchcraft and Magic (n.d.) The Fighting Fairy Woman of Bodmin: The life, death and afterlife of Joan Wytte. Boscastle: Museum of Witchcraft and Magic.
Nilsen, A.P. and Bader, M. (2016) ‘The Psychology of Empathy, Compelling possibilities for Museums’ in Gokcigdem, E. (ed.) Fostering Empathy through Museums. London: Rowman & Littlefield.
Landry, T.R. (2011) ‘Touring the Slave Route: Inaccurate Authenticities in Bénin, West Africa’ in Silverman H. (ed.) Contested Cultural Heritage. New York: Springer.
Patterson, S. (2017a) The Folklore, Ghosts and Magic of Boscastle. Penryn: Trenoweth Institute of Metaphysical Research.
Patterson, S. (2017b) Spells from the Wise Woman’s Cottage: An Introduction to West Country Cunning Tradition. Bodmin: Troy Books.
Semmens, J. (2010) ‘Bucca Redivivus: History, Folklore and the Construction of Ethnic Identity within Modern Pagan Witchcraft in Cornwall’, in Cornish Studies, 18, pp. 141–161.
Smith, L (2005) Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge.
Sully, D. (2007) Decolonising Conservation: caring for Maori meeting houses outside New Zealand. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press.
Wallis, K. (2003) Spirit in the Storm: The True Story of Joan Wytte, Fighting Fairy Woman of Bodmin. Bodmin: Lyngham House.
Watson, S., Barnes, A. and Bunning, K. (2019) ‘Introduction’, in Watson, S., Barnes, A. and Bunning, K. (eds.) A Museum Studies Approach to Heritage. London: Routledge.