I met Deborah Swift well over a decade ago at a Historical Novel Society Conference. She had recently published The Gilded Lily, and we sort of bonded over tea and the 17th century – as one does. Since then Deborah has cast her net wide when it comes to periods – I recently read her excellent Operation Tulip, set during WW II – and today she’ll be guiding us through the superstitious 15th – 16th century, more specifically by introducing us to Mother Shipton. Heard of her? I hadn’t!
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I used to live close to Knaresborough in North Yorkshire and Mother Shipton’s Cave was a picnic day out for our family. Only later did I begin to realise exactly who she was, and why this woman was a legend beyond her own lifetime.

Mother Shipton, real name Ursula Southeil, (or even Soothtell as some have called her) is England’s most famous prophetess. She was born at the end of the 15^th Century and the legend goes that her birth was surrounded by supernatural occurrences, with rumours suggesting her mother, Agatha, was possibly involved in witchcraft. To escape the scandal, Agatha supposedly gave birth in a cave—now known as Mother Shipton’s Cave—a site that remains a tourist attraction to this day.

Ursula’s appearance was reportedly unusual. Many accounts claim she had a crooked nose, a hunched back, and a peculiar visage that made people fear her. In a time when superstition ran high, her looks made her a target of ridicule and suspicion. Or perhaps these were just the characteristics imposed upon her by a misogynist or ageist population.

Mother Shipton is best known for her prophecies. Though she never wrote them down herself, her predictions were passed down orally and eventually published years after her death. Whether these predictions were genuine or embellished later is a subject of debate, but their poetic and mysterious nature has kept people intrigued for centuries.

Here are a few examples of the prophecies attributed to her:

 “A great city in England shall be destroyed by fire…”

This line is often cited as a prediction of the Great Fire of London in 1666, which devastated much of the city. Skeptics argue that the phrasing is vague, but believers see it as proof of her prophetic gift.

 “Carriages without horses shall go, And accidents fill the world with woe.”

Many interpret this as a prediction of cars and the potential dangers of traffic accidents.

“Around the world thoughts shall fly, In the twinkling of an eye.”

This is often linked to the invention of the telephone, radio, or the internet.

And of course like many others she predicted the End of the World. Some of her sayings warned of floods, plagues, and fire, leading to doomsday scenarios that fascinated and terrified people. While these prophecies are less specific, their ominous tone has contributed to her mystique.

One of the challenges in understanding Mother Shipton’s story is separating facts from fiction. Many of the prophecies attributed to her were published long after her death, leading to speculation that they were fabricated or heavily embellished by later writers. For instance, the first printed collection of her prophecies appeared in 1641, nearly 80 years after her death. This has led some historians to doubt whether she made any of the predictions for which she is now famous.

The Prophesie of Mother Shipton in the Raigne of King Henry the Eighth (1641), which opens with an account of the prediction which led to her becoming famous.” This prediction featured Cardinal Thomas Wolsey (1473–1530) who was supposed to visit York in 1530. He had been in trouble with Henry VIII due to his failure to negotiate an annulment of his marriage to Katherine of Aragon.

According to the pamphlet, Mother Shipton prophesied that even though Wolsey would see York at a distance, he would never enter the city. The chapbook says that that Wolsey sent three of his men to interrogate Shipton about this doom-laden prophecy, and vowed that she would be burnt at the stake as a witch when he arrived.

But she was proved to be correct – for Wolsey was arrested on 4 November 1530 just outside York, on a charge of high treason, and he died before reaching London. This prophecy cemented her reputation which then propelled her sayings into legend. In the title page woodcut of 1641, Mother Shipton is figured as a hag, but also as one who wields actual power, by pointing her finger at Wolsey with her proclamation.

Apart from this evidence, the lack of contemporary records of her life adds to the uncertainty about her. Much of what we know about her comes from oral tradition, which often blends truth with imagination. While some dismiss her entirely as a fictional creation, others argue that she was a real woman whose story grew into legend over time.

If you visit Knaresborough today, you can still explore Mother Shipton’s Cave and the nearby Petrifying Well. The well is a natural wonder, known for its ability to turn objects into stone. As a child I found the petrified objects in the cave fascinating, thinking that Mother Shipton had somehow used her witchy powers to turn these objects to stone. Only later did I realise that it’s a natural mineral process similar to how stalagmites are made and that the dripping deposits encrust the items if they are left there long enough. Items like clothing, teddy bears, and umbrellas have been turned to stone by this process, fascinating visitors with the display.

The Victorian obsession with séances and the supernatural meant her story saw a resurgence in popularity in that era, with ‘penny dreadfuls’ romanticizing her life and predictions. She is still a popular figure in paranormal and historical circles. Her name often surfaces in discussions about the power of women in that era, about the nature of prophecy, about the changing role of women in folklore, and in the analysis of the intersection of history and legend.

Links: Women’s Print History Project https://womensprinthistoryproject.com/

Anna: thank you, Deborah, very interesting! Now Deborah hasn’t written any books set in this period, but she has written books involving women who could, potentially, be accused of being witches. Take, for example Giulia Tofana, the IRL protagonist of Deborah’s book The Poison Keeper. Below, an extract:

A splash of noonday sun danced against the latticed window. Giulia paused, plate in hand, as a spider, escaping the sudden light, spooled slowly downwards on a silvery thread. If it put so much as a leg into the downstairs chamber, Mamma would kill it. Any stray crumb could pollute her work, she said. Any creature that fell into her carefully measured remedies could change the balance. Turn good to ill. Things were apt to turn into their opposite without careful attention, Mamma said, and Mamma was always right.

Fortune smiles on you today, little one, Giulia thought, Mamma is busy in the still-room.

The spider completed its acrobatic descent and was gone; spindly legs scuttling away across the windowsill, and into the blue-black shadow behind the cheese press. Giulia finished laying out the meal; yesterday’s bread, wedges from a round of hard salty cheese, pickled olives and figs from Tuscolo.

She called down the staircase, ‘It’s ready, Mamma.’

It was their servant Maria’s day off, so it was left to Giulia today to make Mamma eat. And today she was determined to make her listen.

She cocked her head. No answer.

Mamma often didn’t hear, or pretended not to, when she was involved in her work. Giulia tucked the stray wisps of hair back into her dark coiled braids, lifted her heavy skirts and went downstairs, heels clacking on the stone treads. The door was shut as usual. It seemed to her she’d been locked outside this door her entire life. Only when Mamma was ready, would she open it.

She remembered the time when she was eight years old straying into the still-room and lifting the end of a stopper to her nose to smell it. A stinging slap to the cheek. ‘Never, never do that,’ Mamma had shouted, whipping the stopper away with a gloved hand, ‘You could die.’

Since then the door was locked, until Mamma deigned to open it.

Jerking her attention back to the present, Giulia gave a double knock, louder than necessary. She’d make Mamma listen, this time.

The door swung open, and Mamma was there, angry as a wasp, a pair of red-hot tongs in her hand and a lump of something black smoking in their jaws. She hated being disturbed. ‘What?’

Giulia put a hand to her nose. The heat and noxious smell of the still room had stopped her at the threshold. There was always something on the boil down here.

‘Well, what is it, that you must knock fit to wake the dead?’ Mamma pulled down the gauze so only her sloe-black eyes were showing. The lower part of her face was covered so she did not breathe in the gases as she worked.

‘It’s ready,’ Giulia said again.

‘What?’

‘Food, Mamma. You put it in your mouth and swallow it, and it stops you from dying.’

‘Ha, ha. Less of that. I’m coming. What’s the hurry? Nothing will spoil. I must wait until this dissolves.’ She pointed with the tongs to a small charred pan bubbling over the fire.

‘I’m hungry,’ Giulia said, ‘even if you’re not.’ She blew onto her upper lip. ‘It’s airless again down here. How can you can bear it?’

‘Because if I don’t finish this, neither of us can afford to eat, my dove, that’s why.’

‘You should let me help more.’

Mamma dropped the smoking lump of matter into the pot. ‘This is delicate and needs a slow and steady hand. Better I do it. And never fear, there’ll be time enough for learning this when you’ve mastered the kitchen simples.’

‘They’re mastered, Mamma. I can make them blindfold, every single one. You promised you’d train me in the secret arts when I was sixteen. Then you changed your mind, and said when I was eighteen. And still, even now I’m waiting.’

Mamma threw her look that said, ‘not that old argument’. Giulia watched her mother hang up the tongs, wash in the stone basin, wipe her hands, wash and dry them again, examine them minutely, put her gloves back on, and then return to ministering to the fire.

She was used to her excessive cleanliness, though today it made her want to scream. Mamma dealt in grains and specks – granules of matter so small they could barely be seen. Not a single ant was allowed to tiptoe into her workroom; every table was scrubbed with lye and bleached white, and she made Maria burnish the tiled floor with beeswax to a high gloss.

Giulia hovered by the dispensing table, picked up a small lead weight from the scales, then put it down again. It was fruitless to discuss this again. But the words still came out of her mouth; ‘When will you train me in alchemy, Mamma? Who will make the remedies when you’re too old and sick?’

‘Tush. I’m hale as ever I was. Can’t get rid of me yet. Anyway, I’m far too occupied at the moment to spare the time.’ Mamma shrugged and turned away again to stir the pot. ‘Pass me that flask, will you.’

The sight of Mamma’s bent back, with the neat grey curls poking from under her starched cap, and the hunch of her shoulders, suddenly made Giulia furious. By God, she’d make her listen this time. Deliberately, she picked up the slender glass flask from the table, opened her fingers and let it crash to the ground.

Mamma whirled round at the sound of splintering glass, astonishment in her face.

‘Will you heed me now?’ Giulia said. ‘I’ve asked you over and over. God in heaven, I’m twenty-three years old. More than old enough for a proper share in the business. A son would have taken over by now. Instead you leave me toiling in the kitchen like a servant. Even Francesca has more responsibility than I, and she’s not even part of the family.’

‘It’s because she’s not part of the family that I use her. I’m trying to protect you. It’s more complicated than you—’

‘Oh, not those excuses again. You just want iron control over everything. I’m weary of it Mamma, weary of your promises that come to nothing. Weary of the whispers between you and Francesca. Weary of all the women that come here with their aches and pains and desperate faces. What are you all so afraid of? That I’ll make some sort of mistake and kill someone?’

Mamma’s eyes sharpened with suppressed anger. ‘Who was it that burned the wax for the liverwort balm? Who forgot to add borax to the tooth dressing? Do you think I can trust you with my remedies?’ She picked up a green-tinged bottle and brandished it before her. ‘One drop of this has healing power. Three drops can kill. Are you ready for that responsibility?’

The Poison Keeper

Aqua Tofana – One drop to heal. Three drops to kill.

Giulia Tofana longs for more responsibility in her mother’s apothecary business, but Mamma has always been secretive and refuses to tell her the hidden keys to her success. But the day Mamma is arrested for the poisoning of the powerful Duke de Verdi, Giulia is shocked to uncover the darker side of her trade.

Giulia must run for her life, and escapes to Naples, under the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, to the home of her Aunt Isabetta, a famous courtesan. But when Giulia hears that her mother has been executed, and the cruel manner of her death, she swears she will wreak revenge on the Duke de Verdi.

The trouble is, Naples is in the grip of Domenico, the Duke’s brother, who controls the city with the ‘Camorra’, the mafia. Worse, her Aunt Isabetta, under his thrall, insists that she should be consort to him.

Buy it HERE! 

About Deborah: Deborah is the author of twenty novels set in various periods of history, including successful series set in the 17^th Century, the Renaissance and WW2.  Read more about Deborah and her books on https://deborahswift.com/ Deborah’s books can be found on Amazon at http://author.to/DeborahSwift Her latest book in the Renaissance series, The Fortune Keeper, also features prophecy, why not take a look. http://mybook.to/FortuneKeeper

Check out the previous Marching Through History post HERE!