“Witchcraft” in Newhaven: Superstition, Slights, and the Spirited Rachel Geddes

1870s Scotland.

In the salty air of a coastal village, where gossip travels as swiftly as gulls on the wind, an extraordinary drama played out at Leith Police Court in the 1870s. At its heart? A feud laced with folklore, fiery tempers, and a woman named Rachel Geddes (or Crawford, as she was sometimes known).

Leith in the 1870s.

It began with an almost Shakespearean accusation. In November 1873, Rachel was charged with assaulting her neighbour, Mary Hall (or Wilson as she was sometimes known), not so much for the physical strike — though she did land one — as for the stinging verbal barrage that followed. She allegedly branded Wilson a ‘witch’ and a ‘sea cat,’ a particularly vicious kind of fish notorious for biting through thick sea boots if not killed immediately after being caught.

For Wilson, the insult cut deeper than any blow. To be accused of witchcraft in Newhaven, a tight-knit fishing village steeped in superstition, wasn’t just inflammatory; it was reputation-wrecking. She flatly denied any occult leanings and argued that she had no desire, or power, to hex the local fishermen, as had been implied.

Sensing that Wilson may have fanned the flames, the magistrates fined Rachel five shillings, a modest penalty that acknowledged mutual provocation while avoiding inflaming community tensions any further.

But Rachel's story didn’t end there.

Two years later, in June 1875, she was back in court, this time for striking a man named Heggie across the face in a local baker’s shop. She pleaded guilty, explaining that Heggie had mistreated her son and she was acting in his defence. The court took a dim view of street justice, however, and fined her seven shillings for assaulting Heggie, with an alternative of ten days in prison if she didn’t pay.

These two appearances sketch a vivid portrait of Rachel as a woman unafraid to speak, or act out, her mind particularly in defence of her beliefs and family. In a world where women’s voices were often subdued, Rachel’s echoed loudly across the cobbled lanes of Newhaven.

What makes these incidents fascinating today isn’t just their colourful language or courtroom theatrics, but what they reveal about the social fabric of coastal Scotland in the 19th century. This was a place where superstition still carried legal and emotional weight, and where personal pride clashed regularly with communal expectations.

Rachel Geddes wasn’t a villain but she wasn’t a heroine either. She was, however, undeniably human: reactive, loyal, and shaped by the sea-swept culture around her. Whether defending her son or repelling an insult, she left an indelible mark on her community’s folklore.

A woman accused of witchcraft, armed with words as biting as any sea cat’s teeth, and unafraid to challenge a man who she suspected had ill-treated her son; Rachel reminds us that history doesn’t just reside in dusty tomes, but in the tangled lives of real people, weathering their own storms.

Emma Woodhouse is a historian and author.

She currently has three books published: The Prendergast Watch; Simple Twists of Fate and Mary, Queen of the Forty.

Her next book, Mercy, a true story about a woman from Bridgnorth in Shropshire who was arrested for murder in 1848, comes out in July.

Her first non-fiction book will be published by Pen and Sword Books in 2026.

Emma is also the co-founder of On Creative Writing.