A guest post by Eleanor Capaldi, PhD Researcher at University of Glasgow, with an introduction from Ruth Fletcher, Education Manager at The Hunterian.
Eleanor Capaldi, PhD Researcher, has written this blog in her capacity as contributor and Working Group member of the partnership project: LGBTQ+ Collections.
The Hunterian, Archives and Special Collections, student volunteers and members of University of Glasgow’s LGBTQ+ community are working together to explore the University’s heritage collections from an LGBTQ+ perspective.
We aim to arrive at new ways to increase the LGBTQ+ presence across our heritage collections and programming in physical and digital spaces.
Anyone seeking to find out more or get involved should contact The Hunterian’s Education Manager, Ruth.Fletcher@glasgow.ac.uk. In the meantime, sit back and enjoy Eleanor’s thoughts on this book.
Hannah Snell captured the public imagination in the 18th century. She takes her place in a formidable line of women who have cross-dressed as men, including Mulan of 5th century China, Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–1629), and Gladys Bentley (1907–1960).
© National Portrait Gallery, London
Throughout history the boundaries of gender have repeatedly been blurred, questioned and crossed.
The reasons were various: to enable same sex partnerships, to honour the gender a person felt themselves to truly be, to overcome societal barriers.
In Hannah’s case, she joined the military to search for her husband who had disappeared. She took on her brother in law’s name, James Gray, cut her hair, bound her breasts and signed up.
Hannah’s adventures tell a tall tale, which confront stereotypes and assumptions around sexuality and gender. Early in her military career in Carlisle, Hannah was asked to approach a woman for her Serjeant (sic) who had violent intentions.
Instead, as detailed in her book, “…she went and disclosed the whole Matter to the young Woman, and warned her against the impending Danger; which Act of Virtue and Generosity in a Soldier, gained her the Esteem and Confidence of this young Woman, who took great delight in her Company; and seldom a Day passed but they were together, having cultivated an Intimacy and Friendship with each other…”
She went on to participate in battles against the French in Pondicherry, being injured and tending to her own wounds to prevent being discovered. Later she found out her husband had been executed.
On return to England she told all in this publication: The Female Solider; or, The Surprising Life and Adventures of Hannah Snell (1750), a copy of which is held in Archives and Special Collections at the University.
Hannah capitalised on her reputation, giving stage readings and even opening a pub, reputedly called the Female Warrior. She went on to marry men twice more and had further children.
She was awarded a military pension, which was quite a feat given her deception at a time when women weren’t officially admitted to the military as soldiers.
Hannah’s story invites further questions, especially when we are considering an era 300 years before our own, through the lens of our current social norms and experiences. What did it mean to cross gender lines then, and how is this similar or different to now?
When thinking about this act, do some explanations feel more comfortable than others, and why would that be? How do we frame historical stories about gender and sexuality when there is room for interpretation?
The edition of Hannah’s book held by the University belongs to the Robertson Collection in Archives and Special Collections. It was printed in Dublin, which asks more questions than it answers. At the time of publication in 1750, the first publisher was Robert Walker of London.
To be printed in Dublin and exported back into England or Scotland at that time would have been a breach of copyright. This wasn’t so unusual but would make the copy the University owns a pirate copy.
We cannot know yet for sure, if ever, how the book came to be in Reverend Alexander Robertson’s set of 4000 volumes and 1,800 pamphlets – which are mainly theological in focus.
Which raises another question, in the theological collection of a Minister, how did Hannah Snell’s story make its way in?
It could be that the Reverend liked a good yarn as much as the next person, perhaps the story was sensationalist and he was doing his homework, or it was incidental, bound up with other materials in the same volume.
However the book arrived into the collection, its adventures potentially as fitting as Hannah’s own, her story is one that gives us the opportunity to think about how gender and sexuality have been lived in the past, and to reflect on how we might connect with these stories today.
View the object record.
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