11th Lord Lovat: last person to be beheaded in Britain, 1747
The last man in Britain to get his head chopped off in an execution was a Scottish Highland chieftain who went by the nickname, The Fox’. The year was 1747. In that year George II sat on the throne, Handel was composing and Samuel Johnson had just started work on his dictionary. This was an exciting period of the Eighteenth century, immediately after the Jacobite uprising of 1745 and the Battle of Culloden of 1746. Fast forward 279 years to a day in June 2026. I was on a business trip to London, but the year 1747 was on my mind. I was on the trail of the site of the execution of The Fox.
Don’t stop me: I’m going back in time!
On 9 April 1747 on Tower Hill, a piece of land in view of the Tower of London, on the north of the River Thames, crowds have gathered for some public executions. So many people were expected that day, that a stand has been erected to help the throngs more easily see the heads roll. Eventually the condemned appear, in carriages from the Tower to a scaffold built for executions.
I’m hiding near to the Tower Hill Execution memorial, an unimposing 3x3m square marked out by coloured paving blocks and ankle high corner posts connected to one another by heavy chain link. This is what I’ve come to see. There are half a dozen small plaques raised slightly off ground level containing the names of some of the people executed there. Every few minutes someone enters the garden area and either walks hurriedly past this little monument, or stops and lingers to read the names. This marks the approximate location of the execution site.
I’m waiting for a text message from my colleague with details of where we’re meeting up for dinner. There I am sheltering under a tree from a typical British summer shower: Nose up, chin out, eyes closed, ears open. I’m listening to the clamour, the roars, the cheers, the occasional woman’s scream and men guffawing, the hawkers calling out to customers for drinks, food, snacks, broadsheet papers, there are dogs barking, there’s a bear on a chain, horses, there are sheep…and the stink!
‘The Fox,’ aka Simon Fraser, 11th Lord Lovat
During the hangings, but before the big event, the beheading, the weight of so many people on the stand becomes too much and it collapses killing nine people. Those of us watching the old man under guard in a carriage see him chuckle at the chaos. That’s despite his imminent death. He’s 80-years-old. That’s Simon Fraser, 11th Lord Lovat. He’s nicknamed ‘The Fox’ and reputedly the most devious man in Scotland. He was a Highland chief, a political schemer, a survivor — and ultimately, a man who ran out of road.
In the 1715 Jacobite rising Lovat kept it ambiguous, with a foot in both camps. By 1745, when Bonnie Prince Charlie raised his standard, Lovat was an old man — but he sent his clan into battle for the Jacobite cause regardless. After Culloden crushed the rising in April 1746, Lovat was a hunted man. He was found hiding on an island in Loch Morar, reportedly concealed in a hollow tree. Captured, he was brought to London and tried for high treason.
He was born in Inverness-shire on 5 January, 1667, two decades before England’s Glorious Revolution saw James II booted off the throne – the trigger for the birth of the Jacobite movement. That’s what The Fox was really famous for, his politics. Sitting there in his carriage, this 80-year-old man has much to look back upon. He was privately tutored near Beauly in the Highlands, he spoke English, French and Gaelic fluently, and had studied Latin. He attended King’s College, Aberdeen. This was a man who could operate in Edinburgh drawing rooms, Parisian salons and among his own clansmen with equal ease.
Lord Lovat was beheaded, a death reserved for the elite
He was convicted and sentenced to hanging, drawing and quartering, which was commuted to beheading, a more dignified end reserved for men of rank. Renowned English artist William Hogarth sketched Lovat after he was captured in 1746. I copied his drawing for my own sketch accompanying this post.
I have to close my eyes. I can’t watch real people being killed, though I can watch countless people being shot and killed in TV programmes and movies. The crowd hushes, the executioner swings his axe, there’s a less-than-enthusiastic cheer than one would have thought. A small group run around to collect the head and body and away goes The Fox.
Where is Lord Lovat’s body?
Officially, Lovat’s body lies interred in the Royal Chapel of St Peter Ad Vincula within the ground of the Tower of London, alongside two other leading Jacobites executed in 1746, for their role in the ’45 uprising. But legend has it his corpse was whisked away, back to Scotland and buried in Wardlaw Mausoleum, Kirkhill. In 2018, forensic analysis of the skeleton found the bones belonged to a young woman. The whereabouts of The Fox has yet to be determined.
My colleague’s text arrives. Dinner location has been decided. The rain has stopped and I step into the little memorial for a last look at the names on the plaques. The Fox lived eighty years, sent his clansmen to die for a lost cause and faced the axe without flinching. I’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes hiding from the rain. Some days history puts you firmly in your place.
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