In Shrewsbury England in 1636, a woman was accused of witchcraft and sorcery. In a trial by water, her death established her innocence. She died, bound and weighted, by drowning in the River Severn at a place called The Quarry in Shrewsbury. Her name was Katharn, wife of Richard and mother of John, and she is buried in the Old Churchyard at St. Chad’s Church in Shrewsbury, England. From this family, my branch of the Garner family was born.

It’s an interesting tale. Richard had two brothers, Thomas and John. The three inherited the Lion Inn, among other things, from their mother, Joan Underwood Garner in 1631. Thomas wife, Mary Lacye Garner, had been accused of witchcraft in 1635. She too was found innocent by way of drowning. The husbands of each were awarded 2 pounds by the Crown to pay for their burial on Christian ground.

Both Richard and Thomas left Shrewsbury and fled to Virginia. Richard and his young son John arrived as indentured servants to William Farrar at Farrar’s Island. The island was actually a peninsula formed by a meander in the James River. William Farrar was granted the land in 1637 for importing indentured servants.

In leaving England, Richard and John’s interests in the Inn was ‘freely granted’ to the sole remaining brother, John. Me thinks me smells a skunk.

Landi and I are traveling to England next week to have a look around. We are in London for four days, then we head to Shrewsbury where the Lion Inn still operates, now known as the Lion Hotel.

As you may know, ever since I lived in the haunted house in Pennsylvania and had a “relationship” with Molly the ghost, ghosts have pestered me to some degree. I couldn’t get comfortable at Gettysburg. In the vast expanse of the battlefield I felt claustrophobic. Far too many fell here. At The Alamo, I could almost hear the battle and smell the gunpowder. I couldn’t close my eyes because that’s when you see them the best. At Franklin, Tennessee I could almost touch the bodies that actually covered the ground after that short and bloody battle. Looking at the blood stained floors of Carnton Plantation, the confederate field hospital during the battle, the silence could not cover the echoing sounds of distant gunfire and the agony of 1860’s meatball surgery.

Katharn died in the River Severn in Shrewsbury. She received a Christian burial in the Old Churchyard at St. Chad’s Church. We won’t be able to find her exact resting place as those records were lost long ago, but we’ll bring her flowers none the less. As is the custom in my family, we will bring refreshments for the deceased. We’ll offer her bourbon, and we’ll have a toast to her memory.

Part of me is nervous. Some will tell you that it might be best to let the dead rest in peace, but I think not. I think she might appreciate being thought of with some flowers, a wee dram of whisky and an update of what became of her husband and son. We don’t know what became of the brother who ended up with the Inn. I’m hope that skunk got his just rewards.

We’ll be staying in the Lion Inn while we are in Shrewsbury. We have meeting in the Pub of the Inn scheduled with local journalists to talk about Katharn’s life and story. Katharn likely hasn’t had this much attention in 400 years. Perhaps she’ll grace us with her presence while we are there. I’ll let you know.