During the early 1860s, reports of violent robberies known as garrottings filled British newspapers. Victims were said to be attacked from behind, choked into unconsciousness, and robbed before their assailants vanished into the darkness. As sensational accounts multiplied, fear spread far beyond the actual crime scenes. Respectable citizens grew afraid to walk alone at night, politicians demanded action, and newspapers warned that London was facing a new and terrifying criminal menace.
The word "garrotte" originated in Spain, where it referred to a method of execution involving strangulation. In Britain, however, the term acquired a different meaning. A garrotter was a robber who attacked victims from behind, gripping their throat or covering their mouth while accomplices searched their pockets.
Such attacks were not entirely new. Street robbery had long been a feature of urban life, particularly in crowded and poorly lit cities. What changed in the early 1860s was the perception that garrotting was becoming widespread and increasingly brazen.
The panic began after a series of highly publicized robberies in London. Newspapers reported cases in which victims claimed they had been suddenly seized, partially strangled, and relieved of their valuables. Some attacks were undoubtedly genuine, but sensational reporting transformed a local crime problem into a national crisis.
The event that truly ignited public alarm occurred in July 1862. A Member of Parliament, Hugh Pilkington, was walking near the Houses of Parliament when he was attacked by a group of thieves. The assailants robbed him of his watch and purse before escaping into the night. The attack was significant not because it was uniquely violent, but because of who the victim was. If a member of Parliament could be assaulted in the heart of London, many Victorians reasoned, then no one was safe.
Newspapers seized on the story. Reports of similar crimes multiplied. Every robbery involving a chokehold became another example of the growing menace. Readers encountered alarming accounts almost daily, creating the impression that garrotters were everywhere. As reports accumulated, the public began to see garrotting as a distinct and growing criminal phenomenon. The phrase "garrotting panic" entered public discourse as fears escalated. Citizens discussed the danger in clubs, workplaces, and drawing rooms. Some men reportedly armed themselves with canes, revolvers, or weighted walking sticks. Others began attacking one another in the mistaken belief that they were preventing a garrotting.
Anti-garotte attire lampooned in Punch
During the height of the scare in late 1862, some Londoners adopted or proposed various forms of protective equipment. Reports mention studded leather collars, and anti-garrotte cravats reinforced with metal or even razor blade. The public fascination with such devices quickly became a target for satire. The magazine Punch mocked the growing hysteria by imagining gentlemen dressed like walking arsenals. One famous illustration showed exaggerated "anti-garotte attire" covered with protrusions and defensive features.
The satire extended beyond cartoons. In "The Song of the Anti-Garotter," Punch ridiculed nervous Londoners who armed themselves with revolvers, bowie knives, and other weapons, imagining a citizen so terrified of being garrotted that he assaulted a stranger merely for asking the time.
The Song of the Anti-Garotter
ALL around my neck, I wear a spiked steel collar,
A revolver and a bowie-knife I carry up my sleeves,
And if any one should ask of me the reason why I wear them,
I'll tell him 'tis to guard myself from these garotting theives.Last night in walking home a skulking vagabond addressed me,
Says he, "Pray what's o'clock?" and, not intending any pun,
Full in his ugly face I let out my left, and floored him,
Observing as I did so, "My dear friend, it's just struck one!"So, ruffians all, take warning now, and keep respectful distance,
Or a bullet, or a bowie-knife clean through your ribs I'll send:
Well armed, we'll straightaway shoot or stab the rascal who attacks us,
If SIR GEORGE GREY won't protect us, why, ourselves we must defend.Punch, December 20, 1862
In more serious discussions about the crime, letters to newspapers demanded harsher punishments and stronger policing. Many Victorians believed that the criminal justice system had become too lenient and that professional criminals no longer feared the consequences of their actions. The newly introduced “ticket of leave” scheme allowed convicts to leave prison on parole, but the police lacked resources to adequately monitor those released on licence. This led one newspaper to claim that “the streets of the metropolis are not safe even in the daytime”.
Public outrage soon translated into political pressure. Many commentators blamed recent penal reforms for the supposed crime wave. Transportation to Australia had largely ended, and critics argued that criminals no longer faced sufficiently severe consequences. The government responded with the Security from Violence Act of 1863, commonly known as the Garrotters' Act. The legislation allowed courts to impose corporal punishment on violent robbers, where convicted offenders could receive flogging in addition to imprisonment.
By the mid-1860s, the panic had largely subsided. Newspaper attention shifted elsewhere, and reports of garrotting became less frequent. The feared epidemic of stranglers never materialized. London did not descend into lawless chaos, nor did violent robbery become the defining feature of urban life. But the episode left a lasting legacy. It influenced criminal justice policy, strengthened demands for tougher punishment, and undid decades of prison reforms which had sought to transfer the prison from a place of punishment to a place of rehabilitation.
Historians have described the garrotting scare as one of Britain's earliest modern moral panics. The panic began with real crimes, but those crimes were amplified through sensational reporting, political debate, and public rumour until they seemed to represent a far greater threat than the evidence justified. The reality was less dramatic, but the panic itself became a significant historical event.
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