Dick Turpin was basically a thug. Honestly, if you met the real guy in a dark alley in 1730, you wouldn't be looking for an autograph; you’d be losing your teeth and your watch. Yet, here we are nearly three centuries later, still obsessed with the completely made up adventures of Dick Turpin, a narrative web so thick with fiction that the actual man has almost vanished.
He didn't ride Black Bess to York in a single night. She didn't even exist.
Most people think of Turpin as a dandy in a mask. A rogue with a heart of gold who only robbed the rich. It’s a nice thought, but history tells a different story—one involving cattle theft, housebreaking, and a very messy end at the gallows. The gap between the historical record and the folk legend is massive. This isn't just a case of "telephone" gone wrong over a few hundred years. It was a deliberate, commercial rebranding of a petty criminal into a national icon.
Where the Myth Began: Rookwood and the Birth of a Legend
The shift from "violent criminal" to "romantic hero" happened largely because of a guy named William Harrison Ainsworth. In 1834, he published a novel called Rookwood. Before this book, Turpin was mostly remembered as a nasty piece of work who was part of the "Essex Gang."
Ainsworth changed everything.
He took a real-life feat attributed to a different highwayman—John "Swift Nick" Nevison—and pinned it on Turpin. Nevison supposedly rode from Kent to York in 1676 to establish an alibi for a robbery. Ainsworth, needing a hook for his gothic romance, stole that 200-mile dash and gave it to Turpin. He also invented Black Bess, the faithful mare who died of exhaustion just as the spires of York came into view.
It was pure fiction. But readers loved it.
The Victorian public was hungry for adventure, and the completely made up adventures of Dick Turpin fit the bill perfectly. This wasn't just a book; it was the birth of a franchise. Suddenly, Turpin was in penny dreadfuls, stage plays, and eventually, silent films. The reality of his life—torturing elderly women to find where they hid their money—was replaced by the image of a gallant rider leaping over tollgates.
The Reality Check: Who was the actual Richard Turpin?
To understand why the myths are so pervasive, you have to look at the boring, gritty truth. Richard Turpin was born in Hempstead, Essex, around 1705. He was a butcher by trade.
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He started small.
He got caught stealing two oxen and had to flee, eventually joining the Gregory Gang. These guys weren't Robin Hood types. They were "house-breakers" who specialized in home invasions. They would find isolated farmhouses, break in, and use violence to extract information about valuables. In one well-documented case at Loughton, the gang held an old woman over a fire to make her reveal her savings.
That’s the guy we turned into a hero.
The Flight to the North
By 1735, the authorities were closing in. Most of the Essex Gang had been captured or hanged. Turpin retreated into the shadows, eventually ending up in Yorkshire under the alias "John Palmer." He lived there for a while as a gentleman horse dealer.
He got caught because of a letter.
He shot a neighbor's game cock in a fit of temper and was arrested. While in prison, he wrote a letter to his brother-in-law back in Essex. The brother-in-law refused to pay the postage. The letter sat in the post office until Turpin’s old schoolmaster recognized the handwriting. The jig was up. He wasn't some legendary rider who outran the law; he was a guy who got busted because his family wouldn't shell out a few pence for his mail.
Why the Completely Made Up Adventures of Dick Turpin Persist
Psychologically, we love a rebel.
There is a specific human need to romanticize the "outside" of society. When the industrial revolution was grinding people down, the idea of a free man on a fast horse represented an escape. It didn't matter if it was true. In fact, the truth was an obstacle to the vibe people wanted to feel.
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Think about the way we treat pirates or Wild West outlaws today. We ignore the cholera and the dirt and the senseless killings to focus on the "code of the West." Turpin became the British version of that.
The legend also survived because it was profitable. Publishers in the 19th century realized that Turpin stories sold like crazy. They added more "completely made up adventures" to keep the series going. They gave him a partner, Tom King. They claimed he accidentally shot King during a scuffle, adding a layer of tragic brotherhood to his story.
None of it happened like that.
Even the famous "Ride to York" is a physical impossibility for a single horse in that timeframe. A horse can't maintain that kind of speed over that distance without dropping dead long before reaching the Midlands, let alone York. Yet, if you go to York today, you’ll find plaques and tourist spots dedicated to this fictional journey. The myth has become more "real" than the history.
Cultural Impact: From Penny Dreadfuls to TV
The 1970s TV show starring Richard O'Sullivan cemented the legend for a new generation. It leaned heavily into the completely made up adventures of Dick Turpin, portraying him as a framed man forced into a life of crime. It’s a classic trope. If the hero is a criminal, he has to have a "reason" or a "code."
The real Turpin's only code was "don't get caught."
We see this pattern repeat in modern media constantly. We take a historical figure, strip away the inconvenient brutality, and dress them up in a way that fits current sensibilities. Turpin was the prototype for this kind of character assassination-by-glamor.
The "Gentleman Highwayman" Fallacy
One of the most persistent parts of the Turpin mythos is the "Stand and Deliver" politeness. The idea that he would bow to a lady before taking her jewels.
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This was a trope of "The High Pad" (highwaymen on horseback) to distinguish them from "The Low Pad" (footpads who just clubbed you over the head). While some highwaymen like Claude Duval actually tried to act the part of the gentleman, Turpin was never one of them. He was a butcher’s son with a violent streak. The polished dialogue found in the completely made up adventures of Dick Turpin is the work of Victorian novelists, not the man himself.
Lessons from the Legend
So, what do we do with this?
First, acknowledge that folklore is just as important as history, but they aren't the same thing. The "Legendary Turpin" tells us a lot about what the British public valued in the 1800s: freedom, speed, and a bit of "sticking it to the man." The "Historical Turpin" tells us about the harsh realities of rural crime and the effective, if slow, reach of the 18th-century legal system.
If you’re researching this, don't rely on 19th-century sources as factual. They are entertainment.
Actionable Steps for History Buffs
If you want to separate the man from the myth, here is how you do it:
- Check the Trial Records: The most accurate information about Turpin comes from the Old Bailey Proceedings and the records of his trial at York Castle in 1739. These aren't polished stories; they are legal testimonies.
- Visit the York Castle Museum: They have a great section on the real Turpin, including the cell where he was held. It’s far less glamorous than the movies suggest.
- Read "The Myth of the Highwayman": Various historians have debunked the Ainsworth-style narratives. Look for academic papers that track how the "Ride to York" was attributed to different people over time.
- Look at Local Essex History: Research the "Gregory Gang" specifically. It puts Turpin back into his original context as a violent housebreaker rather than a solo wanderer.
The story of Turpin is ultimately a story about how we remember things. We prefer the lie. We prefer the thundering hooves of Black Bess to the sound of a butcher stealing a cow. But understanding the completely made up adventures of Dick Turpin helps us see through the fog of nostalgia and appreciate the weird, messy, and often dark reality of the past.
To get the full picture, look for primary sources from 1739, specifically the "The Trial of Richard Turpin" pamphlet published shortly after his execution. It’s the closest thing to the truth we have.