Henry Trigg And The Coffin in The Roof

For centuries, physicians and scientists have dissected human bodies to understand human anatomy, with a steady supply of cadavers often sourced from executions. In medieval times, numerous people were executed even for minor crimes, offering medical students and surgeons a reliable supply. But as justice methods softened and executions declined, medical schools began facing a severe cadaver shortage. This scarcity fuelled the rise of “resurrectionists” — grave robbers who dug up newly buried corpses to sell to anatomy schools.

In response, cemeteries adopted extreme measures: they hired guards, installed traps, and even encased graves in cages to thwart would-be body snatchers. Others temporarily housed bodies in “mort houses” until decomposition rendered them unusable to thieves.

One man, Henry Trigg, developed an unconventional method to protect his own body from theft.

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“Resurrectionists” (1847), by Hablot Knight Browne.

Henry Trigg lived in early 18th-century Stevenage, a small town in Hertfordshire, England. A prosperous grocer, he owned several shops and properties around town and was respected locally as both the warden of St. Nicholas’ Church and overseer of the parish.

The story goes that one evening after a few drinks at the tavern, Henry and his friends were heading home along a route that passed by the churchyard. While walking past the gravestones they saw some body snatchers at work, removing the remains of the newly-buried corpse for sale to surgeons and students in training at a medical school. The sight disturbed Henry so deeply that he resolved to prevent such a fate from befalling his own body after death.

Determined, Henry wrote a will where he requested that his body be placed in a coffin, and instead of burying at the churchyard, be placed upon the purlins and underneath the rafters of his barn. Henry added that his body should remain there for a minimum of thirty years, after which he believed he would rise from the dead and reclaim the estate that legally belonged to him. Henry even requested that the barn doors be locked from the inside and the key to the lock be placed inside the coffin so that he could let himself out. Although it does beg the question of who exactly would lock the barn door in the first place if Henry was to be left inside alone.

Coffin of Henry Trigg. Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

Henry died in 1724, likely just a few years after the unusual will was made. Having never married and with no direct heirs, he left his entire estate to his brother, Reverend Thomas Trigg, who was tasked with carrying out Henry’s last wishes. Henry was aware of the peculiarity of the request he made in the will. Fearing that his brother would fail to follow through, Henry left a provision in his will according to which his brother would have to forfeit his inheritance entirely if his request was not carried out. Instead, everything bequeathed to him would go to their brother George Trigg. If George also refused, the estate would pass to Trigg’s nephew William Trigg, and so on.

Thomas apparently honored his brother’s peculiar wishes. Henry’s body was placed in a lead-lined coffin, which was then hoisted into the rafters of his barn, about ten feet above ground level. The unusual “burial” soon attracted curious onlookers and became a popular sight in Stevenage. When the property was converted into the Old Castle Inn in 1774, the coffin remained a focal point for visitors, even after Trigg’s niece, Ann, later requested that her uncle’s remains be moved to a churchyard. The new inn owners, however, chose to ignore Ann’s wishes, leaving Henry’s bones in the barn rafters to continue drawing visitors and fuelling local lore.

Photo credit: Deviantart

Although the barn and the coffin survived several devastating fires over the years, Henry Trigg’s plan to safeguard his remains ultimately failed. Curious visitors began pilfering parts of him whenever they had the chance. When the coffin, damaged from years of exposure, was replaced in the early 1800s, a carpenter reportedly took one of Henry’s teeth and a lock of his hair as souvenirs. In 1831, the inn’s landlord, Mr. Bellamy, opened the coffin and noted that the hair on Henry’s skull was “in a perfect state of preservation.” By the time the East Herts Archaeological Society examined the remains in 1906, they estimated that at least a third of the skeleton had disappeared.

Further plundering took place during World War I, when soldiers stationed in Stevenage allegedly took bones from the coffin, replacing them with horse bones. By 1999, Henry’s property, including the barn, was purchased by National Westminster Bank, and during renovations, his coffin was temporarily moved to an undertaker. Reports conflict on what happened next; some claim that the coffin was found empty upon removal, while others say the undertaker discovered a haphazard mix of animal bones and arranged for them to be buried. Regardless, it’s clear that poor Henry met a most undignified end.

Today, the shop and barn still stand in Middle Row, with Henry’s empty coffin still resting under the rafters. Legend holds that his restless ghost roams the buildings, searching for his lost remains. He was last spotted in 1964, reportedly walking through a brick wall, though there have been no sightings since.