Flowers Instead of Stones: Daniel Defoe’s Unusual Day in the Pillory

July 31, 1703

On this day, dear garden friends, the indomitable Daniel Defoe was made to stand in the pillory in front of the Temple Bar - a spectacle that would have delighted the gossipmongers of any age, but certainly provided a most unusual turn of events that summer day in London.

The pillory, dear gardeners, was not unlike the stocks one might use to train a particularly rebellious climbing rose.

A wooden framework designed to restrain the head and hands between two substantial beams - though I daresay your garden structures serve a far more benevolent purpose. This punishment was typically reserved for the most despicable of criminals, those whose deeds were as unwelcome as bindweed in a prized border.

When Defoe was convicted of seditious libel (not treason, as some would have you believe), the good people of London demonstrated their support with a showing that would rival the most spectacular garden party at Sissinghurst.

Rather than pelting him with the customary rotten vegetables and mud - materials better suited for composting, I might add - they showered him with flowers!

Can you imagine the scene?

The man who would later gift us with Robinson Crusoe standing proudly in his wooden restraints while blossoms rained down around him like petals from an overgrown wisteria in a spring breeze?

The crowd's affection bloomed more vigorously than delphiniums in June!

This extraordinary moment was later captured in an 1862 painting, preserving for posterity what must surely rank among history's most peculiar garden parties - a celebration where the guest of honor couldn't even raise a glass to his well-wishers.

By 1830, biographers had embellished the tale further, claiming the stocks themselves were adorned with garlands as if prepared for a midsummer fête, and that refreshments flowed freely to celebrate Defoe's release. Whether this particular detail has been cultivated from truth or merely represents the imaginative grafting of later admirers remains, like many historical uncertainties, open to debate.

The actual circumstances of Defoe's pillory punishment stemmed from his satirical pamphlet "The Shortest Way with the Dissenters," in which he brilliantly masqueraded as a High Church extremist advocating harsh measures against religious nonconformists. His satire proved too convincing, and when revealed as the author, he found himself facing consequences as severe as those that befall a gardener who mistakes Japanese knotweed for a desirable specimen.

Yet Defoe, much like a resilient perennial that returns stronger after being cut back, emerged from this public humiliation with his reputation not only intact but enhanced.

The crowds' floral tribute transformed what was intended as degradation into something approaching triumph - proof that sometimes, even when planted in the harshest conditions, the worthiest specimens will flourish.