- Myths, Legends and Folktales of Shropshire
- Jack Mytton: Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know
Jack Mytton: Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know

The star of this tale was born John Mytton in September of 1796, in Hallston Hall, Whittington, the respectable son of a respectable squire and heir to a substantial estate and fortune.
Unfortunately for the family seat, the name 'John' would soon be replaced by a rather telling nickname - 'Mad Jack.'
As if he had been crafted from the minds of the finest novelists of the time, Mad Jack lived a life like a gasp. Perhaps it was written in his blood that he would die tragically young (only 37) and had to make the most of his years – or maybe it was just all he knew how to do.
From his early teens, Jack was somewhat – shall we say ‘rambunctious’? While some of his escapades may well have been designed to make the other children associate his name with practical jokes and japes rather than his Deafness (children are, famously, horrible to one another), it's fair to say he may have gone a little far in his efforts to make a name for himself.
He was expelled from his first school after a year for fighting a teacher, only to be expelled from his second school after three terms. At her wit’s end, his mother hired a series of live-in private tutors to teach her son. A series, you ask? Yes, well, that’s what happens when a student torments each and every one of his tutors with endless pranks.
One tutor went to bed in the evening to find a horse in their room! Instead of taking this as an unexpected but delightful gift, the man promptly packed his bags and left.
Of course, Jack was still admitted into a prestigious university - not for academic merit, but because of the vast fortune to which he was heir. In classic Jack form, he is said to have arrived at Cambridge with over 2,000 bottles of Port in tow – and left without a degree.
At 21, he inherited the 132,000-acre family estate, spread across Shropshire and North Wales, along with an annual income equivalent to approximately £728,000 in modern terms.
And that made the world Mad Jack’s oyster.
To give you a sense of how exactly Jack dressed that oyster: in one of his more infamous exploits, he rode his horse into a hotel in Leamington Spa, up the staircase, and onto the balcony. Not content with his view, he then jumped over the heads of the diners and back onto the street! Clearly there was nothing good on the menu that night.
At the age of 23, Jack decided that, perhaps, he should settle into politics like a respectable gentleman. Settling into his hopeful role of respectable politician, he began bribing the voters to secure his election - at the price of £10 a vote, he won by a landslide. The role of Shrewsbury MP was his.
… for about thirty minutes. Without any accommodations for Deafness in Parliament beyond being talked at slower and louder by those closest to him, Jack spent those thirty minutes not able to follow along properly with the debates. I’d be mad, too!
Sorely let down by society, Jack spent the next decade squandering the entirety of his fortune on having an excellent time. When his agent suggested he reduce his spending to save the family seat, Mad Jack damned the man and continued to spend with his usual abandon. Until, of course, the creditors began to call.
Then, Jack did what any good citizen would: he upped sticks and moved to France. By all accounts, his time abroad was generally happy, though marred by one very strange cure for hiccups:
While most people would simply opt to hold their breath or ask a friend to scare them, we must remember that John wasn’t called Mad Jack for no reason. To rid himself of the accursed hiccups – he decided to light his nightshirt on fire. This ruined his shirt and left him with severe burns, having to be rescued by several of his closest friends. It should be noted, however, that his hiccups did cease.
After two years, Jack felt the call of home, returned to England, and... was thrown into prison for his debts.
While he died would die there, in a Southwark debtors prison, the stories of his escapades will linger for as long as Shropshire remembers Mad Jack Mytton.
Did we mention he had a pet bear?