Growing up in Blackpool, a town famous for its piers, donkeys, and deckchairs, Grace E Hawkins was no stranger to traditional seaside entertainment. Amid the ice creams and arcades, the shrill cackle of Mr Punch was part of the background noise. It’s a puppet show most of us watched without a second thought, but behind the slapstick humour and wooden mallets lies a darker legacy.
As I began to question the cultural norms I’d grown up with, I started to wonder: what does Punch and Judy really say about our attitudes towards violence, especially against women and children? And how has this seemingly innocent tradition intersected with the rise of feminism?
The Punch and Judy show dates back to the 17th century, its origins rooted in the Italian commedia dell’arte character Pulcinella. It first appeared in England in 1662, famously documented by Samuel Pepys in Covent Garden. Over the centuries, Punch evolved into a grotesque and disordered figure. Loud, violent, and unapologetically cruel.
At the heart of the traditional plot is Punch’s brutal treatment of his wife, Judy and their baby. In many versions, he beats her with a stick (the infamous ‘slapstick’), and in some renditions, he even throws the baby out of a window or into a sausage machine. These scenes, often played for laughs, reflect long-standing societal attitudes about domestic power and control. For generations, audiences, primarily children, cheered as Punch bellowed, “That’s the way to do it!” after each act of violence.
While Punch and Judy may seem like harmless fun, its repeated use of domestic violence as comedy echoes real-world issues. For centuries, violence against women and children wasn’t just common – as it still is now – it was often accepted, ignored, or hidden. Punch’s actions, carried out without consequence, mirror a time when male dominance in the home was normalised. When this violence becomes entertainment, it sends a troubling message: that women’s suffering is trivial, and that abuse is something to be laughed at.
Feminist critics have long argued that media and popular culture shape our social attitudes. By laughing at Punch’s brutality, audiences are subtly taught that such violence is part of life and even amusing. Punch and Judy doesn’t just reflect the past – it reinforces a cycle of minimising abuse. For many feminists, Judy is not just a character, she’s a symbol of the silenced and battered, ridiculed and ignored. The critique of the show goes beyond puppetry too. It speaks to a broader culture that has long condoned, and sometimes celebrated the everyday violence experienced by women.
Some puppeteers sought to modernise the script – softening the violence, removing the baby’s death, or reinventing Judy as a stronger, more assertive figure.
By the late 20th and early 21st centuries, feminist critiques of Punch and Judy became louder and more visible. Women’s rights groups, domestic abuse charities, and educators began to raise concerns about the harmful messages the show could send, especially to children. Some schools and councils went so far as to ban traditional versions from public events. In response, some puppeteers sought to modernise the script – softening the violence, removing the baby’s death, or reinventing Judy as a stronger, more assertive figure. These revisions have sparked ongoing debate. Traditionalists argue the show is a piece of historical satire that should be preserved, while critics contend that clinging to outdated portrayals, even in jest, risks perpetuating a culture that normalises abuse.
This conversation isn’t abstract. Domestic abuse remains a grim reality. According to the Office for National Statistics, around 2.3 million adults in England and Wales experienced domestic abuse in the year ending March 2024, including 1.6 million women and 712,000 men. That’s about 6.6% of all women aged 16 and over. In that same year, 108 domestic homicides occurred. 77% of the victims were women, most killed by a current or former partner. On average, one woman is killed by a man every three days in the UK, a haunting statistic reaffirmed by the Femicide Census. These numbers represent lives lost, families shattered, and trauma endured. And they provide chilling context to the laughter that greets Punch hurling Judy or their baby across the stage. They remind us how easy it is to laugh along, and how dangerous that laughter can be.
I understand the nostalgic pull of seaside traditions like Punch and Judy. But nostalgia shouldn’t blind us to the harm embedded in some of our oldest stories. What we choose to laugh at and what we teach our children to laugh at matters. Millions live under the constant threat of emotional, physical, or financial abuse. When shows like Punch and Judy turn violence into comedy, they don’t just entertain – they reflect and reinforce a culture that too often dismisses women’s suffering.
Feminism doesn’t seek to erase history, but to challenge the parts of it that have justified violence and silence. Punch may still cry, “That’s the way to do it!” but we now have the power to decide what “it” should look like. Whether we choose to rewrite the show, retire it altogether, or use it as a tool to spark difficult conversations, one thing is clear – behind the puppet’s grin lies a legacy of laughter at pain and it’s time we changed the script.
Grace E Hawkins is the founding member of the Groove & Soul women’s running group and a member of Reclaim Blackpool. She has appeared on BBC Morning Live to talk about women’s safety in Blackpool as part of the campaign.
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