Author: Stuart Butler

A Wiltshire Town and Peterloo

I travelled on the GWR,
Built not long after the Orator’s death,
Passing through a mill-scape valley
Known well by quondam colleague, William Cobbett,
On past antique ridge and furrow fields,
To Swindon, a town that I am sure
Henry ‘Orator’ Hunt would have admired,
A new industrial work-town,
Full of mechanics and artisans and questioning,
Thence by the 49 bus across the windswept Downs,
Through a leafless Captain Swing landscape
On a Captain Swing late November rain-swept day,
To take my leisure at the Bear in the town square,
Where – against every grain – Henry Hunt took his wife:
‘How this betrothing came about I must now inform my readers, I had often
heard my father speak in very high terms of Miss Halcomb, the daughter of his
old acquaintance, Mr. Wm. Halcomb, who kept the Bear Inn at Devizes, well
known to be one of the very best inns between London and Bath.’

I travelled on the GWR,
Built not long after the Orator’s death,
Passing through a mill-scape valley
Known well by quondam colleague, William Cobbett,
On past antique ridge and furrow fields,
To Swindon, a town that I am sure
Henry ‘Orator’ Hunt would have admired,
A new industrial work-town,
Full of mechanics and artisans and questioning,
Thence by the 49 bus across the windswept Downs,
Through a leafless Captain Swing landscape
On a Captain Swing late November rain-swept day,
To take my leisure at the Bear in the town square,
Where – against every grain – Henry Hunt took his wife:
‘How this betrothing came about I must now inform my readers, I had often
heard my father speak in very high terms of Miss Halcomb, the daughter of his
old acquaintance, Mr. Wm. Halcomb, who kept the Bear Inn at Devizes, well
known to be one of the very best inns between London and Bath.’

I travelled on the GWR,
Built not long after the Orator’s death,
Passing through a mill-scape valley
Known well by quondam colleague, William Cobbett,
On past antique ridge and furrow fields,
To Swindon, a town that I am sure
Henry ‘Orator’ Hunt would have admired,
A new industrial work-town,
Full of mechanics and artisans and questioning,
Thence by the 49 bus across the windswept Downs,
Through a leafless Captain Swing landscape
On a Captain Swing late November rain-swept day,
To take my leisure at the Bear in the town square,
Where – against every grain – Henry Hunt took his wife:
‘How this betrothing came about I must now inform my readers, I had often
heard my father speak in very high terms of Miss Halcomb, the daughter of his
old acquaintance, Mr. Wm. Halcomb, who kept the Bear Inn at Devizes, well
known to be one of the very best inns between London and Bath.’
Middle England was at its elevenses
In the hotel when I arrived,
But there were drinkers in the bar,
Faux Pickwickian coaching scenes everywhere,
No mention of the Orator, of course,
And no mention of him in the square,
Despite the mother and father of all coincidence,
And irony, paradox, juxtaposition and antithesis –
For right opposite the Bear stands a memorial,
A memorial to Lord Sidmouth
Member of Parliament for Devizes,
The hated rather than revered Lord Sidmouth,
He of Peterloo and reactionary infamy,
The repressive Home Secretary, Lord Sidmouth,
Operator of spies, informers and agents-provocateurs,
Reviled by Shelley in The Masque of Anarchy*,
The arch-reactionary who congratulated the magistrates
And the yeomanry after the Peterloo massacre,
And who was, in more than just a sense,
Responsible for Hunt’s imprisonment
And consequent solitary confinement:
*’Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
On a crocodile rode by …
Rise like lions after slumber

In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you –
Ye are many – they are few.’

Swinish Multitude

Edmund Burke‘s Statue, Bristol, December 2018

Edmund Burke on the lower orders – ‘ a swinish multitude’ –

‘Along with its natural protectors and guardians, learning will be cast into the mire, and trodden down under the hoofs of a swinish multitude … ‘

Reflections on the Revolution in France 1790

Edmund Burke ‘s Statue

Paid for by a Bristol tobacco baron,
We look on your works and despair:
You stand there, commanding Bristol’s heights,
Your ancien regime condescension
Masked by this deceptive commemoration:
“I wish to be a member of parliament to have my share
of doing good and resisting evil.”
Far more truthful if the plinth were etched
With this memorialization:
‘I regard all you common people,
Passing me by on your trivial tasks
As nothing more than a swinish multitude.’

Edmund Burke‘s Statue, Bristol, December 2018

Edmund Burke on the lower orders – ‘ a swinish multitude’ –

‘Along with its natural protectors and guardians, learning will be cast into the mire, and trodden down under the hoofs of a swinish multitude … ‘

Reflections on the Revolution in France 1790

Edmund Burke ‘s Statue

Paid for by a Bristol tobacco baron,
We look on your works and despair:
You stand there, commanding Bristol’s heights,
Your ancien regime condescension
Masked by this deceptive commemoration:
“I wish to be a member of parliament to have my share
of doing good and resisting evil.”
Far more truthful if the plinth were etched
With this memorialization:
‘I regard all you common people,
Passing me by on your trivial tasks
As nothing more than a swinish multitude.’

Thomas Spence:
Pigs’ meat; or, lessons for the swinish multitude: Published in weekly penny numbers, collected by the poor man’s advocate (an old veteran in the cause of freedom) in the course of his reading for more than twenty years. Intended to promote among the labouring part of mankind proper ideas of their situation, of their importance, and of their rights. And to convince them that their forlorn condition has not been entirely overlooked and forgotten, nor their just cause unpleaded, neither by their maker not by the best and most enlightened of men in all ages.
London: printed for T. Spence, at the hive of liberty, No. 8, Little-Turnstile, High Holborn

Edmund Burke Statue Haiku

Swinish multitude?
Remember Mr. Shelley –
Ozymandias!

All Hail Thomas Spence!
We’re no ‘swinish multitude’!
Pig’s Meat! People’s Farms!

Tokens issued by Thomas Spence and on display include
‘PIG’S MEAT PUBLISHED BY T * SPENCE LONDON (depicting a boar trampling upon the symbols of monarchy, parliament and the established church), and
PIG’S MEAT PUBLISHED BY T * SPENCE LONDON (a boar, once more, trampling upon symbols of authority: coronet, crozier and staff).

So you stand there on this Christmas Sunday,
Regarding the yuletide shoppers and beggars,
Most, oblivious to the hypocrisy
Of your words (and your pocket borough past) –
But just once in a while someone walks by,
Muttering ‘Swinish multitude, indeed.’
For they know of the anger caused by Burke,
They know of the radical consequence:
An Address to the Hon. Edmund Burke from the Swinish Multitude
Pearls Cast before Swine by Edmund Burke Scraped together by Old Hubert
Hog’s Wash, later renamed Politics for the People or a Salmagundy for Swine
One Penny’s Worth of Pig’s Meat,; Pigs’ Meat; or, Lessons for the Swinish Multitude
A Rod for the Burkites by One of the Swinish Multitude
Peas for the Swine and Grapes for Citizen
Husks for the Swine, Dedicated to the Swine of England, the Rabble of Scotland, and the Wretches of Ireland by one of the Herd
The Grunter’s Ode, or, an Heroic Poem, by a Swine … dedicated to Mr Burke, Godfather of the Swinish Multitude
The Rights of Swine
A New Catechism for the Use of the Swinish Multitude to be had in all Sties

Sources used:
Shelley and Burke’s Swinish Multitude Roland Bartel Keats-Shelley Journal Vol 18 (1969)
The Poor Man’s Revolutionary ed by Alastair Bonnett and Keith Armstrong

Radical Stroud Terminalia Walk Saturday 23rd February

Terminalia is a one day international festival of walking, space, place and psychogeography on 23rd February. Terminalia is the festival of Terminus, Roman god of boundaries and landmarks.

This year, Radical Stroud are carrying out a circular walk in Oakridge. In honour of Terminus we will visit the site of Oakridge Common. It was enclosed in 1866 against local opposition and we will view the present day boundaries with an eye to the past. In our usual eclectic fashion we will also take in the site of a Roman villa, a long barrow and the crash site of a WW2 German bomber.

Quiet lanes and footpaths and a few styles. A couple of steep climbs. Likely to be muddy. 2-3hours.

Meet at 10.30 at the gate of the

Church of St Bartholomew
Oakridge Lynch
Latitude: 51.7291 / 51°43’44″N
Longitude: -2.1277 / 2°7’39″W
OS Eastings: 391278
OS Northings: 203385
OS Grid: SO912033

Terminalia is a one day international festival of walking, space, place and psychogeography on 23rd February. Terminalia is the festival of Terminus, Roman god of boundaries and landmarks.

This year, Radical Stroud are carrying out a circular walk in Oakridge. In honour of Terminus we will visit the site of Oakridge Common. It was enclosed in 1866 against local opposition and we will view the present day boundaries with an eye to the past. In our usual eclectic fashion we will also take in the site of a Roman villa, a long barrow and the crash site of a WW2 German bomber.

Quiet lanes and footpaths and a few styles. A couple of steep climbs. Likely to be muddy. 2-3hours.

Meet at 10.30 at the gate of the

Church of St Bartholomew
Oakridge Lynch
Latitude: 51.7291 / 51°43’44″N
Longitude: -2.1277 / 2°7’39″W
OS Eastings: 391278
OS Northings: 203385
OS Grid: SO912033

The Kings and Kingdoms

The hollow roll of dates
chronicling the tired litany of monarchs.
Their dusty bones never sleeping
gasping their phantom moans to every generation:
To keep on fighting for the kingdom.
To never forget king and kingdom comes first.
You are its living instrument
that the dead summon to serve and die buried under the hollow drum roll of dates and kings.
Piling their bloody victories, plundered wealth and the crotch grasping posture of destruction over the thousands of corpses that had to die.
To die like an insignificant fly for the dusty bones and stones cut with the deeds of one homicidal dynasty after another.
Oh but the blood must run, it must run!
The young have to die.
The women will birth our soldiers.
For I can hear the dry bones of old kings and their old wars
drumming in today’s march into oblivion.

The hollow roll of dates
chronicling the tired litany of monarchs.
Their dusty bones never sleeping
gasping their phantom moans to every generation:
To keep on fighting for the kingdom.
To never forget king and kingdom comes first.
You are its living instrument
that the dead summon to serve and die buried under the hollow drum roll of dates and kings.
Piling their bloody victories, plundered wealth and the crotch grasping posture of destruction over the thousands of corpses that had to die.
To die like an insignificant fly for the dusty bones and stones cut with the deeds of one homicidal dynasty after another.
Oh but the blood must run, it must run!
The young have to die.
The women will birth our soldiers.
For I can hear the dry bones of old kings and their old wars
drumming in today’s march into oblivion.

The skeletons return to fight
their wars that do not grow old.
Their yellowed bones
clack under dulled battle gear.
The youth of the living
called again and again
to be sacrificed fresh lambs for the
glorious slaughter.

The skeletons are replenished by our warring
but it is to the black eyes of death
the fighting belongs.
So another generation is harvested
blood and flesh feeding the ridden earth
to fruit skeletons
and masterful ravens,
those wit is the mirror of all our destruction.

WEA Radical History Course

I am delighted to say that I shall be running a short course of four sessions in February and early March on Radical History. The course will be held in Stroud. Full details on this link:

https://enrolonline.wea.org.uk/online/2018/courseinfo.aspx?r=C3530259

I am delighted to say that I shall be running a short course of four sessions in February and early March on Radical History. The course will be held in Stroud. Full details on this link:

https://enrolonline.wea.org.uk/online/2018/courseinfo.aspx?r=C3530259

Radical Stroud – Winter Solstice Walk. 21st December

On the shortest day of the year we will aim to visit an eclectic range of intriguing sites – the cheese rolling slope; the remains of a Roman Villa; the site of the sanatorium where Orwell stayed a few months before his death; Great Witcombe church for some reflections on the change of calendar and the loss of 12 days in 1752; West Tump long barrow (it’s one of the longest at 80yards!); Cranham village which influenced Gustav Holst to compose the eponymous tune (aka In the bleak mid-winter – how apt!)

Thanks to Deborah Roberts for the above photos.

On the shortest day of the year we will aim to visit an eclectic range of intriguing sites – the cheese rolling slope; the remains of a Roman Villa; the site of the sanatorium where Orwell stayed a few months before his death; Great Witcombe church for some reflections on the change of calendar and the loss of 12 days in 1752; West Tump long barrow (it’s one of the longest at 80yards!); Cranham village which influenced Gustav Holst to compose the eponymous tune (aka In the bleak mid-winter – how apt!)

Some steep climbs. Likely to be muddy. Bring food & refreshments. Allow 5-6 hours.

Start Cranham Corner at 09.10. Public transport no 61 bus leaves Stroud Merrywalks at 08:40. Return buses no 61/66 every 30 mins-ish. No need to book. Just turn up at the start by 09.10.

Trenchcoats For Goalposts

Friday 7th December, 8pm
at the Sub Rooms, Stroud

Spaniel in the Works Theatre Company present TRENCHCOATS FOR GOALPOSTS – Christmas Truce, 1914 with Jon Seagrave (aka Jonny Fluffypunk,)John Bassett, Bill Jones, Paul Southcott, Stuart Butler, Angela Findlay, Crispin Thomas & Jeff The Fuse + Ned Gibbons (Sound/Lights)

“A unique performance.. history and humour, poetry and poignancy combined!” ~Stroud Life.

Trenchcoats for Goalposts is back by demand for one last time, following a packed and acclaimed show here in 2016 and equally well received performances in Cheltenham, Painswick, Dursley and Nailsworth .Be transported once more in theatre, spoken word, live music and song to No Man’s Land in a moving and often funny re-creation of the 1914 Christmas Truce. Far from glorifying War and performed by a host of Gloucestershire’s finest in authentic WW1 garb, with tinsel for barbed wire and an ancient football, together they turn the Sub Rooms into Flanders Field.

Friday 7th December, 8pm
at the Sub Rooms, Stroud

Spaniel in the Works Theatre Company present TRENCHCOATS FOR GOALPOSTS – Christmas Truce, 1914 with Jon Seagrave (aka Jonny Fluffypunk,)John Bassett, Bill Jones, Paul Southcott, Stuart Butler, Angela Findlay, Crispin Thomas & Jeff The Fuse + Ned Gibbons (Sound/Lights)

“A unique performance.. history and humour, poetry and poignancy combined!” ~Stroud Life.

Trenchcoats for Goalposts is back by demand for one last time, following a packed and acclaimed show here in 2016 and equally well received performances in Cheltenham, Painswick, Dursley and Nailsworth .Be transported once more in theatre, spoken word, live music and song to No Man’s Land in a moving and often funny re-creation of the 1914 Christmas Truce. Far from glorifying War and performed by a host of Gloucestershire’s finest in authentic WW1 garb, with tinsel for barbed wire and an ancient football, together they turn the Sub Rooms into Flanders Field.

Based on local memories and the true story of two brave Forest Green FC players Harry Watts and Ernie Beale who set off from Nailsworth for the front line. Covering an undisputed moment in war, humour and history, poetry and poignancy combine in this compelling and unmissable ninety minute production.

Radical Stroud WW1 and FGR Walk

Radical Stroud WW1 and FGR Walk
Saturday November 17th
Meet at 12 at Nailsworth War Memorial
An Armistice Centenary Walk and Talk
Peace at Last!

A performative walk and talk through WW1 as it affected Stroud, the Five Valleys, Nailsworth, and Forest Green. Meet at the clock in Nailsworth at 12 for a walk led by Andrew Budd and Stuart Butler. Arrive at the New Lawn at 2.15. Performance and poems from Uta Baldauf, John Bassett, Andrew and Stuart, and, of course, mystery guests, along the way. Feel free to bring any memories and stories to share, if you wish.

JohnBassett_WW1_Nailsworth_CopyrightDeborahRoberts_P1040818_LowRes
Nailsworth_WW1_Walk_CopyrightDeborahRoberts_P1040813_LowRes

Photos from the Armistice Centenary Walk in Nailsworth on 17th Nov – Copyright Deborah Roberts. John Bassett performing an extract from Trenchcoats For Goalposts. Full performance will be at the The Subscription Rooms next month –Trenchcoats for Goalposts Fri Dec 7 8pm Sub Rooms Stroud. With Andrew Budd Stuart Butler Uta Baldauf

Radical Stroud WW1 and FGR Walk
Saturday November 17th
Meet at 12 at Nailsworth War Memorial
An Armistice Centenary Walk and Talk
Peace at Last!

A performative walk and talk through WW1 as it affected Stroud, the Five Valleys, Nailsworth, and Forest Green. Meet at the clock in Nailsworth at 12 for a walk led by Andrew Budd and Stuart Butler. Arrive at the New Lawn at 2.15. Performance and poems from Uta Baldauf, John Bassett, Andrew and Stuart, and, of course, mystery guests, along the way. Feel free to bring any memories and stories to share, if you wish.

FGR and WW1

Charles and Ernest go to the football

Charles sneaked out unnoticed, from his home in Northfield Road. His first call was only a few yards away, ‘The Jovial Foresters’, not only his local pub, but also the headquarters of his beloved Football Club, Forest Green Rovers.

Sitting in the bar, enjoying his pint, and listening to the conversations, Charles felt he belonged here. The hoppy aroma of the beer was assailed by the whiff of embrocation from the room out the back, used as a changing room by the football club. It’s half past two on a late summer Saturday afternoon. The home side and the visitors from Brimscombe are finishing their beer, and heading up the hill towards the Forest Green pitch at The Lawn. Charles joins the teams and supporters as they strut their way uphill, trying not to look out of puff to the opposing team.

Charles stops at his friend’s house in Forest Green. He’s come to pick up young Ernest, who was keen as ever to cheer for his local team. Charles and Ernest were seventeen years apart in age, but had always got on well. They saw each other most days, either at work at Woodchester, or around the lanes of the hamlet, high above the Nailsworth Valley.

Arriving at the Forest Green pitch, a sizeable crowd is standing along the touchline as the local villages do battle on the football field. It was the first league match for six years, because the Great War had rudely interrupted organised football.

And in the Forest Green team is Walter Beale, a dependable goal-scorer, and, more importantly to Ernest, a proud family member. Ernest was cheering Walter’s every touch, even when he missed a sitter! The game ended 1-1 so honours were shared. The spectators came onto the pitch at the end, to congratulate the players, and to celebrate a return to some sort of normality for Stroud valleys life.

Charles and Ernest go to the football

Charles sneaked out unnoticed, from his home in Northfield Road. His first call was only a few yards away, ‘The Jovial Foresters’, not only his local pub, but also the headquarters of his beloved Football Club, Forest Green Rovers.

Sitting in the bar, enjoying his pint, and listening to the conversations, Charles felt he belonged here. The hoppy aroma of the beer was assailed by the whiff of embrocation from the room out the back, used as a changing room by the football club.  It’s half past two on a late summer Saturday afternoon. The home side and the visitors from Brimscombe are finishing their beer, and heading up the hill towards the Forest Green pitch at The Lawn. Charles joins the teams and supporters as they strut their way uphill, trying not to look out of puff to the opposing team.

Charles stops at his friend’s house in Forest Green. He’s come to pick up young Ernest, who was keen as ever to cheer for his local team. Charles and Ernest were seventeen years apart in age, but had always got on well. They saw each other most days, either at work at Woodchester, or around the lanes of the hamlet, high above the Nailsworth Valley.

Arriving at the Forest Green pitch, a sizeable crowd is standing along the touchline as the local villages do battle on the football field. It was the first league match for six years, because the Great War had rudely interrupted organised football.

And in the Forest Green team is Walter Beale, a dependable goal-scorer, and, more importantly to Ernest, a proud family member. Ernest was cheering Walter’s every touch, even when he missed a sitter! The game ended 1-1 so honours were shared. The spectators came onto the pitch at the end, to congratulate the players, and to celebrate a return to some sort of normality for Stroud valleys life.

Charles and Ernest held back after the match. They were wearing their army clothes, and didn’t want to bring down the high spirits of the happy moments that were being shared. The two men were aware that the presence of two soldiers who had served their country might cause some distress, when so many local families had suffered such loss and sorrow over the last five years.

Hanging around at the end, sharing the last of their Woodbines, and unnoticed by the other spectators, Charles and Ernest waited until the crowd dispersed.

Watching the groundsman shut and lock the field gates, the two men settled down for an evening of reminiscences at The Lawn at the top of the village. Plenty of time ahead of them, for their nocturnal chats together, as they faded away under the pale light of the moon.

(Based upon Charles Marmont 1880-1919 and Ernest Beale 1897-1916)

_________________________________________________________________
Reference notes linked with above piece.

I was unable to find much detail of the first season after WW1. The choice of Brimscombe as opposition for the first match, and the 1-1 score, are my own invention, until I can find the true information.

231 young men from Nailsworth went to war, 43 died and are commemorated on the war memorial in Nailsworth, including E Beale and S Marmont
(From ‘Something to Shout About’ The History of FGR by Tim Barnard)

Ernest Beale, 1897-1916
Lived in Forest Green, with his mother and siblings. Brass worker.
Driver in the Royal Field Artillery. Did not serve overseas. Died in Exeter Hospital of meningitis.

Charles Marmont, 1880-1919
Worked in pin manufacturing at Woodchester
Private in the 2nd Gloucestershire Regiment, did not serve overseas.
Died in Military Hospital, Maidstone, of bronchitis and heart failure.
Blue plaque at Northfields House, Northfields Road

FGR were in poor shape just before WW1. Forest Green had combined with Nailsworth FC, and became Nailsworth and Forest Green United. They had financial problems and people had fallen out. There were no Forest Green or Nailsworth FC teams playing in the league in 1913/14, as the clubs and their players had been suspended for irregularities in the previous season. There is no record of players in the online WW1 National Football Archive, as Forest Green was only a Stroud and District League team at the time.

Andrew Budd
“andrew budd” and “fred slattern” on facebook
www.fredslattern.wordpress.com
www.andrewbudd.blogspot.com  Big Swifty’s flavour of Budd Living
www.justgiving.com/planetfrank  our fundraising for JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Fun

A Swindon Town Great War Pilgrimage

A Swindon Town Remembrance Pilgrimage

We must have numbered a football team,
Umbrellas unfurled at the cenotaph,
Where we spoke of Walter Tull and Spurs,
And Swindon Town and Northampton Town
Footballers who fell in the Great War –
The rain providing a suitably melancholy backdrop,
As we made our hilltop climb to Christ Church,
A welcoming peal rather than a knell
Resonating across the Old Town sky,

While we gathered, inside, by the war memorial,
Inscribing George Bathe’s name on a remembrance cross,
George Bathe, STFC, KIA 1915,
A memento mori for all to share,
Carried by George’s great-nephew, Phil,
Before we made our blue plaque way to Radnor Street,
To talk of Freddie Wheatcroft, star Swindon striker,
Killed in Action,
And Alfred Williams, the Railway Poet,
And the writer Edward Thomas who loved Swindon so much,
Killed in Action.

A Swindon Town Remembrance Pilgrimage

We must have numbered a football team,
Umbrellas unfurled at the cenotaph,
Where we spoke of Walter Tull and Spurs,
And Swindon Town and Northampton Town
Footballers who fell in the Great War –
The rain providing a suitably melancholy backdrop,
As we made our hilltop climb to Christ Church,
A welcoming peal rather than a knell
Resonating across the Old Town sky,

While we gathered, inside, by the war memorial,
Inscribing George Bathe’s name on a remembrance cross,
George Bathe, STFC, KIA 1915,
A memento mori for all to share,
Carried by George’s great-nephew, Phil,
Before we made our blue plaque way to Radnor Street,
To talk of Freddie Wheatcroft, star Swindon striker,
Killed in Action,
And Alfred Williams, the Railway Poet,
And the writer Edward Thomas who loved Swindon so much,
Killed in Action.

Autumn’s leaves were falling like flashing flares,
As we descended through no man’s land, to St Mark’s,
With its ornate St George Great War memorial,
A seeming arts and crafts medievalism –
Thence to further dedications of valour,
Sacrifice and heroism, half hidden
In the outlet shopping centre and museum,
Until we made our separate ways homewards,
Or to the County Ground for the match,
All enriched by a remembrance pilgrimage,
Through the red brick streets and past the old stone walls,
Along the empty alleys and busy thoroughfares
Of a Swindon Saturday afternoon,
All enriched by a collective pilgrimage,
Walking present tense pavements,
But slipping through wormholes of time.