Stroud and the 1926 General Strike

In 1926, ‘Stroud and District’ comprised both an urban-industrial and a rural-agricultural landscape, stretching along and through five valleys and hillsides, with fast flowing streams and picturesque villages; the 1921 census indicated some 66,000 persons. Those streams powered the woollen mills with the renowned Stroud scarlet cloth that provided the redcoats for the British army stretched out on tenterhooks once a common sight.

Coal and steam power came with canals and even though Stroud struggled against the textile industries of the north in the 19th century, there were still many cloth mills in the area in 1926. Other major industries included metal-working and even plastics at the famous Erinoids factory.

Communications for the locality were excellent: the Stroudwater Navigation linked Stroud with the Gloucester and Sharpness Canal and hence the Bristol Channel, there had also been the Thames and Severn Canal that linked Stroud with the Thames at Lechlade – about to be largely abandoned. Railways came early to Stroud: the GWR branch line from Swindon to Cheltenham in 1845. There was also a spur into town off the Stonehouse-Nailsworth Midland Railway line.

So how did the General Strike affect Stroud?

It started at midnight on May 3 (after the government broke after negotiations after unofficial action by printers at the Daily Mail) with the first wave of unions called out: transport, printing, the press, iron, steel, metals, heavy chemicals, electricity, gas, building (excluding hospitals and houses). The country was strangely quiet on May 4: an absence of passenger trains; hardly a bus or a tram; docks like a still life; no national newspapers (a few trades councils produced a strike broadsheet; strike bulletins featured on the BBC every three hours). May 5 and 6 saw an appeal from the government for strike-breaking volunteers, and special constables, together with the Government’s British Gazette and the TUC’s British Worker. Some Councils of Action and Joint Strike Committees were formed. Sir John Simon declared, in the House of Commons, that the General Strike was illegal.

On May 6, the Gloucester newspaper, The Citizen, described ‘Stroud and district’ as ‘one of the biggest industrial areas in the county … already seriously affected by the strike.’ The unemployment figure had rocketed by 500 persons, with short-time working at fifteen major employers because of shortage of fuel.

The Stroud Journal reported on May 7 that ‘With the “cease work” order of the Trades Union Congress coming into operation at midnight on Monday the wheels of industry in our valleys began to slow down. Trains disappeared from our local railway lines, the big daily newspapers failed to appear on our breakfast tables, and within a day or two many of our Stroud Valley industries were compelled to work short time.’ (Unemployment rose from 798 to 2,171 by the end of the strike.)

Trains disappeared from ‘our local railway lines’: just 9 out of 75 GWR staff signed on for work at Stroud on the GWR; none reported for work at picturesque Chalford (where a crucial rail car service operated); some 50% were out on the LMS in the area, with ‘one or two working’ on the branch line to Nailsworth, Woodchester and Dudbridge. ‘Altogether, in our district, we understand that there are over 200 railwaymen who have ceased work,’ reported the Stroud Journal.

The local branch of the NUR reported that 98% of members were out, with telegram instructions from their general secretary: “Position unchanged, no wavering anywhere. Pickets should wear prominent badges. All other members, far as possible, must keep off the streets.” There were no reports of pickets interfering with the attempts made by the G.W.R. stationmaster at Stroud to create a minimal replacement bus service for the rail car between Chalford, Stroud and Stonehouse (there were only three buses available for a scant service).

The Government – unlike the TUC – was well prepared, however. Not just because of the stockpiling of coal during the nine-month subsidy to buttress miners’ wages (“Red Friday”, July 1925) that ran out at the end of April 1926, and not just because of right-wing support offered by groups such as the Organisation for the Maintenance of Supplies, but also because of contingency planning in the event of widespread industrial action that went right back to Lloyd George’s government in 1919.

The General Strike would see England and Wales divided into areas under the aegis of Civil Commissioners, whilst north of the border would be overseen by the Lord Advocate for Scotland. A.R. Williams in ‘The General Strike in Gloucestershire’ (Transactions of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society 1972) commented that the ‘Earl of Stanhope organised efforts in Gloucestershire, Somerset, Dorset, Devonshire and Cornwall, supported by a squad of assistants, coal officer, food officer, four military liaison officers, railway and postal representatives.’

It’s interesting to see how the chain of authority descended down from the Earl of Stanhope to an emergency meeting of the Stroud Urban District Council in the Town Hall in Stroud. The brief was to decide upon the ‘advisability’ of forming a new local committee, in response to the Government’s emergency plans. The chairman was Col. J.R. Morton Ball who declared that the planned and prepared emergency schemes (for example, a circular from November 1925) now needed action.

With the railways paralysed, the transportation of goods – particularly foodstuffs and fuel – occupied minds at this emergency meeting (as reported by the Stroud Journal May 7); the chairman revealed that Mr Hudson was responsible for organising food supplies in their large area (Stroud Urban and Rural Districts, Nailsworth Urban, Wheatenhurst and Dursley rural districts) and he believed that ‘Stroud stood as well as any place in the matter of local supplies, at grocers’ shops in particular’ with ‘a number of big establishments, including the two Co-operative Societies and the Cotswold Stores … Mr. Hudson had formed a traders’ committee to help him on which representatives of these three businesses were represented, together with milk retailers.’

Discussions then turned to coal: the Emergency Officer, Mr. Hayne, based at Gloucester, had reported that not all coal merchants were willing to follow orders ‘limiting … supply to one cwt.’ Shortage encouraged competition rather than cooperation at local authority level too: for Mr. Haynes wanted his committee ‘to prevent the departure of fuel from the district.’ There had been panic buying (‘stocks in the hands of coal merchants were low, probably owing to the big demand made upon them by local residents during the last few weeks’); there was sufficient fuel for the Hospital and the Workhouse but the committee would have to, somehow, ‘discover what coal was required’ and ‘get Mr. Harper to bring more coal into the district if necessary’.

The final – and vexed – matter for the committee’s discussions was the required appeal for volunteers to ‘maintain essential services.’ The discourse about this and the social standing of the participants epitomises the impact of the General Strike upon Stroud and the five valleys. We have already come across the chairman at this meeting: Col. J.R. Morton Ball. The County Chairman for the appeal for volunteers was Col. Ricardo; the vice-chairman was Sir Percival Scrope Marling V.C. (local mill family, educated Harrow and Sandhurst) and he led the discussions after revealing ‘that just before he went to Egypt in January, Col. Ricardo asked for his help in this matter in the event of a strike, and he consented, although somewhat against his will, as he thought a younger man could do it better.’

Mr. Harper was not intimidated by Sir Percival’s imperial aura, however, as revealed in what feels like a somewhat heated exchange of words, as reported in the Stroud Journal May 7.

Mr. Harper wanted to know the definition of ‘volunteer services.’ Sir Percival’s answer was curt and to the point: ‘They will carry on essential services.’ Mr. Harper equally curtly demanded a definition of essential services. Sir Percival’s definition mentioned the transportation of food and fuel etc. Mr. Harper then asked if there had been any instructions received from the Government; the Chairman replied affirmatively and monosyllabically. Mr. Harper’s rejoinder employed a Dickensian trope: ‘This is a lot of humbug to run volunteer services …’

Discussion then politely turned to whether members of the local Trades and Labour Council would volunteer; interestingly (and disingenuously?), Mr. Harper said that was happening. But after the chairman affirmed that ‘maintenance of food, fuel and water and light were essential for the benefit of the community’, Mr. Harper asked the chairman to ‘read from the card’ what the volunteers were to do and after hearing that the volunteers filled in their own card, Mr. Harper sharply said, ‘They won’t volunteer to go down the mines I suppose.’ The chairman’s reply was slightly oracular in that ‘volunteers were wanted solely for handling and transporting the necessary food, fuel, light and power’, but then went on to say ‘or to perform such other duties which might be held by the Civil Commissioners to be essential for the maintenance and well-being of the country.’ Sir Percival cleared the air, perhaps, by declaring, ‘We are recruiting for the well-being of the community and not for the purpose of strike-breaking.’

Mr. Harper stood his ground when the formation of a committee was proposed and seconded; this lone left-wing voice in the wilderness moved that such a decision should be deferred ‘for a fortnight so that they might see how it went … it had all been done behind their backs. The Emergency Order, the appointment of officials etc., had all been done prior to this trouble. The Government had been talking peace and declaring for war at the same time.’

The report in the Stroud Journal finished abruptly: ‘Chairman: Your amendment is a direct negative. The resolution was carried. Mr. Harper voting against it.’

In consequence, over two hundred volunteers were registered within three days: ‘very satisfactory’ said the newspaper, together with its appeal from ‘the authorities’ for the loan of ‘motor cars, lorries and motor cycles.’ By the end of the strike, 362 volunteers came forward, ‘including 29 lorry drivers, 114 motor car drivers, 6 engine drivers, 13 firemen and 10 women helpers. Altogether, 6 lorries, 58 motor cars and 28 motor cycles were placed at the disposal of the local committee, and were made good use of.’

 

The Stroud Journal made, to say the least, minimal efforts to present both sides of the story during the nine days and beyond: ‘This challenge to constitutional authority, if it is not withdrawn or speedily defeated, means trouble on a scale such as this country has never before experienced’ – the newspaper saw itself and its role, in effect, as a means of defeating the strike – whilst simultaneously boosting circulation and profit. Hence the warm tone of its NOTICE TO “JOURNAL” READERS on May 7: ‘The Stroud Journal will be published as usual each week, with the usual features. As a great demand for the paper is expected, special orders should be sent at once to the Publishing Office, Lansdown, Stroud.’

It wedded itself firmly with the BBC and the Government, too; it reached an ‘arrangement with the local agent for the Stanley Radio Company’, on Tuesday May 4, so that ‘Government reports concerning the strike broadcast by the B.B.C.’ could be publicly posted in Lansdown, Stroud, outside the offices of the newspaper each day. Readers of the newspaper might well forget the possibility of reading The British Worker or of trying to get hold of a copy of the Gloucester Strike Bulletin, or even studying the governmental mouthpiece, The British Gazette, if they did not possess a wireless, when they saw this in the Stroud Journal:

Official Strike News

Broadcast by the Government is being

Posted Outside the “Journal” Office

EACH DAY

The next edition of the newspaper, on the 14th, carried none of the Stroud news from the Gloucester Strike Bulletin Monday May 10: ‘meetings are being held at Stroud. Position satisfactory and orderly’ or Wednesday May 12: ‘The Stroud Council of Action reports the following strike position: N.U.R. and A.S.L.E. & F. Solid as ever. PRINTERS – Solid as ever, position unchanged. R.C.A.  Solid as ever, position unchanged. A.E.U. Some out, rest ready to come out on receiving instructions from Head Office. BUILDING TRADES Majority out, rest awaiting instructions. Greeting to all fellow workers who are fighting for justice and humanity. Keep solid and the fight is ours! Council of Action is now functioning, with close co-operation of all Unions and workers concerned and the necessary sub-committees are all in operation.’

Signed

A.H. Williams (Secretary)

K. Underwood (Chairman)

 

This is tantalising history. It looks as though the Council of Action was formed too late during the nine days to have had any impact and, indeed, leave any records. This is almost reminiscent of EP Thompson and ‘rescuing the poor and anonymous from the enormous condescension of posterity’ … but imagine if the strike had continued. There could have been a very different picture of Stroud during the General Strike, for as Ralph Anstis stated in Blood on Coal: the lack of central direction from the TUC General Council meant that local trade union branches and strike committees took over, some becoming ‘remarkably efficient; they ran sub-committees for food, workers’ defence, intelligence, sports, communications, prisoners aid, mass picketing and others.’ And as the nine days progressed these local strike committees ‘developed into organs of government themselves’ – Ralph Anstis argued that their power grew as the strike progressed, indicated by the growing number of employers who approached the committees ‘for permission to do certain things like moving food and coal. The hitherto cap-in-hand position between employer and employee was reversed.’

 

But what national strike news would local residents have read about or listened to (or not) between May 7 and the next edition of the Stroud Journal on May 14?

On May 7, the Archbishop of Canterbury announced proposals for a settlement (printed in the British Worker but not in the British Gazette nor broadcast on the BBC); Sir Herbert Samuel (who had headed the earlier Royal Commission about the mines) returned from holiday to approach the TUC General Council with an offer of mediation, emphasising that he was acting unofficially, with no governmental authority; they met, without informing the miners.

On May 8, an armed convoy transported food supplies in London; plans were announced for a Civil Reserve Constabulary (steel helmets and truncheons). The government declared that any member of the armed forces would receive full governmental support for any action they deem necessary to take “in an honest endeavour to aid the Civil Power.”

On May 9, Cardinal Bourne declared the General Strike a sin against God at High Mass; the army placed a cordon around London Docks; TUC leaders informed miners’ leaders of Samuel’s recommendations which included wage cuts; the Miners’ Federation Executive declared wage cuts unacceptable, as they did on the 10th when they met with Samuel and the TUC Negotiating Committee. Many arrests were mentioned on the BBC. The TUC General Council sent out this rallying call to those out on strike: “Stand firm. Be loyal to instructions and trust your leaders.”

The second wave of shipbuilding and engineering workers was called out on the 11th – the Transport and General Workers Union leadership published this message: “Hold fast. We must see the miners through.” Justice Astbury declared the General Strike illegal and that trade union funds could not be legally used for strike pay; the TUC General Council accepted the final draft of the Samuel Memorandum; the MFGB Executive rejected it as it involved wage cuts.

On May 12, the TUC General Council informed the Prime Minister that the General Strike was unconditionally called off. On May 13, came the realisation that the settlement failed to protect the miners; widespread employer victimisation followed as people returned to work; many workers went back on strike: there were more out today than on any previous day.

The Stroud Journal on May 14 had the headline GENERAL STRIKE TERMINATED

‘The General Strike which began at midnight on Monday, May 3rd, ended on Wednesday in an unconditional withdrawal of the strike notices by the General Council of the Trade Union Congress.’ Then came the official communique from Whitehall, then Arthur Cook’s official statement from the miners, followed by Stanley Baldwin’s “A Victory for Common-sense” statement in the House of Commons, then the message from the King “To My People: “Bring into being a lasting Peace”.

The feature concluded with this strapline: The Aftermath – Question of taking back Strikers.

‘His Majesty’s Government have no power to compel employers to take back every man who has been on strike, nor have they entered into any obligation of any kind in this matter.

Some displacements are inevitable in view of the reduction of business consequent upon the strike, as well as any obligations … towards volunteers … Attention is, however, drawn to the hope expressed by the Prime Minister, in his statement to the House of Commons that “we should resume our work in a spirit of co-operation, putting behind us all malice and vindictiveness.”’

With the GWR so important to the locality and with so many local GWR men so solid during the strike, and then staying out after May 12, and with ‘Men Offered Re-instatement but Refuse’, these words were particularly resonant. But the newspaper was, of course, jubilant in tone and content: ‘The news that the T.U.C. had decided to call off the General Strike was … received in Stroud during Wednesday dinner-time with universal feelings of relief. The welcome bulletin was posted outside the “Journal” office a few minutes after the announcement had been made by wireless, and large crowds quickly gathered round the notice board.’

But how did the end of the strike go down on the local railways?

The GWR station master at Stroud acted initially on official orders from Paddington, informing returning employees that he could not, as yet, reinstate them. Similarly, on the LMS, there was no immediate reinstatement. Then, after company telegrams, the GWR station master was officially instructed to reinstate specified, notified, employees. They refused to return, pending Union instructions, and until all of those who had been on strike were reinstated. The local NUR secretary, Mr. Wake, affirmed that all of the Stroud branch were ‘standing solidly together’ and that the Railway workers had met in the Liberal Hall to unanimously pass this resolution: “That this meeting of the members in this district of the R.C.A, the A.S.L. and F., and the N.U.R. hereby pledge our loyalty to each other and to the Joint Executive of the three Unions. Further, we pledge ourselves to stand firm for the re-instatement of every man who came out on strike at the call of the T.U.C.”

The newspaper followed this news with the strapline BACK TO NORMAL NEXT WEEK? and with a statement from an ‘official of the Railway Information Bureau’ who said he hoped for restored railway normality ‘next week.’ But the official offered a new definition of ‘normal’ (not that the Stroud Journal said so): employees would only ‘be taken back where there was work for them. It was explained that with disorganisation of business some big industries could not get going at once, and there would not be the same work for the railways.’

Similarly, some local engineers, who had been called out on the second wave by the TUC on the last day of the strike, and then returned to work later in the day when the strike was terminated, ‘were told that at present they would not be re-instated.’ The Stroud Journal did not mention that this was hardly in the spirit of the King’s Message or the Prime Minister’s speech: “we should resume our work in a spirit of co-operation, putting behind us all malice and vindictiveness.”

Had there been any malice and vindictiveness in the streets of Stroud and beyond during the nine days? There is an absence of evidence on that question – which may, of course, suggest peaceful streets. The Stroud Journal praised local reserve constables who ‘again donned their uniform’ and the large enrolment of ‘efficient and highly satisfactory’ special constables.’ Significantly, the feature finished with the lofty tone of this sentence: ‘We have been fortunate in this locality in that no disturbances have taken place, which speaks well for the hundreds of men who have been unemployed.’ Indeed, the only court cases that I chanced upon in the May 21 edition of the newspaper involved bicycles (one speeding) and the parking of a motor car.

In consequence, it’s easy to imagine that Beatrice Webb’s diary entry for Monday May 3 could also ring true for Stroud’s comfortably-off: ‘The net impression left on my mind is that the General Strike will turn out not to be a revolution of any sort but a batch of compulsory Bank Holidays without any opportunity for recreation and a lot of dreary walking to and fro.’

And then there is the resonant reassurance of the King’s diary: ‘Our old country can be well proud of itself, as during the last nine days there has been a strike in which four million people have been affected, not a shot has been fired and no-one has been killed, it shows what a wonderful people we are.’

But we shouldn’t forget that nationally ‘there were outbreaks of violence. There was, for instance, a major riot at Swindon on Thursday when a crowd of thousands, including women with aprons full of stones, prevented the first trams from returning to the streets’ (Chris Farman The General Strike). Swindon, that key GWR town with a railway factory of well over 10,000 employees, just thirty miles or so up the line from Stroud, was rock-solid in the General Strike and would, no doubt, have exercised its influence along the mute branch line west to Stroud.

Talking of muteness, and the lack of sustained evidence about the General Strike in the Stroud area, we have no figures about how many copies of the British Gazette, or the British Worker were read or shared in Stroud, nor the Communist Party’s Workers’ Bulletin, nor the Gloucester Strike Bulletin. The Stroud Journal, as we have seen, not only carried on with its publication, but also circulated the ‘official’ news from the BBC outside its offices. The wireless had an incalculable but huge influence during the nine days throughout the country: the TUC Intelligence Committee reported that ‘Many districts … have complained of the lack of reliable news and in isolated places the workers must have been without any source of information except the wireless’ and ‘Though the publication of the British Gazette had little influence upon public opinion, the wireless and the newspapers which improved day by day as the Strike proceeded, did exert some influence.’

The publication of the Stroud Journal is an interesting case-study in itself. On Thursday May 4, the Gloucester Strike Bulletin reported: ‘We have just received the news that the Stroud Branch of the Typographical Association have decided by a large majority to cease work.’ Ten days later, the right-wing ramblings found in ‘Jottings by Jonathan’ in the Stroud Journal ran thus: ‘Last week the broad-cast news included the announcement that “The Stroud Journal” would be published as usual. This week the Newspaper Society stated that “The Union members of the “Stroud Journal” have decided to return to work.” But they never ceased work. They were too sensible to follow the false and illegal lead given them in other parts of the country. At Dursley “The Gazette” men were less wise, but the proprietors by dint of hard working and contriving, brought out their paper, and then promptly notified the strikers that if they did not turn up on Monday morning their places would be filled by other men …’

Jonathan didn’t mention the Gloucester Strike Bulletin’s news from Sharpness from Wednesday May 12: ‘Many of the workers in Sharpness district refused to take last Wednesday’s issue of the “Dursley Gazette” and will refuse to buy it again until the whole of the “Gazette” staff is back at work. The members of the “Gazette” staff are on strike and the proprietors of the “Gazette” have declared that these men will be dismissed.’

And so to the aftermath of the General Strike in Stroud. On May 15, the Stroud Branch of the National Union of Textile Workers discussed the matter of support for cases of hardship amongst those who had been on strike, led by the treasurer of the distress committee, Alderman F. Wake, J.P., who ‘explained that there would be cases of hardship, and they were all anxious to relieve such cases as much as possible, as those who were suffering were doing so in the interest of all workers. He recognised that the textile workers had worked a lot of short time, so he left it to them to do the best they could. It was unanimously agreed to support the distress fund and collecting sheets were taken by representatives from every mill.’ (Stroud Journal May 21)

On Wednesday May 12, the Gloucester Strike Bulletin had cheerfully announced that A large Labour Demonstration will be held on Sunday May 16th, leaving Lansdown at 2.30 p.m. proceeding to Frome-hall Park with a band. Speakers: Morgan Jones and Dan Griffiths. A meeting will be held at night in the Cooperative Hall, Cainscross at 7.30 p.m. Speakers: Mr. G. Hall and Dan Griffiths. All supporters of the cause are heartily invited to join the procession.’ When the meeting was held, in the wake of the ending of the strike and with no settlement for the miners, it was, of course, important to raise Labour and trade union spirits and look to the future.

The Stroud Journal on May 21 reported on the May Day celebration held … under the joint auspices of the Stroud Division Labour Party and Trades and Labour Council.’ There was a procession, with a band, ‘red banners flying’, to the meeting ‘attended by several hundreds.’ The prospective Labour candidate, Dan Griffiths, sent this message: “I shall be with you in spirit at your May Celebration. I trust the day is not far distant when the workers all the world over will come into their own.”

The next speaker, Mr. Webb, also spoke with an uplifting tone, ‘pointing out how the older men of the movement had been looking forward to the day when the united workers of the country and the whole world would realise what a mighty power they had in their hands if they desired to use it, and when they would throw down the challenge to those of the employing class who had been crushing the worker under its heel.’

The next speaker, Mr. Hiatt, started by emphasising that the strike had not been a challenge to the constitution; it was an industrial dispute. He went on to say that ‘the dispute had shown the working people of the country their real power, and it had shown how false the conception … that capital was the main spring of industry.’ Trade Unions would continue to progress, he said, and the movement ‘had tasted power, and it needed only men of goodwill, sound judgement, and of understanding’ to use ‘power wisely …Industrially and politically, they were never nearer their goal’, he concluded.

The final speaker was Mr. Morgan Jones, M.P., from a mining constituency. Although he, too, emphasised that the strike had been an industrial dispute not a revolutionary constitutional challenge, he also emphasised that the nine-day working class solidarity just shown was globally and historically unique. He asserted that future progress would rest upon a fusion of the ‘Trade Union movement on the one hand as an industrial weapon, and of the political Labour Party as a political weapon … Now was the time to reflect and reconsider and … he urged that at the next election they would place a cross against the name of his good friend, Dan Griffiths (applause).’

But now to finish our account of the aftermath of the strike, the last words come from Percival S. Marling and Henry Ricardo:

(To the Editor of the “Stroud Journal’)

Sir – Now that the General Strike is, as we hope, happily ended … I should like, as Chairman of the Volunteer Services Committee for Essential Services for Stroud and District, to thank the Stroud Urban District Council for the use of the room at the Town Hall, Stroud, and also to thank all those who have so loyally helped the Recruiting Committee … The total number recruited up to May 11th was 362. I think we who live in the Stroud area have just cause to congratulate ourselves on the excellent behaviour and good temper shown by all sections of the community during the past trying fortnight.

Yours truly,

PERCIVAL S. MARLING

Stanley Park, Stroud,

May 15th, 1926

 

Shire Hall,

Gloucester,

17th May, 1926

My dear Marling,

Will you kindly convey to the voluntary workers who assisted in the registration and employment of volunteers in your Area the appreciation of the Civil Commissioner of the South Western Division for their loyal assistance in the national crisis, and as Chairman of the Committee for the County of Gloucestershire may I add my own.

The arrangements in the County have worked most admirably, thanks to the prompt and efficient help we have received, while the offers for assistance which went far beyond what it was in the smallest degree possible to make use of, have shown that the spirit of the County was as fine as it always has been.

Yours sincerely,

RICARDO

Chairman

 

 

 

 

A Stroud Supermarket General Strike Centenary Ramble

It’s easy to forget that a walk around our local supermarkets

Can take you back in a glance to the early twentieth century:

Names like Coronation Road, King’s Road, Queen’s Road,

With the red brick villas lining the streets:

Their soot mixed with mortar like a chequer board,

To save on the costs of sand before the Great War,

With Stonehouse brick stamped with the company’s insignia

On garden walls, to remind us of those vast brickworks

Stretching along the railway line at Stonehouse.

When you reach Spillman’s, busy with traffic,

Imagine vegetables not cars growing in the front gardens,

‘Old Tom’, the horse, chewing on the carrots,

Kept him going on his deliveries rattling
Over the cobblestones of Rodborough’s roads:
Coal and milk and spuds and beer and bread,
And, of course, the fishmonger, basket on head –
But there would be no coal delivered in early May 1926.

Then down we go to the Nailsworth branch line,
And as you step across the bridge,
It’s easy to miss Industry’s footprint,
Lost in the elder, primrose, ash and willow.
But see the rusting mighty iron capstans,
One, now toppled, but one still firm and strong,
Once used for winching trucks down the gas works siding,
To a coal tippler (concrete remains there still),
Where a hydraulic ram tipped the trucks’ coal
Down a chute to a narrow gauge hopper,
And thence over two bridges and the Frome,
To its destination at Stroud Gasworks –

But there was a nine-day General Strike in May 1926,

And the miners were locked-out until November.

About 2,000 persons went on short-time working

During the General Strike in Stroud

As a consequence of a shortage of coal,

With the GWR and LMS on strike;

200 men and 300 women out of work too;

This is the roll-call of firms mentioned in the press:

Holloway Bros. Ltd., Apperley Curtis Co., Ltd., Copeland, Chatterson and Co., Ltd., Stroud Metal Co., Ltd., G. Waller and Son Ltd., Phoenix Iron Works, Thrupp, Charfield, the Woodworkers Co., Charles Hooper and Co., Bonds Mill, Eastington, Messrs. Vowles and Son Ltd., Upper Mills, Stonehouse, Newman, Hender and Co., near Nailsworth, Howard and Powell, of Walbridge, T.B. Worth and Sons, Ltd., Ham Mills, Erinoid Ltd., Lightpill,

Marling and Evans Ltd., are carrying on as usual. Holloway Bros., Ltd., are closing down three days a week. Hill, Paul and Co., are hindered by transport difficulties. The Chalford Stick Mills are carrying on as usual. Henry Workman, Ltd., Woodchester, are keeping on as long as they can in the interests of their employees, hours of labour etc., being the same as usual.

Walker Bros., Dunkirk Mills, are keeping on as usual, but do not know for how long. E.A. Chamberlain and Co., Nailsworth, are carrying on as usual with short shifts.

 

Now let’s walk past more supermarkets to reach the railway station,

Buy yourself a coffee, sit back on the platform,

Gaze up and down the line and recall …

‘None of the local railway services have been in operation since the declaration of the general strike … At Stroud 75 men out of 84 are on strike at the G.W.R. All are out at Chalford. 13 out of 27 have struck on the L.M.S., one or two working at Nailsworth, Woodchester and Dudbridge. Altogether, in our district, we understand that there are over 200 railwaymen who have ceased work.

Mr. F.E. Wake, J.P., C.C. (secretary of the local branch of the N.U.R.) said that 98% of his members in the Stroud area were out, and that everything was proceeding in a quiet and orderly manner. That morning he had received the following telegram from Mr. T.C. Cramp, the general secretary of the Union: “Position unchanged, no wavering anywhere. Pickets should wear prominent badges. All other members, far as possible, must keep off the streets.”’

 

As for the canals, the Thames & Severn was falling into disrepair,

There was a confrontation between police and dockers at Gloucester,

When an attempt was made to prevent

Traffic on the Gloucester & Sharpness Canal,

There may have been some trows sailing along

The Stroudwater Navigation

(We are researching even as I write),

But I think I’ll walk along the towpath now to Cainscross

Past the Co-op supermarket to the old Co-op building,

And remember these words from the Gloucester Strike Bulletin:

‘Council of Action is now functioning, with close co-operation of all Unions and workers concerned and the necessary sub-committees are all in operation. A large Labour Demonstration will be held on Sunday May 16th, leaving Lansdown at 2.30 p.m. proceeding to Frome-hall Park with band. Speakers: Morgan Jones and Dan Griffiths. A meeting will be held at night in the Cooperative Hall, Cainscross at 7.30 p.m. Speakers: Mr. G. Hall and Dan Griffiths. All supporters of the cause are heartily invited to join the procession.

Signed

A.H. Williams (Secretary)

K. Underwood (Chairman)’

I’ll walk back to Rodborough past the old council houses

Behind Stratford Road by the bridge over the railway line,

Wheatley’s Housing Act and the 1924 Labour Government,

Passing through my mind as I make my way to the canal,

Past the old mills, sluice gate and chimney,

Thence back to the Bath Road and along to Walkley Hill.

As you climb up towards the church, glance to your left,

You will see a long line of large houses,

One showing its date of construction:

1926,

But they are all pretty much of that time …

Did work stop on Walkley Hill in May that year?

The Gloucester Strike Bulletin on Wednesday May 12:

‘The Stroud Council of Action reports the following strike position: N.U.R. and A.S.L.E. & F. Solid as ever. PRINTERS – Solid as ever, position unchanged. R.C.A.  Solid as ever, position unchanged. A.E.U. Some out, rest ready to come out on receiving instructions from Head Office. BUILDING TRADES Majority out, rest awaiting instructions.’

As a counter-point to that, here are the right-wing ramblings

Aka ‘Jottings of Jonathan’, Stroud Journal, May 14:

‘It would be idle to ignore the fact that too often trade union action has militated against the best interests of the public. As an example, it is only necessary to mention the building trade, with the embargo set up by the limitation of output in conjunction with the demand for high wages.’

Whatever.

I’ve reached home now and the fireside.

It’s time to conclude with a few jottings of my own

To remind myself of the time and tide of May 1926:

What was Stroud and the Five Valleys like back then?

I mean the atmosphere in the streets and lanes and fields and shops and schools and pubs …

Was it like this?

Beatrice Webb diary Monday May 3rd

‘The net impression left on my mind is that the General Strike will turn out not to be a revolution of any sort but a batch of compulsory Bank Holidays without any opportunity for recreation and a lot of dreary walking to and fro …’

 

Beatrice Webb diary Tuesday May 4th

‘The sensation of a general strike which stops the press, as witnessed from a cottage in the country, centres round the headphones of the wireless set.’

GLOUCESTER STRIKE BULLETIN FRIDAY MAY 7

WITH THE WORKERS

Impressions of a stroll round the City

(By our Correspondent)

‘Amongst the black-coated workers the response among the railway clerks is very satisfactory. There was nothing doing on the goods yards of both the railways … It is a sight to see the railway metals beginning to rust owing to the absence of trains. The empty stations and the silence, where once was all noise, indicates the greatness and completeness of the workers’ protest of the crime that is being committed by the coal owners against the miners and against the supineness of a government that sits by with folded hands and allows the sands to run out. Never has Gloucester seen anything like this before …’

But higher up the social scale:

Sir Philip Gibbs: ‘Those of us who have wireless sets, especially those of us who live in the country districts as I do, have been sitting up late at night to get any word over the wireless waves which might mean hope and peace.’

12 May King George the V’s diary

‘Our old country can be well proud of itself, as during the last nine days there has been a strike in which four million people have been affected, not a shot has been fired and no-one has been killed, it shows what a wonderful people we are.’

But, of course, nationally, ‘there were outbreaks of violence. There was, for instance, a major riot at Swindon on Thursday when a crowd of thousands, including women with aprons full of stones, prevented the first trams from returning to the streets.’ (Chris Farman The General Strike)

But I conclude with a key section of the Prime Minister’s speech:

“we should resume our work in a spirit of co-operation, putting behind us all malice and vindictiveness.”

Had there been any malice and vindictiveness in the streets of Stroud and beyond during the nine days? There is a tantalising absence of evidence on that question – the lack of evidence may, of course, suggest peaceful streets. The Stroud Journal talked of local reserve constables who ‘again donned their uniform’ and of the large enrolment of ‘efficient and highly satisfactory’ special constables.’ Significantly, the feature finished with the lofty tone of this sentence: ‘We have been fortunate in this locality in that no disturbances have taken place, which speaks well for the hundreds of men who have been unemployed.’ Indeed, the only court cases that I chanced upon in the May 21 edition of the newspaper involved bicycles (one speeding) and the parking of a motor car.

Addendum:

Extra detail for your walk, firstly from the Citizen:

‘Stroud and district, one of the biggest industrial areas in the county, is already seriously affected by the strike …on Thursday morning over 200 additional men and 300 additional women signed on at the local Employment Exchanges. In the main these comprise employees of Messrs. Holloway Bros. Ltd., who closed down on Wednesday evening until Monday, when they will work three days a week. At the end of the week, Messrs. Apperley Curtis Co., Ltd., woollen cloth manufacturers of Dudbridge, close down for a week, affecting about 170 employees and will afterwards open for three days a week. As a result Messrs. Copeland, Chatterson and Co., Ltd., loose-leaf manufacturers of Dudbridge, and the Stroud Metal Co., Ltd., of the same locality, firms who are supplied with power from Messrs. Apperley, Curtis and Co., will also close down until further notice and Messrs. Copeland Chatterson and Co., for a week, to recommence operations at three days a week. In the case of the last named firm 100 hands are affected, and as regards the Metal Co., some 120 employees will be out … it appears that firms are, generally speaking, full up with orders, indicating a revival in trade, but owing to difficulties with transport and restrictions as to use of coal, they are unable to carry on as usual. In many cases shortened hours will be worked but regarding Messrs. G. Waller and Son Ltd., Phoenix Iron Works, Thrupp, it is understood from a reliable source that at the end of the week they will close down for the duration of the strike. Some 220 hands being involved. At Charfield, the Woodworkers Co., employing about 170 hands, close down on Friday evening for a week, but re-open on the Monday week following while Messrs. Charles Hooper and Co., woollen cloth manufacturers, Bonds Mill, Eastington, have decided to work a week and “play” a week, some 150 hands being concerned. Messrs. Vowles and Son Ltd., brush manufacturers, of Upper Mills, Stonehouse, have decided upon working half-time, but in addition they have definitely suspended about 50 per cent. of their workforce (about 100) because of the shortage of raw material. Thus, locally, taking also smaller firms into consideration, nearly 2,000 workers are affected, in addition to the number actually involved in the strike.’

The “Stroud Journal” of May 7 carried a similar report but with these additional firms and industries:

‘In every case the goods are held up owing to lack of transport. Newman, Hender and Co., near Nailsworth, state that they will keep running as long as fuel and raw materials permits. Manufactures are being stored in the warehouses, as they are unable to be despatched.

Howard and Powell, of Walbridge, are at present unaffected except with regard to transport. They are carrying on as usual while cutting down coal consumption as much as possible. T.B. Worth and Sons, Ltd., Ham Mills, started yesterday (Thursday) working from 9 to 5, and not working Saturdays. This is entirely owing to the coal limitation, and the firm will carry on like this as long as raw materials will permit.

Erinoid Ltd., Lightpill, are at the moment maintaining trade with Birmingham, but there is nothing doing in London owing to power being cut off … Consequently, the sales side of the business is restricted, but the works are carrying on to the end of the week. Beyond this prospects are undecided.

Marling and Evans Ltd., are carrying on as usual. days a week. Hill, Paul and Co., are hindered by transport difficulties.

The Chalford Stick Mills are carrying on as usual. Henry Workman, Ltd., Woodchester, are keeping on as long as they can in the interests of their employees, hours of labour etc., being the same as usual.

Walker Bros., Dunkirk Mills, are keeping on as usual, but do not know for how long.

E.A. Chamberlain and Co., Nailsworth, are carrying on as usual with short shifts which have been reduced from two 12 ones to two 8 hours ones. Otherwise, everything is normal and they have a good supply of coal.’

 

Beatrice Webb and the General Strike

Beatrice Webb’s May 1926 Diary (a small selection)

The net impression left on my mind is that the General Strike will turn out not to be a revolution of any sort but a batch of compulsory Bank Holidays without any opportunity for recreation and a lot of dreary walking to and fro. When the million or so workers have spent their money they will drift back to work and no one will be any the better and many will be a great deal poorer and everybody will be cross … If it be prolonged a week or ten days it may lead to reactionary legislation against trade unionism and possibly to a general election. But I doubt it. If the government keeps its head and goes persistently and skilfully to work in reconstructing services the General Strike will peter out …

For the British trade union movement I see a day of terrible disillusionment. The failure of the General Strike of 1926 will be one of the most significant landmarks in the history of the British working class. Future historians will, I think, regard it as the death gasp of that pernicious doctrine of “workers’ control” of public affairs through the trade unions, and by the method of direct action.

On Monday the seventh day of the strike, Sidney and I travel up by the milk-train to London – it is crowded but not a single remark did we hear about the strike; the 3rd-class passengers at any rate were unusually silent, even for English passengers. More bored than alarmed – and the same silence in the streets, more like a Sunday with the shops open, but with no one shopping.

14 May

Little more than a nine day’s world-wonder … In the first two or three days there was complete stoppage and paralysis of trade, but hosts of volunteers started skeleton services, and Hyde Park and Regent’s Park became great camps of soldiers living in tents, with improvised shelters for the store of milk and other commodities. Not a shot has been fired, not a life lost. In one town the police and strikers played cricket, and the victory of the strikers is played to ten million listeners by the government-controlled wireless! Slowly buses and trams begin to appear; the London taxi-cab drivers decide to ‘come out’, but the next morning the buses are seen in the London streets obviously driven by professionals!

 

The Bespectacled Historian and the Blue Plaques

The bespectacled historian has had a good idea.

Stuart (for it is he) said, “Why don’t we have a train ride and a bus ride and a walk and conjoin the Rev Awdry blue plaques at Rodborough and Box?”

Everyone said it was a great notion and so they made a plan.

Some would meet at Rodborough Avenue to view the first plaque and then catch the 9.34 to Swindon, change there for Bath, then catch the bus to Box. Others said that they would drive to Box and meet the throng there.

“What a splendid way to celebrate the Reverend Awdry,” Katie announced.

“And the GWR, too, of course,” Bob added.

The morning of Thursday February 5th 2026 was dark and stormy. But snowdrops lit a path to spring and a robin trilled in the churchyard as the bespectacled historian made his way to the Rev Awdry’s grave at Rodborough.

The bespectacled historian – not in shorts today – tightened his hood against the wind and the rain and descended down to Rodborough Avenue to the first blue plaque of the day.

Here he met the rather wonderful Dorcas. The only person Stuart had met with that name before was from the deep, deep past in deepest Wiltshire and when Stuart mentioned that to Dorcas, she exclaimed, “My great-grandmother was from Wiltshire and she was named Dorcas too.”

There was a pause: “It was an open-air baptism.”

This was the stuff of Thomas Hardy and Richard Jefferies, thought Stuart, as Dorcas carried on, garrulously, “I found out about this walk online and was curious to find out about it. I’m a good walker. The other day I walked from Whitminster to Stroud – I’m from Longlevens in fact – and in the shop doorway in Stroud was a Thomas the Tank Engine book. So, I thought this is a sign. This is meant to be.”

They made their way down towards the railway station through the mud and the mire. Dorcas began to think that she couldn’t face a five-mile trudge through the fields around Box as the rain continued to pour. She decided that she would spend the day in Rodborough and visit the Awdry grave.

Stuart explained how to find the grave and the stained-glass window as they bade farewell. Dorcas entered a café whilst the bespectacled historian turned the corner towards the station.

There was an ominous gathering of wayfarers there laded with suitcases and rucksacks – that augured ill, thought the bespectacled historian.

And sure enough.

Trains were cancelled every way which way.

A break-down on the line.

Not floods in Sapperton Tunnel or embankments slipping…but that might well happen again in this relentless windswept rain.

The bespectacled historian was stricken with a head-cold so perhaps this was a blessing in disguise, he thought, despite losing money on his ticket.

He informed friends and colleagues as well as he could, hoping that no-one would drive to Bath or Box in this inclement weather awaiting his arrival and feeling consequently angry at his absence.

He decided that he would reschedule the walk for later in the year when the sun might hopefully shine. And, after all, he thought, he had already led a group on the Box blue plaque walk in the late spring last year.

But what if the sun refused to shine and the rain continued to fall …

He thought again: if people followed this link, then they could walk around Box themselves without any need for the bespectacled historian’s presence …

https://www.colerne-pc.gov.uk/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/20200319-Box-Heritage-Trail-Interactive-Map.pdf

And so he sent this telegram.

General Strike Centenary Schedule

General Strike Centenary Schedule

  1. Exhibition about the General Strike nationally and in Stroud at Stroud Valley Arts April 22-26 Performance at SVA Wednesday 22nd
  2. Stuart has written an account of the General Strike in Stroud. This will be published by the Bristol Radical History Group together with an account of the General Strike in Gloucester written by Tony Conder. The Bristol Radical History Group are publishing a number of booklets about the General Strike in the region
  3. Stuart speaking about Swindon, the GWR and the General Strike M Shed Bristol Saturday April 25th
  4. Saturday May 2nd May Day Rally with a General Strike walk through Stroud and a talk (at the request of Stroud & District Trade Council).
  5. Saturday May 9th Stuart speaking about Stroud and Swindon and the General Strike at Gloucester Heritage Hub
  6. May 12th Stuart speaking about Stroud and the General Strike at the Little Chapel, Rodborough
  7. There will also be a mini-exhibition up The Prince Albert in early May
  8. Stuart speaking at the Stroud Local History Society November 19th

General Strike Centenary

We are looking forward to developing a variety of events  to commemorate the General Strike centenary in Stroud and also looking forward to contributing to events in Bristol and Gloucester over the coming months.

All will be revealed in the fullness of time but we’re really pleased to be associated with the following organisations for the national centenary:

This project is supported by:  

Beamish, the Living Museum of the North, Birmingham People’s History Archive, Bristol Radical History Group, British Association of Local History (BALH, Campaign for Trade Union Freedom, Castleford Civic Society, Crab Musuem, Culture Edinburgh, Culture Matters, Finborough Theatre, General Federation of Trade Unions, Gloucestershire Archives at Gloucestershire Heritage Hub, Jack Dean & Company, Leeds Industrial Musuem, Mary Quaile Club, Mayday Rooms (London), Modern Records Centre, Musuem of Bath at Work, National Coal Mining Museum for England, Newcastle University’s Labour & Society Research Group, North East Museums – Discovery Museum, North West Labour History Society, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire Labour History Society, People’s History Museum, Plymouth Branch Historical Association, Radical Glasgow Tours, Radical Stroud, Radical Tea Towel Company, Society for the Study of Labour History, Somerset Coalfield Life at Radstock Museum, Strike Map, The Folk of Gloucester, The Kent Mining Museum, The Rowntree Society, TUC Library Collections – London Metropolitan University, University of Brighton UCU, Wikimedia, Wisecrack Productions, Working Class History, Working Class Movement Library 

 

A Film Called Happiness

A Film Called Happiness by Jon Seagrave / Jonny Fluffypunk
You are fifteen years old. It is 6 in the morning and it is February; it is pitch dark and freezing cold, and you are huddled foetal, shivering in a thin sleeping bag on the seat in a compartment of an ancient railway carriage parked up for the night in the deserted, unlit platform at Thurso station. The end of the line, the far north of Scotland, the most northerly point of the British railway network. And don’t you know it- the sky is blacker than black, the windows of the carriage rimed with ice, inside and out.
There are four of you. You broke into this train at midnight; four fifteen year olds, full of chips and glowing from under-age beer drunk in a pub that couldn’t care less, in possession of a purloined carriage key. You came up here yesterday, across the vast and empty moorland on this train, and you will head back south on this train at daybreak, and now you are sleeping on this train, or trying to sleep in the bitter chill. For the past four days trains have been your home; they will be your home for the next three, too. 650 miles away, on the outskirts of London, your mother is wondering where the hell you are and what you are doing.
And what you are doing is bashing, which your mother finds difficult to understand. This is your life. You are a Basher, and you are in the (self- appointed) top tier of railway cranks. To the outside world- the normals- you are just another ‘trainspotter’, but you are not a trainspotter. Merely seeing trains and noting their numbers is not enough. You are a basher, and you are all about haulage, about riding behind a locomotive, about racking up the mileage; the beast has to work for you to earn it’s red-pen underline in the hallowed BR Motive Power Pocket Book. And it doesn’t stop at that underline, oh no: clear that loco for 100 miles, for 500, for a thousand… there is no end to this chase, no end to life on the bash.
And here in Thurso, at the head of the short rake of carriages, silhouetted a English Electric Class 37 diesel-electric locomotive. Nicknamed ‘Tractors’ for their throaty, throbbing engine sound and their suitability for any job, from express passenger to Welsh valleys coal train. Twenty-two-year-old filthy blue-and-yellow beasts like this are your passion. You travel the length and breadth of the country in pursuit of them. It is class 37s that for now bring the thrills, the joy, the let-downs and the heartbreak that soon enough will be brought by girls and bands and politics, but not yet. You don’t know it, of course, but you have 10 months left to go before this all becomes your slightly embarrassing past.
In half an hour the Thurso train-crew will arrive; they will nod you a gruff hello. They know you’re not meant to be here, but in 1985 railway cranks are part of the everyday of rail-workers’ lives; you’re eccentric but harmless- dossing on locked-up frozen trains is just the sort of thing you do, and for the most part no-one gives a toss, and you’re just left to get on with it. And soon enough daylight will grow in the east, and the engine will splutter and cough into life, and the steam-heat will drift up from under the seat to slowly warm your frozen body, and then passengers- the normals- will invade your little world and then- with a horn-blast and a roar of engine-thrash- you’re away, with you hanging out the front window, filling your hair with diesel-smoke. And four hours later you will be pulling into Inverness, and you will have racked up another 150 miles behind a class 37, and it will all have been worth it.
Your passion is relentless. Day after day, train after train. You make desperate leaps between split-second connections, endure rancid ‘festers’ in cold waiting rooms, all in pursuit of more Tractor mileage in the book. You get word-of-mouth info from other cranks. You make calls from remote phone boxes to contacts in BR Control. You are ever- hungry for the golden prize of insider knowledge- the ‘Gen’. And when you’ve got the gen, then it’s out with your ‘Bible’ (the two-inch-thick British Rail 1985 All Line Timetable, 4-point font on rizla-thin paper). Then the frantic working out of ‘moves’, whole working timetables etched into your memory. Then scrambling at a moment’s notice from Exeter up to Edinburgh, from Bridge of Orchy down to Bristol, all because some monstrously ‘big’ freight-only 37 has wound up diagrammed on a summer cross-country relief. And when that thrashing, growling monster pulls into the platform there will be dozens and dozens of you who have made it there from all corners of the country to greet it, all alerted through some magic of pre-digital bush telegraph, all succumbing to the irresistible pull of itsblack-hole gravity.
In 1985, there are thousands of people like you. Tens of thousands, even. They are not all old men in anoraks, like the few cranks you still see occasionally in 2025- the last dying remnants of railway enthusiasm, gamely clinging to what-once-was against the backdrop of a ravaged and decimated privatised rail system. In 1985 you are for the most part young and you can be anyone- there are cranks who are punks, cranks who are skinhead bootboys, cranks who are soul-boys, mods, or footie casuals, cranks who are metal-heads or goths. There are black cranks and Asian cranks and female cranks, though admittedly they are few. But even amongst the vastly-predominant Young White Males, all the outside-world rivalries- all the divisions of music and class and race and sexual orientation, of north vs south, all are put aside in pursuit of trains. Gen, moves, carriage compartments and waiting rooms are all shared freely, regardless of haircut or accent or tightness of trouser.
Inside-world rivalries, of course, abound: train spotters are the pits, you’re all agreed on that, all you who have turned your back on the static passivity of the platform end in favour of the Great Hunt, the intoxicating chase of bashing. But then what to Bash? You, you’ve self-identified as an English Electric man, through and through, committing to the pursuit of locomotives built by that stalwart Newton-le-Willows manufacturer, with their distinctive engine sounds and classic stylings not just class 37s, but also class 20s, 40s, 50s, and that refinement straightaway puts you way above the bash-anything-that-moves ghettoes of the NED (‘New Engine Desperado’) and the Insect (all day back and forth the same few miles between Birmingham’s New St and International, or Edinburgh’s Waverley and Haymarket), slaves both to the red pen underline, to quantity over quality. And- in your mind at least- it puts you way above the ‘Peak’ bashers, the ‘Rat’ bashers, and all others dedicated to what you-correctly- perceive as lesser breeds of motive power. And above all of you, at the top of the tree, the ‘main men’, the ones who’ve been at it for years, for decades even, men who started on steam; the 24/7 train-tramps, perpetually on the move, with wild hair and unidentifiable income-streams and airs of rightful superiority, the ones who’ll talk to no-one with less than a quarter-million miles on the clock, the Kings of the Rails.
And you dream of being a Main Man one day, with a beard and an eccentric overcoat and your life in a battered Gladstone bag, but for now you’re still one of the aspiring rabble, one of the thousands, with your Adidas bag graffitied with the numbers of your fave machines and stuffed with your Bible, your moves books, a jumper or two and a pair of pants. Day after day of strip- washes in swaying train bogs, snatched sleep hunched in seats under strip- lights, 3am ‘bailing’ at some freezing junction followed by a hellish ‘fester’ on a windswept platform; this is how you live. Hanging from carriage door droplight windows, drunk on the roar of engine-thrash, flailing arms, bellowing whoops in salute to the thundering machine up front.
You’ve had 37’s to Skegness. 37’s to Aberystwyth, 37’s to Blackpool and Yarmouth and the Devon coast. You’ve had 37’s to Mallaig and Thurso and Wick, to Oban and Ayr. In 1985 as a 15 year old boy you rack up 35,000 miles on the rails. Every school holiday is a week’s All-line Rover here, a Freedom of Scotland ticket there (sixteen quid for the latter; unlimited travel for  even days); every weekend you’re off and away. Rail travel’s cheap in ‘85, but for you it’s even cheaper: the basher is a black-belt at ‘effing it’, a dab hand at the art of dubious validity, and you are no exception – deftly doctoring date-stamps with brake-fluid and milk. On a crowded summer Saturday express, with an overworked guard and every vestibule chocka with window- hanging bashers, then a quick flash of an out-of-date North Wales Rover will get you all the way to Newcastle.
Well, most times it will. But just as every cartoon hero must have their nemesis, so yours are the TTI’s, the Travelling Ticket Inspectors, all big black overcoats and hawk-eyes, the gestapo of British Rail. Like you, perpetually on the move. Like you, wedded to the rails. These are hardened men, veterans who give no quarter; grim-faced, vengeful men, primed to spot your fudged date-stamp at 100 yards.. They hate you, all of you, and they want you off their trains. All have nicknames: Loose- Irons. The Purple Mask. Granville of the London Midland, who’d once spot-fined his own mother, and once went rogue in a Welsh market town, storming out into the street, demanding valid tickets from a chip-shop queue. You fear the TTI’s. You all do. You have had a TTI rip your dodgy Scottish Rover to bits in front off you, then throw you out in the rain at Falkirk High, a teenage boy, ticketless and skint and hundreds of miles from home.
But does it put you off? Not for a minute. It’s all part of the great railway adventure, and you wouldn’t swap it for anything. None of it- not the TTIs, the freezing nights, the dossing in your clothes, the filthy hair stinking of diesel fumes; not the diet of chips and Travellers-Fare sarnies, not the fitful sleeps, not the ‘leaps’ for connections at three in the morning. It’s all worth it, all of it, every glorious moment. For you don’t know it yet but you will come to think of these days as some of the best days of your life, your most favourite days, your carefree days, the days before girls, the days when joy and despair were in the hands of simple lumps of metal, and you rattled through the summers with the windows down, your head sticking out, you drinking in the distant engine-thrash, the engine-thrash that could be the soundtrack to a film you could make of all of this, a film you’d call, simply, Happiness.

Gordon and ‘The Flyer’

Inside the Gloucester shed, Gordon was not a happy engine.
I am a large, strong blue engine, he moaned, whilst his driver fussed around him, oiling his joints and polishing his brass with a greasy cloth, –I know what is best for me and I simply wish to be treated with respect.
Gordon was ‘on loan’ to the Great Western, as they were suffering from a locomotive shortage.
Oh, stop moaning, said his driver, –the other engines will think you’re getting too big for your wheels. And what do you mean about being treated with respect? You’ve been asked to pull the Cheltenham Spa Express, after all!
Gordon rolled his eyes, and hissed gently from his valves.
They keep trying to make me burn their horrible coal. But I have told them, your coal may be all well and good for green engines– Gordon said the word ‘green’ with such disdain that the other locomotives in the shed narrowed their eyes and muttered under their breath –but I am a blue engine and I burn only Sodor coal.
Burton Agnes, a large Hall-class engine, shining in polished green, with gleaming brass chimney and numbers, let out a snort.
You’re as daft as your are blue. Welsh steam coal is the best coal in the world!
Gordon shuddered
Dreadful stuff, he said haughtily –I am a finely-tuned express locomotive. I have very sensitive firebars.
Oh, give it a rest now, you old fusspot said his driver, cranking the wheel that released Gordon’s handbrake, then pushing his reversing lever forward and gently opening his regulator. With a rather huffy chuff, Gordon rumbled slowly from the shed
Go on, called out Burton Agnes as he went, –treat yourself to a nice bit of Welsh! You’ll thank me for it!

Never! Gordon retorted, and harrumphed slowly off toward the coaling-stage, where a wagon-load of his precious Sodor coal had been pushed up the ramp especially for him, and was waiting on the tippler to be tipped into his tender.
Making his way along the neighbouring siding was Thomas, who was also on loan to the Great Western.
Peep peep, Grandad! Thomas called out cheekily –what do you think of my lovely new Attachments?
Gordon again rolled his eyes, and ignored Thomas.
Thomas was very proud of his Attachments. The Fat Controller had arranged for him to be sent to Swindon Works to get them, so that he could work with the special coaches on the Golden Valley line. Thomas missed Annie and Clarabel, but he’d already made great friends with Amy, his new ‘auto-coach’.
Now I can PUSH as well as pull, said Thomas, as Gordon trundled slowly past –You’re a bit, er, ‘one direction’, aren’t you? Thomas giggled to himself.
Really useful engines NEVER push, replied Gordon and came to a halt beneath the coaler.
-’Ere, you want to get some proper Welsh coal inside you, not that rubbish.
Don’t want you holding me up in the Golden Valley- I’ve got a party of historians to fetch today, don’t you know? Peep peep! And with that, Thomas scuttled off to collect Amy and head to the station.
**********************************
Gordon had to admit he felt a lot more cheerful once his headboard was on, and he’d stretched his wheels running ‘light’ to Cheltenham, where he now sat, proud and resplendent in St James station, coupled to his coaches. The Cheltenham Spa Express was a very famous train, and its record-breaking speeds meant it was known to railwaymen as the Cheltenham Flyer, or just ‘The Flyer’, for short. Gordon felt very full in the boiler, and his fire burned nicely in his firebox.
Who needs Welsh coal? He said to himself.
But his coaches were less happy to see this strange engine coupling up to them, and they grumbled amongst themselves.
Look at him. He’s BLUE, for goodness sake!
-He’s not from round this region, is he?

-What IS he burning? It’s got ever such an awful smell.
– Whatever will they say back at the carriage sheds?
-We shouldn’t put up with this- we’re Cheltenham coaches!
Gordon tried to ignore them, but they were spoiling his proud moment, and he could feel twinges in his safety valve.
How DARE they? He thought to himself. –I am bigger and better than any Great Western engine!
At last the signal dropped, and- dead on time- the guard’s whistle blew.
Right away, driver said the Station Master, who always came out to see off the Flyer.
Gordon gave a blast on his whistle, then pulled away suddenly, with a sharp tug that had the coaches squealing.
Ow! Ow! Ow!
He’s tugging my couplings!
-He’s bruising my buffers!
-I’ll-show-them! I’ll-show-them! I’ll-show-them!, barked Gordon as he gathered speed, enraged at the insolence of his rolling stock, -I’ll-show-them! I’ll-show-them! I’ll-show-them!
The carriages rocked and swayed behind him, clattering over the points, complaining all the while:
He’s-awfully-rude! -We’re-too-good-for-this! He’s-awfully-rude! We’re-too-good-for-this!
Gordon continued to pull roughly, and with increasing fury. The coaches were dragging their wheels, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. Not him, Gordon, a proud blue engine! He would show the Great Western a thing or two.
God’s Wonderful Railway, my boiler-sludge! He thought to himself But the Flyer was a long and heavy train, and by the time they got to their short Gloucester stop, he was already very glad of the rest. His driver wasn’t best pleased with him.

-’Ere, will you stop playing up? You treat those coaches nicely, you hear? And don’t bust your boiler- this bit’s the easy bit; you wait til we get to the bank. You’ll need all the puff you can get.
But Gordon was in no mood to listen. Again, he pulled away with a jerk, which had the steward furiously stick his head out the restaurant car window
You silly great engine! You’ve had me spill tea on the Bishop of Tewkesbury!
As they thundered across the Barton Street level crossing, a blast from Gordon’s ejector valve knocked a postman off his bicycle.
You lumbering idiot! You’ve crumpled me letters!
The coaches were beside themselves with shame.
It’s-such-a-disgrace, this-cannot-go-on! It’s-such-a-disgrace, this-cannot go- on!
Gordon thundered onwards, out of the city, and over the junction that took them onto the line for Swindon and London. Just beyond this junction, the tracks curved round to the East as they approached the town of Stonehouse, and on this curve Gordon really began to feel the full weight of his train.
Come-ON! Come-ON! Come-ON! Come-ON!
Gordon didn’t know what was wrong with him. None of the trains on Sodor was as long or as heavy as this, and there were no record-breaking times to be kept, but he was an express engine, and he had more wheels than any of the Great Western engines, so why was he finding this so hard? They rumbled through Stonehouse station at less than line speed, and Gordon was suddenly grateful there were no passengers waiting to witness him. He felt very red in the smokebox, and was starting to not enjoy himself at all. He could see the dark mass of the Cotswold scarp filling the horizon in front of him, and it filled him with unease- he’d been told that up ahead lay the job of climbing the stiff bank up to Sapperton Tunnel. Goods trains on this line had to be ‘banked’ up the steep gradient to the tunnel by a big tank engine shoving from behind, and Gordon shuddered at the thought of such engines, who had to push for a living, and as for the indignity of being shoved…
Gordon’s fireman- a Great Western man, who ‘knew the road’- piled more and more coal into his firebox, trying to give him strength for the climb.
I can’t understand it, he shouted to the driver, I can’t get the heat! What IS this stuff?

Gordon’s driver rolled his eyes.
Gordon doesn’t believe in anything else.
On they went, with Gordon struggling to keep up his speed as the countryside  either side of the line became steadily hillier, and houses and mill-buildingsand factories crowded against the tracks. They passed through Stroud station, then rode high above a derelict canal and a river on a big viaduct. As soon as his wheels left the viaduct, Gordon felt the beginnings of the big gradient. His coaches suddenly felt very heavy indeed.
Oo-er! He gasped, trying to catch his breath, digging his wheels into the rails –It’s-starting-to-HURT! It’s-starting-to-HURT! It’s-starting-to-HURT!
The railway ran alongside the old canal at this point, and there were boys fishing amidst the reeds.
Cor, look at that blue thing! Shouted one of them, as Gordon struggled past -’E sounds like burst balloon!
The other boys burst into laughter, and Gordon closed his eyes, feeling sick to the bottom of his drain-plugs. His coaches were no help
We’re-oh-so-ashamed, we’re-oh-so-ashamed, we’re-oh-so-ashamed, they sang sadly as they dragged along behind him.
Open your valves, Gordon!, shouted his driver, –or we’ll be ringing for the banker!
Gordon winced, and put all the steam he had into his pistons. On they went, but they were getting slower and slower. As they rolled through Brimscombe station, they passed the big banking engine, who was resting in his siding between assisting goods trains. The banker watched Gordon with dismay.
-’Ere!, the banker called out –you shift your side-rods! Don’t you go spoiling my lovely morning break!
But it was no use. At St Mary’s Crossing, the gate-keeper stood on the steps of his box, tapping his watch as they went past.

Gordon’s puffing became more and more weak and laboured. As they rounded the bend toward Chalford, his driver and fireman looked at each other and shook their heads. With the heavy coaches dragging hard on his tender, Gordon coughed and wheezed and spluttered into Chalford station at walking pace
-I- can’t- go- on, I- can’t- go- on, I- can’t- go- on.
And he ground to an embarrassing halt just beyond the platform, and hid himself in shame in a cloud of escaping steam. His driver quickly put on all the brakes to stop the whole train rolling backwards.
Gordon sat there with his eyes shut. He could hear station staff milling around behind him, and telephones ringing, and his passengers opening the coach doors and climbing out onto the platform to see what was going on. Thankfully, they weren’t allowed beyond the platform end, for Gordon feared they might have nasty things to say to him. And then, just when he  hought things couldn’t get any worse, he suddenly heard a horribly familiar voice.
Peep peep! Well, hello, slowcoach!
Thomas and Amy had worked the morning Chalford auto-train from Gloucester, carrying their party of local historians, as well as schoolchildren and millworkers and shoppers, and had, as was the custom, then pulled forward into a siding to await the passing of Gordon’s express, and take on water. After this, they would cross over to the ‘down’ line platform for their return journey, this time with Thomas pushing Amy from behind. Thomas’s driver would sit in a little cab at the front of Amy, and drive Thomas from there, through Thomas’s special ‘Attachments’.
But Gordon’s plight had obviously been noted by station masters and signalmen back down the line, for phone calls had occurred, and arrangements had been made, and so now when Gordon opened his eyes, he saw in horror that Thomas had been quickly uncoupled from Amy, and was now trundling towards him down a siding, pushing a grubby mineral truck loaded with what looked horribly like best Welsh steam coal.
This’ll put steam in your pistons, old man!, whistled Thomas cheerfully as he drew to a halt with the wagon right alongside Gordon’s cab. –Don’t you go wasting it; this is meant to be my local supply!
Gordon was beyond protesting. His driver leaped up on top of the coal wagon with a shovel, where he was joined by the signalbox boy, and together they began frantically raining the big black lumps down onto Gordon’s footplate where his fireman equally frantically fed them into his firebox. Just then, the Chalford Station Master came briskly trotting up.

Banker’s on it’s way, he shouted up to Gordon’s driver, who nodded, then pointed at the coal he was standing on.
We’ll have steam up in no time with this, he said. Then he jerked his thumb at Gordon, still wheezing and burbling pathetically. –I’m sorry about HIM.
The Station Master leaned over the handrail at the end of the platform and called out to Gordon.
I say! I’ve had your Fat Controller on the phone. He is very, very disappointed in you, Gordon. He says Really Useful Engines are team players.
And then he turned and strode off toward his office, to telephone an update on the situation.
Gordon said nothing. He was feeling very, very foolish. But already he could feel his strength returning, and then some. His fireman had expertly stoked the fire, which was now a fierce and roaring inferno. Water began to bubble and fizz around his fire-tubes in an unusually energetic way, which Gordon found very pleasant indeed.
Perhaps, he grudgingly said to himself, as he felt the steam build up in his dome, –perhaps this Welsh coal isn’t too bad, after all.
Suddenly he felt a jolt in his buffers.
Banker’s here! said his driver, throwing a last few lumps of coal across, before passing the fireman the shovel, then jumping back over himself. Gordon was about to insist that an engine like him didn’t need anything as vulgar as a banker, but then thought better of it. It was very hard for him to admit, but perhaps he didn’t quite know everything.
-Steam’s up!, called his driver, and blew a short blast on Gordon’s whistle, to remind all the passengers to jump back aboard. When the guard waved his flag to indicate they were all safely on, and the doors shut, Gordon gave a longer blast to signal to the banker. The banker gave a long blast back, and they were ready for the off.
You’ll be alright now, old man, with something decent in your belly, said Thomas rudely, as he prepared to draw back with his truck. – Ooh look, my historians are back! Get you, Gordon! They’ll be here for you, I bet- you’re making history as the engine that failed on the ‘Flyer’!

Sure enough, a large throng of people in sturdy outdoor boots were making their way along the platform, carrying rucksacks and walking-poles, led by an enthusiastic fellow in shorts and owlish glasses. The failure of the Flyer had indeed caused quite a local commotion, and the historians were obviously keen not to miss out on this small piece of local history in the making, and they had just made it in time.

Straining every valve in his frame, Gordon’s big blue driving wheels began to slowly turn. He did not want stay in this little station a moment longer;  e certainly did not want to have to listen to his sorry exploits being discussed by historians. He could hardly believe it, but he found himself wobbly to the axles with gratitude at the strong, determined push he could feel from the banker engine at the back of the train.
Together, they got the heavy express moving.
WE-CAN-DO-IT! WE-WILL-DO-IT! WE-CAN-DO-IT! WE-WILL-DO-IT!
Gordon’s puffs became stronger and stronger, as he slowly gained speed, and the banker barked gruffly at the back. But even together, they were not quite loud enough to drown out the booming tones of the leader of the historians, as he turn to his party and loudly announced
And there is our lesson, people! Never, never, NEVER trust anything not built in Swindon!

By Jon Seagrave / Jonny Fluffypunk 2025

The Fascination of Railways

The Fascination of Railways

Rodborough Church Performance

And Beyond

 

A friend at Stroud Walking Football lent me his boyhood collection of 17 Awdry stories, given to him at Christmas and birthdays in the early 1960s. I emailed him with a few questions and observations, seeking out his memories. I listed all the inscriptions: from an uncle and auntie; from Grandma; with love from Mummy on his 4th birthday and so on.

Here follows part of his reply:

‘So, Stuart I have to say that your email has prompted quite an emotional recall. You have highlighted some things from my early life that I had forgotten about.

I was born in September 1958 so would think that my first book was purchased by my Grandma in 1961. Sadly, she died when I was about 7 so I didn’t know her for long. She also lived in London so I didn’t see much of her.

Your reference to Uncle and Auntie Clarke is especially poignant as I had sadly forgotten the important part they played in my early childhood. I am an only child and unfortunately my mother was very poorly when I was around two years old and spent time in Mount Vernon hospital. Dad worked in London so Mr and Mrs Clarke, who lived next door, looked after me for some months as I remember. They were probably late 50s with a grown-up son and Mr Clarke worked as an Inspector on the railway, I think. They were really good to me at what must have been a difficult time and I am embarrassed to say that I had forgotten about it.

 

‘I think like most children my favourite was Thomas, although I did like the pomposity and arrogance of Gordon. Whilst my parents read to me in the early days, I particularly remember Uncle David visiting a couple of times a year and sitting on his knee whilst he read to me. He and my Auntie Joan were unable to have children and they were always close to me as their only nephew. David had a passion for railways and they lived in Sussex so when we went to visit a highlight was a trip to the Bluebell Railway. This was instrumental in starting my interest in preservation railways and over the years I have always enjoyed visiting them if we are on holiday and there is one in the area.

Well Stuart that concludes my memories and I am amazed at how much I have written. I hope it is useful and obviously let me know if you need anything else.

All the best with this project.’

 

I was so moved when I received this and it made me realise that there’s a lot more to the Thomas books than just text and pictures. I think the books are a version of the famous madeleine moments in Marcel Proust’s A la recherce du temps perdu (Remembrance of things past). Here’s the famous biscuit passage: ‘… as soon as I had recognised the taste of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me … immediately the old grey house upon the street where her room was, rose up like a stage set … and with the house, the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the square where I used to be sent before lunch, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine.’

 

And a jump in logic here, perhaps, but please allow me – I think the madeleine moments trope applies not only to the Thomas books but, for many people of a certain age, to railways in general. So let us test this proposition with extracts from

Roger Lloyd’s 1951 book, The Fascination of Railways

‘The curious but intense pleasure that is given to many people by the watching and the study of railway trains, their engines, and the detail of their organisation is both an art and a mystery. It is an art because the pleasure to be had is exactly proportionate to the informed enthusiasm one puts into it. It is a mystery because, try as one will, it is impossible to explain to others exactly in what the pleasure consists. The connection between the sight of a railway engine and the quite deep feeling of satisfaction is very real for multitudes of people but it eludes rational analysis.’

Mr Lloyd then transports is to a favourite bridge: ‘Once on top of that bridge a rather murky but for me a most real heaven lay all about. If no trains were coming through there was shunting in the Yard to watch. But trains were very frequent and they generally came very fast indeed, rushing at the bridge with a great roar, and crashing under it with a roll of thunder. I would stick my head as far through the iron lattice work as it would go and try to look right down the chimney. I never could, of course, but for long after there was a highly satisfactory smell of sulphur, and flying smuts which descended on one’s clothes, and the tail lamp vanishing into the distance. To that bridge also I owe the fact that I discovered the right way to view a freight train. It must be viewed from above the track, for then you can see what all the open waggons contain, and lose yourself in a maze of pleasant speculation about the extraordinary variety of goods which one freight train takes and make guesses about where a particular wagon has come from and where it is bound.’

 

‘But I have written so far only of boys and men. There are certainly more of them than of girls and women. But I once made the mistake of saying publicly that this railway interest “seems to be exclusively male.” At once I was rebuked, and by many people. There was the schoolboy whose mother found watching trains “such an amiable thing to do.” She liked their speed and colour, but her real satisfaction was in the ambling freight train with a small tank engine in front, because then she could think of it as a “dear little train.”

Then there was the vivid scene described to me by a man who had made a special pilgrimage to New Southgate in order to see a special excursion …’ [run by an engine brought out of retirement, Stirling’s 4-2-2 No. 1] ‘…and there he found ‘four alert girls, who were obviously watching the rail traffic. This was something new to me, and on some pretext or another I introduced myself to a very animated conversation … As soon as the girls discovered that I too was a locomotive enthusiast, they seemed anxious to impart the news of the day and in less time it takes to tell I was examining a beautifully written set of quart-sized note-books in which were recorded the number, name, type, classification, shed, and date when seen of every engine on the line. Besides all this these girls had other notebooks, which they kept in the form of journals, showing the engines at work on particular duties, the formation of the trains involved, and the passing time at their observation place on the lineside.

“Of course, you’ve come to see No. 1,” said one of them … Apparently they spent most of their holidays at this spot, and when I came to ask them how they came to be so interested as to keep such careful records, they seemed almost at a loss for a reply, as if they were doing the most natural thing in the world. In due course, No. 1 came along on her way back to London; wrist watches were consulted, and entries were made in the journals. “He was making about 70, I should think,” said one of the girls.’

 

‘There would be no difficulty whatever in demonstrating that the number of people who are fascinated by railways is very large and surprisingly various, and it therefore follows that there is something about railways which has the power to fascinate. The basic element of it is no doubt an affection for the steam engine, for I never met a railway enthusiast yet who could take the slightest interest in an electric train, or who does not in his heart regret that the diesel engine was ever invented.’

But, like all of us, Lloyd’s writing is conditioned by the time in which he wrote. His observations about electric trains were probably correct in 1951. But speaking as one who was born in that year and who lived through the demise of steam as a boy, I find that I can stare at an electric train and bingo! Marcel Proust works his madeleine magic and I am transported to a platform with semaphore signals with all the sights and sounds and smells associated with steam.

 

Zen and the Art of Railway Carriage Travel

 

‘To the lover of railways, travelling is an art. Like other men he uses trains as a convenient means of shifting his body from one place to another, but he makes this process serve other ends as well. He uses it to get the ‘feel’ of the line, to see new engines and recognise old ones, to learn more and yet more about railway working; and he hopes to get from all this a real and, deep pleasure. If his journey takes him by a route over which he has not travelled before, then his pleasure is intensified until it almost becomes excitement, and he knows that he will not read very much of the book in his bag. But all this is given to him in more generous measure by the norm or average of trains than by the exceptional or spectacular.’

Which is how it is for me on the Stroud to Swindon branch line.

 

THE SLEEPER

10.30 P.M. GLASGOW-EUSTON

‘… the most thrilling incongruity of all is undoubtedly the act of undressing and getting into a bed not in one’s own bedroom but in a train while being hurtled through the countryside at a mile a minute.

I feel sure that if they would openly confess what is in their minds, practically every sleeping car passenger approaches the train and clutches his special tickets with a real thrill …

But having parted with considerable sums of money … on the non-stop 1030 p.m. Glasgow to Euston, it would be just as well actually to sleep in it …

I actually got quite quickly to a light sleep too, which was marvellous for someone interested in railways. For the trouble is of course that people who have this infirmity are much too interested in what is going on to let themselves fall properly asleep. My own Waterloo is the battle for the sort of steady slumber which thank God, always blesses me at home, is to start wondering where we are. It is hopeless to let yourself do this on a line you know really well, for you start testing yourself to see if you can discover your whereabouts by the clues of sound alone. My light sleep is instantly dissipated by a slowing of the train and the changed rhythm of the wheels …

Why are we slowing? Is it a signal? No, for we aren’t stopping dead. Well, then perhaps we’re climbing Beattock. Now I come to think of it there was a lighted station a few miles back, and I suppose it must have been Carstairs. Yes, I think that must be right because I can now hear the engine laboriously and steadily puffing, and obviously we are climbing a long incline. It must be Beattock Bank. Or no! It might be Shap Fell. I might have slept longer than I supposed. If it is, then that lighted station must have been Carlisle. But then if it was we should have stopped for a minute at Upperby shed to change the engine crew, and I’m pretty sure we didn’t. By this time, there is nothing for it but to switch on the light and look at my watch. That settles it. It’s only just midnight, so we couldn’t possibly have passed Carlisle. This must be Beattock after all.

Well, now that I know that, perhaps I can go to sleep again; and in fact I do so at once, and, as the event showed I stayed asleep for quite a long time. What next wakes me is a sudden pressure at my feet as the train swings round a curve … Then where are we? … Once more I am comfortably dozing, when we swing round another curve, over many points, and pass a busy engine shed … I get up, slide the louvre from the window and look out … Preston … I must have steadily slept the whole way from Beattock and missed Carlisle altogether.

Having thoroughly yielded to this nosey inquisitiveness I really go to sleep this time, but even in sleep I am vaguely conscious of the geographical messages of noise. We rattle over a bridge. Obviously the Sutton Weaver Viaduct, so we are near Warrington. A little later comes the characteristically cavernous sound of Crewe … Then comes a station where a train thunders over our heads as we pass beneath it – probably Lichfield, or it might be Tamworth. Either way it is nowhere near time for that cup of tea which the attendant is going to bring as we run through Bletchley, so go to sleep again … And oddly enough I do so, for I hear nothing whatever of Rigby or Crick Tunnel, or the noisy cutting where the line from Northampton joins us.

The next thing I know is the attendant’s knock, and a cup of tea … The night is far spent and the day is at hand: the full light has already come.  But the mist is not yet lifted from the fields, and, sitting on the bed and then slowly shaving while watching the countryside slip past, one can see the sun gently dissolving the low cloud of vapour … Not until Willesden does that magic fade, but then before there is time to regret its passing we are running by Camden engine sheds … It is the journey’s end, for in a moment we are running into platform 3 at Euston at 7.30 …’

 

Finally, in passing I note that the conclusion to his book appears almost to negate the earlier Madeleine-ism of steam and contempt for modernity:

‘Anyone who loves railways must admit to much nostalgia over the past. But in this, as in every other thing which has life in it, the dead must be left to bury their dead; and the living must pay a seemly reverence to the dead, but look to the future.’

 

 

A People’s History Chapter Nine

A MISCELLANY OF HISTORY

A TEXTUAL WEAVING OF A CABINET OF CURIOSITIES

A TEXTUAL SAMPLER

Chapter Nine

 

A few parish register entries:

Nympsfield 1719 Daniel ‘a black stranger’ buried.

Nympsfield 1773 Francis London ‘a servant to the Rt. Hon. Lord Ducie – supposed to be 17 years of age, ‘a native of Africa’ was baptised.

Rodborough 1778 William Jubiter – ‘black’ was buried.

Stroud 1786 Adam John Parker, ‘Negro, 32, was buried. Parish funeral’.

Frocester 1790 ‘William Frocester, supposed to be 11 or 12 years old, born on the island of Barbados, now a servant of Edward Bigland Esq. residing in Jamaica, was baptised.’

Stroud 1801 William Eliis, ‘son of Qualquay Assedew, a Negro of Guinea, aged 12 years, was baptised.’

Bisley 1815 Testimonial from Richard Raikes, supporting the application of John Hart, Writing Master, to the post of master at Bisley Blue Coat School, ‘Unfortunately he is a Mulatto, a native of the West Indies.’

Minchinhampton 1826 Thomas Davies, ‘an infirm travelling Black’, was buried, 67 years old.

 

Walks from Stroud Railway Station from the Black Ark Media Group from the Gloucestershire Black History Map: The Abolition Arch

‘This Grade 2 Arch is Britain’s oldest antislavery memorial. Originally built as the entrance to Farmhill Park for Henry Wyatt, a clothier who bought the Stroud property the same year as the Abolition Act (having been a tenant since 1817). A supporter of the Stroud Anti-Slavery Society he pressurised MP, W.H. Hyett, to vote for abolition in Parliament. The Arch is a source of pride and for some a reminder of the £20m (equivalent) injection into the Stroud District economy from seven local ‘compensated’ slave owners.’

 

Walks from Stroud Railway Station from the Black Ark Media Group from the Gloucestershire Black History Map: Black Boy Clock

‘At the junction of Castle, Nelson and Middle Streets a 1774 “Jack Clock” sits within a specially designed niche on an old Girls School Building. This depiction of a small Black boy with a club may have been inspired by tobacco advertisements of the time. It was made by Stroud watchmaker John Miles 270+ years into the transatlantic slave trade. Some of the Stroud elite were connected to and profited from this trade. In April 2022 the Council recommended that the clock be removed.’