Tobacco Road and William Shakespeare

An update after reading in the Guardian (11.08.15) that ‘Cannabis residue has been discovered in pipes buried in William Shakespeare’s Stratford-upon-Avon garden’ – it seems quite possible that the tobacco grown in the Cotswolds would have made its way to the Midlands – and there are suggestions that our locally grown tobacco had mildly hallucinogenic properties:

“O thou weed, who art so lovely fair and smell’st so sweet that the sense aches at thee, Would thou hadst ne’er been born. (Othello)

When you think of rolling a fag,
You might well think of Golden Virginia or dear Old Holborn,
Rather than Old Cotswold or Golden Winchcombe,
But it could have been so much different…
Four centuries ago, tobacco thrived
Around Winchcombe and the Cotswold hills,
Smallholders grew illegal cash crops;
Stuarts and Cromwell alike tried to ban
This illicit but hardly secret cultivation,
In their support for the American colonists.

The leaves were dried in Cotswold gardens,
Then short-stored in Cotswold cottages,
Before making their smuggled secret way
Along holloways and old pack horse tracks,
Contraband Nicotiana Rustica,
Edging its way towards the Smoke,
Disorienting, hallucinogenic,
But labelled as Best Virginia ‘bacco;
Charles Stuart’s law demanded arrests:
Arrests demanded Cotswold resistance.

This pattern was repeated under Cromwell,
But bumper Commonwealth harvests knew no laws,
And so, once more, in 1658:
‘I got together 36 horse… found an armed multitude guarding the tobacco field.
We broke through them… The soldiers stood firm and with cocked pistols bade
the multitude disperse but they would not and 200 more came from Winchcombe.’
And so, later in that same year:
Colonel Wakefield, Governor of Gloucester, tried again…
‘But the country did rise… in a great body, to the number of 500 or 600…
the tumult being so great he was constrained to draw off and nothing more done.’

And so, once more, the courts were tried again:
The accession of Charles the Second saw huge fines,
Followed by further Restoration threats in 1662,
Which were ignored as usual,
Despite some ‘spoiling’ of crops and harvests by the authorities,
In this Robin Hood outlaw tobacco land,
That constituted the late 17th century Cotswolds;
No wonder Samuel Pepys commented in 1677:
‘It seems the people there do plant contrary to law, and have always done,
and still been under force and danger of having it spoiled, as it hath been
oftentimes, and yet they will continue to plant.’

But as so often, the market spoiled what the law could not,
Market forces and ‘modernity’ destroyed a whole way of life
(‘To Progress we must all submit, A sorry plight I do admit’);
As colonial production increased, so prices went down,
As prices went down, so demand increased,
Leaving Cotswold tobacco an expensive and ignored anachronism;
But sometimes, even today, when you walk through some field,
You might just catch the rustle of Nicotiana Rustica,
Defiantly asserting its freeborn constitution.

So the next time you strike a light,
Then strike a light to light the strike
Of the Cotswold tobacco growers,
For who knows how different history could have been,
If those freeborn Cotswold men and women
Had been allowed to break that exotic link,
That link between tobacco and the coffee house –
Who knows how many thousands of Africans
Might have been spared the middle passage
And a life of plantation enslavement?
Old Cotswold and Winchcombe Gold instead of cold Bristol slavery.

With thanks to Will Simpson and Jim McNeill for their Bristol Radical Pamphleteer #9
‘Nicotiana Brittanica’

Patriotism, Ralph Miliband and the Daily Mail

The Daily Mail’s ideology can be vaguely reduced to a simple sort of syllogistic equation:
Logical and correct analysis of Capitalism’s mystifications is Evil
British really should mean English
Thinking is un-English
Not being English is Evil

But a response to its recent journalistic attacks on Ralph Miliband needs a broader brush, canvas and palette when we start to look at the heterogeneous nature of English identity – as opposed to the Mail’s imaginary one dimensional one. Ralph Miliband’s writing, along with that of Raphael Samuel, Christopher Hill, Eric Hobsbawm and EP Thompson, helped generations of students better understand the tectonic plates of our national identity. They helped so many people understand what it truly means to be English. They helped so many people develop a love of England, its history and its landscape.
They reminded us of our radical heritage: the Peasants’ Revolt; Lollards; Tudor Rioters; Levellers; Diggers; Enclosure Rioters; Food Rioters; Luddites; Chartists; Trades Unionists; Socialists; Marxists; Christian Socialists; Republicans; Suffragettes; Hunger Marchers; Radical Councils; Anti-Fascists; Imperial linkages; Slavery, Anti-Slavery, and so on and so on.
They reminded us that there is more to being English than Queen and Country, King and Empire, Class and Deference. They reminded us that so many of our so called national timeless traditions are but recent upper class inventions. They reminded us that it is possible to sing: “It’s the same the whole world over, It’s the poor wot gets the blame, It’s the rich wot gets the pleasure, Aint it all a crying shame” and yet realise that this music hall ditty contains within it an analysis of profit as stolen wages. They reminded us that we should all read The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists and The Great Money Trick.
These historians follow a long line of writers from the sort of canon the Daily Mail would like: Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Bunyan, Swift, Defoe, Dickens, Orwell, Gaskell, Bronte, Elliot, Equiano, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Clare, Brooke, Thomas, to name just a few. These are people who have helped define our identity.
This is a picture of English identity with a lot of different colours, shades, pigments, light, shade, shadow and figures. It’s not just a Daily Mail black and white one is it?

National Poetry Day: Water – Stroudwater Springs

Names on a Map

So what is in a name?
A rose is a rose is a rose?
A spring is a spring by any other name?
What poetry is there in the vowels and consonants
That litter our landscape with their litany?
What secrets of etymology and topography are revealed
When we tramp the land rather than drive the road,
When we disconnect the sat-nav and navigate
By the tracks that connect our ancient springs?
Cherington Springs, Seven Springs, Toadsmoor Brook,
Blanche’s Bank, Baker’s Pool, Frogmarsh Lane,
Snakeshole, Puckshole, Derryhay,
Tankard’s Spring, Dimmel’s Dale, Hell Corner,
Be-Thankful Fountain, The Combs, Severn Waters,
Well Hill Spring, Bubblewell, Troublewell,
The Bubbler, the Blackgutter, Spriggs Well,
Springfield, Springhill, Bulls Bank Common,
Sweetwater Spring, Stanfields Spring, Millbottom,
St. Tabatha’s Well, Cud Well, Gainey’s Well,
Then Verney Spring and Ram Pitch Spring,
Farmhill Well, Double Spout and Turner’s Spring.
Every name a history, every spring a name:
Reclaim the names and etch them on your maps,
Keep the traces of the past as lapidary reminders,
Of otherwise forgotten traces of sense.
Underneath the Pavements, the Beach!

Steve Kelly: Rodborough Memories

Steve Kelly

I remember how you loved the Boulevards,
The spring-green trees, the shade of summer,
The array of autumn and the tracery of winter;
I remember how you loved to chat,
Out there in the front garden,
Pleased as Punch with all your building work;
I remember your laughs with your neighbours,
Bell and Frank and Phil and Colin and ad infinitum,
You had an old time music hall feel to your life;
I remember how you kept the home fires burning,
Tending to the wood and the hearth in the Albert,
That twinkle in your bespectacled eye;
I remember you out the back at the pub,
Fag in hand, pint by your side, rapier wit,
Flashing smile and tinkling laughter;
I remember our trips to London,
Old haunts in Highgate and Hampstead,
Literary talks in the Holly Bush;
Radical Rodborough resident,
Stroller in the lanes and across the fields,
Pondering by the waters of your beloved canal;
A baby in the Big Freeze of ‘62 to 3,
You saw the thaw of adulthood,
But we’ll miss you in the spring,
And every summer, and every autumn,
And every winter in the Boulevards,
In the pub, and in the lanes, and in the fields,
And think of you on the towpath,
By the waters, of your beloved canal.

Captain Swing and the Stroud Valleys

I’m sitting by the fireside, poking the ashes,
Ghost-thoughts and fears rising with the smoke,
Reawakening all my memories
Of those dark days back in 1830;
They threshed the corn by hand back then,
Flailing in the barn in the winter months,
Until the farmers brought in those damned machines;
What with 7 shillings a week for our wages,
High bread prices and low poor relief,
Then the news of Captain Swing in Wiltshire –
We met in ——— ————‘s cottage in November.
We smashed the damned Horsley machines the next day,
————— left a note by the church door:
‘This is to tell all you gentlemen that if you don’t pull down them infernall machines then we will you damnd dogs. An yew mus rise the marrid mens wages tow and sixpence a day an the single tow shillins or we will burn your hay ricks.
From Swing.’
I lost my nerve and stole back in the night,
To hide that note safe within my bible;
But some of the men went on to Tetbury,
Up through the lanes near the Troubled House Inn.
Lord Sherborne sent in the cavalry,
The men tried to escape across the fields,
But they arrested twenty-three good friends;
That wasn’t the end of it by any means –
There was more trouble then at Cherington,
Tetbury, Chavenage and Beverston;
Poor Elizabeth Parker got seven years:
‘Be d—-d if we don’t go to Beverston to break the machines!’
Is what she cried out and was condemned for;
May all their souls rest in Van Diemen’s land,
And may this letter die with the fire.

Gazetteer of Anglo-Saxon Gloucestershire Spring Names – with thanks to Neil Baker

A gazetteer of Gloucestershire spring names

Introduction
There over 1500 surviving Anglo-Saxon land grants of which some 840 have attached boundary clauses.  Typically, they are descriptions in Old English (and sometimes Latin) of the boundaries of land-units recorded in charters dating from the seventh to the eleventh centuries.  To an archaeologist, or for that matter anyone with an interest in historic landscapes, it is the boundary clause or the boundary that are the most interesting.  They are descriptions in Old English (and sometimes Latin) of the boundaries of land-units recorded in charters dating from the seventh to the eleventh centuries. Each clause details the limits of the estate, and typically walk the reader clockwise around the perimeter of the estate citing features which the boundary passes, crosses or follows.
In 1935, a book entitled ‘Saxon Charters and field names of Gloucestershire’ was published which contained all the known boundary clauses for pre- 197? Gloucestershire (Grundy, 1935). This was supplemented in 1972 by ‘The early Charters of the West Midlands’ (Finberg, 1972) which contained other charters and boundary clauses.  A gazetteer (below) was produced which contains all the known mentions of Anglo-Saxon (i.e. pre 1066) springs and where known, the date they were recorded. Some of the springs are actually named as a ‘wyl’ (in its various guises) which is an Anglo-Saxon word which meant a place where water issues from the earth (Grundy, 1935, 19).  It should not be confused with the modern meaning of ‘Well’, which is a deep hole or shaft sunk into the earth to obtain water.
Sources:
Finberg, H. P. R. 1972.  ‘The Early Charters of the West Midlands’.  Leicester:  University Press Grundy, G. B. 1935.  ‘Saxon Charters and field names of Gloucestershire’.  Council of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society.
Parish                                      Anglo
Saxon Name                 Modern Translation                 Date
(A.D. where known)
Adlestrop                                 Beagan
Wylle                          Baywell
(Wood)                                                ?
                                                Hwetten Stanes Wylle             Whetstone
spring                                 ?
                                                Hertescumbes Welle                Harts Combe spring                              ?
                                                Monneswalle                           Man’s spring                                         ?
Sparteswelle Mor                     Swamp
spring                                      ?
Bickmarsh                                Fildena
Wyllan                                    Spring in the folds (of land)                 ?
Bourton on the Water               Swellestowe                            (Holy place where) water
springs up     949
Broadwell                                Bradwell                                  Broad
or wide spring                            ?
North Cerney                            Willan
Dic                                Dyke or ditch spring                             852
                                                Winterwellan                           Winter spring                                        852
Bishop’s Cleeve                                   Scirwyllan                                Clear (boundary?) spring                      ?
                                                Myle Wylee                              Mill
spring                                            ?
                                                Swel Hongre                            Hanging
wood of the gushing spring    ?
Cold Ashton                             Eanswythe
Wyllas                   Eanswith’s
springs                                931
                                                Holan Wylle                             Hollow spring                                       931
                                                Hlamnys Wylle                         Echo
spring                                         931
                                                Linleg Wylle                            Flax Lea spring                                                931
                                                Hafoc Wylle                             Hawk spring                                          931
Cutsdean                                 Codeswellan                           Code’s Well                                          855
Gutincges Aewylm                   Great
spring of Guiting                                    974
Daylesford                                Baegewellan                           Baega’s
spring                                     718
Deerhurst                                 Scead Willan                           Boundary spring                                   ?
                                                Beorgwillan                             Barrow spring                                       11th
century
Donnington nr. Stow on Wold  Blinde
Wylle                            Blind spring                                         779
                                                Caerswylle                               Watercress spring                                 779
Dowdeswell                              Dogodeswellan                                   Dogod’s spring                                     781-798
Dyrham                                                Loddra
Wellan                        
Beggars’ spring                                                972
                                                Bridewyllan                             Bird spring                                           972
                                                Aetheredes Wellan                  Aethelred’s
Spring                               972
Evenlode                                 Heortuuelle                              Hart spring                                           772
                                                Heort Wellan                            Hart
spring                                           969
                                                Hwete Wellan                          Wheat
spring                                        969
Hawling                                               Waeteres Sprynge                   (seasonal)
Water spring                                    816
Iccomb                                                Uuilesuuelee                           Wibel’s
or Wil’s spring                           781
                                                Saltuuelle                                Salt well                                              781
Kemble                                                Awilme                                     Ewen
(great spring)                              931
                                                Lydewelle                                Hollow spring                                       1250-1300
Littleton on Severn                  Aewelburhe                             Enclosure camp (with a)
great spring   986
Maugersbury                            Cealdanwyllan                                    Cold
spring                                          ?
                                                Sealterawyllan                                    Salt
carriers spring                               ?
                                                Fiscwille                                  Fish spring                                           949
                                                Maeswille                                Maple spring                                        949
                                                Sealter Wille                            Salt carriers spring                               949
Mickelton                                 Maercumbes
Wylle                   Spring in a hollow                               1005
Notgrove                                  Turcan
Wyllas                          Turc’s spring                                        743
                                                Swelstowe                               Spring at the sacred place                  743
                                                Seofenwyllas                           Seven springs                                      743
Olveston                                  Hring
Wylle                              Ring
spring                                          743
Pucklechurch                          Loddrawyllon                           Beggars Springs                                   950
                                                Hreodmorwyllon                       Spring
of the swampy ground              950
                                                Bydewyllon                              Boyd
springs                                        950
Stoke Bishop                            Waldes
Wellan                                    Wood spring                                         883
Upper Swell                             Maer Wylle                              Boundary Spring                                  1055
Winson                                     Burhwalles                               Camp spring                                        ?
Withington                               Halgan
Wyllan                         Holy spring                                           ?
                                                Alre Wyllan                              Alder spring                                         ?
Wotton Under Edge                 Aewylme                                  Great
spring                                         940
                                                Wraeccena Wyllan                   Strangers’
spring                                  940
                                                Byrnes Wyllan                          Bourne
spring                                      940

Worklight Theatre

Worklight Theatre in Stroud

Torches and performers set the stage alight as Worklight Theatre presented a narrative and analysis of the Summer of Discord, 2011. A speedy hour whizzed past as we witnessed the spectacle of that confusing time: just 2 years ago and it already seems like another age.

Yet the play reminded us how ‘the political rhetoric’ surrounding those riots has a history stretching back through the 20th century and to the Industrial Revolution. Talking of which, here’s an open offer to Worklight Theatre and Spaniel in the Works Theatre Company: let me know if you would like to get heads around the decade of Chartism in the Stroud Valleys, or the periods of weavers’ riots or food riots. That might be something too.

Fringe Review2012: ‘Theatre so spell-binding yet brutally honest and brave that it actually gave me goose bumps’

Broadway Baby 2012: ‘Professionally stunning…’

All of us in our group who went, from teenagers to  citizens of seniority, would totally recommend seeing this whilst in our area:

26th, 27th, 28th, September, Cheltenham, Everyman

Tommy Atkins and the Canary Girl

Outside: a wet Friday afternoon in Stroud; inside: a spare set, two tables, two chairs, John Bassett and Kim Baker in ‘Tommy Atkins and the Canary Girl’.
Outside: muffled drone of traffic, occasional motor bike and bicycle bell; inside: letters, telegrams, postcards, duckboards, trenches, no man’s land, mud, shell holes, barbed wire, mustard gas, the dead and dying, lice, shell shock, rationing, girls with phossie jaw and yellow hands, 12 hour shifts, 25 bob a week, ambulances, hospitals, nurses, barrenness, conscription, unemployment and a war to end all wars.
Kim and John transported us all utterly into the internal above with their interplay of characters, snatches of songs and poems. If I was that nervous about the fact that I had forgotten about turning off my mobile ‘ phone, what must it have been like waiting for that whistle to send you over the top or waiting for that telegram?
Totally recommended – I am looking forward so much to teaming up with John and Kim next year on our 2014 Stroud and Gloucester WW1 centenary productions and workshops.

These are the words of T h o m a s J u b i T e r , once known around Gloucestershire as ‘the travelling black mariner’

These are the words of T h o m a s J u b i T e r , once known around Gloucestershire as ‘the travelling black mariner’

Iam

a negro and a free man, but close to death. I was born in Guinea in 1760, I have been told, and was sold to a ship’s captain from Bristol. He bought me with red cloth. I know now that cloth came from Stroud.
I was taken to Barbados. I can do no better than to describe that voyage through the words of Olaudah Equiano (I was later taught to read and write by a minister on the plantation. I have carried two books with me always since on my travels: The Bible and The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, Or Gustavus Vassa, the African):
‘This produced copious perspirations, so that the air soon became unfit for respiration, from a variety of loathsome smells, and brought on a sickness among the slaves, of which many died, thus falling victims to the improvident avarice, as I may call it, of their purchasers. This wretched situation was again aggravated by the galling of the chains, now become insupportable; and the filth of the necessary tubs, into which the children often fell, and were almost suffocated. The shrieks of the women, and the groans of the dying, rendered the whole a scene of horror almost inconceivable.’
I excelled at my studies and so became a servant to ———— ——————-. My artful dissimulation enabled me to play perfectly the role of periwigged, liveried footman. There never was a more attentive peacock. At length, my master decided to return to his estate in England. I was given the ‘privilege’, as he put it, of voyaging to England too. There would be no return to Guinea for me; that was my hoped-for reward, but that was a mere phantom.
My master’s estate was in the south of the shire and north of Bristol. After about a year, a coachman ‘of sable hue’ arrived one day with some new materials for my master’s chosen livery: Stroud Scarlet; Uley Blue and Berkeley Yellow. He called me over before the coach departed and whispered in my ear. He told me that my long lost brother was in this country too – and only some 30 miles away.
I resolved to ask for my freedom, and head north for Rodborough, near Stroud. Alas! My plea was peremptorily refused – how could I be such an ingrate? The following night I exchanged my livery for fustian brown and disappeared into the darkness of the night. Comforting light for a fleeing slave!
I concealed my person in the newly planted hedgerows by day and walked by night, keeping the moonlit River Severn on my left and close to sight. My coachman friend had told me that I should go to Arlingham, where there was a chance of obtaining a place on a crew of a vessel heading for Gloucester. My good fortune continued and I duly found a place on the Quadrille, bound for Gloucester. Here I met more men of colour, some from America.
One of these mariners told me the whereabouts of Rodborough and that he had heard that a negro was in habitation there. This news spurred me as much as my hearty dinner – my brother! The mariner advised me to head back toFramilode, so that I might join a crew on a ship heading for Stroud through the Stroudwater Navigation. When I mentioned the Quadrille, that was sufficient testimony to my prowess, and I took my place on the Sabrina.
I alighted at Wallbridge to take the path up the hill to Rodborough. It was with a little trepidation but much expectation that I entered that parish on that autumn day. I sought out the clergyman at the church and explained my quest. I showed him my Bible in my bag; my name in the front’s piece seemed to reassure him of my bona fides. He looked at me solemnly and dropped his gaze. He asked me to follow him and this I did, following in his dolorous wake.
He lifted the parish register and leafed through the pages. After some moments of pensive perusal, he showed me this entry:
1st July, 1778, William Jubiter, ye black, buried.
I buried my head in my hands and cried the salt tears of loneliness. At length, I was led from the church and so made my melancholy descent back to Wallbridge.
I despaired of human company and recoiled from the thought of contact, such was my sadness. I resolved to make a solitary way along the cut and so reach the River Thames; and thence to London. The beauty of the bosky hills and vales; the serenity of the sylvan shade; the laughter of the waters; the wind in the reeds; the white stone cottages like so many pebbles thrown on the hillsides; the pure green fields – all of these conspired to give me endurance, fortitude and make thanks to God. Two days walking led me to Lechlade where I found a place on the William Butler, bound for Deptford. Here I found friendly mariners and also negroes. They told me that the riversides in London possess a whole reticulation of havens and hidey-holes for escaped slaves and servants. A trudge through a labyrinth of streets, creeks and chimneys led me to my haven, where I presently lie on my bedding.
The death-rattle of my cough echoes the call of the birds of my homeland in Guinea. My birthplace is no phantom now. The call of my mother and father is as insistent as the waves on the shore-line of my village. I know that I shall, at last, be returning to that bourn ere long.
These are the last words that I shall write.
Thomas Jubiter
Story written by Stuart Butler, August 2013, inspired by an entry in a parish register.
“Non-fiction uses facts to help us see the lies. Fiction uses metaphor to help us see the truth.”
See: A book that changed me, Nadine Gordimer helped me see how fiction writing can illuminate reality, by Aminatta Forna, The Guardian, August 20 2013.

Folk in a Box

You get home from Southwold after a 5 hour drive and you’re slightly tired, even though you don’t drive. The fields resemble a Kansas harvest breadbasket, Keats whispers in the wind: ‘Where are the songs of Spring?’ and Seamus Heaney is dead, school’s back on Monday, war clouds are gathering. The holidays are well and truly over.
But a walk up the Albert on Stroud Fringe Saturday night restores your faith in humanity and the infinite possibilities of friendship. Not just old friends from ‘No Pasaran!’ like Becky and Dell, but also a new welcome from Folk in a Box. Out the back of the pub was a a group of bohos and hipsters even more boho and hipster than the usual for even the Albert. Behind them was a box.
I entered the sepulchral gloom within the portmanteau and sat opposite an invisible minstrel. What might happen? What could happen? Friend or foe? Confusion is the usual handmaiden of darkness – what if humiliation is the consequence? Robbery?
Instead, the troubadour strummed a guitar and sang me a song straight from the heart. Two strangers lost in darkness, yet establishing a union through the medium of music, a harmony where none existed before. ‘Folk in a Box’: singing inside a box, yet making waves through seven handshakes wherever they go.