Giffords Circus, Minchinhampton Common, August 2013

Radical Stroud - Gifford Circus

When Giffords Circus pitches up on your green,
Conventional wisdom is mesmerised:
Enter the Big Top’s strange circumference
And Euclid’s straight-line space-time dissembles
Before your very eyes, Ladies and Gentlemen!
All is magick, spectral, alchemical,
Performers and audience conjoined in spectacle:
Clowns, dancers, musicians, tumblers, artists,
Balancers, acrobats, aerialists,
Fire-eaters, madcaps, funambulists,
Calumniators, vituperators,
A faux dancing bear, contortionists,
Backbiters and nonchalant trapezists;
A post-modernist rewrite of ‘Hard Times’,
Coketown, Bounderby and Gradgrind vanquished
By Mr. Sleary’s travelling circus:
What is your definition of a horse?
‘Quadruped. Graminivorous.’
‘You musn’t fancy,’ cried the gentleman …
‘Fact, fact, fact!’ said the gentleman,
And ‘Fact, fact, fact,’ repeated Mr. Gradgrind;
But welcome to Giffords Circus:
Fantasy, insight and ingenuity,
Invention, intelligence and imagery,
Chimeras, inspiration, flights of fancy,
Where nothing is what it seems,
And certainty is a fool’s paradise,
In Giffords Circus, Theatre of Dreams.

These are my memories of what I saw and did, together with others in the Stroudwater Valleys in 1825

These are my memories of what I saw and did, together with others in the Stroudwater Valleys in 1825. I know I am supposed to show remorse but I cannot dissemble. I have no remorse. My name is Charlotte Alice Ayliffe Bingham and I am 25 years old.
It was after Eastertide, at the end of April, when we had enough of not having enough. Me and my sisters Sarah and Elisabeth and my mother are spinners. My brothers, Tom and Sam, and my father are weavers. We had been working ever longer time for ever cankered pennies all the year. Something needed doing.
So we laid our shuttles and looms to rest and joined the Stroud Valleys Weavers Union. I straightway joined 50 others at a congregation at Ham Mill. There was 700 of us the next day. We threw the clothier Marling in the brook.
We all joined the next assembly a few days later. 200 of us congregated at Vatch Mills. There were 3,000 of us by the following evening. We baptised more strike breakers and master clothiers’ men in Mr. Holbrow’s fish pond. I won’t name names but the same happened at Woodchester, Minchinhampton, Frogmarsh, Chalford and Bisley. It was all over Stroudwater. The stone masons then joined in. They were angry about the Combination Acts. The carpenters and millwrights joined them too.
So the gentry swore in special constables. Then the Hussars rode in a couple of days later. When we re-congregated they read the Riot Act. So we threw stones at them. They dispersed us with horse and swish of sabre. A friend was arrested for selling ‘The True British Weaver’, so more congregations followed: Break Heart Hill near Dursley, then 3,000 on Stinchcombe and then 6,000 on Selsley.
If anyone broke the strike then we stuck them backwards on a horse and paraded them through the lanes while we all beat pots and pans in a cacophony of rejection. I think they stuck them on beams from looms in Chalford and then pushed them in the canal and brook. They read the Riot Act there too.
We kept it going though. The next big congregation was in Stroud at the end of August. We called for the release of our friends in prison. But that was nothing compared to what was going on in Wotton-under-Edge. The leader of the weavers there mocked the Hussars by calling himself ‘General Wolfe’. He led several congregations in the open air and in the Swann. Then they set cloth and loom beams ablaze. Stones were thrown and windows smashed. The clothiers replied with muskets.
This is my true and faithful account. I cannot dissemble. The Good Book tells us that we should get our bread by the sweat of our brow. We had the sweat but no bread. What could we do?

(As EP Thompson said, it’s all about rescuing people from ‘the enormous condescension of posterity’. Some of my direct ancestors were Ayliffes and Binghams and were handloom weavers and spinners. This imaginary account from an imagined voice is based on sources used by John Loosley in his ”The Stroudwater Riots of 1825”. I also used “Religion and Society in a Cotswold Vale: Nailsworth, Gloucestershire, 1780-1865” by Urdank.)

Selsley Hill August 2nd 2013 and May 21st 1839

Selsley Hill August 2nd 2013 and May 21st 1839

Walking from the Ram to Selsley Hill,
Stroud’s Lord John Russell’s 1839
Electoral Message in my mind –
Lofty admonishment of the poor:
You ‘know not the general laws by which profit and wages are regulated.”
Then Henry Cartwright’s letter to Russell,
The Ham, near Stroud, March 11th, 1839:
“My Lord…On Saturday Evening last
a meeting of the Chartists was held in Stroud …
out of doors … dimly illuminated by two lamps …
the language of the two principal speakers …
was of a most violent and inflammatory description,
very, very little short of seditious and treasonable.
I need hardly express to your Lordship their usual practice …
a long tirade of abuse the most gross and false against your Lordship.”
Henry Vincent, the Chartist leader, who spoke
At that nocturnal meeting on the bowling green
At the Golden Heart Inn, Stroud, said:
“ When I asked the people how it was they sent
such a little pettifogger as Russell to parliament, they exclaimed,
“we did not send him – we had no votes.”
The people are very poor – wages being low, and work not over plentiful.
The women complain bitterly of their sufferings,
and express their determination
of aiding the men in any measures.”
But Henry Burgh wrote to Russell later that month:
“ Today about quarter past two
about 500 marched up Rodborough Hill by my house
with 9 Flags and a strange Band of Musick …
I have stopped the Beer Shops and Publick Houses …
There are several policemen placed…”
Imagine that crowd of 3,000 people
Gathered around a wagon up there on the common,
Listening to Vincent and John Frost of Newport Rising fame,
Then wait a month before Russell receives another epistle:
‘ill feeling amongst the People is greatly increasing,
specially at Wotton, and they are buying up all the guns they can get
and that a sample of a Bomb, sufficient to blow up any House,
has been sent from the North to Dursley’;
‘Your most obedient servant’ Henry Burgh adds:
“ heard they were making hand grenades at Wotton …
they are making Pikes and also at Stroud, Cainscross and King’s Stanley.”
No wonder, then, that a few days later:

“May 14th, 1839”, “ROYAL COAT OF ARMS
WHEREAS a Royal Proclamation has been issued against certain illegal meetings, we the undersigned magistrates…do hereby warn all persons from taking part in or being present at such Meetings. And we call on all well-disposed persons to be aiding and assisting us in our object, as well as by giving us information…And for the discouraging and preventing such unlawful practices, and for the protection of the public peace, we do hereby make known our determination to use our utmost endeavours to prevent, put down, and suppress such Meetings…”
The response?
GRAND DEMONSTRATION
To the Men and Women of Gloucestershire Take Notice! That a county MEETING of the Inhabitants of Gloucestershire, will be holden on SELSLEY HILL In the Borough of Stroud, on Whit Tuesday, May 21st to take into consideration the best means to be adopted in order to secure the passing of the PEOPLE’S CHARTER And to give Effect to the present Agitation A Deputation from the “General Convention” consisting of Messrs. Carpenter, Mealing and Neesom, will attend, also Deputations from various Associations in the County. The Chair will be taken at 12 o’clock. We particularly urge the attendance of all those who value their Political Freedom, and who have at heart the welfare, prosperity and happiness of the Nation, and let them remember “For a Nation to be free, it is sufficient that she wills it.”
In order to remove any misapprehension respecting the legality of the Meeting, we beg to state that we shall be entirely regulated by the Motto
PEACE, LAW and ORDER and sincerely hope that all those who attend will be guided by the same principles.
Unsympathetic newspaper reports tell us:
“The first party which reached the ground was a procession of the Working Men’s Association of Wotton-under-Edge and the Radical Women’s Association of the same place in some numbers and with music, and with Banners bearing inscriptions of “Liberty”, “Equal Rights and equal Laws”,
“For a Nation to be free it is sufficient that she wills it” …
Mr. Beecham, secretary of the Working Men’s Association of Cirencester…spoke…in favour of what he called the People’s Charter…prophesying that a Firebrand would be raised …
A delegate from Bath, a Mr. Meacham spoke thus:
“You have made up your minds that universal suffrage shall be the law of this land – you will have ballot and no surrender, peaceably if you can, but forcibly if you must.” ”
The Gloucester Journal belittled this mass-meeting
(‘The greatest number of people …was from three to four thousand’),
yet expressed admiration for the magistrates,
who ‘procured the aid of a troop of Lancers and some troops
of the Gloucestershire Yeomanry Cavalry…In addition…a great number of special constables were sworn in…on the ground on horseback…’
But let us leave the last word on 1839 to JP Peter Leversage,
In his letter to Lord John Russell about another meeting held at Selsley:
“ A Sermon supposed to be one of the notorious Stephens”
(the nationally famous Chartist preacher)
“was there read by a person named Evans,
a foremen in a pin manufactory at Lightpill near Stroud:
“An infidel Church and an infidel Government –
compared the Bishop of London to Judas Iscariot…
an oppressor…the Poor Law …wives were separated from their husbands …Church must very shortly be put down.” ”
So the next time you go for a walk on Selsley Common,
Give a thought to those brave women and men
Who gathered there in May 1839;
Their baton is up there by the long barrow,
Pick it up if you wish and remember them in stone.

Selsley Hill 1839

Minchinhampton Common

Up a Holloway to Minchinhampton Common

 

A combination of a talk about the Common at the Subscription Rooms and a read of Robert Macfarlane’s book, “Holloway”, led to my cycling over Rodborough and Minchinhampton Commons in late May. There was a fine, soft rain, which the early afternoon light transmuted to misty gauze: perfect conditions for slipping through time on a pyschogeographical bike ride.
Macfarlane uses an etymological trick at the start of his book, with a visual epigraph of linguistic stratigraphy that reminds us of the ancient origins of many of our pathways.
                             Hol weg.
                             Holwy.
                             Holway.
                             Holeway.
                             Holewaye.
                             Hollowy.
                             Holloway.
So I decided to reach Minch via the holloway that leads from Stanfields, off Walkley Hill, along Kingscourt Lane. The path is tarmacadamised, but the bank on your right as you climb is particularly steep. Sycamore, holly and ash climb high with their thick, wizened trunks resting on thick, serpentine roots. Wild garlic covered the banks of this shaded, shrouded avenue; the leafy canopy above sheltered me from the heavy rain.  You are deep, deep, down in this Holloway, as you make the steep climb up past Rodborough Tabernacle.
Minchinhampton Common
Climbing beyond the manse, you meet the lane that leads on to Little London, just at the lane’s highest point, as it journeys from the main road, contouring beneath Rodborough Common. It’s easy to miss this topographical point at the junction, but it raises some two -pipe questions.  If this isn’t a coincidence, then what led this holloway to this highest point?
If the cause isn’t natural – say, slips of stone and rock, brought on by gravity, or water drifting away from the high ground, making for an easier path – then what human imprint determined this line? If we follow Macfarlane’s epigraphic stratigraphy and also our imagination, then perhaps we can conjecture something prehistoric. Tumuli and long barrows abound around Avening and Minchinhampton Common – could this be a Neolithic track to that sacred area? The holloway climbs straight up the side of Rodborough Common and then over towards Minch.
As I walked, I thought of the alleyway on the Cainscross Road, opposite the restored lake area by the Cainscross roundabout. It’s resolutely 19th/20th century as it curves between stone and brick … and yet. Could this deep-down alley have served not just handloom weavers but could it also have served medieval packhorses? Could it pre-date even that? We are near an ancient crossing point of the Frome there; we are also on a line that could lead up to the tumuli up at Randwick. How nice to imagine that this holloway and that alleyway once connected Neolithic sites at Randwick and the Minchinhampton Common area. And even if that isn’t so, such pyschogeographical musings travelling way beyond conventional evidence are good for the mind and spirit.
Minch is good for the spirit too: skylarks, rare butterflies, iron age earthworks, burial mounds, pre-Roman and Roman field systems, medieval rabbit warrens, dinosaur remains, charcoal pits (Black Ditch? Burnt Ash?)), coppicing of woodlands, anenomes, cowslips, George Whitfield, turnpike roads, a disused mine – and covering all of this like a baize tablecloth, a golf course.
It’s easy to ignore Minchinhampton Common, seemingly encircled by so many busy roads. But it’s an ancient landscape.  It’s well worth a visit, even in the rain. Bike or walk – but take a map for the naming of parts.
PS One of the speakers at the presentation about Minch pointed out that the common can only be re-imagined by placing it in the context of the surrounding landscape. It is only by observing it from the outside, as it were, that one can understand the inside: the jigsaw is bigger than the common.
So, I took a bike ride the next day along the old railway line to Nailsworth and on to Avening. The track opposite the school in Avening takes you on the outskirts of Gatcombe Park and on to Hampton Fields and Minch. The map indicates a variety of Neolithic remains and getting up on top gives you that ancient feeling of self merging with landscape and time.

LS Lowry and the Local Landscape

Let’s be honest, Manchester and the Stroud Valleys seem to be about as similar as chalk and cheese, or cotton and wool. When you gaze at a typical Lowry picture, all lean hunched figures and all tall lean factory chimneys, then the green fields and unpolluted rivers of Gloucestershire seem a million miles away. The contrast between the artistic depiction of these landscapes, however, is a connection worth pursuing. Where are the people in the Cotswold landscapes? In particular, where are the ordinary people? Where are the working men and women?

T.J. Clarke, in the Tate publication accompanying the 2013 Lowry Exhibition, points out ‘how little the landscape and social fabric of industrialism’ have appeared in ‘England’s recent culture’. Clarke sees this culture of the last 250 years as: ‘the cult of the countryside, the comedy of upper class manners, the dull decencies and resentments of the new middle classes, the lure of London, the grandeur and ambiguity of Empire’. It is, perhaps, the false dichotomy that has been placed between ‘Beauty’ and ‘Utility’ that has been a fundamental cause of all this snobbery and consequently empty landscapes.

 

Lowry and The Painting of Modern Life Book Cover

This illusory dichotomy is illustrated by Clarke’s inclusion of a 1928 Jessica Stephens review of Lowry. I choose just one sentence but I could have chosen many: ‘Pictures of struggling little creatures – human – hurrying, working, striving, in surroundings which do not conform to any accepted idea of elegance, sound uncompromising, and are – but may yet be beautiful.’ Wouldn’t it be a grand local tour if we could recreate such scenes? Wouldn’t it be just the thing if we could see people making their historic way to and from our mills?

At the moment, our Stroudwater worker-heritage is pretty well invisible. Industrial archaeology tends to focus on technology and techniques; industrial history tends to emphasise entrepreneurial expertise and lineage; landscape painting leans to the pastoral: where are the artisans? Well, they can be found on an eighteenth century of Wallbridge – there are some figures out by the tenterhooks, far in the distance in Rodborough Fields. But we need to bring them to the forefront.

A few years ago, I recorded some nonagenarians about their memories of Spillmans, off Rodborough Hill. Now, Spillmans is just the sort of street that gets ignored by the visual arts: a red brick terrace above the mills on the busy Bath Road, betwixt two pubs and with the old Co-op at the end of the street. The voices can be heard on www.rememberingrodborough but here are some of their recollections in words. How great it would be to see them in paint. Let’s start a Stroudwater School of Social-Realism in Art.

Old Tom, the Horse (For Irene Connor)

You knew all the horses,
Pulling the carts with their heavy loads
Over the cobblestones of Rodborough’s roads;
Coal and milk and spuds and beer and bread,
And, of course, the fishmonger,
With his basket on his head,
“What have you got for me today?”
They asked, whilst you watched
The horses and the dray;
But your favourite was good old Tom,
Good old Tom,
Loved by children –
But adults looked in horror,
As Tom, once more,
Lowered his head over fence, hedge or wall,
To munch approvingly on such rich pickings,
As cabbages and lettuces and leeks
And the green tops of turnip, swede and parsnip,
Then the especial delight of a rich, ripe carrot;
All those houses with veg growing in the front garden,
All the way down Spillmans.
Good old Tom,
He thought they were growing it just for him.

The Cobbler in Spillmans

You were the elves,
And he was the shoemaker,
Down there in his hut,
Below the alley-way in Spillmans,
Hammering away, nails into leather,
New soles for Christian souls,
Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat.
Silver whiskers, bushy brows,
Mutton chops of snow,
You’d creep by,
Peer through the cracked door,
Standing slightly ajar,
Then tap politely, yourselves,
You, the little elves,
“A sprig for my top, Mister Marmot?”
He’d raise his head from his hammering,
Like a little gnome, himself,
Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat,
This man born before the Crimean War,
Still mending boots between our two wars,
Tapping away as his pocket watch ticked on,
Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat,
Until, one day,
He was there no more.
And you were no longer elves.

The Cobbler in Spillmans & Old Tom, the horse: I wrote these in the middle of the night after talking with Irene Connor, April 16th 2009. It was moving to think I had just talked to someone who had talked to someone born in the middle of the 19th century – a gap of 159 years.

Spillmans in the 1920s

More LS Lowry
Than rus in urbe:
Steam whistle hooters,
Gas hiss in mantles,
Rain streaks on the window-panes.
Flat caps bob in unison,
Stout boots clatter on the cobbles,
Bread and marg in your pocket,
A small army on the march,
Wife at the washing,
Spillmans Pitch,
Another Monday morning.

In conclusion. Anne. M. Wagner speaks of ‘The social geography of working class experience’ in the Tate publication; she mentions historian Stephen Constantine’s correct perspective on working class life in the majority of the 20th century: life was lived out publicly, in the streets. The recollections above show this. Where is the Stroudwater Lowry?

Rodborough Fields 9th July 2012

It was just another sultry Tuesday
At the Clothiers Arms on the Bath Road,
Beer and fags and crisps and mobile ‘phones,
When a flash contingent of walkers popped up,
All arrayed in Stroud Scarlet uniform:
T-shirts, frocks, dresses, jackets, tunics, leggings,
Seventy -five people demonstrating
Their commitment to Rodborough Fields,
With a meander through time and space;
William Cobbett and weavers’ riots
(‘I have the sweat of the brow, but no bread’),
Mills, ponds, canals, bridges and viaducts,
Kingfishers, dragonflies and butterflies,
Fronds and ferns by the shaded River Frome;
We ascended side by side through the fields,
To listen by our venerable oak tree,
Stroud scarlet stretched on shared tenterhooks,
Sunlight shimmering through the scarlet flags,
A silent evangelical procession,
Pilgrims’ Progress on the straight and narrow path,
Memories recorded by the gateway,
A pitched camp of symbolic resistance,
Standing sentinel in Rodborough Fields.

Thanks to Mike and Richard and John and everyone for making this such an utterly memorable occasion – and thanks to BBC2, too, for their appearance.

Stroud Scarlet

Colouring the Globe Stroud Scarlet Red

 

You can see the strange fruits of slavery
In classical, elegant, Clifton:
All ship-shape and Bristol fashion,
Honey-stone Age of Enlightenment,
Reason, proportion and symmetry –
But not even those straight lines
Can hide the triangles of trafficking,
Empire, expansion and aggrandisement;
And whether trade followed the flag
Or flag followed trade is immaterial
To the story of capital expansion,
In the 18th century’s Grand Tour,
When Britannia Ruled the Waves,
Thanks to press-ganged jolly Jack Tars,
Stroud Scarlet, Uley Blue and Berkeley Yellow.
Watch those explorers canoeing Canada,
Trading Stroud Scarlet with the Iroquois,
When fair exchange was no robbery
For the Hudson Bay Company,
Or for the East India Company too;
See that Stroud Scarlet cloth,
Stretched out on tenterhooks in our fields,
Eventually shipped down to West Africa,
Its folds concealing any human cargo.
Admire General Wolfe and his red coats,
Up there on the steps of Quebec,
A few short years after riding down
Stroud Scarlet weavers in the streets and fields:
“Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves,
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.”

 

Rodborough Fields: A Curse

A piece of parchment flew through an open window of the number 14 ‘bus today and landed on my lap. It was entitled A BEGGAR’S CURSE. I have made a transcription.

If you build on this field,
Springs will o’er-turn your water table,
Peasants will harrow your dreams,
Cut ridges in your anxious brow.

If you build on this field,
Weavers will riot in the night,
Stretch nightmares on tenterhooks,
Turn your eyes Stroud Scarlet.

If you build on this field,
The Frome will burst its banks,
Flood your conscience with remorse,
Leaching stains of turbid regret.

If you build on this field,
Grass will grow in your pockets,
Celandine in your bank vaults,
Weeds in your account books.

What can it all mean?
As soon as I had typed the last letter of this transcription, the sere parchment rose on an up-draught of air and flew out of the window.
An unsettling start to the day.

 

The 1926 General Strike and Gloucestershire

We’ll start in Stroud. The Great Western Railway Company decided to make an example of some Union men, as a consequence of the Strike. We should remember this act of victimisation each time we visit the railway station, and also remember the fact that Stroud railway workers refused to return to work at the end of the nine day strike, even when ordered to do so by their union. The Great Western Railway’s response was to say that the only people to have suffered victimisation were their shareholders.
In Gloucester, at the Docks, there were fights between strikers and police when attempts were made to prevent boats moving up and down the river and canal; there was a police baton charge when people tried to stop the swing bridge opening. The motto in Gloucester was “ All out together, all in together”; here follows Ralph Anstis’ description of the events at the bridge in Gloucester (much more of Ralph later).
Three to five hundred pickets were involved after crews of three vessels agreed not to move some goods. In consequence, volunteer labour was utilised, with police presence. After “scuffles” between police and pickets, the two barges and a tug set sail. This prompted the owners to want “to send a tug and an empty lighter along the canal to Sharpness with scab labour to pick up a cargo. Ralph writes: “Striking dockers tried to stop the tug from sailing by preventing the bridgeman from opening the swing bridge. Police were rushed to the scene. Hissing and booing, the crowd refused to give way and the police made a baton charge to force the pickets from the bridge. Eventually the tug and lighter got through. Fourteen men were arrested and thirteen of them were later sent to prison for fourteen days with hard labour.”
We shall now look at the Forest of Dean – the weather was against us this weekend, but we do intend to walk the colliery trails at some point, using the below for context. In addition, the Dean Heritage Centre has three leaflets available: The Speculation Trail, New Fancy and Cannop Ponds. You could use these and this blog to re-create those far-off days of the spring, summer and autumn of 1926. The Dean is quite well served by ‘bus services; there is also the railway to Lydney and bike hire available. The campsite recommended on an earlier posting on this blog impressed us when we visited, if you fancy staying a while.
The miners were “locked out” for another seven months after the TUC called off the nine day General Strike, and that, of course, had a dire effect upon lives in the Forest. Seven thousand men were unable to support themselves and/or their families; they needed assistance not just for the nine days of the General Strike in May but right up to the month of November. The Co-op saved many families from starvation when some Poor Law Guardians were refusing food and outdoor relief for men who had been, let us remember, locked out; they had not gone on strike. They had been locked out by their employers. Think of that when you visit the Forest of Dean.
If you want to know more about the General Strike and the Forest of Dean, then buy, beg or borrow a copy of Ralph Anstis’ “Blood on Coal”. The following information is taken from that book but I can only touch the surface – do try and read it, if you can. Having said that, let’s look at the main collieries in the Dean in 1926, with grateful thanks to Ralph.
He provides a map and a list at the front of his book – these are sites worth visiting to look at and write about; all contributions gratefully received. So, let’s start with these bald facts, transcribed from the map and Ralph’s evocative and detailed descriptions:

A: Norchard (Betwixt the Lydney-Bream and Lydney-Parkend roads, on the old railway line, just north-west and about 3 miles outside of Lydney.) Libby Bullock told me that the main entrance was at Pillowell., but there is no sign of it now. In its place is a small industrial estate, selling commercial cleaning equipment.

B: Princess Royal (Betwixt the Bream-Parkend and Lydney-Parkend roads, north-east of Bream). Clive Bullock said that if you were travelling to Bream from Whitescroft, you pass the Royal Oak as you climb into Bream and you pass the colliery site at the bottom of the hill. There is a housing estate called Princess Royal.

C: Flour Mill (North-west of Princess Royal, on the other side of the Lydney-Bream road, about one third of the way between Bream and Parkend). The following are Ralph Anstis’ words: “ Started in the 1840s, it was not until the 1860s that large-scale development began at Flour Mill Colliery, Bream. Coal was sent down a rope-worked tramway to the screens at Park Gutter (Princess Royal) for loading. The two pits were connected underground in 1916 to improve working and ventilation. Flour Mill closed in 1928 and Princess Royal in 1962. Some buildings survive, one in use by a firm repairing steam locomotives. The route of the rope-worked tramway can also be traced.” Clive said: “Leaving Parkend, go up to the old Pike House, turn left, and the site is a quarter of a mile up there on the left hand side.” By the way, the locomotive that steamed on the 150th anniversary of the opening of the London Underground was restored here.

D: Parkend (West of Parkend on the left hand side of the road that leads towards Cockshoot Wood)

E: New Fancy (Follow the previous road north towards a junction with Staple Edge Wood to your west, the colliery was north of and on the other side of the junction.) Ralph wrote these words: “New Fancy Colliery, on the hill above Parkend, employed many miners from that village following the closure of the Parkend Royal Colliery. The pipes at the latter remained in operation for ventilating “the Fancy”, as it was referred to by the men. The colliery closed in 1944, despite the presence of large reserves, as it became uneconomic to work. Today, the waste heap is a noted viewpoint and the imposing stone wall of the loading bank can still be found in the woods.” Clive told me that there is a working free mine near a quarry on the road from Parkend to Lydbrook.

F: Cannop (On the road that leads from Parkend to Lydbrook, just north of the junction with the Coleford-Speech House road, on the left hand side). Ralph’s book has the following caption beneath a photograph: “ A view of the Coleford to Cinderford road in the 1930s. Cannop Colliery can be seen just down the road, with the Hopewell Colliery site in view behind. Still working today, it has been turned into the Hopwell Colliery Mining Museum and visitors can take trips underground. In the centre distance, Speech House Colliery can also be seen; by this date it was use purely for pumping water out of Lightmoor.”

G: Arthur and Edward (Continue north on the Parkend-Lydbrook road, then follow the road west at the next junction; it will be on your right, within the triangle of roads.) Ralph Anstis wrote this description back in 1999: “Arthur & Edward Colliery or Waterloo as the men preferred to call it, lay at the head of the Lydbrook Valley. It was connected to the railway loading screens by a system of tram tubs, on a half mile-long incline, connected by an endless rope and known colloquially as “The Creeper”. The pit closed at Christmas, 1959.”

H: Trafalgar (closed) (East of G in Serridge Inclosure and roughly equidistant between G and Cinderford, just north of the old railway line). Clive told me to look for Brierley, halfway between Lydbrook and Cinderford; locate a road opposite a petrol station that goes down into a wood; Trafalgar was down there.

I: Crump Meadow (West of Cinderford, between two old railway lines, north of the road that leads to Speech House, in Serridge Inclosure.) Ralph’s book states that at the end of the last century, “after bulldozing and landscaping, all that can be seen are some concrete foundations and, perhaps, the remains of a loading wharf.” Ralph also states: “Sunk in 1824, Crump Meadow was another old colliery which did not long survive the General Strike; it closed in 1929. As with Foxes Bridge, workable reserves of coal were becoming exhausted and Crawshays were concentrating their energies on their new pit, Northern United, which opened in 1933; this pit provided employment for many who were out of work after the closure of Crump Meadow and Foxes Bridge.” (This is where Clive’s grandfather first worked.) Clive advised that you find an industrial estate in Cinderford, then Winner’s Garage (a Skoda garage), where a track leads up into the woods; there are signs of old workings about a quarter of a mile along.

J: Foxes Bridge (Just south of I) Ralph Anstis: “Yet another Crawshay pit, Foxes Bridge sat atop the escarpment looking over Bilson and Cinderford, and began producing coal in the early 1870s. In the 19th century, Foxes Bridge, Trafalgar, Lightmoor and Crump Meadow collieries, which lay within a couple of miles of one another, produced two thirds of the coal raised in Dean. Foxes Bridge closed in August 1930.”

K: Lightmoor (South of J, south of the Speech House road, west of Ruspidge) Ralph Anstis, wrote the following in 1999: “Lightmoor Colliery lay in the heart of the Forest, close to Speech House and the Dilke hospital, alongside the mineral loop line of the Severn & Wye Railway. The colliery also had its own private branch line and locomotives, linking it with Bilson Yard, near Cinderford. It closed in 1940 after a hundred year life and is today the most intact Dean colliery site remaining, including one of the engine houses.” The caption to a 1910 photograph in the book states that, “The waste heaps in the centre foreground eventually became the tip which remains as a landmark to this day. The nearer engine house still stands, albeit minus its roof and is an extreme state of neglect.” The caption adds that its Cornish pumping engine is now at the Dean Heritage Centre, “restored to working order.” Clive added that you look for a left before you get to the Dilke Hospital and a sign saying “Forest Products”; you then go down a track past ponds and the remains of the pit head.

L: Eastern United (South of Ruspidge, south-east of K, on left hand side of the road that leads from Soudley to Ruspidge). Ralph wrote: “Eastern United was also owned by Henry Crawshay &Co. Sinking began in 1909. It was one of the easier pits to work, with wide, well-lit roadways, and it returned handsome profits for the company. Following nationalisation, the mine closed suddenly in 1959, much to the shock of the workforce, at a time when it was thought the location of a new seam promised it a bright future.” Clive said that when it closed the miners said there was more coal left down below that they had taken out. There is warehousing there now and an industrial estate. This is where Clive’s granddad finished. Clive said the colliers were dumbfounded. It was such a big pit.

M: Speech House Colliery closed before the Strike; a caption to a photograph in Ralph’s book states: “Speech House Colliery, circa 1910, after it had closed for coal production but was still in use for pumping Lightmoor. The site is now a car park and a picnic area.” Look for the Beechenhurst Picnic Site, going towards Coleford.
Libby Bullock reminisced while we drank our tea and said: “When we were children, we used to go and visit the pit ponies. There were about eight. We’d go the miners’ huts and have cheese on toast cooked by the miners on an open fire.”