Rights of Common

Commoners:

Common Right, Enclosure and Social Change in England, 1700-1820

J.M. Neeson

Some gleaning made from this uncommon text,

So as to share knowledge in common:

Timothy Nourse in Campania Felix, or a Discourse of the Benefits and Improvements in Husbandrywrote thus of commoners in 1700:

‘very rough and savage in their Dispositions’ with ‘leveling Principles’ which make them ‘refractory to Government’, ‘insolent and tumultuous’.

Worse than animals, he averred,

commoners had to be chastised

and controlled rather than cultivated.

In 1781, an anonymous observer of squatters and those living on common land in forest, heathland or on ‘waste’ viewed them as ‘more perverse, and more wretched’, living in ‘habitations of squalor, famine and disease’ amounting to ‘most fruitful seminaries of Vice’ where lies ‘sloth the parent of vice and poverty begotten and born of this said right of Common. I saw its progress into the productive fields of lying, swearing, thieving – I saw the seeds of honesty almost eradicated.’

He commented on those living in Hampshire forests on common land; ‘idle, useless and disorderly’, attracted to ‘pilfering and stealing.’ He was similarly minded when in Herefordshire’s Black Mountains:commoners were subject to ‘IDLENESS, the fell ROOT of which VICE always finds it easy to graft her most favourite plants.’

Ah! Protestant self-help thrifty busy virtues,

Where are you when we need you?

You lazy good for nothing commoners.

Go and read Robinson Crusoe,

(Tawney and Weber too for us)

If only you could read.

But don’t follow W.H. Davies:

‘What is this life if full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.’

Stop wasting time.

Gathering fuel on the commons indeed.

Gleaning.

Tending to and milking a cow.

Looking out for rabbits.

Gathering fruits, berries and nuts.

Being satisfied with that you have.

Or exchanging surplus so as to just get by.

Lending or borrowing tools.

Enough is not as good as a feast, I say.

I call that a fast.

We need more of everything – apart from commons,

And shared open fields, of course.

And commoners and squatters, of course.

But:

More enclosure. More arable. More pasture.

Greater efficiency. Higher yields. Higher rents.

Higher profits.

And more labourers working for a wage.

And those labourers will have more children.

And a greater population is needed for the King,

The army, the Empire, and our endless wars against the French.

Neeson wrote that the ‘argument about the legitimacy of ending common right in the eighteenth century was more than a conflict between the moral economy and the self-interested individualism of agrarian capitalism. Increasingly it was also a debate over how best to serve the national interest. Or, more exactly, and crucially, a debate about what sort of society best served that interest …’

And, ‘best served by the industry, independence and patriotism of a flourishing peasantry’ or ‘served best by a multitudinous, fecund, ever-growing proletariat, no matter how poor …’

‘But behind both views was a fundamental concern

with Britain’s economy and political hegemony.’

A List of Wars from the 18th Century to the end of the Napoleonic Wars

1. War of the Spanish Succession 1701-14

2. Great Northern War 1717-20

3. War of Austrian Succession 1740

4. Carnatic Wars 1744-63

5. Seven Years War 1756-63

6. Anglo-Mysore Wars 1766-99

7. First Anglo-Maratha War 1775-82

8. American Revolutionary War 1775-83

9. French Revolutionary Wars 1792-1802

10. Napoleonic Wars 1802-15

11. Second Anglo-Maratha War 1802-05

12. War against the USA 1812

13. Anglo-Nepalese War 1813-16

Enclosers, of course, weren’t thinking of all these endless wars

as they took over the common fields …

Neeson again: ‘But this does not mean that “good” agriculture triumphed over “bad”, like some conquering hero in a gothic romance. It means that one mode of agricultural production gave way to another. (“Backward” agriculture is itself an astonishingly narrow concept. It assumes that productivity alone defines the many relationships, social as well as economic, that agriculture represents.) In the end, enclosers enclosed for a number of reasons: chief among them the prospect of higher rents, a belief in the efficiency of larger, consolidated holdings, and an emotional and intellectual commitment to a more individualized production, to private enterprise. The conquering hero is more accurately described as an investing landlord or an enterprising freeholder. But neither the higher rents nor the (arguably) more efficient units of enclosed villages, nor the change in the zeitgeist of the agricultural establishment should be taken to mean that before enclosure agriculture was necessarily badly run, or backward. Communal regulation did not mean inadequate regulation. The system may have been less productive if we define productivity in terms of agricultural production, though we should note that the jury on this is still out.’

It wasn’t just the fuel – wood, turf, furze, bracken,

Or the food or the grazing that gave sustenance,

It was also the community of reciprocity;

The sharing, the mutuality

That fashioned a community,

And the arranged or happenstance meeting

In field, lane, pathway, Holloway, baulk or common,

And the ensuing conversation

And sharing of the time of day

(‘Good morrow, Gossip Joan,

Where have you been a-walking? …’);

And ‘wasting time’ didn’t mean laziness,

It might have been incomprehensible to the elite,

But the lower orders could have an eye for the picturesque too,

You didn’t have to be educated to have an eye for the sublime:

John Clare textualized what many saw and felt:

‘How fond the rustics ear at leisure dwells

On the soft soundings of his village bells

As on a Sunday morning at his ease

He takes his rambles just as fancys please

Down narrow baulks that intersect the fields

Hid in profusion that its produce yields

Long twining peas in faintly misted greens

And wing leafed multitudes of crowding beans

And flighty oatlands of a lighter hue.’

But it’s true to say that the Protestant virtues

Of frugality, economy and thrift

Were also fashioning this way of life.

But the critics of commons could only see

A lazy, indolent absence of ambition –

But if needs were few, then there was time

For recreation and ‘Saint Monday’ traditions;

There was no tyranny of the clock,

No outlook that ‘time was money’ …

But energy was there in abundance,

And to use an anachronism,

‘Time-Management’ too, as in this case study

Of enclosure and the Beautiful Game:

The Northampton Mercury contained an ‘advertisement for a football match’ at the end of July 1765 to take place over two days, August 1stand 2nd: ‘This is to give notice to all Gentlemen, Gamesters and Well-Wishers to the cause now in Hand. That there will be a FOOT-BALL play in the Fields of Haddon … for a Prize of considerable value … All Gentlemen Players are desired to appear in any of the Public Houses in Haddon aforesaid each day between the hours of ten and twelve in the Forenoon, where they will be joyfully received and entertained.’

On Monday 4th August 1765, the Northampton Mercury reported thus:

‘We hear from West Haddon in this County, that on Thursday and Friday last a great Number of People being assembled there in order to play a Foot-Ball Match, soon after meeting formed themselves into a Tumultuous Mob, and pulled up and burnt the Fences designed for the Inclosure of that Field, and did other considerable Damage; many of whom are since taken up by a Party of General Mordaunt’s Dragoons sent from this Town.’

Football matches are just one example

Of a whole repertoire of opposition

To the supporters of enclosure:

Grumbling, counter-petitioning,

Refusal to cooperate with surveyors,

Tearing down hedges and fences,

Writing formal letters of opposition,

Leaving threatening letters of opposition,

Refusal to sign enclosure bills,

Refusal to sign sundry legal documents,

Stealing boundary markers,

Removing indicators of field boundaries,

Writing local landscape poems,

Expressing anger in public,

Expressing feelings of violation,

Ensuring those feelings were shared communally

And transmitted through the generations:

Here is an example – a full generation

After enclosure had hit this particular village:

‘To the Gentlemen of Ashill, Norfolk,

This is to inform you that you have by this time brought us under the heaviest burden and into the hardest Yoke we ever knowed; it is too hard for us to bear … You do as you like, you rob the poor of their Commons right, plough the grass up that God send to grow, that a poor man may feed a Cow, Pig, Horse, nor Ass; lay muck and stones in the road to prevent the grass growing. If a poor man is out of work and wants a day or two’s work you will give him 6d. per week … There is 5 or 6 of you have gotten the whole of the land in this parish in your own hands and you would wish to be rich and starve all the other part of the parish …

Gentlemen, these few lines are to inform you that God Almighty have brought our blood to a proper circulation, that have been in a very bad state a long time, and now without alteration of the foresaid, we mean to circulate your blood with the leave of God.’

And here’s John Clare:

‘Inclosure came and trampled on the grave

Of labours rights and left the poor a slave

And memorys pride ere want to wealth did bow

is both the shadow and the substance now …’

And John Clare again:

‘That good old fame the farmers earnd of yore

That made as equals not as slaves the poor

That good old fame did in two sparks expire

A shooting coxcomb and. hunting Squire

And their old mansions that was dignified

With things far better than the pomp of pride …

Where master son and serving man and clown

Without distinction daily sat them down …

These have all vanished like a dream of good …’

And the folklore passed through the generations:

‘The law locks up the man or woman

Who steals the goose from off the common

But leaves the greater villain loose

Who steals the common off the goose.’

And when we look at the opposition to enclosure,

And the repertoire of dissent,

We must remember that not only

Are the textual records incomplete

(You have to keep secrets, don’t you?),

But that the repertoire of dissent’s

Oral opposition within an oral culture

Is, of course, impossible to recapture:

The hatred, bitterness, sense of violation,

Feelings of robbery, jobbery, misery and theft,

The loss of gleaning rights and rights of estover,

The loss of pasture and right to roam:

All, of course, the intangible history

Of all those villagers and commoners

’Condemned to the enormous condescension of posterity’.

In conclusion, john Clare again:

The Lament of Swordy Well:

In Swordy Well a piece of land

That fell upon the town

Who worked me till I couldn’t stand

&crush me now Im down

There was a time my bit of ground

Made freeman of the slave

The ass no pindard dare to pound

When I his supper gave

The gypseys camp was not afraid

I made his dwelling free

Till vile enclosure came & made

A parish slave of me

Alas dependence thou’rt a brute

Want only understands

His feelings wither branch & root

That falls in parish hands

Addendum

What of letter writing & formality,

Using the goose and common trope?

A case study:

A letter sent to the Marquess of Anglesey:

‘Where is now the degree of virtue which can withstand interest? …

Should a poor man take one of Your sheep from the common, his life would be forfeited by law. But should You take the common from a hundred poor mens sheep, the law gives no redress. The poor man is liable to be hung from taking from You what would supply You with a meal & You would do nothing illegal by depriving him of his subsistence; nor is Your family supplied for a day by a subtraction which distresses his for life! … Yet the causers of crimes are more guilty than the perpetrators. What must be the inference of the poor? when they see those who should be their patterns defy morality for gain, especially when, if wealth could give contentment, they had enough wherewith to be satisfied. And when the laws ae not accessible to the injured poor and Government gives them no redress.’

The Marquis replied thus:

‘Excepting as the mere fact of the Inclosure, the forming of which no one has a right to contest, All your statements are without foundation & as your language is studiously Offensive I must decline any further communication with you.’

‘The law locks up the man or woman

Who steals the goose from off the common

But leaves the greater villain loose

Who steals the common off the goose.

The law demands that we atone

When we take things we do not own

But leaves the lords and ladies fine

Who take things that are yours and mine.’

For anyone for whom John Clare is a new discovery:

and

 

The Lonely Tree

With thanks to Bob Fry

Edited letter from Henry Burgh, Justice of the Peace,

to the Home Secretary, Lord John Russell, M.P. for Stroud:

‘Rodborough, March 29th, 1839, 6p.m.

My Lord I acknowledge receipt of Your Lordship’s Directions this morning.

I have taken measures to have them put into Execution.

Some of the Chartists came to Stroud yesterday Evening,

and 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…’

‘Did you see any of that, Beech Tree?

Did you hear any of that, Beech Tree?

Did you hear the huzzahs for the Chartists?

And the catcalls for Lord John Russell?

Did you hear the Chartists’ Six Points,

And the declamation of the People’s Charter?

Did you see those famous national Chartist leaders:

The charismatic Henry Vincent

And the Botany Bay bound John Frost,

Up there on the horse drawn wagon,

That served as hustings for the disenfranchised?’

‘I came into this world on March 29th, 1839,

Stirred into life about two o’clock in the afternoon

By that march of hundreds of Chartists

Campaigning for the vote for working people.

It wasn’t just the light that summoned me

From my sheltered subterranean home,

It was curiosity and affinity too.

And here I have stood since then,

Offering shelter and succour and shade

To one and all,

Regardless of birth, origins, status,

Identity, orientation, gender, race or ability;

A tree that stood on a common,

That sprang to life one early Victorian spring,

Called from the earth by the tramp of hundreds,

And a sympathy for their aspirations,

Growing stronger through the centuries,

Springtide sap rising with democracy.

But don’t call me the Lonely Tree.

For just like the sycamore of the Tolpuddle Martyrs,

I am a tree of the commons and the commoners.

I am anything but a Lonely Tree.

Only those without a knowledge of this history

Could call me a Lonely Lonesome Tree.

I am a tree of the People.

I am the tree of the Commons.

I am the Commoners’ Tree.’

Randwick 1832 Experiment: Part Two

Early May 1784: ‘a gentleman was riding through Randwick and noticed “a crowd of people assembled around a horsepond”, where he saw ‘a man seated upon a chair.’ He thought this was a ‘ducking … for some transgression of local custom or morality.’ But this was Randwick Wap, ‘held every year on the second Monday after Easter in “Hocktide” – ‘a Whitsun festival, sometimes coinciding with May Day, a form of carnival’ with a “mock-mayoral election.”

Randwick Experiment Part Two

Notes taken from David Rollison’s

The Local origins of Modern Society Gloucestershire 1500-1800

 

Estimated Population of Gloucestershire 1550-1801

1550 approx. 75,000

1600 approx. 95,000

1712 approx. 128,000

1779 approx. 161,000

1801 Census 210, 267

 

                   Population of some Stroudwater Parishes 1551-1831

                                   1551        1603      1779      1801    1831

Eastington.                391           401        769        908     1,770

Stonehouse               468            474        759      1,412    2,469

Kings Stanley           234            728      1,257     1,434    2,438

Leonard Stanley.      439            417        512         590       942

Woodchester            200            217        792         870       885

Minchinhampton      835          1,002    4,000     3,419    5,114

Rodborough             401            259       1,481     1,658    2,141

Horsley.                   312            668       2,000      2.971   3,690

Painswick.               601           1,033    3,300.     3,150    4,099

Bisley.                     668           1,503    4,905.     4,227.   5,896

Randwick.              167             372      650.          856    1,031

Pitchcombe               43.            134        90            216       187

Stroud.                    969            1,508     4,000      5,422.   8,607

 

1756 Stroudwater Riots

 

‘Industrial rioting did not break out in Stroudwater until 1756 … The population data are remarkably consistent with what we know of the markets for Stroudwater cloth. When the markets collapsed, local populations were double what they had been fifty years earlier; and we may surmise that it was a younger population as a consequence of such rapid growth. James Wolfe’s comments in a letter from Stroudwater in 1756, that he expected to leave with many recruits from the unemployed young of the district, complements this impression of an extraordinary spurt of growth, followed by depression, followed by riots, followed by a renewal of overseas war.’

 

Randwick 1832 Revisited: Introduction

https://radicalstroud.co.uk/randwick-1832-experiment/

 

There are two chapters in this book about Randwick with interesting implications for the 1832 Randwick experiment as we shall see later…. But for the moment, a brief introduction:

 

Eric Wolf in Europe and the People without History wrote thus of Stroudwater: ‘one of the first areas in which English weavers lost their autonomy and became hired factory hands’ with ‘the onset of the industrial revolution in the valley of the Stroud’, while as regards Randwick, in particular, Rollison also pointed out how enclosure came relatively late to the village: ‘it retained arable strips and commons up to the early 19th century.’ So, we already note two reasons (one, industrial, and one, agricultural) for the notable levels of poverty in Randwick – and the consequent appearance of the Randwick experiment (as outlined in Utopia Britannica). There is a third reason to add here: the population peaked in Randwick in 1831 …

The World Turned Upside Down?

It’s interesting to see how Rollison, at times, as it were, appears to personify Randwick: ‘Randwick was a living symbol of the depths of unrespectability. It challenged pretension and it challenged prejudice. It looked at the respectable folk and found them wanting and it had an ingrained scepticism as to the legitimacy of cherished social conventions. It nurtured tricks and stratagems for bringing the mighty and would-be mighty down to earth … It included (and gave birth to) the radical side of contemporary popular culture voiced most commonly as a humorous scepticism towards all pretensions based on prescribed hierarchy, genealogy and tradition or wealth … It belongs to a universal type, authentic (as against appropriated and contrived) carnivalesque humour.’

 

The passage above can be readily placed alongside the Wikipedia entry describing Randwick Wap:

The Wap is an annual series of events during spring which culminates in a traditional procession and festival dating back to the Middle Ages. Various theories exist on how it began, although most villagers believe it was a celebration that followed the completion of building Randwick’s parish church.

The Wap was traditionally held on Low Sunday and Monday, the first Sunday and Monday after Easter. On the Sunday, the bells of the village church would be rung, a special service was held and a collection taken. On the Mon evening, a ‘Mayor’ was elected and he would be carried by chair to an ancient pool where he was immersed. Hordes would gather from far and wide including fiddle-playing and fortune-telling gipsies.[3] By the late 19th century, however, the Wap was becoming better known for its drunken revelry rather than as an ancient spectacle and it was evident that something had to be done.[4] In 1892, the church officials refused to ring the bells or hold a special collection to mark ‘Wap Sunday’ and although a mayor was elected, the Wap in its then form had run its course.[5]

The Randwick Wap was eventually revived in 1971 by the vicar Rev Niall Morrison (son of William Morrison, 1st Viscount Dunrossil) and now the festivities take place in the month of May.[6]

References[edit]

  1. ^“Parish population 2011”. Retrieved 29 March 2015.
  2. ^“Randwick,Whiteshill and Randwick ward 2011”. Retrieved 30 March 2015.
  3. ^“A Respected Randwickian Writes”. Stroud News & Gloucestershire Advertiser. 11 April 1890. p. 4.
  4. ^“Wap”. Stroud News & Gloucestershire Advertiser. 2 May 1868. p. 2.
  5. ^“Randwick”. Stroud News & Gloucestershire Advertiser. 29 April 1892. p. 6.
  6. ^“It’s Roll Out the Cheeses”. Western Daily Press. 5 May 1975. p. 1.

 

Back to Rollison: he says that he ‘shall … show that Randwick was generally regarded as the poorest village in Gloucestershire, and that this perception was accurate’. He also looks at sexual behaviour in the village via ‘The case of the indiscreet landlord’ with the ‘depositions associated with a bawdy-court case in 1713 to explore and evoke the quality of social relations in this notoriously poverty-stricken clothworking village’; it is the only archival ‘clue’ he finds ‘to the kind of social irregularity associated with Randwick’s poverty’ but says this clue can be ‘confirmed as representative by similar cases in other Stroudwater parishes.’

The author then tells us about “The Lord Mayors of Randwick” – ‘a curious, calendrical festival or “revel”’ held ‘in the second week after Easter … a carnivalesque occasion …  usually seen as “reversal” of class and gender relations.’ Rollison suggests, ‘in the light of the material in the case of the indiscreet landlord, that what went on was probably more in the line of a celebration of the sorts of things that went on at Randwick all the time. It “turned the world upside down” in the sense that the celebration was insistent and public, claimed as a rightful custom against the desire of the magistrates, who tried to suppress it. But in truth it advertised only what was normal.

The next section ‘analyses “The Lord Mayor of Randwick’s Story”, which, according to a detailed account of the revels published in 1784, was used every year to usher in a week of “misrule”. Rollison comments: ‘I show that this song unmistakably embodied an historico-mythical explanation of Randwick’s poverty and expressed an ideal of egalitarian communitas – the reason for misrule and this provides us with insight into the collective political consciousness of a community … a moment … that lay on the border between older, preliterate … labour conditions and the directions taken by these traditions in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.’

What evidence, you are thinking, does the author provide to justify his assertion about Randwick’s notable poverty? Well, here we go:

‘Randwick was the poorest village in the region. In 1671-2 exceptions from the Hearth Tax averaged 40 per cent in the Stroudwater valleys. At Randwick, with a population of about 450, the figure was nearer 70 per cent. In 1677 the parish was said to be unable to maintain its poor and a rate was ordered to be levied on other parishes in the Hundred to which it was attached. In 1712, Sir Robert Atkyns wrote that Randwick was “the highest charged to the Poor Rate of any parish” in Gloucestershire and ‘He also noted that more people were buried there each year than were baptised.’

By the end of the 18th century 110 families out of 206 in Randwick were dependent on weekly parish relief (the Stroudwater average was 40%; Randwick’s was 55%). ‘The Minister for Randwick reported that “The Working Classes in his parish [were] generally depressed for scarcity of employment, low wages, and payment in truck”’ … in consequence, he regretted the existence of “some insubordinate feelings fostered with association at the beershops, and by reading of inflammatory publications.”’

Now for THE CASE OF THE INDISCREET LANDLORD

Rollison comments: ‘The archives don’t generally provide much information on the social consequences of Randwick’s exemplary poverty, but glimpses are provided by a scandal which erupted in 1713.’ Mary Bennett and Lizzie Robbins of that parish visited Edward Field, ‘a magistrate near Stroud’, to inform him of a shocking event they had witnessed “on the day after Candlemas.”

They told Field that the chamber of their house “adjoyneth to a house belonging to Stephen Mills” and that Robbins saw Mills “beckon with his hand to Martha Thomas who went with him into his house.” Robbins was able to see through “the mudd wall” because of “a slitt or chink” but “turned from the said chink” for obvious reasons. Bennett took over and heard Mills command Thomas to “Lye down”. “I will not.” “Thou shalt.” More detail followed and ‘On this evidence Field considered that there was a case to answer …’ Rollison goes on to say that there was nothing unusual in this case with its ‘sexual irregularity, slander and gossipy defamation’ – this was the stuff of bawdy-courts – but what made this case unusual and exceptional was not just that it divided the village (‘high versus low’: the three women were all tenants of Mills), but also ‘ that the court officials clearly found it impossible to find a single unambiguously respectable witness … The poorest village in Gloucestershire was also its most “immoral” village.’ The author adds, ‘Randwick people almost certainly knew of their reputation with outsiders, and every year at Hocktide they celebrated their infamy.’

HOCKTIDE

Early May 1784: ‘a gentleman was riding through Randwick and noticed “a crowd of people assembled around a horsepond”, where he saw ‘a man seated upon a chair.’ He thought this was a ‘ducking … for some transgression of local custom or morality.’ But this was Randwick Wap, ‘held every year on the second Monday after Easter in “Hocktide” – ‘a Whitsun festival, sometimes coinciding with May Day, a form of carnival’ with a “mock-mayoral election.”

‘The gentleman described proceedings thus in the Gentleman’s Magazine: “One of the parish is, it seems … elected mock-mayor. He is carried with great state, colours flying, drums beating, men, women and children shouting, to a particular horse-pond, in which his worship is placed, seated in an armchair; a song is then given out line-by-line by the clerk and sung with great gravity by the surrounding crowd … the instant it is finished, the mayor breaks the peace by throwing water in the faces of his attendants. Upon which, much confusion ensues; his worship’s person is, however, considered as sacred, and he is generally the only man who escapes being thoroughly souced.”

“The rest of the day, and often the week is devoted to riot and drunkenness.”

When did this ceremony of turning ‘the world upside down’ commence? The earliest textual reference is 1703; but Samuel Rudder made these observations in his magisterial A New History of Gloucestershire in 1779: “At this place an annual revel is kept on the Monday after Low Sunday, probably the wake of the church, attended with much irregularity and intemperance, with many ridiculous circumstances in the choice of a Mayor, who is yearly elected on that day, from amongst the meanest of the people. They plead the prescriptive right of antient custom for the licence of the day, and the authority of the magistrate is not able to suppress it.

The whole parish is not estimated at more than 500l. per ann. but is very populous, chiefly inhabited by poor people employ’d in the woollen manufacture …”

Rollison points out that the 1703 reference ‘assumed’ that the ‘calendrical festival’ had medieval origins. He says that although this is ‘conjectural’, the assumption ‘is supported by’ festivals elsewhere defined by Easter’s date, and subsequent May Day, Hock Monday and Hock Tuesday revelries. Rollison goes on to say that ‘The context at Randwick, an industrial village in one of the districts where we have documentary evidence of early trade union activity, also established a plausible link between medieval carnivalesque festivals and a date that was to become the great annual festival of the Labour Movement.’

But now we move from class to gender: Hock Monday asserted patriarchy but Hock Tuesday saw gender relations turned upside down, and Rollison adds that this “survived to be the more enduring of the customs. According to the locality, it was customary for the wives – as a group – to bind or weave into the air those husbands who could be caught, and to release them only on payment of a ransom … Criticism of marital mistreatment or impropriety were formally and noisily expressed.”

So, it seems that Randwick was a transgressive sort of place … and as Rollison concluded, ‘Carnival was always in part “political”, and as such contained an implicit threat to the status quo. To take this further we shall now consider the Lord Mayor of Randwick’s Song, or “psalm”.’

 

THE WEAVERS’ SONG

When Archelus began to spin,

And ‘Pollo wrought upon a loom,

Our Trade to flourish did begin,

Tho’ conscience went to selling broom.

When princes’ sons kept sheep in field,

And queens made cakes with oaten flour,

And men to lucre did not yield,

Which brought good cheer to ev’ry bower.

But when the giants, huge and high,

Did fight with spears like weavers’ beams,

And men in iron beds did lie,

Which brought the poor to hard extremes.

When cedar trees were grown so rife,

And pretty birds did sing on high,

Then weavers liv’d more void of strife,

Than princes of great dignity.

Then David with his sling and stone,

Not fearing great Goliath’s strength,

He pierc’d his brains, and broke his bones,

Tho’ he was nine feet and a span in length.

Chorus:

Let love and friendship still agree

To hold the bonds of amity.

 

The gentleman wrote it down, btw.

 

Conclusion

Now, gentle reader, for all I know, you may think Rollison has over egged the Randwick Wap pudding. But here’s a description of his book:

 

‘Through a series of sharply focused studies spanning three centuries, David Rollison explores the rise of capitalist manufacturing in the English countryside and the revolution in consciousness that accompanied it. Combining the empiricism of English historiography with the rationalism of Annales, and drawing on ideas from a wide range of disciplines, he argues that the explosive implications of the rise of rural industry created new social formations and altered the communal, cultural and social contexts of peoples’ lives. Using localized case studies of families and individuals the book starts with significant detail and moves out to build up a subtle and innovative view of English cultural identities in the early modern period.’

 

Here is a link to the book for anyone who wishes to research further:

https://epdf.tips/the-local-origins-of-modern-society-gloucestershire-1500-1800.html

Heritage and the GWR

What is ‘Heritage’?

We all sort of know what heritage means,

Don’t we, in a way …

Something handed down from the past,

A tradition, an inheritance,

Be it cultural, tangible,

Physical, natural,

intangible, oral, folkloric

And so on … and so on …

You know, that sort of thing;

Or as Michael Heseltine put it

When English Heritage was formed,

English Heritage will tell ‘the story of England’.

And therein lies the rub, of course:

Who tells the story?

Who makes up the story?

How reliable is the narrator?

How omniscient is the listener?

Let’s think about Isambard Kingdom Brunel:

A case study in Swindon and heritage

If ever there was one:

The half-mythologised story

Of Brunel choosing Swindon as the site

For his locomotive works,

With the tossing of a ham sandwich,

And where it fell, Swindon grew …

The subsequent lionisation

And heroization of Brunel,

The statue, the shopping centre,

A man for all seasons it would seem.

He was also a man of Bristol, of course,

Bristol: the source of so much of the capital

That financed the Great Western Railway;

He was also a man of London,

Almost losing his life in the construction

Of the Thames Tunnel when it flooded,

So, Brunel is almost a personification

Of the eventual GWR coat of arms,

With the crests of London and Bristol.

But what of its heraldic motto,

‘Domine Dirige Nos: Virtute et Industria’?

‘Lord Guide Us’: ‘Virtue and Industry’ …

The Enslaved and the Great Western Railway

Friends, railwaymen and women,

I come not to bury the Great Western Railway

But to tell you of its provenance;

To tell you how the compensation

Given to owners of the enslaved,

Led to their railway investments

From that twenty-million pounds

So generously given in 1834,

Nearly half the national budget for that year,

Billions and billions in today’s values.

The GWR:

God’s Wonderful Railway:

I do not come to bury you,

But to tell the following tale of everyday Bristol folk:

Thomas Daniel whose £70,000 + compensation

For the very partial freedom gained

By over 2,500 enslaved on his estates,

(That’s £86 million in today’s values)

Came in right handy,

For a line from London to Bristol;

Richard Bright – only £14 million

In today’s values, I know,

For his 640 enslaved,

But every little helps you become

The deputy chairman of the GWR;

George Gibbs, only £1million in today’s values

(47 enslaved),

But a future director of the Great Western Railway;

Then there’s Henry Bush (114 enslaved),

Whose £3 million in the hand,

Helped finance the Bristol to Gloucester line;

And, penultimately, let’s remember John Cave,

Another railway Master of the Society of Merchant Venturers,

But, also, Sheriff and Mayor –

But I choose to conclude with Christopher Claxton,

Zealous defender of the West Indian plantocracy,

Vigorous defender of enslavement and its triangles,

Keen to fight a duel with an opponent of enslavement,

A surname that lives on in St Kitts and Nevis,

Close confiding colleague of Isambard Kingdom Brunel,

Out there, regarding the Clifton Suspension Bridge

And Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s giant steamships,

For he became the managing director

Of the Great Western Steamship Company …

‘Friends, Swindonians, countrymen, lend me your ears:

‘Domine Dirige Nos: Virtute et Industria’

‘Lord Guide Us’: ‘Virtue and Industry’ …

Written after reading From Wulfstan to Colston –

Severing the sinews of slavery in Bristol

Mark Steeds and Roger Ball Bristol Radical History Group

This piece indicates how local history and global history are so often intertwined. The term that has been coined for this fusion of approach is ‘Glocal History’. The link below takes you to my previous research on those who gained from compensation in 1834 in Bristol, Gloucestershire and Bath. Further research would be needed from the UCL slavery database to update the list, and research how many others invested in railways in general and the GWR in particular.

https://radicalstroud.co.uk/slave-owners-in-gloucestershire-and/

Reimagining how the Railway Lies

I live in Stroud,

Home of the arch commemorating the abolition of slavery,

An arch from 1834,

Standing near a comprehensive school,

By a busy main road to Gloucester;

We are rightly and justly proud of this in Stroud –

But, of course, quite a few owners of enslaved peoples

Lived around this town,

Not to mention Gloucester, Cheltenham,

Bath, Bristol and the rural south-west.

Slave owners received the equivalent in today’s values,

Of £17 billion;

Fully forty per cent of GDP in 1834;

A great deal of this ‘compensation’

Went into railway investment and development

In the 1830s and 1840s:

The Gladstone family in the north, for example …

And, nearer to home,

Bristol merchants in the GWR,

Samuel Baker at Lypiatt, near Stroud,

I could go on and on and on …

But what is chastening to reflect upon, I think,

Is the Keynesian multiplier effect …

The consequential impact in a series of links and chains,

Tendrils and tentacles,

And Victorian Venn diagrams

Upon our ancestors …

How many of our family forebears

(Six generations of mine)

Ended up working on the revered railways

Or ran the homes and kitchen

Because of that initial injection of capital?

It’s a sobering thought,

As we reflect upon those tentacles

And tendrils of racial capitalism.

Before I move on:

Out of the £695,000 raised by subscription for the construction of the railway from Swindon through Stroud to Cheltenham, £212,000 came from the spa town of Cheltenham, home to so many beneficiaries from the abolition of enslavement.

Reimagining how the Railway Lies

The Iron Road, the Permanent Way:

Lines of steel stretch to vanishing point,

Where pale-skinned navvies with pick and shovel,

Work their way through the nineteenth century.

But wait until the steam clouds dissipate,

See how that express train changes shape –

A slave ship on the Middle Passage,

Sharks following in its crimson wake.

The station now a sugar plantation,

Manacles and shackles in the waiting room,

Signal gantries now high gallows –

For the bounty paid to enslavers,

When slavery was abolished in 1834,

Helped fuel the Railway Mania;

Like Samuel Baker up at Lypiatt,

Investing in railways in the Forest of Dean,

Or the Gladstone dynasty up in Liverpool,

Or the gentry of Bath and Bristol in the west;

Or, Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, Wiltshire.

The Iron Road, the Permanent Way:

Lines of steal stretch to revelation point:

A colonial landscape all along the line,

That is how the railway lies.

So, what of Swindon and the surrounding villages and enslavement?
I carried out a quick and perfunctory search
Of the UCL (oh, alma mater!) enslavement data base,
To see what would turn up,
And here we are:

George Kibblewhite
Lydiard Millicent

William Kibblewhite
Lucy Sadler (nee Kibblewhite)
BENEFICIARY
Jamaica St Mary 94 (Weyhill)
£1949 7s 0d [114 enslaved]

Edmund Kibblewhite
High Street Wootton Bassett
AWARDEE [TRUSTEE]
Jamaica St Mary 94 (Weyhill)
£1949 7s 0d [114 enslaved]

Joseph Christopher Ewart
Broasleas Devizes
Antigua 86 [Long Lane Delap’s]
£2790 8s 8d [213 enslaved]

Charlotte Peach (nee Philpot)v Sarum Devizes
UNSUCCESSFUL CLAIMANT [LEGATEE]
Antigua 324 [Vernon’s]
£4906 5s 5d [329 enslaved]

Joshua Smith
Erlestoke Devizes

Anna Susanna Watson Taylor
OTHER ASSOCIATION
Jamaica Hanover 21 [Haughton Grove]
£2512 0s 3d [138 enslaved]
OTHER ASSOCIATION
Jamaica Hanover 577 [Haughton Court Estate]
£5343 19s 1d [273 enslaved]

OTHER ASSOCIATION
Jamaica St Mary 247 [Llanrumney Estate]
£5649 0s 7d [331 enslaved]

OTHER ASSOCIATION
Jamaica St Mary 26 [Montrose and Flint River Pens]
£5343 5s 6d [296 enslaved]

George Watson Taylor (nee Watson)
BENEFICIARY
Jamaica Hanover 577 [Haughton Court Estate]
£5343 19s 1d [273 enslaved]
OTHER ASSOCIATION
Jamaica St Mary 247 [Llanrumney Estate]
£5649 0s 7d [331 enslaved]

OTHER ASSOCIATION
Jamaica St Mary 26 [Montrose and Flint River Pens]
£5343 5s 6d [296 enslaved]

OTHER ASSOCIATION
Jamaica St Mary 247 [Llanrumney Estate]
£5649 0s 7d [331 enslaved]

OTHER ASSOCIATION
Jamaica St Thomas-in-the-East, Surry 457 [Burrowfield Pen]
£1711 10s 6d [99 enslaved]

Further research: if you were to type in this link for the search page on the UCL database

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/lbs/search/  and then type in Wiltshire into the county box, you would see the records of some nearly 100 individuals. Future and further research would allow us to see if any of these people invested in railways in general and the GWR in particular.

 

Football Specials and Swindon

Football Specials

 

There was, of course, a close association

Between late Victorian railways

And the formation of football clubs:

Manchester United FC grew from

Newton Heath LYR FC

(The Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway):

The founders and players were all railway workers –

But we’re not bothered about that story,

Our tale is of the Robins from Wiltshire,

‘The Railwaymen’ at Swindon Town …

Salubritas et Industria …

So, this is, perhaps, a signal moment

To compile a history of ‘Football Specials’ …

 

The first football specials were run by

The Great Western Railway Company,

In 1927, from Cardiff to Paddington

(Cardiff City beat Arsenal 1-0

At Wembley in the FA Cup Final:

‘The Cup’ left England for the only time);

Over fifty trains powered through Swindon –

What a day out for the miners of South Wales

So soon after their lock-out and the General Strike,

As Welsh coal took them up to Wembley and back

On locomotives built in Swindon!

 

Even though JB Priestley waxed lyrical

About travel by coach in the 1930s,

It was still commonplace to see players,

And supporters in scarves and rosettes

Share the same trains right through to the 1950s,

But the history of football specials

Has become half-mythologised since

The days of sepia and black and white,

As memories become tarnished with time,

And supporters aren’t quite sure whether

That particular excursion was by coach or train …

Madeleine moments and Arkell’s 3 Bs …

 

But let’s kick off with a coach journey in the Cup,

To Southampton in 1948,

Courtesy of my brother-in-law:

‘My Uncle Ivor who did a bit of coach driving for Wellington Garage arranged a party of his GWR workmates to go to the match and took me along perched on a beer crate behind his driving seat. We’d only got as far as Ogbourne St. Andrew when the coach radiator leaked water and overheated. Ivor got out to get a bucket of water at a cottage which was poured in and off we went. At Southampton, he stopped to ask the way to the Dell then moved on leaving the copper in a cloud of steam. Sadly, we lost that game and also lost wing half Kaye in a tackle with Alf Ramsey. I remember the programmes were printed on one side only on a sheet of paper handed out free – must have been free for I had no money and ended up with a sheaf of them. The trip home was a boozy one with several crates of beer onboard and many stops en-route for ‘Hedge Tickets’ …

 

I now jump on nearly twenty years

To the age of mods, skinheads and diesels:

I was there as a little mod travelling

To the Swindon away games in the Cup,

Chastised by my History teacher:

‘You shouldn’t be attending this wretched gladiatorial combat.

Attend to your studies instead, boy!’

One Speech Day, we were isolated

In the gym, with close circuit TV,

As we were leaving early for the train

To take us to an FA Cup replay;

We were told in no uncertain terms,

That we were letting ourselves and the school down –

How we silently cheered when the guest speaker

Said how pleased he was to see so many of us

Would be leaving early to support ‘the Town’ …

 

 

We lost 3-0 as it happens …

Floreat Semper Schola …

 

O tempora! O mores!

 

The Football Special era occurred when it did,

As all the right ingredients were in place:

British Railways with surplus rolling stock;

Teenagers with surplus disposable income;

The impact of England winning the World Cup in 1966 …

But who could have foreseen what would happen,

When bescarved young men congregated in carriages?

(Who could have foreseen the semiotics

Involved in the tying of football scarves

Around The wrists rather than the neck?)

Why the smashing of windows?

Why the institutionalised hurling

Of toilet rolls out of the windows?

Then there was the incidental, sometimes

Organised, and pre-arranged, violence

Attendant and consequent to arrival

At the railway station, and the walk to the ground,

Often with an attendant phalanx of police,

Both in the days before, and after, the miners’ strike;

Police horses, too, standing sentinel:

It wasn’t a walk in the park back in those days.

 

And here are some recollections from some fans

Of ‘The Railwaymen’ of Swindon Town:

But firstly, a voice that will speak for many:

‘Not being a local and being a little younger than the football special … I’d love to see whatever is discussed …never even been on a supporters’ coach.’

 

‘Pockets full of coppers …Can’t remember a special that ever had any toilet rolls after the first couple of miles … light bulbs too! Seemed like all part of the day out in them days.’

 

‘Carlisle was mental. Burnley was mental. Witnessed some daft things on the trains – the stuff getting chucked out of windows as the train went through small stations could have seriously injured or killed someone. Always had the welcoming committee waiting at the station, never realised the volume of the away fans breaking through the police escort out of the station.’ ‘Have a soft spot for northern outposts. Much prefer them to the southern games.’

 

‘A mate of mine is a retired police officer and was on the Burnley special (Cup game) under cover and doing surveillance.’

 

‘Late 70s/early 80s went to Aldershot, Exeter, Blackpool, Liverpool, Wimbledon, Torquay, Slave Traders … Virtually everyone on the specials were young lads, pissed or glued up. Stewards taking booze off everyone and then drinking it with their mates. Lots of money won or lost in card games … The rolling stock was the absolute dregs because it had a good chance of being trashed.

Liverpool was fun. The walk to and from Lime Street. A little reception committee waiting for us after the game … I missed the Wrexham one, that was supposed to have been the one to be on.’

 

‘I missed the Liverpool cup trip when the scousers raided the train during the game and stole possessions from supporters’ luggage.’

 

‘One that sticks in the memory was the special train to Millwall (Old Den) for the night game on Saturday April 7 1970 … the scruffy old train went all the way to New Cross or New Cross Gate (forget which). There was a short walk to the ground. A very scary place in the pre-crowd-segregation days … At 2-0 down in the second half, Don Rogers scored and the Town fans were spotted by the home fans who you could see moving from the home end, heading for where we were. I went and stood somewhere else before they arrived. I headed back to the station before the end of the game and as I was walking down the road, a Millwall fan started talking to me about how good the Lions had been when there was a roar from the ground. Millwall had scored a late 3rd goal … I tried hard not to give away that I wasn’t a home fan. A memorable trip for a callow youth.’

 

‘Even now, it is great when you get a critical mass of fans on the train. Coming back from Hartlepool after the 3-0 win in the Garner season was brilliant.’

 

‘Getting to the ground and missing most of the first half wasn’t much fun. Losing to top it off absolutely took the biscuit.’ ‘Which game was that?’ ‘Wrexham away the mid-70s.’ ‘Jesus. Wrexham away. Now that was a day out.’

 

‘Off the top of my head, I remember going on these specials: Liverpool and Wrexham in 1976/77, Arsenal 1979, Spurs 1980, Reading 1982, Burnley 1983, Carlisle 1984, Bristol City and Bristol Rovers at least three times in the 80s and early 90s. Newport three times in the late 70s early 80s. Crystal Palace in 1989 for the play off.

I am sure there are a couple I have forgotten in there too, but they were great days out. The Burnley special when the window was broken in the front carriage when a passing train’s door was left open was an experience.’

 

‘As a teenager in the seventies I visited Ashton Gate regularly via the train to Temple Meads and then the delightful 2.5 mile walk to the ground. I can recall hundreds of us marching along singing … One year we arrived and found the perimeter fencing etc adorned with STFC graffiti … Attempts to pay a visit to the East End was always short lived although we did manage to actually get on the terraces one year. As for the football, the first game I saw we drew 3-3. I recall the ref gave a penalty against Rod Thomas for handball when the ball hit the bar not his hand! That’s the only time I have seen us get a point at Ashton Gate. The rivalry was far more intense with Bristol City than it ever was with Oxford in my “naughty” days as a Town fan. Still have an intense dislike for them even now.’

 

 

‘If anyone fancies passing on their Wrexham memories then all will be treated with confidentiality’ …

 

‘Hopefully a few … will talk about the football special to Wrexham in the mid 70s.

I’ve heard a few stories about it but it’s best coming from anyone who was on it.’

 

It would appear that silence is golden with regards to Wrexham …

But as regards Wimbledon:

 

‘Football in the late 70s and early 80s was still a predominantly working-class pastime and,

as such, fans were not seen as customers, but yobbos to be kept at arm’s length. It was this line of thinking which British Rail used to compose their trains to transport supporters around the country in their ‘Football Specials’. A wheezing, old, diesel locomotive was the unit normally used to pull the train. The coaches were a mishmash of old rolling stock, some of which I’m sure were in the livery of the old GWR. Heating in the coaches seemed like an optional extra and with dodgy windows, which failed to shut properly ensured that, if you chose unwisely your coach for the journey, you would be completely refrigerated by the time you got to your destination. ‘

 

 

Now as LP Hartley said:

‘The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.’

And as William Faulkner put it:

‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past’

(Still off to Paddington to see Swindon

Beat Arsenal 3-1 at Wembley, 1969),

And I think what we see here,

Is a generation of men looking wistfully back,

In almost startled amazement at what they did,

And the things that went on towards the end

Of the 20th century

(Sliding Doors or The Road Not Taken),

There is no glorification of it at all,

More a football fan’s detached observation

Of football scarf rather than madeleine moments,

Marcel Proust on a red and white football special,

A la recherche du temps perdu …

Toilet rolls … light bulbs … the aggro …

 

But now, to some recollections from a friend,

A fellow walking footballer,

A Liverpudlian who taught himself

To read and write with percipience

From Liverpool football programmes:

‘Between 1971 and 1976, we used to organise travel for the Liverpool supporters based in London. We used to be able to just phone up Euston and say, “I’d like to book three carriages on the 7.20 a.m. to Liverpool, travelling back at 8p.m.” We set up an account and would collect 120/150 tickets from the office and hand out tickets to the members on the concourse. I never saw one incident but had so many great journeys … The concessions we used to get were amazing. A £5 ticket would be sold to us for about £3. Great days.’

 

Now, those days are past and won’t return,

But here’s a proposal for the future

And a new type of ‘football special’,

And a new relationship between railway companies,

And football clubs and supporters:

A season-ticket supporter’s rail card;

Perhaps a family season-ticket supporter’s rail card.

Read on … here’s the outline below:

 

Season-ticket holders at football clubs

Take their I-D to a railway ticket office

Or pursue the transaction online,

And for a fee of ???? pounds

Obtain their football special railcard,

(Bearing the Give Racism the Red Card legend),

Thereby obtaining the usual concessions

For railway travel throughout the country.

 

This, of course, boosts the coffers of all:

Railway companies, football clubs and supporters,

And, it gets people off the roads and motorways,

Using public transport and boosting fitness,

With walks to and from station and football ground,

With consequent public health benefits,

And climatic ones too …

It can also help change the old gendered link

We used to associate with railways,

Football supporters and travelling:

Families, women, men, boys, girls,

And any choice of personal pronoun,

All aboard!

It’s a win-win-win-win-win-win situation,

With the ‘Football Special Railcard’:

Just look at the Swindon Town FC badge …

Remember the heraldic motto

‘Salubritas et Industria’.

 

 

 

Post-script

I think what we see here,

Is a generation of men looking wistfully back,

In almost startled amazement at what they did,

And the things that went on towards the end

Of the 20th century

(Sliding Doors or The Road Not Taken),

There is no glorification of it at all,

More a football fan’s detached observation

Of football scarf rather than madeleine moments,

Marcel Proust on a red and white football special,

A la recherche du temps perdu …

Toilet rolls … light bulbs … the aggro …

So why did it happen?

And before we condemn …

Jude the Obscure Supporter

Now I’m not sure if there’s a debate here about determinism and free will,
Or whether there’s just some sort of reflection on 60 years spent going to the match,
That LS Lowry feeling of being lost in a crowd,
That loss of sense of self that meant that strangers were friends
And friends were never strangers,
For all was empathy and understanding,
And the boot was never on  the other foot.
And you can talk as much Sociology, Psychology or Philosophy as you like,
But the reason you trudged fortnightly to the game
Was because you enjoyed it and because, really,
How could you do anything different?
Who would do anything different?
You went because you loved the game,
And because you had loyalty to your mates,
And because you had a loyalty to your home town,
And because you had loyalty to your team,
And because the team was your town and your town was your team,
And because really your team was you and you were your team
And so you were your town and your town was you
In a syllogistic spiral that counted for nothing when you put your scarf on. –
For the minute wage differences that existed in a one industry town,
And the fact that footballers didn’t earn much more than anyone else,
Meant that a happy commonality and solidarity suffused the town of Swindon!
And so you never imagined that your carefully choreographed movement
To and from the ground through the red-brick terrace streets of England
Was like some sort of scene from The Wasteland,
Nor did you see it as some sort of extension
Of typical male industrial working class historic traditions,
So that even when you were wearing the height of mod fashion,
You were in fact an anachronism,
For who would think like that?
Nor did you think, when you carefully read your programmes at half time,
Or when you re-read them at home,
Or swopped them, or used them,
So as to build up a store house of memory and fact and knowledge
About every facet and aspect of the game of Football
That you were, in fact, following in the footsteps of working class autodidacts,
The people who caught a glance at the classics within the rhythm of the pistons,
Or studied art or poetry or philosophy behind the foreman’s back
Or beneath the chief clerk’s nose or by the ganger’s shovel,
Or by the candle in the attic;
And now just think, how many brilliant minds there were,
In that faceless crowd of so-called untutored intellect,
Living lives that The News Of The World never ever dreamed of.
Where are they now?

 

Radical Road Trip

Radical Antiquarians on Tour
The Antiquarians’ Road Trip
Plus ca change

Look! There’s Mr Jingle and Mr Pickwick in Stamford,
A town astride the Great North Road,
All tortuous turnpikes and honey stone,
Coaching inns and listed buildings:
‘GOOD STABLING AND LOOSE BOXES’;

And beyond Stamford, heading east?
There’s John Clare revenants walking the roadside,
And channels and rivulets and watercourses,
With high embankments above the roads,
And a cloud filled sky that meets the fields
In a cumulonimbus towering clasp
Across a dark shadowed numinous dreamscape;

But there, leaping out of the flat lands’ fastness,
The vaporous tower of Ely cathedral,
And all around, the oozing of the fens:
Tick Fen; Langwood Fen, Great Fen, ChatterisFen,
Ouse Fen, Mildenhall Fen, Burnt Fen …
And all around, the waters of rivers and dykes,

And a boatyard down below the cathedral,
Constant trains rattling across the freight line rails,
As twilight softness gathers around the streets,
And swifts soar high above the Maltings,
And high above the roof of Oliver Cromwell’s house,
Just as their seventeenth century ancestors did,
When Cromwell strode forth with his righteous bible,
Imagining a New Model Army
That would vanquish Charles Stuart’s Royalists,
While swifts screeched and eavesdropped high above,
And a parliament of rooks observed and noted.

Radical Antiquarians on Tour
The Antiquarians’ Road Trip
Plus ca change

Look! There’s Mr Jingle and Mr Pickwick in Stamford,
A town astride the Great North Road,
All tortuous turnpikes and honey stone,
Coaching inns and listed buildings:
‘GOOD STABLING AND LOOSE BOXES’;

And beyond Stamford, heading east?
There’s John Clare revenants walking the roadside,
And channels and rivulets and watercourses,
With high embankments above the roads,
And a cloud filled sky that meets the fields
In a cumulonimbus towering clasp
Across a dark shadowed numinous dreamscape;

But there, leaping out of the flat lands’ fastness,
The vaporous tower of Ely cathedral,
And all around, the oozing of the fens:
Tick Fen; Langwood Fen, Great Fen, ChatterisFen,
Ouse Fen, Mildenhall Fen, Burnt Fen …
And all around, the waters of rivers and dykes,

And a boatyard down below the cathedral,
Constant trains rattling across the freight line rails,
As twilight softness gathers around the streets,
And swifts soar high above the Maltings,
And high above the roof of Oliver Cromwell’s house,
Just as their seventeenth century ancestors did,
When Cromwell strode forth with his righteous bible,
Imagining a New Model Army
That would vanquish Charles Stuart’s Royalists,
While swifts screeched and eavesdropped high above,
And a parliament of rooks observed and noted.

And so, we strode through Ely’s eely dreamscape,
Shapeshifting in the gathering dusk,
To claim food and drink at the Prince Albert;

Then dreaming of the cathedral,
‘The ship of the Fens’, moored with an anchor
Whose foundations rest on clay and sand,
And a water table higher
than that that of the nearby river,
Until the morning’s ganglion of railway lines
And succession of level crossings:
‘That’ll be the Ely north avoider loop at Queen Adelaide. Enables trains to run direct from Norwich to Peterborough, and vice-versa, and for Kings Lynn freight traffic to head to/from the yards at March. Really tight curves. Ely is a junction for five directions.’ (Jon Seagrave)

We drove on past giant fields of barley and wheat,
Right next to equally giant fields of flowering potatoes
(‘Its only bondage was the circling sky’),
Past where the agricultural rioters of 1816
Would have congregated, voicing demands
For a moral economy with fair prices and wages,
Before marching on to Ely and Littleport:
The response was transportation and execution;

And all the while, embankments and water,
And Will Kemp’s actor-ghost Morris-dancing his way,
In a forlorn attempt to prove that he
Was more popular than William Shakespeare,
Until we reach the flint city of Norwich,
To witness the cathedral’s taking of the Eucharist,

And, outside, Robert Kett’s Rebellion of 1549,
Hand to hand combat along cobbled Elm Street,
Betwixt two flint churches at either end,
The Earl of Warwick’s army guarding the Bishop’s Gate,
Right there where the Red Lion now stands,
And there, by the thick girth black poplar,
Just where we stand and gaze and imagine,
The rebels swimming the shallow waters by Cow Tower
(Built to hold hand held cannon and bombards),
To try and outflank the massed armed ranks on the bridge;

We wandered past the proud Kett memorial plaques,
Past the pub called Lollards Pit
(Mutter that you can find God in your own conscience.
You don’t need an archbishop’s hierarchy),
(Lollards: the link between the Peasants’ Revolt,
Kett and co and then the Diggers and Levellers.
Lollards Pit: the place of execution:
The faggots piled high for the burning
Of these religious radicals.),

Then up Kett’s Hill, past Kett’s Bakery,
To Mousehold Heath where at least 10,000 rebels
Camped high above the city, and its authorities,
Both ecclesiastical and secular,
And where their memory lives on, not just
With plaques and ruins and information panels,
But also, with an assertion of commonality
And historic rights of estover,
For here signs tell us to help ourselves to wood,
And timber and fuel from the felled trees:
Robert Kett’s moral economy
And opposition to enclosure lives on
In its quiet, understated manner
Up here, still, on Mousehold Heath.

I picked up a stone as a keepsake
As we descended back towards the city:
‘Oh, whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad.’
I’ve now placed it in the backroom fireplace,
Awaiting my whistle on some dark winter night.

The next day saw us in the Norfolk Broads,
Driving past Three Hammer Common,
And the parish of Barton Turf, with a verger,
Who looked as though he were from a Pre-Raphaelite painting;
Discovering fern and nettled footpaths
Behind massive churches distant from any village,
To reach lonely staithes down on the river bank,
And wander close to a causeway on a pilgrimage
To an isolated red brick windmill,
Built upon the site of St Benet’s monastery,
Where a spectral monk sometimes surveys
His haunting ruins and landscape:

A seeming labyrinth of watercourses:
Sails gliding by just above one’s head,
Yachts and wherries making their way
Parallel with our pilgrimage,
Lanyards clangourous in the breeze,
Skylarks ascending, ducks keening,
Osiers and sedges and willow and aspen
All rustling in the gathering wind,
Sunlight glistening on the rippling waters,
An elemental harmony of air, earth and water,
And fire, too.

For where we were standing and musing,
Just in front of the abbey gateway,
Was where abbey documents detailing
Bonded work, were burned by villeins
In the 1381 Peasants’ Revolt.
Right where we stood.
What happened to them, I wonder,
Out here in this watery world.
Did the words of King Richard the Second
Condemn them to a worse servitude?
Or death?
‘You wretches detestable on land and sea; you who seek equality with lords are unworthy to live. Give this message to your colleagues: rustics you were, and rustics you are still; you will remain in bondage, not as before, but incomparably harsher. For as long as we livewe will strive to suppress you, and your misery will be an example in the eyes of posterity. However, we will spare your lives if you remain faithful and loyal. Choose now which course to follow.’

By strange and unhappy happenstance, by the way,
Six hundred and forty years ago on this day,
John Ball was hanged, drawn and quartered:
‘When Adam delved and Eve span,
Who was then the gentleman?’

The next day saw us homeward-bound –
But antiquarian detours were necessary:
Wymondham, first, and this proud plaque:
‘Seeking a fairer society in Norfolk,
Robert Kett, supported by his brother William,
led a rebellion of more than 15,00 people in 1549.
The rising was crushed and over 3,000 died.
On 7th December 1549 Robert was hanged for treason
at Norwich Castle and William from Wymondham Abbey’s
west tower. This plaque was erected in 1999 to remember
the man and his struggle for a more just society in Norfolk.’

Chastened by the image of William,
Dangling, broken-necked, from a rope
Attached to the Abbey’s soaring high west tower,
We made our final East Anglian call at Bury St Edmunds.
Yet another abbey. Yet another memorial.
This time about Magna Carta; placed there in 1847.
‘THE 25 BARONS APPOINTED
TO ENFORCE THE OBSERVANCE OF MAGNA CHARTA
AT BURY St EDMUNDS NOV 20th A.D. 1214’
A detailed list follows;
And, on an adjacent wall, another memorial
To signify Victorian admiration
For this precursor to Runnymede in 1215;
In Gothic rhyming couplets too …
‘WHERE THE RUDE BUTTRESS TOTTERS TO ITS FALL,
AND IVY MANTLES O’ER THE CRUMBLING WALL …’

Sellar and Yeatman’s 1066 And All That
Came along some eighty years later;
Here are a few salient points
from their subversive 1930 classic:
‘1. That no one was to be put to death, save for some reason – (except the Common People)
2. That everyone should be free – (except the Common People)
3. That everything should be of the same weight and measure
throughout the Realm – (except the Common People)
4. That the Barons should not be tried except by a special group of other Barons who would understand …
Magna Charter was therefore the chief cause of Democracy in England, and thus a Good Thing for everyone –
(except the Common People).’

Well, we had to get home and live like common people,
And so, we called in, as everyone,
apart from barons, do,
At a motor way service station;
This one was on the M6, newly opened near Rugby,
And there I read in the Morning Star
(Bought in the Co-op in Wymondham)
Of a strike at the Weetabix factory in Kettering,
Over pay for working unsocial hours …

Plus ca change …
We still seek that elusive moral economy …
The barons are doing okay though.

Plus ca change.

Radical antiquarians on tour.
(Stuart Butler)

AA [Antiquarians Association]

RAC [Radical Antiquarians Collective]

Fake Views

Trigonometry Points or Trickonometry Points?
The clue is in the name of course:
Ordnance Survey: Ordnance: artillery;
Survey: examine and record an area of land;

The clue is in the time as well as space:
The 18th and 19th centuries:
The formation of the United Kingdom,
When English and Hanoverian imperialism
Mapped the new Union Jack with redcoat ruler,
And with muskets and new names and mathematics,
With charts and furlongs and charters,
Enclosing common and custom
With a new and ruthless toponymy.

Trigonometry Points or Trickonometry Points?
The clue is in the name of course:
Ordnance Survey: Ordnance: artillery;
Survey: examine and record an area of land;

The clue is in the time as well as space:
The 18th and 19th centuries:
The formation of the United Kingdom,
When English and Hanoverian imperialism
Mapped the new Union Jack with redcoat ruler,
And with muskets and new names and mathematics,
With charts and furlongs and charters,
Enclosing common and custom
With a new and ruthless toponymy.

Hear William Blake in London,
Marking signs of woe in the ‘charter’d streets’
And the banks and docks of the ‘charter’d Thames’,
As access, space, and freedom immemorial,
Were measured and circumscribed by new laws:
The Age of Reason trumpeting the triumph
Of Adam Smith and the division of labour
In the advance of dark, Satanic mills;
The Age of Reason trumpeting the triumph
Of the division of space through enclosure,
Both rural and urban, both maritime and littoral,
With chains to measure, but also to fetter
Republicans, protestors and trade unionists;
The use of chains for William Blake’s
‘Mind-forg’d manacles’,
An image suggestive of both
Government propaganda,
And an individual loss of imagination;
Autonomy exchanged for alienation
Among these green and pleasant lands,
Where we have today a right to roam
Through just 8% of our Jerusalem.

And beyond those dark Satanic mills?
Lines of latitude and longitude
Colouring the globe Stroud scarlet,
And the seas too, as Britannia ruled the waves,
And as William Blake penned these lines:
‘They told me that I had five senses to inclose me up,
And they inclos’d my infinite brain into a narrow circle,
And sink my heart into the Abyss, a red round globe hot burning,
Till all from life I was obliterated and erased’;

These trig points may have mapped our highlands and islands,
But they also pointed the way to Blake’s Atlantic Islands,
To Ireland and to the Americas, and to Africa,
To the Atlantic Archipelago,
To the slave trade and to Empire,
And they also pointed the way to the Age of the Anthropocene.

This is the hidden ambient history
Of these six thousand concrete pillars:
The illusion of mathematical neutrality,
The illusion of abstract reason and rationality,
The illusion of freedom;
And so:
‘Bring me my Bow of burning gold,
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold:
Bring me my Chariot of Fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green & pleasant Land’.

Inspired by a Reading of
Red Round Globe Hot Burning

What have Historians enchanted by Roman Britain ever bequeathed to us?

What have historians enchanted by the study of Romano-British

history ever bequeathed to us?
And why have they been enchanted?
I suppose it could be the Stockholm Syndrome,
The affection felt by the captive for the captor sort of thing,
Or perhaps we should call it the St Albans Syndrome,

Or the Verulamium Syndrome …
But there’s so much more, I know,

(Or is there?)

Deference, perhaps, or ‘Borrowed status’,
As the sociologists put it,

The cult of the classics in grammar schools,
The dominance of the English public school;
The cult of the nineteenth century amateur,
Antiquarian and archaeologist,
Often a country curate;

The simultaneous growth of the British Empire,
Parallels drawn with Pax Romana,
And the civilizing mission
Of ‘The White Man’s Burden’;
The tantalizing nature of the evidence
Of the Romano-British centuries:
Tangible yet numinous;

Chance finds as the country was industrialised,
New roads, new footings, foundations and factories,
Those rural curates on new railway lines,
The Ozymandian nature of it all:
‘Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair.’
The M.R. James winter ghost story trope,
The feeling that those twilight Celtic gods
Lie just beyond the veil of imagination.
The way that the history fitted in
With a British jigsaw of stereotypes:
England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland,

What have historians enchanted by the study of Romano-British

history ever bequeathed to us?
And why have they been enchanted?
I suppose it could be the Stockholm Syndrome,
The affection felt by the captive for the captor sort of thing,
Or perhaps we should call it the St Albans Syndrome,

Or the Verulamium Syndrome …
But there’s so much more, I know,

(Or is there?)

Deference, perhaps, or ‘Borrowed status’,
As the sociologists put it,

The cult of the classics in grammar schools,
The dominance of the English public school;
The cult of the nineteenth century amateur,
Antiquarian and archaeologist,
Often a country curate;

The simultaneous growth of the British Empire,
Parallels drawn with Pax Romana,
And the civilizing mission
Of ‘The White Man’s Burden’;
The tantalizing nature of the evidence
Of the Romano-British centuries:
Tangible yet numinous;

Chance finds as the country was industrialised,
New roads, new footings, foundations and factories,
Those rural curates on new railway lines,
The Ozymandian nature of it all:
‘Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair.’
The M.R. James winter ghost story trope,
The feeling that those twilight Celtic gods
Lie just beyond the veil of imagination.
The way that the history fitted in
With a British jigsaw of stereotypes:
England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland,

Some more civilized than the Celtic others.
The serendipitous way chance finds
Both pleased the Church of England,
And the new school of Social Darwinists;
The way the lauding of Roman civilization
Elided bestial bloodshed;
Slavery; hedonistic sexuality;
The way the contemporary class structure
Was equated with the Roman Conquest:
Vulgar plebs and cultured patricians;
Uncouth Britons, barbaric Celts,
A dangerous working class,

An English ruling class that knew its Classics,
And knew how to educate the masses;
And an exception that glorified the rule:
The Westminster statue of Boudicca,
Queen Victoria in all but name,
And more Roman than Briton or Iceni,
For every age rewrites history,
Particularly when the sun
Never set on the British Empire.
UNROMAN BRITAIN
And so,

What have historians enchanted by the study of Romano-British

history ever bequeathed to us?
And why have they been enchanted?

Black People here before the English
He, an Egyptian, an auxiliary;
She, secret- keeper for the Dobunni,
Had arranged to meet by the sacred oak,
Sheltered and hidden from keen Roman eyes
By dense, dark woods of smooth barked beech.
He, a skilled boatman from the River Nile,

And now, deserter from the garrison
At Kingsholm; beaten, whipped, lashed and abused

By officers for drunken amusement,
Found silent sympathy, trust and love
From this mute young woman at the wine shop;
She, like him, violated just for fun
And entertainment – forced to play the fool,
Was also a skilled, rehearsed dissembler,
For inside that apparently dumbstruck
Mind was mysterious Druidic lore,
Hidden safe within a tribal dreamscape.
She, beyond Roman suspicion and law,
Led him by the hand, as the red sun’s rays
Sank behind the high shrine to Mercury;
She, night-navigator of marshland paths,
She, sure-footed through the night-rustling forest;
They, sheltered and sleeping through the daylight hours,
They, slipping unseen past messenger posts,
Up the eastern scarp, then down to the river.
He, Nile-native, expert boatman, stared west
Across the Severn to the Silures –
Their boat eased its way with gentle paddle
Across that broad swathe of dangerous water,
Until exhausted, they breathed freedom.
Three centuries later, loyal-subjects,
Their children’s lineage, dark-skinned Britons,
Were destined to fight for Rome and Glevum
Against Anglo-Saxon invading migrants,
Who steadily renamed the landscape –

But that’s another story.

Woodchester Roman Villa

Per Ardua ad Furniture

The Paris Situationists might have cried:
‘Underneath the pavements, the beach!’,
But the Radical Stroud Situationists
See the pavements rather differently:
‘Underneath the furniture shop floor,

Not just Glevum’s Roman wall,
But also the bastion tower!’

When you walk past the Gloucester Furniture Exhibition Centre,
At the junction of Parliament and Southgate Streets,
Pluck up the courage to ask permission for a viewing,
Or even better, spend some money there,
And remember that, ‘All roads lead to Rome!’
For some nine feet down below ground level,
Beneath the medieval rebuild,
Lies the structure that stretched from the wall
Now displayed outside Boots on Eastgate Street:

Part of the Roman Colonia wall,
From circa AD 97.

It’s a shame that Boots isn’t named Sandals,
But, on the other hand, altera parte,
Perhaps our cry might be,
‘Underneath our Boots, the wall!’
‘Underneath the drawing room furniture,

The drawbridge!’

Being John Thelwall

I first opened the pages of EP Thompson’s
Making of the English Working Class
On my 21st birthday in 1972:
It seemed to sit quite easily along
With the glass bottomed pewter tankard –
A traditional 21st father-son present back then:
Key of the door and welcome at the local too;
The glass bottom so I could see the King’s shilling,
And escape enlistment in some past imperial war –

The tankard now holds used paint brushes in the shed,
But the book sits on my shelf like a Bible:
But it wasn’t just the text that changed my life,
It was the picture on the cover of the labourer,
Foregrounded in late summer contentment,
Basket of blackberries, billy cock hat,
Puffing Billy, Locomotion, or some such,
Steaming and smoking along behind …

Like any sacred text, it is a product of its time,
But today, in 2019, I return to its pages,
Church bells ringing as I sit in the garden,
Hot on the trail of John Thelwall,
Like some government spy, checking the index,
To find, initially, this strange amalgam
Of Foucaultian-Augustan-Post Modernist-self-reflexive text:
Thelwall’s record of his Privy Council interrogation,
In the presence of no lesser personages
Than Prime Minister William Pitt,
The Home Secretary and the Lord Chancellor …

I first opened the pages of EP Thompson’s
Making of the English Working Class
On my 21st birthday in 1972:
It seemed to sit quite easily along
With the glass bottomed pewter tankard –
A traditional 21st father-son present back then:
Key of the door and welcome at the local too;
The glass bottom so I could see the King’s shilling,
And escape enlistment in some past imperial war –

The tankard now holds used paint brushes in the shed,
But the book sits on my shelf like a Bible:
But it wasn’t just the text that changed my life,
It was the picture on the cover of the labourer,
Foregrounded in late summer contentment,
Basket of blackberries, billy cock hat,
Puffing Billy, Locomotion, or some such,
Steaming and smoking along behind …

Like any sacred text, it is a product of its time,
But today, in 2019, I return to its pages,
Church bells ringing as I sit in the garden,
Hot on the trail of John Thelwall,
Like some government spy, checking the index,
To find, initially, this strange amalgam
Of Foucaultian-Augustan-Post Modernist-self-reflexive text:
Thelwall’s record of his Privy Council interrogation,
In the presence of no lesser personages
Than Prime Minister William Pitt,
The Home Secretary and the Lord Chancellor …

‘ATTORNEY-GENERAL [piano]. Mr Thelwall, what is your Christian name?
T. [somewhat sullenly]. John.
ATT. GEN. [piano still] … With two l’s at the end or with one?
T. With two – but it does not signify. [Carelessly, but rather sullen, or so.] You need not give yourself any trouble. I do not intend to answer any questions.
PITT. What does he say? [Darting round, very fiercely, from the other side of the room, and seating himself by the side of the CHANCELLOR.]
LORD CHANCELLOR [with silver softness, almost melting to a whisper]. He does not mean to answer any questions.
PITT. What is it? – What is it? – What? [fiercely] … ‘
The Privy Council’s record differs from the account of Thelwall’s Tribune 4th April 1795:
‘Being asked by the Clerk of the Council how he spelt his Name – Answered: He might spell it according to his own discretion for that he should answer no Questions of any kind …’

‘Whatever’ is what we might say today,
And, whatever, Thelwall was one of a dozen
Sent to the Tower and then Newgate,
With a possible sentence of hanging,
Drawing, beheading and quartering
Waiting in the wings –
And yet, with perfect complacency,
Despite some confinement in the charnel-house,
Citizen John composed a series of reflective lines,
Poems Written in Close Confinement in the Tower and Newgate,
This Thelwallian fragment self-limns:
‘Within the Dungeon’s noxious gloom
The Patriot still, with dauntless breast,
The cheerful aspect can assume –
And smile – in conscious Virtue blest!’

The late autumn of 1795
Saw Citizen John’s charismatic command
Of rhetoric in action again,
At Copenhagen Fields, Islington,
This time using his voice rather than pen,
To inspire and enthuse a mass-meeting
Of perhaps 100,000 souls:
‘The whole nation’ would be unified:
‘Combined in one grand political Association, or Corresponding Society,
from the Orkneys to the Thames, from the Cliffs of Dover to the Land’s End.’
Citizen John was at pains to keep matters peaceful,
But he was singled out after subsequent riots
(200,000 in the London streets!
‘Down with Pitt!’ ‘No War!’ ‘No King!’),
The Seditious Meetings Act and the Gagging Act followed,
And a particular and pointed clause,
Allowing the closure of lecture-rooms,
If deemed ‘disorderly houses’ –
This was aimed directly at John Thelwall …

‘The Jacobin fox’ tried to evade the hunt
By using Ancient Rome as a political allegory,
But further persecution followed,
Tribune was closed down and silenced,
Citizen John was assaulted by armed sailors,
When on a lecturing tour in East Anglia …
But who can forget sentences such as:
‘ancient abuses are not by their antiquity converted into virtues’,
Or,
‘Pitt has neglected, and by his wars and consequent taxes,
oppressed the poor, to secure his popularity among the rich’.

He had been singled out with that clause,
For from his quondam lecturing base
At Beaufort Buildings in the Strand,
And from the pages of Tribune,
His lectures fused together
The oral and the textual,
The page and the stage,
In a rather more formal version
Of Thomas Spence’s ‘free and easies’, in some ways –
Thelwall may not have been a Spencean,
But he could assert in the Rights of Nature
That there was more to changing society
Than Tom Paine’s Rights of Man:

‘I affirm that every man, and every woman, and every child, ought to obtain something more, in the general distribution of the fruits of labour, than food, and rags, and a wretched hammock with a poor rug to cover it; and that, without working twelve or fourteen hours a day … from six to sixty. – They have a claim, a scared and inviolable claim … to some comfort and enjoyment … to some tolerable leisure for such discussions, and some means of or such information as may lead to an understanding of their rights …’

But further persecution, and a blind eye
Turned by JPs to attacks by
‘sailors, armed associates and … dragoons’,
Allied to a well justified and growing paranoia
About spies and informants in coffee house or tavern:
‘Some strange but well-dressed man would seat himself on the opposite side of my box’,
All helped lead Samuel Taylor Coleridge
To accept a visit from ‘intrepid, eloquent, and honest’
John Thelwall, to Nether Stowey,
In the summer of 1797,
‘… it would be sweet
With kindly interchange of mutual aid
To delve our little garden plots, the while
Sweet converse flow’d, suspending oft the arm
And half-driven spade, while, eager, one propounds
And listens one, weighing each pregnant word,
And pondering fit reply …’
(That’s John Thelwall, not Coleridge btw) …

But spies were hotfoot to Nether Stowey too,
Following that ‘little stout man
with dark crop of hair and … white hat’,
And so John Thelwall wrote thus:
‘Ah! let me then, far from stressful scenes of public life …
Ah! let me, far in some sequester’d dell,
Build my low cot! most happy might it prove,
My dear Samuel! near to thine, that I might oft
Share thy sweet concourse, best belov’d of friends’;

But Coleridge, feeling the hot breath of spies,
Wrote thus:
‘at present I see that much evil and little good would result from your settling here’;

Whilst, as for William Wordsworth,
He no longer found it
‘Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive
But to be young was very heaven’ …
His views on the French Revolution had shifted:
‘… all was quieted by iron bonds
Of military sway. The shifting aims,
The varied functions and high attributes
Of civil action, yielded to a power
Formal, and odious, and contemptible …’

(Exeat John Thelwall)

Thelwall would visit Stroudwater
On his way to secluded, sequestered Llyswen
Where Wordsworth met Thelwall for the last time,
A meeting that would lead to the description
Of the Solitary in The Excursion
Some Solitary!
He never forgot his earlier communal self
(This wasn’t some Et Ego in Arcadia oblivion,
He was back in London in the next decade,
Voice and pen well honed for the struggle),
And nor should we,
So we conclude with these lines from Rights of Nature 1796:

‘I adopt the term Jacobinism without hesitation – 1. Because it is fixed upon us, as a stigma, by our enemies … 2. Because though I abhor the sanguinary ferocity of the late Jacobins in France, yet their principles … are the most consonant with my ideas of reason, and the nature of man, of any that I have met with … I use the term Jacobinism simply to indicate a large and comprehensive system of reform, not professing to be built upon the authorities and principles of the Gothic customary.’

‘Monopoly, and the hideous accumulation of capital in a few hands … carry in their own enormity, the seeds of cure … What-ever presses men together … though it may generate some vices, is favourable to the diffusion of knowledge, and ultimately promotive of human liberty. Hence every large workshop and manufactory is a sort of political society, which no act of parliament can silence, and no magistrate disperse.’