The 5 Ws and the H of Chartism

The 5 Ws and the H of Chartism

It was a political movement – for the ‘People’s Charter’ –
(‘Universal Suffrage, No Property Qualification, Annual Parliaments,
Equal Representation, Payment of MPs and Vote by Ballot’),
With three petitions to parliament in 1839, 42 and 48.

It grew out of disappointment with the 1832 Reform Act,
The national suppression of trades unions,
The government’s response to the Captain Swing riots,
The 1834 Poor Law Amendment Act and the workhouses –
The hated New Poor Law ‘Bastilles’
(Which criminalised poverty with the principle of ‘less eligibility’:
Conditions inside the workhouse should be worse
Than from the worst paid job outside);
Then there was the workplace:
The unregulated working hours, the high prices, the low wages,
The unemployment and short time working,
The loathing of the Benthamite ‘felicific calculus’;
It grew also from eighteenth century Tom Paineite democratic ideas,
Previous beliefs and practice of the revolutionary Spenceans,
The memories of Peterloo, the hatred of both Tory and Whig,
But the Chartist preacher, the Reverend Stephens, asserted:
Chartism is ‘a knife and fork question …
A bread and cheese question’,
Whilst Richard Gammage, the contemporary Chartist historian,
Provided the long standing division of the movement into
‘Moral Force’ and ‘Physical Force’ Chartists.
But why, in particular, was there such a Chartist presence in Stroud in 1839,
And why was there such a commotion with the meeting on Selsley Hill?

Well, apart from the generalities of the above,
Lord John Russell was not only Stroud’s MP, but also the Home Secretary
And responsible for law, order and the suppression of Chartism;
He was also partly responsible for the terms of the 1832 Reform Act,
Which carefully extended the vote to the middle class
(From the aristocracy),
And deliberately excluded the working classes –
Even though they had borne the lion’s share of the campaigning
To bring about an extension of the franchise;
In addition, areas of declining cloth trade in the south-west
(Somerset, Wiltshire and Gloucestershire),
Were just the type of localities that led women and men to the Charter,
So when the Chartist National Convention was set up in London
(Partly to influence Parliament with the First Petition,
Partly to act as an alternative parliament should the Petition be rejected),
It was no surprise when the JP for Newport, John Frost,
Was chosen to appear on Rodborough Hill in March 1839,
As the prospective Chartist parliamentary candidate
For the next general election,
So as to challenge Russell in a blaze of national publicity
(Frost’s commission of the peace was withdrawn from him in March btw);
Meanwhile, the circulation of the Chartist newspaper the Northern Star
Was reaching 50,000 a week – and its influence far exceeded that:
Read and discussed in home, the workplace, the pub, the chapel, the church,
‘Each copy would go through many hands. Those who could not read would listen as others read to them; and all could discuss’
(Edward Royle: Chartism);
The National Petition was ready for Parliament in early May
(Nearly three miles long with nearly 1.3 million signatures);
Mass meetings were held all over the north in May,
And so Selsey’s mass meeting of 5,000 in May 1839
Slots nicely into view and perspective …

The springtime of 1839 was in some ways the high time for Chartism:
The Petition was rejected in the summer,
Plans for a general strike petered out,
Confused plans for armed insurrection
Such as Newport, November 1839
(Partly to try and free Henry Vincent from prison –
He had been so active in Stroud and the Valleys in the spring),
Only led to Frost’s transportation,
And by 1840, over 500 Chartists were in jail.

1842 saw waves of strikes (the ‘Plug Riots’),
But also widespread use of the telegraph and railways
To speed troop movements;
The Second Petition, with a claimed 3.3 million signatures
Was rejected by parliament,
And the National Charter Association held the movement together,
As it developed so many different local strands:
Teetotal Chartism, Temperance Chartism, Chartist Churches, Chartist Chapels,
The Chartist Land Cooperative Society,
Groupings with middle class organisations such as
The Complete Suffrage Union and the Anti Corn Law League …

The April of 1848 (‘the Year of Revolutions’)
Saw the Third Petition and a state of high alarm in London:
Queen Victoria took refuge in the Isle of Wight,
As parliament sniggered at some of the nearly 2 million signatures –
‘Victoria Rex’, ‘Duke of Wellington’ and ‘Mr Punch’ indeed;
But as Royle points out,
Such names were often used to conceal identity and reprisal;
Or to laugh at, gull and guy authority;
And if some signatures were written in the same hand,
These were not forgeries,
But reflected the opinions of the ’30 per cent of society’ who used an X;
‘Other signatures were dismissed because they were those of women’,
But as Royle points out:
‘Even if the … Commons did underestimate the number of petitioners, a figure of around two million – out of a total population of seventeen million over the age of ten – remains very impressive.’
And even though the events of April are usually portrayed as a damp squib,
Riots continued in the north,
A silent march of 80,000 took place in London,
Street fights with the police broke out in the East End,
Information from police spies and agents provocateurs
Suggested a metropolitan uprising as a national trigger,
But the movement declined and then disappeared into history …
A failure.

Or was it?
It gave the working class confidence and self-belief;
It helped develop a national political culture
Whilst invigorating local diversities;
It politicised factory, mill, workshop, smithy, forge, furnace, loom, lathe, kitchen, bedroom, railway, canal, pub, spinning wheel, club, church, chapel, mechanics’ institute, evening schools, Sunday schools –
In short, it helped develop a working class consciousness,
And it forced the governments of the 1840s to bring in reforms
(Mines Act, Factory Acts, Public Health Act et al)
That otherwise would have been delayed.

Post Script:
Bronterre O’Brien 1837:
‘Knaves will tell you, that it is because you have no property you are unrepresented. I tell you, on the contrary, it is because you are unrepresented that you have no property.’

‘Address of the Female Political Union of Newcastle-upon-Tyne to their Fellow-countrywomen’, Northern Star, 9 February 1839:
‘We have been told that the province of woman is her home, and that the field of politics should be left to men; this we deny … For years we have struggled to maintain our homes … greet our husbands after their fatiguing labours. Year after year have passed away, and even now our wishes have no prospect of being realised, our husbands are over wrought, our houses half furnished, our families ill-fed, and our children uneducated … We are a despised caste, our oppressors are not content with despising our feelings, but demand the control of our thoughts and wants!’

‘The Christian Chartist Church’, Chartist Circular, 29 August 1840;
‘Christian Chartists! … Let us march triumphantly forward on the sacred way that leads to civil and religious liberty, equality and happiness. Let us press towards the glorious goal of Universal Suffrage.’

Charles Buckingham: Gloucestershire’s Jack Sheppard

Charles Buckingham: The Great Escaper

We all know of Spitalfields’ Jack Sheppard,
But what of Cheltenham’s Charles Buckingham?
Footpad on the Gloucester-Painswick turnpike,
Awaiting trial in Gloucester gaol after his capture in Bristol
(He had Bristol connections – when he was in the North Gloucester Militia,
He helped the romantically named Monsieur Dare,
A French prisoner of war, escape from Stapleton Prison;
Charles was court-martialled, but managed to escape and desert.),
He escaped from his cell just before the Christmas of 1808
(By nail, spoon and a ladder of blankets, sheets and mops,
He later said under oath; no inside help, Charles emphasised),
Keeping his freedom until the summer of 1809
(Despite a twenty guinea (oh, slavery!) reward),
When he was incarcerated in New Prison, Clerkenwell,
Almost emulating Jack’s feat there of almost a century before,
With adept fingers, file, nail, and crowbar,
But caught, right at the end with a score of other prisoners;
He was returned to Gloucester, mightily relieved
When his Jack Ketch black cap verdict was commuted;
And so he was bound for the prison hulks in the Thames,
Like Magwitch and Compeyson in Great Expectations,
He and others, chained, leg-ironed and handcuffed,
Rigorously guarded, until a change of horses on the Uxbridge turnpike
Enabled him and two others to escape – both eventually hanged;
But, Mr Buckingham, still not then thirty, tall and avian-like,
With a beak-like prominent nose,
Remained free as a bird:
Where did he fly to?

With many thanks to Jill Evans for permission to use her research at https://gloscrimehistory.wordpress.com/author/jillrevans/

Totally recommend that you visit Jill’s fascinating blog

Tyburn Tree, Jack Sheppard and Jonathan Wild

Trivia or the Art of Walking the Streets of London: John Gay

Where the Mob gathers, swiftly shoot along,
Nor idly mingle in the noisy Throng.
Lured by the Silver Hilt, amongst the Swarm,
The subtil Artist will thy Side disarm.
Nor is thy Flaxen Wigg with Safety worn;
High on the Shoulder, in the Basket born,
Lurks the sly Boy; whose Hand to Rapine bred,
Plucks off the curling Honours of the Head.
Here dives the skulking Thief, with practis’d Slight,
And unfelt Fingers make thy Pocket light.
Where’s now thy Watch, with all its Trinkets, flown?
And thy late Snuff-Box is no more thy own.
Bit lo! his bolder Thefts some Tradesman spies,
Swift from his Prey the scudding Lurcher flies;
Dext’rous he scrapes the Coach, with nimble Bounds,
While ev’ry honest Tongue Stop Thief resounds.

Tyburn Tree England

In dear old 18th century Tyburn Tree England,
So severe was the penal code, that you
‘Might as well be hanged for stealing a sheep as stealing a lamb’:
Why bother to be hanged for petty pilfering?
You might as well do a big job.

It was different for the aristos, however:
They could change the law to make their big jobs legal –
‘The Black Acts’ and enclosure criminalized walking
And privatized public spaces, slavery funded Augustan culture,
Whilst the government dined so well off the fat of the land
That John Gay was forced to satirize them all
In ‘The Beggar’s Opera’, where the prime minister,
Sir Robert Walpole and his gang were no better
Than the most hardened of Newgate’s criminals.
It ran and ran and ran.

Now the classically English take on our island story
Is ‘The Whig View of History’, where everything gets slowly better,
In a gradualist, incremental, organic, non-revolutionary manner:
There is nothing cyclical about the narrative at all,
It is a linear line of beneficence and improvement.
But today, I read Aditya Chakrabortty’s piece:
‘Today’s Britain: where the poor are forced to steal or beg from food banks
MPs who fiddled thousands got off lightly yet they have created a system where the hungry go to jail’ and ‘people who’ve had their benefits sanctioned, stealing televisions or other items sufficiently expensive to guarantee they’re sent down.’
Is this the new Tyburn penal code for the poor?
‘You might as well be warm in prison for stealing a telly rather than cold at home after being fined for stealing food from a shop?’

Tyburn Tree, Jack Sheppard and Jonathan Wild
Firstly: Jonathan Wild

Henry Fielding formed the Bow Street Runners in 1750,
But a generation before that, Jonathan Wild, self-appointed
Thief-Taker General of Great Britain, ruled the roost:
With no police force, arrests depended on rewards for information
Rather than detection, and such information came from the criminal underworld –
Wild saw and seized his opportunity within this metropolitan shadowland:
He set up thieves, receivers and informers for their jobs,
Restored stolen goods to their owners for a fee,
Handed thieves over to the law and the gallows and Jack Ketch –
In short, double-dealt with magistrates and malefactors alike,
Whilst short changing both for a good – or bad – ten years,
Until he cocked a snook once too often,
And danced his last dance at Tyburn Tree in 1725.

John Gay’s character Peachum in The Beggar’s Opera
Not only reflected Jonathan Wild,
But the Prime Minister, Robert Walpole, too:
‘I cannot indeed wonder that the Talents requisite for a great Statesman are so scarce in the world since so many of those who possess them are every month cut off in the prime of their Age at the Old-Baily …A Highway-man never picks up an honest man for a companion, but if such a one accidentally falls in his way; if he cannot turn his heart
He like a wise Statesman discards him.’
Peachum’s final recitation from his account ledger listed Walpole’s nicknames:
‘Robin of Bagshot, alias Gorgon, alias Bluff Bob, alias Carbuncle, alias Bob Booty‘,
And the Beggar states his message from the play: that the lower Sort of People have their Vices in a degree as well as the Rich: And that they are punish’d for them.’
And when the Beggar says ‘And’, he means ‘But’.

Henry Fielding in his reflexive fictional factional Jonathan Wild’,
Uses the motif of the ‘Great Man‘ throughout the book,
To draw analogies between the infamous criminal, Wild,
And the notoriously corrupt Prime Minister, Walpole,
Prime Minister for twenty years from 1721 to 1742,
‘Screenmaster-General‘ for the ‘Robinocracy‘ as he was known.

‘The Life of Jonathan Wild from his Birth to his Death’ by H.D.,
Spoke of how ‘by taking some of his own Gang now and then,
Because they had disoblig’d him, and apprehending others because they were not of his Gang, and hanging them … he was reckoned a very useful Man, and was call’d upon by the Court … And sometimes, by ingenious Quirks, or by managing the Juries or Evidences, he has brought off some of his Favourites…’ And how ‘he used to affect an extraordinary Intimacy with certain Justices of Peace; and it is said he sometimes drank with those Gentlemen at Taverns‘, So ‘to be able so many Years to evade the Punishments appointed by the Laws… ‘And to live not only in a Toleration, but even in a kind of Credit,
amongst the People he was robbing every Day’.
Fielding concluded his analogy by describing ‘ Newgate as no other than Human Nature with its mask off’ and ‘I think we may be excused for suspecting, that the splendid Palaces of the Great are often no other than Newgate with the Mask on. Nor do I know any thing which can raise an honest Man’s Indignation higher than that the same Morals should be in one Place attended with all imaginable Misery and Infamy, and in the other, with the highest Luxury and Honour. Let any impartial Man in his Senses be asked, for which of these two Places a Composition of Cruelty, Lust, Avarice, Rapine, Insolence, Hypocrisy, Fraud and Treachery, was best fitted, surely his Answer must be certain and immediate; and yet I am afraid all these Ingredients glossed over with Wealth and a Title, have been treated with the highest Respect and Veneration in the one, while one or two of them have been condemned to the Gallows in the other.’

Now for Jack Sheppard, and a bit of Jonathan Wild

Let’s assume that an 18th century shilling means £15 today:
Well, such a robbery meant the gallows and a ‘hanging fair’ back then,
When Wolverhampton’s Jack Wild spent four years learning his trade
In jail, in London’s Wood Street Compter, from 1708-12,
Dreaming of his ledger books, names marked with a duplicitous double X,
While Jack Sheppard came into the world in Spitalfields in 1702,
Sharing the Spitalfields streets with rioting weavers,
Fast outgrowing his apprenticeship as a carpenter in Covent Garden,
Drinking with Edgeworth Bess, Jack Wild and ‘Blueskin’ Blake in the Black Lion,
Starting to use his lithe, nimble 5’ 4” frame, his artists’ fingers and hands,
His profound intelligence and quick, sharp wits, to steal silver, gold, cash and cloth;
It was 1722, and Jack was twenty years old.

By 1724, Wild was out to get the independent upstart Sheppard,
And Jack was incarcerated in St. Giles’s Roundhouse:
A razor saw him through the ceiling, and bed clothing down the wall;
He sauntered through the crowd, despite his irons –
But a month later, after Bess tried to help him escape from St. Ann’s Roundhouse, Soho,
He and Bess were thrown into the New Prison, Clerkenwell:
Smuggled tools saw off their fetters and cell bars; whilst bed clothes
Led them down the wall – but only into Bridewell House of Correction;
Jack shouldered the buxom Bess up the twenty foot gate and down to freedom.
He was the talk of the town.

Jack returned merrily to his life of crime and started thieving with ‘Blueskin’ Blake
(Who had an equivocal relationship with Wild both in and out of the nick),
Taking to the highways as well as London’s thronged streets,
Until Wild found out Jack’s whereabouts from a drunken Bess,
And Jack ended up in Newgate – he was sentenced to death at his trial;
Jack had been set up by Wild; Blueskin was furious and attacked Wild with a knife,
Later declaring: ‘That he had fully determined to murder him …
to have cut off his head and throw among the rabble’.
In the succeeding commotion, Jack set to work with an old nail,
Picking the lock on his on his handcuffs, climbing up through the chimney,
Picking a succession of locks on the strong doors, descending via his bedclothes,
Waddling in his irons to an old barn by the Tottenham Court Road,
Then disguising himself to discuss, part third person, the now famous Sheppard,
In a tavern in Piccadilly (according to Daniel Defoe):
‘I assured her it was impossible for him to escape out of the kingdom, and that keepers would have him again in a few days. The woman wished a curse on those who would betray him … I stept towards the Hay Market, and mixt with a crowd about two ballad singers; the subject being Sheppard. And I remember the company was very merry about the matter.’
A week later, ‘I … was transformed into a perfect gentleman’,
Carousing with ‘my sweetheart’, travelling ‘in a hackney coach, the windows drawn up’,
Then drinking with his mother, until ‘my senses were quite overcome …
I was altogether incapable of resisting …’ – he was taken back to Newgate,
On All Souls’ Day 1724, cheered by the constant stream of visitors,
Including the great and the good, who paid good money to see him;
But he was resentenced to death, shackled in the condemned cell –
Although he foresightedly managed to weaken a bar at his window.

Newgate was astonishing to the modern conception of a prison,
With our assumptions of uniformity rather than motley – but back then,
Wealth could buy you comfort; penury meant misery;
And visitors – such as Edgeworth Bess – might bring you a disguise,
(If you were Jack) and pull you out from the window, dressed as a woman,
So that you could wander out of Newgate, irons beneath your petticoats,
While London was distracted by St. Bartholomew’s Fair,
To reach the ferry at Blackfriar’s Stairs, to rest up for the night,
Before donning the smock and apron of a butcher, with your mate, William Page,
To spend a few days in the country, then thieving in Fleet Street, and Finchley;
Wild was after him, via Bess, but the keeper of Newgate got to Jack first,
And he was taken back to Newgate, to the redoubt known as ‘The Castle’,
To be chained to the floor in double sets of fetters.

The press was in a frenzy:
Journals, newspapers and broadsheets were all full of the past adventures
And infamous exploits of Jack Sheppard,
As well as the subsequent discovery of a file secreted in a Bible,
Then more files, a chisel and hammer;
This set Jack back, but although now more melancholic and pessimistic,
Jack still managed to liberate himself from his fetters:
‘Twas troublesome to be always in one position’;
Parker’s London News reported that the turnkeys
‘searched him from head to foot, but found not so much as a pin, and when they chained him down again … he reached forth his hand, and took up a nail, and with that, and with no other instrument, unlocked himself again … Nothing so astonishing was ever known! He is now handcuffed, and more effectually chained.’
Jack had only one more trick up his sleeve – or waistcoat – for his journey by cart to Tyburn Tree:
A penknife was secreted in the hope that he might be able to continually chafe, rub and cut the rope
Bound around his wrists and bound for his neck, so that he might leap from that cart
And find refuge in the crowd there to pay their respects;
Alas! The knife was discovered by the Under-Sheriff …
Jack’s two hour procession, with rope and coffin, through crowds
Proffering handshakes and flowers, halted at a tavern for Jack to quaff his last drink,
Until the cart reached its woeful and final destination at Tyburn,
Where Jack brandished a pamphlet of his life detailing his misdemeanours
(Probably authored by Defoe; and publicity probably in exchange for protecting his body,
Either in the hope of resuscitation, or to save his corpse from the surgeons and dissection).
His legs thrashed in the air, his weight was insufficient for a quick death,
Well-wishers pulled at his legs to hasten the breaking of his neck and death,
Until at last Jack Sheppard was still;
A quarter of an hour later, the cart arrived to transport the body:
It was attacked – the crowd feared it was to be taken for hated unchristian anatomisation,
But Jack was eventually laid to rest in St Martin-in-the-Fields,
As the clock chimed mid-night.

And what of the wounded Jack Wild?

He was arrested on February 15th 1725,
Spending his days in luxury, in Newgate,
Insouciantly unbothered by Defoe:
‘I think it unpardonable, that a man should knowingly act against the law … contribute to the increase, as well as safety and maintenance, of pilferers and robbers, from no other principle, than a criminal selfishness … yet … As soon as anything is missing, suspected to be stolen, the first course we steer is to the office of Mr Jonathan Wild … so far from hating our enemy … we proffer him a recompense for his trouble, if he will condescend to let us have our own again … show that we are willing to forgive and forget, we consult … a person that deserves hanging …’,
Similarly unbothered by the parallels the press drew between himself
And the fraudulent Lord Chancellor, Lord Macclesfield, on trial in May,
Unbothered and probably puffed up as the spring and summer of 1725
Saw a constant parallel drawn between Thief-Taker Wild and Robber Walpole;
This continued right until the end of Walpole and his government,
But, for now, Wild was self-assured:
He felt sure his public listing of all the felons he had arrested would save him from the noose –
But, irony of ironies, the 1717 Jonathan Wild Act saw him convicted of a capital offence:
Receiving stolen goods.

His plea for mercy from the dock cut no mustard:
‘My Lord, I hope even in the sad condition in which I stand, I may pretend to some little merit for the service I have done my country … I have brought many … malefactors to just punishment, even at the hazard of my own life … I hope, my Lord, some compassion may be shown …’;
So, that meant King George next:
‘Tis nothing but your Majesty’s wonted goodness and clemency that could encourage me to sue for your royal favour and pardon … most dread and august sovereign, humbly prostrating myself at your royal feet … ‘

He only had laudanum left to try and render himself insensible,
But the derision of the crowd as the cart processed to Tyburn,
The abuse and execrations and constant missiles,
Must have made even Wild realise how hated he was –
He died quickly, in a shroud, after the cart left him dangling,
But there was to be no peace for Wild’s corpse:
Grave robbers saw to that.

Meanwhile, the English law went about its tasks with its usual failure:
Unpaid Justices of the Peace not attending to their duties,
Ditto constables and parish watches – and, in consequence,
Capital crimes increased by nearly 400% in the 18th century
(Deterrence rather than certainty of detection being the norm),
Although the pantomimic symbolism of appeal and the royal pardon
Meant that the number of executions actually declined –
A system of monarchical patronage and aristocratic control,
That enabled a projection of a Hogarthian Merrie England,
Where pauper and prince were equal before the law …
This projection of an illusory equality was also evident with the public pillory,
And even though some eventually lamented the death of Wild,
Asserting that crime was now on the increase,
The Fieldings were turning their minds to a police force for London,
The Bow Street Runners;
The brief reign of the likes of Jack Wild and Jack Sheppard would soon be over,
And Robert Peel’s ‘Peelers’ and ‘Bobbies’ were to be only a century away.

‘Some of the children have never heard the name of Her Majesty … Wellington, Nelson … St Paul, Moses, Solomon etc.’ but ‘there was a general knowledge … of … Dick Turpin … and more particularly of Jack Shepherd, the robber and prison-breaker.’
The Children’s Employment Commission

They groan’d aloud on London Stone
They groan’d aloud on Tyburn’s Brook
Albion gave his deadly groan,
And all the Atlantic mountains Shook.
(William Blake)

To understand 18th century law,
Its ideology is as important as its actuality:
How it was perceived as well as what it did
(The Free Borne Englishman trope:
‘Equality before the Law for both Rich and Poor’),
And at the top of the propertied triangle,
Sat the judge with his black cap majesty,
And then the good King Georges with the possible largesse of a royal pardon –
For just as the century saw an increase in capital offences
(An increase in trade and ‘portable property’ as well as poverty),
It also saw a decline in hanging ratios:
Hanging was quite palpably not working as a deterrent,
With royal pardons, transportation, and some juries reluctant to convict,
Even though, of course, all juries were made up of men of property,
And often, local acquaintances of the private prosecutor
(There was no police force to prosecute then, of course),
And there the undefended poor would face the arcane rituals of the court,
With its three guiding but often contradictory principles:
Majesty! Justice! Mercy!
Buttressed by Patronage, Paternalism, Deference,
Circumspection and Delicacy, when administering sentence.
(The dance of death between these three meant that about half of those condemned to the gallows were in fact transported or imprisoned.)
‘O yes! O yes! O yes! My Lords, the King’s Justices, strictly charge and command all manner of persons to keep silence while sentence of death is passing on the prisoners at the bar, on pain of imprisonment.’
…
‘The law is, that thou shalt return from hence, to the Place whence thou camest, and from thence to the Place of Execution, where thou shalt hang by the Neck, till the body be dead! dead! dead! and the Lord have Mercy upon thy Soul.’

And yet, even that august ritual was ridiculed:
‘Welcome to the Hanging Match next Collar Day when the Paddington Fair shall take place. Watch them Dance the Paddington Frisk when our friends shall Go West to Morris and Ride up Holborn Hill to Dangle in the Sheriff’s Picture Frame to finally Cry Cockles.’

Sources used: Douglas Hay Chapter One of Albion’s Fatal Tree: Property, Authority and the Criminal Law and Chapter Two by Peter Linebaugh: The Tyburn Riot against the Surgeons

Sources used:
Jonathan Wild by Henry Fielding (Edited with an introduction by Claude Lawson)
The Beggar’s Opera and Polly by John Gay (Ed, intro and notes by Hel Gladfelder)
The Thieves’ Opera by Lucy Moore
Whigs and Hunters by EP Thompson
The London Hanged by P Linebaugh
Albion’s Fatal Tree by Hay, Linebaugh, Rude, Thompson and Winslow
Songs of Innocence and Experience William Blake
The Life of Jonathan Wild from his Birth to his Death D Defoe
The Road to Tyburn Christopher Hibbert
Trivia or the Art of Walking the Streets of London: John Gay

“Ye Grande Commemorative William Shakespeare Rodborough Inquisition”

Stroud News Report:

A group of some forty strolling players and spectators gathered in Coronation Road, Rodborough, on Saturday for a Shakespearian celebration. Scenes from a variety of plays were enacted in the street and in houses and gardens on a sun-splashed spring afternoon.

The day started with a quiz about Rodborough in Shakespearian couplets; next came Act 1 Scene 2 from The Tempest with Prospero and Miranda on Ye Lawne. The promenade then led to a garage roof where the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet ensued: could such a promenade through such tableaux vivant have been happening anywhere else in the country?

The motley troupe of residents then crossed King’s Road for a moving and comic interpretation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in a back garden. Style then changed after another promenade for ‘the Scottish play’ as kitchen sink drama, before the road was re-crossed for the gulling of Malvolio in another outside re-creation.

All the while the strolling players were being followed by a boat, carried by James Pentney, who gave a talk about how he is planning to visit Iona and the Scottish islands for a poetic pilgrimage to the burial place of the historic Macbeth.

Next came Shakespeare’s views on football; then King Lear and then Phyllis Duffield’s rendition of the Seven Ages of Man. Phyllis who is 86 and travelled up from Bristol for the event, pointed out that “I have only reached five of these seven stages!”

Another promenade followed for Benedick’s soliloquy from Much Ado About Nothing and Hamlet’s final soliloquy reflecting on Fortinbras’ military campaign against Poland.

One last promenade meant the ending of the revels with a quick fire ‘Ten Dirty Jokes from Shakespeare in Ten Minutes’.

Wine, water, fruit and strawberry cake kept the troupe nourished through a unique and memorable afternoon.

Ye Grande Rodborough Revels

To commemorate the birthe, life and deathe of one

William Shakespeare on Saint George’s Day 2016

In Coronationne Roade, be ye Subjectte or Citizenne

Ye Planne (Whatte coulde goe wrongge?):

1. Ye introductionne to ye dayye: Stuart Butler atte two of the clockke:

“Ye Grande Commemorative William Shakespeare Rodborough Inquisition”

Good morrow, good friends, pray tarry a while
Forget the business of modernity’s style,
And list to my questions about this fair parish,
Try to gain points, and memory to cherish –
So let us begin and commence this day’s sport,
Let the game be well judged, and fairly fought.

So raise your hand, please do not shout out,
This is a quiz, not a rabble-rout.

Question one:
A turnpike once climbed over Rodborough Hill,
What is the evidence that stands there still?

Question two:
A picture doth swing in the morning sun,
Of who, who died in 1861?

Question three:
The great poet Wordsworth ne’er visited here,
But where is a reference to his life so clear?

Question four:
I carry no sword, pikestaff, nor lance,
But where round the corner is a reference to France?

Question five:
A film was once made whose start’s on the Common,
With Ricky Gervaise; is the title forgotten?

Question six:
Which village nearby was once known by its suffix,
But we now define by its short sounding prefix?

Question seven:
Three pubs in the parish serve its residents well,
But which would be for Oliver Cromwell?
(And a bonus award for a successful try
At telling me some strange reason why.)

So by my troth, this is question eight,
Imagine thou art on the common dark late,
You are searching for bears, not the dancing kind,
How many are seen with the naked eye?

Now question nine, I search for an old shop,
Where is the one that once was the Co-op?

The final round: a dog of some calibre,
Who nearly became the England manager?

Our revels are ended – the game has been won,
Tis time to swap shirts before the day’s run,
I swap mine with Shakespeare, with a poem sublime,
Tis all about football, in memory’s rhyme:

‘Sphere! Leather sphere!
See how I kick the muddied orb
High into the vaulted azure sky,
Far above London’s dark grime and soot,
Until it doth descend,
When I trap it with my boot.

Then have I ambition mundane,
One terrestrial aim:
Solely,
To advance upon the opposition goalie,
To score with a shot oh so sublime,
That doth transcend reason and rhyme,
Receive applause as offered from some votary,
Far more art and artifice in that
Than in writing this preposterous poetry.’

I thank you, lords, ladies and commoners.
On to the next stage, by your leave.

2. 2.10 ish: House Onne: 1.2 Tempest

3. 2. 25ish: House Two: ‘We’re thinking of Romeo & Juliet balcony scene or Merchant of Venice courtroom’

4. 2.40 ish: House Three: parts of A Midsummer Night’s Dream 3.1 and 5.1/2

5. 2.55ish: House Fourre: ‘Think we’re going to go for the big one and do the two scenes from Macbeth either side of the murder of Duncan. But not the “is this a knife I see before me” speech …You may have to suspend your disbelief a little more than usual!’

6. 3.10ish: Housse Five: Malvolio and the letter

7. 3.25ish: House Sixxe: 2 quick speeches (Lear and Edgar) OR Trish’s mum, Phyllis Duffield – All the World’s a Stage; then a quick talk from Jim Pentney about his boat and a poet and his Macbeth island voyage re-creation.

8. 3.40ish: House Sevenne – Much Ado: Benedick’s soliloquy reacting to his friends pretending that Beatrice is in love with him; Hamlet: Hamlet’s final soliloquy reflecting on Fortinbras’ military campaign against Poland; The Tempest: Prospero’s ‘Our revels now are ended…’ speech

9. ‘House Eightte: to be confirmedde

10. Ye Common: 10 dirtye jokes from Ye Barde in 10 minutes

The Reformers’ Memorial at Kensal Green: A Stroud Connection

Allen Davenport – the son of Ewen handloom weavers, who taught himself to read and write near the infant Thames; then Spencean, Owenite, feminist, Chartist, writer and poet – is remembered on the Reformers’ Memorial at Kensal Green. The memorial is dedicated ‘to the memory of men and women who have generously given their time and means to improve the conditions and … happiness of all classes of society … The old brutal laws of imprisonment for free printing have been swept away and the right of selecting our own law makers has been gained mainly by their efforts. The exercise of these rights will give the people an interest in the laws that govern them and will make them … better citizens.’’

Here are a few of the 70+ names of the reformers, radicals and, yes, revolutionaries:

Robert Owen, Charles Kingsley, Thomas Spence, Allen Davenport, Francis Place,

Harriet Martineau, George Odger, Elizabeth Fry, Arnold Toynbee, Charles Bradlaugh,

William Morris, John Ruskin, Josephine Butler, Joseph Priestley, Thomas Paine,

William Hone, John Stuart Mill, Major Cartwright, Richard Carlile, William Lovett,

Henry Hetherington, John Frost, William Cobbett, Samuel Bamford, Henry Hunt,

Ebenezer Elliott, Richard Cobden, Robert Cooper.

This is august company for Allen Davenport. This is why we are undertaking our pilgrimage along the banks of the Thames – we’ll have to take a memorial for John Frost as well, perhaps. Someone needs to remember his selection as prospective Chartist parliamentary candidate for Stroud, up there on Rodborough Common on Good Friday, 1839.

The column stands next to a memorial to Robert Owen. It’s near the Ladbroke Grove entrance – a ten to fifteen minute walk from the station.

Conversation with a Chartist Ghost

April can be a cruel month:
The magnolia in all its blossoming glory,
The cut of a keen north wind,
The Thames still high and turbid
(Pockmarked by hailstones),
As we (I have Allen Davenport’s ghost as company)
Made our way to Paddington on the GWR,
And thence to Ladbroke Grove and Kensal Green cemetery,
To leave a commemorative stone taken from Ewen,
Alan’s birthplace, etched A.D. in his honour,
At the Reformers’ Memorial in the cemetery;
This son of a handloom weaver is in august company:
Revolutionaries such as Frost and Spence;
Radicals such as Hunt, Cartwright and Cobbett;
Christian Socialists such as Charles Kingsley;

I placed the stone on the column to photograph –
It started to rain in Dickensian buckets.

I took a few quick snaps,
Then made my way back to the canal,
Where my daughter Alice and boyfriend Josh had recently moored,
Hard by E.M. Lander Ltd.,
Monumental Masons and Sculptors,
Coincidentally, and improbably, connected to the mentor of Jim,
And it was Jim, of course, who had etched the stone from Ewen.

The talisman worked its magic in the damp air of the cemetery,
And Allen started to converse with me,
In the shelter of a yew tree:

‘I desperately wanted to come down to Swindon on the new railway back in May 1839, and thence to Cricklade, Cirencester and Stroud by coach. I was intent on appearing at the Selsley Hill Chartist meeting, but bread was costly, wages were scant and times were hard. I had the intent, but not the wherewithal; so I had to stay put. How I would have loved to have glimpsed my old birthplace; dear old Ewen … It would have been forty years… And how I would have loved to have spoken out on those verdant Cotswold hills and to have shared a platform with the delegates from the National Chartist Convention. But we thought of you all at our branch meetings at Clerkenwell, and sent some supporters down. It must have been a fine sight with 5,000 people there with their flags and banners and with the sun sinking down beyond the Severn.’

He went silent for a few seconds.

‘But thank you for thinking of me.’

Silence again.

‘And thank you for the engraved stone. It’s haunting to see such a stone engraved with my initials, gathered from where I learned to read and write, down by the banks of the infant Thames at Ewen. I remember doing such practice myself.

I shall watch your pilgrimage along the river bank from Cricklade and back to London with interest. But when you return to the Memorial, remember that I was buried in unconsecrated ground, just beyond the cemetery. That was my wish. I had and have no religion.
But I’m proud to see my name on the Reformers’ Memorial, here in Kensal Green. And strange to think that my name shares space on the column with that of John Frost – prospective Chartist parliamentary candidate for Stroud against Lord John Russell; selected on the top of Rodborough Common on Good Friday 1839, if my memory serves me well.’

 More silence.

 ‘Well, my time’s up. Got to get back. But good luck with the film. I barely saw even a photograph in my time. But don’t be surprised if I make it down on the train this time. Be ready for me on Selsley.Goodbye and thanks for coming.’

 

And with that, he was gone.

 The next day in Stroud, I mentioned my visit to an acquaintance in the Shambles; she told me that she used to live in the grave digger’s cottage on the Harrow Road, next to the cemetery.

12th Night: The World Turned Upside Down

The post below might appear to be about mid-summer rather than mid-winter; but it has a message about 12th Night, wassailing, and medieval mummery.

Forget Magna Carta Day, It’s Wat Tyler Day

‘When Adam delved
And Eve span
Who was then the gentleman?’
(John Ball)

June 15th might have been the date on which Magna Carta was sealed in 1215, but June 15th also marks the anniversary of the stabbing of Wat Tyler, the leader of the Peasants’ Revolt, in 1381.

‘John Schep, sometime Saint Mary’s priest of York, and now of Colchester, greeteth well John Nameless, and John the Miller, and John Carter, and biddeth them that they beware of guile in borough, and stand together in God’s name. and biddeth Piers Plowman go to his work, and chastise well Hob the Robber, and take with you John Trueman, and all his fellows, and no more.’ (John Ball)

 

‘John the Miller hath ground small, small, small;
The King’s son in heaven shall pay for all.
Beware or ye be woe,
Know your friend from your foe,
Have enough, and say ho!
And do well, and better, and flee sin,
And seek peace and hold you therein,
And pray for John Trueman and all his fellows.’
(John Ball)

‘The king, for the sake of peace and because of the circumstances at that time, granted the commons at their petition, a charter under his great seal – declaring that all men in the realm of England should be free and of free condition; they and their heirs should be forever released from the yoke of servitude and villeinage.’ (Henry Knighton)

‘Richard, by the grace of God, king of England and France, and lord of Ireland, to all his bailiffs and faithful men to whom these present letters come, greetings. Know that by our special grace we have manumitted all our liegemen, subjects, and others … and we have freed and quitted each of them from bondage by the present letters.’ (Charter)

June 15th 1381, the meeting at Smithfield, when Wat Tyler ‘half bent his knee and took the king by the hand, shaking his hand fully and roughly, saying to him “Brother, be of good comfort and joyful, for you shall have, in the fortnight that is to come, forty thousand more commons than you have at present, and we shall be good companions.” And the king said, “Why will you not go back to your own country?” But the other answered with great oath that neither he nor his fellows would leave until they had got their charter as they wished to have it with the inclusion of certain points.’ (Thomas Walsingham)

‘The rebels petitioned the king that all preserves of water, parks, and woods should be made common to all: so that throughout the kingdom the poor as well as the rich should be free to take game in water, fish ponds, woods and forests as well as to hunt hares in the fields – and to do these and many other things without impediment.’ (Henry Knighton)

The Lord Mayor of London was William Walworth and it was he who killed Wat Tyler:
‘Walworth knocked him in the gutter with his baselard, stabbing him unawares. Ever since the dagger has been part of the City of London coat-of-arms or crest, the urban bourgeoisie coming to power on the backs of the Peasants’ Revolt … Wat Tyler was assassinated by William Walworth, Lord Mayor, who made his money from the Flemish sex workers in the Southwark brothels. London, the famed haunt of the international bourgeoisie, has its crested origin in a pander, an assassin, and sex-trafficker.’
(Ann Arbor, Wat Tyler Day: The Anglo Juneteenth, Chapter Ten in Stop, Thief, Peter Linebaugh Spectre 2014)

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).

1066 And All That ,Sellar and Yeatman, from their 1930 classic, on Magna Charter (‘on account of the Latin Magna (great) and Charter (a Charter)’).

So how should we commemorate and celebrate Wat Tyler Day? What acts of guerrilla memorialization can we carry out, to symbolize a land where rights are held in common?

Pasture and turbary,
Estovers and piscary;
Pannage and housebote,
Shack and ploughbote.

Perhaps you could beat the bounds of your parish, chanting this rhyme of common rights and pass leaflets to spectators with an explanation.

“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 from off the goose.”

La Marseilles: Citizens not Subjects

A wheel turns full circle and the present re-appropriates the past,
Tonight the heir to the throne sings La Marseilles,
The battle hymn of the French Revolution
(And the intro to All You Need Is Love),
But if and when you sing,
Remember when Prime Minister William Pitt greeted the French Revolution
With a policy of brutal domestic repression
(And war on France),
The 1793 Aliens Act – no republican allowed into England, just French aristos;
1794 Suspension of Habeas Corpus – imprisonment without trial;
Corresponding Societies campaigning for democracy
Infiltrated by informers and agents-provocateurs;
1795 Treasonable Practices Act – the act of treason
Extended to include speaking and writing;
Tom Paine’s The Rights of Man – a democratic attack on the hereditary principle,
And an attack on monarchy,
Banned –
It had sold a staggering 200,00 copies very quickly and
The population was only about a youthful10 million –
The book would have been read and shared and discussed widely,
Its influence would have far exceeded 200,00 people;
1795 Seditious Meetings Act –
Any meeting of more than 50 people had to be authorized by a JP;
1797 – taxes increased on the press;
1799-1800 – trade unions illegalized;
Also remember when Edmund Burke referred to ordinary British people
As ‘the swinish multitude’, in his attack on Tom Paine;
Think about the suppression of rebellion in Ireland
When far more people were killed than by Madame Guillotine in
‘The Reign of Terror’;
None of this will be mentioned tonight,
For obvious reasons,
But it’s worth mentioning: it’s a case study of how
‘Every Age rewrites History’ …

Allons enfants de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive!
Contre nous de la tyrannie
L’etendard sanglant est leve!

Entendez-vous dans les compagnes,
Mugir ces feroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras
Egorger nos fils, nos compagnes!

Auz armes, citoyens!
Formez vos battalons!
Marchons! Marchons!
Qu’un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons!’

And in a final act of solidarity, I reaffirm my link with French O Level:
‘Puis- je remplir mon stylo, s’il vous-plait?

And now, Tom Paine:
‘We have heard the Rights of Man called a levelling system; but the only system to which the word levelling is truly applicable, is the hereditary monarchical system. It is a system of mental levelling. It indiscriminately admits every species of character to the same authority. Vice and virtue, ignorance and wisdom, in short, every quality, good or bad, is put on the same level. Kings succeed each other, not as rationals, but as animals. It signifies not what their mental or moral characters are. Can we then be surprised at the abject state of the human mind in monarchical countries, when the government itself is formed on such an abject levelling system?—It has no fixed character. To-day it is one thing; to-morrow it is something else. It changes with the temper of every succeeding individual, and is subject to all the varieties of each. It is government through the medium of passions and accidents. It appears under all the various characters of childhood, decrepitude, dotage, a thing at nurse, in leading-strings, or in crutches. It reverses the wholesome order of nature. It occasionally puts children over men, and the conceits of non-age over wisdom and experience. In short, we cannot conceive a more ridiculous figure of government, than hereditary succession, in all its cases, presents.’

November 5th Sleep Out: From Marah in Stroud to Lesbos, a hard place, by James Pentney

Between feeding her six month old baby, my daughter read out the harrowing account from Lesbos of unrelenting rain, desperation on all sides and Syrian children dying.
The name Marah is from the book of Exodus – a hard place. Under fireworks, Marah, the Stroud charity held a sleep out on Thursday night in Saint Lawrence churchyard in recognition of homelessness.
Earlier that day at the Independence Trust I had a conversation with someone who told of twenty years of heroin addiction, alcoholism and homelessness. Not having used alcohol or drugs for months, what was helping most? His dog he said.
Twenty five years ago I wrote ‘Platerest Fireworks.’ Platerest was a place near Bucharest where there was an awful so-called orphanage: Windows with no glass, spasmodic running water, dodgy wiring and no light bulbs. A coach arrived on 5 Nov from Cornwall and amongst the contents was a box of bulbs. With a Leonard Cohen-like drone in mind, I wrote this then.

Late afternoon on the fifth of November
Darkness was closing on tiny hands frozen
Like hatched little birds without any words
What do they know and remember?

There they remain on the fifth of November
Filaments broken in darkness unspoken
Silent as time, how they could shine
What do they know and remember?

The fifth of November, cross Europe to bring here
Matresses, towels and a box of light bulbs
What should we give, how should we live
What do we know and remember?

The night of the fireworks, the fifth of November
Screwing the bulbs in and switching the switch on
They clapped and they cheered, lit up through tears
What did they see and remember?

The fifth of November, something still remains there
But beauty is candlelight silent on Christmas night
What will they see and where will they be
Where will they be in December?

Multiply that today by n. For me things are linking up. Through stone carving I have made friends at Marah and it was suggested I drop-in at the Independence Trust above the launderette. There a group of us photocopied and hand stitched Haiku Hiking. Stuart had already posted it on his blog ‘Radical Stroud’. On Tuesday the mindful meditators, who meet in silence at St Laurence Church at 8am, gave money for copies and Ruth at R&R Books displayed them in her shop window. By then Clare at Made In Stroud had begun collecting for refugees and on Friday I poured the Haiku Hiking takings into her fish bowl fund. Standing at the counter was Richard, a doctor who has just been to Calais with aid and on Sunday flies to Lesbos. He will take the cash to buy blankets and food.

From Marah in Stroud to Lesbos, a hard place.

Now another piece of moving writing from James about refugees and our country and citizens:

ANTONINA

Shrouded in overcoats and headscarves two figures waited outside the barracks as Easter night snow swirled around them. The suspension sunk and the baby started to cry when they squeezed into the back of the Citroen.

“La la la” cooed one of the old women in Slavonic tones. This was Antonina. The baby gazed at her and quietened. White flakes, illuminated in the headlights, swirled dancing in the dark.

Outside the little church the congregation had gathered. Censor swung, charcoal glowed, incense smouldered and bubbled; fragrance drifted, candles fluttered, guttered, hissing in the falling snow, blown out in gusts to be relit again and again.

“Thy Resurrection O Lord … we glorify,” they sung and processed.

The server bearing the icon, stepped aside for the bishop to hammer on the door with the cross.

The door opened, light flowed out. “Christos Vosgrecia” he proclaimed.

“Voyesinus vocgreci,” they cried in reply.

Bells jangled, the baby sat up wide eyed.

“Cristos Anesti .

“Alithorse Anesti.

“Christ is Risen.

“He is Risen indeed.

“This is the day that the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it …,” sang the choir.

“ … in this garden which Thine own hand has planted,”  he chanted.

“Parky parky vospa depomorinsa” sung the deacon swinging the censor with rhythmic vigour.

Saint Anne’s church grew dense with incense. Candles burned, wax dripped, the baby slept and Antonina insisted on holding her throughout the night. Next to her Xenia stood solid. Had they known each other as girls even before 1914 in Pinz, Belarus? Were they in Siberia together? Xenia was taller and looked stronger. Both their faces were deeply lined. They had certainly shared the same barrack in the Devon camp for the last forty years.

Olga stood on the other side. Frail in a fur coat, her neck dressed with a necklace of pearls. She was much the same age, the daughter of a grand duchess from St Petersburg, escaping to Paris in 1917 then London. Her sons were diplomats.

“Again and again: Gospedi, Christ is Risen …”

Tables were fully laden, the feast awaited in the hall. “The calf is fatted” and as dawn began to break the priest blessed the pile of painted eggs, pashca and kulitch sprinkling holy water.

The bishop, Metropolitan Anthony, sat with Antonina and they talked together. He understood her.

The baby had no grandparents and in the years that followed as she grew up, in a way Antonina was her grandmother, her babushka.

Antonina never mastered English. She had been a refugee all her adult life. Married young of peasant stock her husband was a wood cutter in a Czarist forest in Belarus, Little Russia. Come 1917 and the Bolsheviks, the young couple with countless others were sent to Siberia. In the cattle truck there was dysentery and her sick husband was ordered off, almost certainly to be shot but she never knew.

Through the twenties and thirties, her twenties and thirties, she was in Siberian camps.

Come 1941, Operation Barbarossa, and the displaced multitude in Siberia were ordered out again.

[Boots with felt insides were for sale in Stroud. I bought a pair and trekked off in them to the dentist in Dursley. When I arrived the boots were covered in mud so I left them outside.                                Sat in the waiting room wearing just the felt insides, an elderly gentleman approached.

“I have not seen boots like that since I was a boy,” he said in a broken accent. “I used to make them in Siberia. We would dip them in water and they froze immediately with a coating of ice. They kept me alive.”

He explained he was Polish and his parents were dead. Alone he had crossed Europe somehow and by the end of the war he was in Palestine where he became a British army cadet. Demobbed he came here, worked for Listers and married a Dursley girl …]

Horrific accounts are told of the long marches from Siberia after Stalin entered the war as an ally of the West.  Antonina’s journey took her both to India and Africa, where one of her kidneys was removed.

Prior to D Day, South Devon had been the base for thousands of US troops. By the end of the war the semi-circular corrugated asbestos rooved barrack huts at Stover near Newton Abbot were vacant.   It became known as Little Poland. It was said, some housed there were not Polish and Catholic but Orthodox. They claimed to be Polish as many Russians at the end of the war were sent back and shot by the Soviets within sight of the British escort. Antonina and Xenia never hid their backgrounds or their faith.

Mr Small was the name she would speak of with most fondness and gratitude. He had been the manager of the camp and probably in the 1960s or even 70s, had arranged for the barracks to be partitioned. Perhaps for the first time in their lives, they had rooms of their own. On her wall there was a photo of the baby, my daughter, never having been children of her own. Now my daughter herself has a baby.

Antonina had an electric kettle and in it she would boil eggs for Easter. There was also a wooden cased wireless given by Mr Small. When the valves glow ‘Vienna, Vatican, Riga, Sofia, Ankara, Istanbul, Jerusalem, Bolzano, Kiev, Moscow …’ are illuminated on the glass dial.

‘Memory eternal Antonina; refugee and a saint.

The Golden Fleece Reopens (with a 1906 inn sign revealed during renovation)

The Golden Fleece 1906

Stroud, like so many places a century or so ago,

Was an unconscious microcosm of the whole nation,

The sloping slate roofs of the red-bricked terraces,

The new suburban villas with their monkey puzzle trees,

The grand country houses with their uninterrupted views,

The old stone cottages with their vegetable plots,

The farms, the barns, the byres, the stables, the milk churns,

The dry stone lanes, the holloways, the footpaths,

The ginnels, the alleyways, the new name streets,

The orchards, the commons, the hedgerows, the fields,

The rivers, the streams, the springs, the brooks,

The canals, the wharves, the railway lines, the gaslights,

The bridges, the viaducts, the factories, the mills,

The forge, the furnace, the foundry, the smithy,

The pubs where the Liberal landslide general election results were discussed:

397 Liberals, 156 Conservative and Unionists, 29 Labour, 82 Irish Nationalists.

In the Golden Fleece, talk turned to reform and the hope of old age pensions,

The hope of avoiding the workhouse, the ideas of national insurance;

Optimism was in the air – no one foresaw the Home Rule Crisis,

The reactionary obstructiveness of the House of Lords,

The suffragettes’ direct action,

The Triple Industrial Alliance of miners, dockers and railway workers,

The publication of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists,

Their deaths on the Western Front and in Gallipoli a decade later;

All was merriment in the Golden Fleece in 1906,

Godsell & Son Brewery:  ‘The best beer in town’,

And with free trade victorious at the general election,

Then tobacco should stay cheap,

What was there to worry about?

The navy and the Empire and cheap beer and tobacco,

This was the golden age of Edwardian Britain.