Pentrich December 1815

Since I started these notes around May or June time, it’s bin a strange year. We’ve lost me dad, he were a good man. We’ve beat Boney, and I’ll tell thee more about him in a bit, and we’ve had some funny weather. All in all it’s a raight dog’s breakfast, as me dad allus used to say.

To mek things wos people are poorer than they were years ago. Some old folks tell that prices had gone up and wages, ‘specially frameworkers, are not as good as they used to be, in fact some are meking’ less than half what they made ten years back. One of t’problems is that some bagmen are tekin’ the wok to factories and bringin’ less to t’framework knitters who work at hom. I’ve never bin to a factory but I’m told that some at Cromford and Belper have more women and kids than men workin’ there.

And, to mek things wos, I’ve bin pressed by magistrate’s clerk to report on strangers who turn up in t’village. I saw him t’other day and told ‘im that I’d seen a coach full a’men on t’turnpike and one o’lads from t’Peacock said they were on way to see Duke at Chatsworth. Clerk said, “thank you, but I’m not sure we should to be spying on the Dukes guests.” He gev me thrupence for a beer; and I took it!

Outside work is slowing down what wi t’weather and t’lack o’money. I have gorra a few days wok at t’foundary building a new wall. I like that cos they’re good payers.

Any road what I thought yo might be interested in were a man I sat with at Devonshire Arms last Thosday. He told me he were a salesman for some factories in Manchester and had been selling cloth, uniform and t’like to t’army. He sed that t’bottom had fell out of t’market for soldiers trousers – this sempt to amuse him more than it did me, he laughed to hissen.

I could tell he were a salesman as he never stopped talking and I were t’nearest. He even bought me a beer so I sat and listened to ‘im.

“Did news of t’Waterloo battle get this far.”

“Cause it did we heard a month or so back.”

“Well, did you know Napoleon had been arrested and then escaped before t’battle of Waterloo? Well I’ve bin in and out of army barracks trying to get orders and I hear all sorts.”

I must say I found this interesting so I settled down to listen.

“T’army marched into Paris and Boney gave in without much of a fight, I think t’correct word is abdicated and, apparently, we thought we’d beaten t’French at a place called Bayonne and then we thought that were that.”

“But it weren’t?”

“No, it bloody well weren’t. Just after they sent Bonaparte to an island called Elba[1] to cool off and lick his wounds. Well, he didn’t cool off, he planned his next move – a cunning fox he is. Sometime in February and March this year, Boney escaped, went back to Paris and started the bloody war again. He were not a General anymore, he’d promoted hissen to Emperor”

“What happened then?”

“They started fighting again and they ended up at Waterloo when he came face t0 face with Wellington.”

“Where’s Waterloo[2]?”

“I think it’s near to Brussels but I’ve never bin abroad, there or anywhere else for that matter. Anyway, I ‘m told it were a real near thing. According to what I were told Prussians did well, it were ‘orrible weather and to cap it all Boney made a few mistakes and that were unusual.”

“Ow dost know all this?”

“As I told thee, I’ve been trying to sell me goods to t’army and you get talking. Some of t’officers like to talk about what they’ve done and where they’ve bin and you get it all for a beer or two. In fact, many soldiers thought Boney were a good general and it could’a gone either way at one stage.”

“Where is he now?”

“They tell me that Wellington’s not making same mistake and he’s to go to a place called St Helena[3], miles away this time. Anyway, I’ve booked a room and I’m off t’bed. It’s Manchester tomorrow on t’early coach and to see if I’ve still gorra job. Maybe I’ll see thee again.”

My new friend stood up, downed his beer and went without another word. I thought to messen that were interesting. I know more than me mates now and I can brag about it.

As I walked up t’hill back to Pentrich I thought to messen that all this faighting is a waste o’time and the only buggers who suffer are soldiers and those who’s villages they smash up. I can’t understand what it’s all about.

The weather come to me ‘elp again and blew a few walls over what with frost and rain, so I had plenty to do. It sempt I would be able to gi me mam a bit more money for a Christmas treat. I can never remember our village mekin’ much about Christmas. T’men might get a beer or a pie from Nancy at t’White Horse and Duke’s agent sometimes brought a cart full o’ vegetables to share around his tenants – but that were about it.

I’d not seen owd Tommy Bacon for a week or more until one naight when I were in t’White Horse. “Were yo bin Tom?”, I asked ‘im, not expecting a real answer.

“Keep it to thisen, but I’ve bin to Nottingham and then Manchester to meet some men who think like I do.”

“What does mean?”

“You musta seen how men are worse off, how food is dearer and no bugger cares. If you’re interested I might tek thee wi me one time. Now go and fetch me a beer.”

Anyhow that’s enough for now, Happy Christmas to thee.

[1] Elba is a Mediterranean very small island in Tuscany, Italy, 10 kilometres from the coastal town of Piombino.

[2] The Battle of Waterloo was fought on Sunday, 18 June 1815, near Waterloo in present-day Belgium, then part of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands. A French army under the command of Napoleon was defeated by two of the armies of the Seventh Coalition: an Anglo-allied army under the command of the Duke of Wellington, and a Prussian army under the command of General Blücher.

[3] Saint Helena is a volcanic tropical island in the South Atlantic Ocean, 4,000 kilometres east of Rio de Janeiro and 1,950 kilometres west of the southern coast of Africa

Pentrich November 1815

It’s bin a rough back end, it never stopped raining. It laid me off from building a couple of days for t’last week or so. If I don’t work I don’t get paid. Mind you It’s not as bad as some o’farmers they’ve not sifted owt for weeks now.

In fact there’s bin some strange happenings wi t’weather and nobody knows what’s happening. There’s bin some odd coloured lights around sunset and t’sky sometimes looked orange or red low down over t’hills. Bloody weird if you ask me[1]. I’ve never seen owt like it.

Anyhow, you remember that I told thee about t’magisrate’s man asking me to look out for him, well I saw him last week and he asked if I had owt to tell ‘im. I told him I’d seen a few strangers in t’pub but I didn’t get to speak to them. I told ‘im I thought they were selling horses. He wer happy wi this and buggered off. I going t’ave to watch messen on this matter. I might talk to owd Tommy about this.

I ought to tell thee that I had a laugh t’other naight. I called in t’White Horse for a jug and there were nubdy to talk to, only a few old uns in t’corner. Somebody had left a newspaper on bench so I gorra jug an’ sat down by t’fire.

It were a Derby Mercury[2], only a few days old I think it wor from 2nd November. I donna buy one as its seven pence and I can buy beer wi that! I settled down to read it. I’ll tell thee a few o’interesting bits. Mind you, it’s sometimes hard to read when its dark and words are not very big.

On t’front page I noticed that Squire Edward Miller Mundy had put a notice in that steel traps and spring guns are constantly set in all the woods and plantations within several townships Shipley, Mapperley, Heanor and Smalley. I thought to messen it wer to stop men gerring a bod or two. These bloody things can mek a mess o’your legs and to mek it wos it can be bad if you to get before t’magistrate. I dunno suppose squire’d lose any sleep about that.

In another story It said that there’d been a fire at the New Mint in London I wonder how much money they’d bont and ‘ow much had been spirited away. It says that the back was badly damaged but the beautiful front was untouched. It said that the military were called in to guard it. I’m not surprised, t’locals would be in as fast as you like.

There’re still arguing about what to do with France[3] after t’war ended. Napoleon had bin sent to an island called Elba. I’d a’thought that they woulda hung ‘im! It says the’re are still some armies to be disbanded. It says that patrols are still finding loads of concealed arms in area of Paris. I hope they doona start up agin.

I wer getting raight interested, I ought to read a paper more regular.

I spotted an interesting bit about population, tha nows ‘people’. I ripped the corner owt to ger it raight for thee. It were hard to understand.

‘The population of Great Britain has been much augmented by the improved habits and condition of the labouring classes, by the comfort and cleanliness so lately introduced into the cottages, by the institutions to prevent the progress of contagion, by the draining of marches, which has increased the production of food, while it has made the air more salubrious, and above all, by the salutary effects of vaccination. There has been in England according to our celebrated statistical writer, Mr Colquhoun, a progress diminution of mortality.

In 1780 one person in 50 died annually

1790 one person in 45 died annually

1800 one person in 47 died annually

1810 one person in 49 or 50 died annually

During the last ten years the baptisms in England have increased nearly 25%.whsilst the increase of marriages exceeds 25%. Within the same period. In Wales, the baptisms have increased 30%, and the marriages 35%. The population of Great Britain during this period has been increased more than 14% upon the whole.

Interesting int’it, but I wonder why they have to use so many big words I can’t understand. I can get t’numbers but wot the ‘ell does’ salubrious’ and salutary mean?

There was a piece about a silly bugger called The Rochester Pedestrian by name o’ Tuffee, he’d set out to walk 1000 miles in 21 days round Rochester wherever that is. He did 50 miles on his 8th day and then he had rheumatic pain in his knee, I’m not surprised. He got betta the next day “to the utter astonishment of his friends” and he’s still going!!! Me dad once sed there’s nowt so strange as folks, mind you he made it int’paper.

Some bugger ‘as broken into a farm at Darley Abbey and nicked some potatoes, turnips, cabbages and his gate were damaged. Farmer Robert Holden is offering 10 guineas for any one giving information leading to conviction. I bet it were another poor sod outa wok an wanting to feed his kids.

Last bit to tell thee, some bugger ‘as lost a black setter with a long tail and white bits he answers to the Dash – it seems he has gone by ‘is name – he’s dashed. Anyhow there’s two guineas at Longford Hall if you find him.

One o’ Turners asked me if I finished wi t’paper so I gev it ‘im and fetched another jug. I saw me mate in t’corner and sat wi ‘im to put world raight.

[1] On 5th – 10th April 1815, a huge eruption occurred, followed by thunderous detonation sounds, when Mount Tambora in Indonesia erupted. Prolonged and brilliantly coloured sunsets and twilights were frequently seen in London between 28 June and 2 July 1815 and 3 September and 7 October 1815. The glow of the twilight sky typically appeared orange or red near the horizon and purple or pink above. This phenomenon was to have further effects throughout the summer if 1816.

[2] The Derby Mercury 2nd November 1815, via British Newspaper Archives

[3] The Treaty of Paris was not formally signed on 15th November 1815.

Pentrich October 1815

It’s bin a funny old month so far, I’ve bin busy finishing the estate cottages; I got a pound for finishing a week early!

I had a drink wi’ Henry at T’White Horse t’other naight, he was wantin’ to talk about leaving Pentrich to go to Derby or Nottingham. Henry’s a couple years older than me and he lives wi’ his parents in t’village– his dad is a framework knitter. He’s the eldest and named after his dad. Henry has bin a good pal o’mine since we were kids and kickin’ about t’village. He told me they were struggling to make ends meet and to pay t’rent every month. He were allus a good friend so I wanted to know what made ‘im think this way.

I could tell he’d bin thinkin’ it through. I allus knew he wore a bright lad. Anyway, he wouldna be t’fost t’leave as one or two families had already gone to Arkwright’s mill at Cromford. They even got a cottage wi t’job.

“Well, its like this,” Henry said leanin’ back in his chair by t’fire. “There’s things about living here I like and some things I bloody well don’t. On t’other hand, there’s things that tell me I should go and then there’s things that tell me I should stay put.”

I was confused by his words, “What does all that mean Henry, it sounds like a riddle to me?”

“It’s no good talking to me dad, he only sees them things that could go wrong. I think he dusna want to miss the bit’a board I pays him. There’s more work and better pay in t’towns but I’d have to pay rent for a room and feed mesen. Course, I’d miss me parents and mates, even yo, but what chance do I have here? We all know that frame knitting is dying out and there’s no way I’m going down t’pit.”

I tried another tack. “Wor about getting’ married? There’s plenty of young women in Pentrich and South Wingfield, even at Swanwick. You can see their families, their mothers an all. You never know who you’d end up wi in Derby.”

“Hang on mate, where does it say I should get married. I’m thinking of a better life not breeding a bantle o’kids. If it dunt work out in Derby or Nottingham I could go anywhere – there’s no future here. Why don’t you come wi me?”

I’d not really thought about leaving so I ignored this. “Why don’t you talk about it wi t’vicar or even Tommy Bacon? See wot they say.”

Yo must be jokin’. I woodna trust t’vicar as far as I could kick him. As for Tom Bacon, all he’s interested in is politics. I’m not getting involved in his plans, the’re pie in t’bloody sky. In fact, you’d do better to ignore t’silly old bugger!”

It sempt to me he’s made his mind up so I went for another jug and left ‘im to his thoughts. I dun know what he’ll do but he’d probably made his decision already.

You remember I told you about t’magistrate’s clerk asked me to spy on me mates. I didn’t tell you what I decided to do. Well, me first idea was to tell him to get stuffed. Then me second idea was to play his game and then tell him a load a’rubbish. Me third idea was that me second idea would get me in serious trouble. That’s if you know what I’m trying to say.

I saw him in t’village yesterday and I told him me decision. I didn’t want me mam’s rent to be cut, she’d smell a rate and fret about it. I told him that I’d tell him of any strangers or trouble-causers who turned up in t’village and he could pay me; I’d mek sure me mam got some money wi’out fretting where it come from.” I were surprised when he seemed happy with that. Mind you, I never had any intention o’tellin’ him owt about t’villagers – more than my life’s worth.

We left it like that. I said I’d find him about when I had owt. I felt bad about this but what could I do?

Things were not good in t’village, especially with t’frame knitters. Food prices were going up every week and me mam began tekin’ in more washing to help. It were a fact that me dad had died too early to provide for her and too late for her to get married again. She were past 40 and widows didna usually get married at that age.

Despite all this worry she still went to church every Sunday and listened to t’vicar telling her she were blessed. She told me so. I can’t see it, I can’t see any blessins coming her way.

I’d been thinking about Henry’s decision and I’ve made me mind up to stay in t’village and help me mam. They’d allus want a builder, at least I hoped they would.

I like autumn and when I’m not workin I like to wander around on me own. I noticed that the turnpike running past Buckland Hollow was getting busier every month. More wagons loaded wi stone, food stuffs, animal food, beer barrels and people packed in the open back. Pack horses loaded with cloth and made-up goods going in both directions. I thought there were even more coaches ploughing backwards and forwards – most of them full. T’turnpike through Swanwick was not as busy but saw more traffic that last year.

On t’other hand, anybody could see that there was less material coming in and out of Pentrich from frame workers.

Last thing I ought t’tell you this month is that t’weather has been rough and wetter than normal. Quite a few farmers who had been slow in getting their crops in had found them wet through and flat t’ground. T’roads through Pentrich and South Wingfield were in a state; yo were likely to lose your boots in t’muddy ruts. Carts got struck regularly and had to be pulled out by one of t’blacksmith’s hoss’s – he made a good few coppers at this game.

Pentrich September 1815

Workin’ on them new cottages for t’Dukes agent kept me busy but it wont last for ever. Since me dad day’d I’ve got to keep family going. At 22 I should sowing me wild oats not workin’ every hour that God sends. Mind you I’m not so sure that there is a God at the moment; Way can’t even afford a headstone for me dad.

Anyhow, I had a weird meeting yesterday, I’ll tell thee abowt it. As I were on me way hom from wok a tall, well-dressed man came up to me side. I dunna know his name but he were Colonel Halton’s clerk; Halton’s the local magistrate. I’ve seen ‘im a time or two but never spoke to ‘im. He’s not the sort a chap to talk to likes a’me.

A were a funny fella trying to talk all posh. “I hear your father died last month, how’s it all going for you and your mother.” I looked at him but he didn’t look at me.

He put a head a little closer to mine and said, “How would a bit off her rent suit you both?”

I stopped and looked around, “What dust mean, what are yo after?” Me first thought were that he were after me mam.

“Well, it’s like this. You know about the machine breaking last year and bits a trouble in and around the area. I know that one or two trouble-causers drink at White Horse and well, you probably know them as well as I do.”

“What do you want from me? I’ve never bin involved in anything like that.”

“I know that lad and that’s why I’m asking you.”

“Asking me what?” I hadn’t worked out wot he were on about.

“Well, the Colonel needs to know who’s involved in winding the young men up. It is his responsibility to keep order and we need people we can trust to tell us what’s happening. Think about it!”

“I don’t know anthin’, t’men don’t tell me anythin’. Anyhow I’ve never known of anything going off. T’machine smashing were years ago.”

“Now look here lad, I know you drink at the White Horse and other public houses, you must hear what they talk about. We can cut you rent by half. Your dad was a church man, he’d not approve of law-breaking, now would he? I’ll bet you even know old Tom Bacon.”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me. It’d be more than my life’s worth, even if I did hear owt! And i’m not saying I have!”

“Think about it lad. We can make things hard for thee and your mother. I’ll see you in a few days.” He strode off and I stood looking after him in a daze.

I sat at home tryin’ to eat me tea. Me mam said, “Why are you so quiet son. You aint badly are you? Yo look like you’re sickenin’ for sommat”

I daren’t tell ‘er. I couldn’t make sense of it all mesen.

Me mam went to bed early and I sat by t’fire with a jug a’ale. Halton’s man were askin’ me to be an informer against me friends and neighbours. Why me? No bloody fear, I’m not anybody’s story teller!

As I sat there more thoughts leapt out of the flames. Cuttin’ t’rent by half would make a big difference, me mam could cut down ‘er work – she deserved that.

I lay awake all night and just before I got up I had come to me decision. I hope I’d come t’right one. Only time’d tell.

I went t’ work and laid a few less bricks than I ought to. I spent all day lookin’ over me shoulder. I expected to see my new friend, or perhaps Tommy Bacon or even me dad from his grave. Still, I’ve made me decision and I’ll try to stick by it.

I went t’White Horse that night an sat wi Tommy Bacon and a few o’t’others.

“Wots up wi thee, lad?” said George Weightman, “yo look like a real misry guts. Pass them doms, let’s tek some o’your money.” I nodded and sat in a hand or two of doms for a penny a corner. You might imagine, I didn’t keep me eye on t’doms and I lost fourpence.

Tom were on next table talking to a few of t’locals. I cocked a good ear to wot they were on about.

Tom were first to speak, “I hear as Butterley are laying a few more off this week. Nubdy wants any cannons or bullets not until t’next war that is, or even t’next revolution!”

Isaac Ludlam banged his tankard on t’table, “I’ve a bit a work at t’quarry but I know as most knitters are only woking a couple days a week, if that. Me missus says that price o’bread and meat have doubled over last few wicks. I sometimes feel ashamed to bring money t’pub for fear o’starvin’ me kids. It’s not bloody raight. I sent me lad out scrumpin’ tother day but weather’s bin so bad fruit’s not ripen’d yet.”

There was a few general grunts of agreement and they all looked at Owd Tom.

“I met a couple blokes t’other day, they were passing along t’turnpike and I happened to be in t’Peacock when they dropped in.”

I’m not stupid, I thought to mesen, there were no way Tom met by chance I bet he’d planned it. I cocked me ‘ead back and nearly dropped me doms.

Tom continued, “These blokes were from Manchester and they told me that t’lads up there were having t’same problems as us. Some were making plans to send a petition to London. One o’their top dogs had met with a high-up named Sir Francis Burdett and he promised he would help.”

“What you’re going to do Tom?” Isaac asked.

“Well, they’ve asked me to a meetin’ in a week or two. We’re only going to get sommat done if we stick together but it’ll tek time. Bad news is that I’ve got to ask thee all for some expenses, I can’t afford coach to Manchester on me own.”

There were more grunts and several man threw a few coins on t’table. Tom grabbed his expenses up and dropped them into a leather purse. I noticed that one or two shook their heads, I don’t know if they didn’t want to pay up or hadn’t got any money.

Tom leant back in his chair, “Get me another pint George, it’s your turn int’it!”

Pentrich August 1815

It were funny how Thomas Bacon seemed to tell me things, things he probably shouldn’t have. I were a good listener, in fact I were fascinated by his stories. I know as some o’older men couldn’t be doing wi ‘im. He weren’t like anybody else I knew. He allus said to me, “Now lad, don’t say owt, but . . .” and then he start one of his stories. Mind you I never did tell anybody – that’s until I started to write these notes.

I remember as one night when me and Tom Bacon were supping a pint in t’White Horse. I’d bin paid for t’smithy’s building work and even asked me dad to come for a pint but he were too miserable to move. “Yo shouldn’t be geeing your hard earned money to Ma Weightman, I thought I’d taught thee more sense!” Ma said, “Leave ‘im dad, t’lads been worked full time for days, gee it a rest.” Dad grunted and chewed on his clay pipe – I’m not sure he ever had owt in it.

Tom came in and I bought him a beer, I’d not seen ‘im for a few days, I think he’s bin away somewhere and anyow he’d bought me plenty.

I’d been thinking about somemat I’d heard about for some time so I came out direct like. “Is it raight you were a Luddite Tom.”

“Now lad, keep this to y’sen. It’s true we had a bita trouble in this direction a year or so back. One or two frame knitters did smash a few machines in Swanwick and South Wingfield. Wages were down and some were putting a few machines in an empty house and using women and kids to put men out of work. It were a scandal. We had no option, we had to do sommat. Some were about to quit it all and bugger off.  Mind you it got too hot, so we jacked it in after we’d made a point.”

I’d learnt not to question Tom too deeply but I did spot that he said ‘we’ a couple a’times.

“In fact,” Tom went on after emptying his pot, “I met a chap t’other day who gev me a piece out a’paper. He delved about his jerkin and pulled out a scrap of newspaper. “Look at this.” It were a page from a newspaper about frame-breaking in Nottingham and Leicestershire. “Y’see, it’s still going on but not around here, or not as I know about. Tek my advice lad and keep out onit, it’s nowt but trouble and we won’t win that one, there’s bigger fish to fry.”

I asked Tom what he meant, he just touched his nose and smiled.

Anyhow, I remember as August being a wet month with not much sun and all t’crops were standing still in t’fields. It were a miserable time

and nowt seemed to be  going well. To cap it all, me dad finally gave in. He’d bin sat chewing his pipe when we all went to bed, he were watching last few embers of t’fire. That were it, next morning when mam got up see found him stiff as a board. To be honest she didn’t seem too surprised. I remember her saying that she’d bin expecting it and that he’d bin hiding a problem for months. I never knew what it was.

We had a funeral and, as he were a big churchman, t’vicar didn’t charge much, which were a blessin in its’en. In the service t’vicar picked me out to say that it were my responsibility now and that he hoped I’d get to church more often to pray for His help. I knew it would fall on me but as for going to church – I don’t think so.

Folks in t’village pulled round for a while but it didn’t last long, they’d got their own problems. I got work from Duke’s agent in building a couple of more cottages at the end of the village and that kept us going.

I had one day off when I went wi me mate Jed to help him tek a cart-load o’piglets to Derby market. To be honest I didn’t get away much in them days and it were good to rumble down t’turnpike from Buckland Hollow. Jed did his business and bought some feed which he loaded onto his cart. “How does fancy a pint or two,” said Jed and before I could answer he was he in the front door of the Market Inn.

It were my first time in a big town pub and it were full despite it being only mid-morning. There were a few wenches serving ale and food but it were full o’men – farmers most on ‘em.

The thing that I found interesting was the talk about prices, cost of food and what you got for beasts and the like. As I listened a bit closer to another group I could hear ‘em talking politics. I heard talk about corn laws, poaching and thieves taking crops. “No-bodies bloody interested,” one man said. “it be different if you took one a’Kedleston pheasants, that’s for sure.” added another.

I sat there listening because Jed was talking to a farmer about something or other.

On the way back we got chatting, Jed went to market most weeks and he knew the score. I asked him if they were allus on about prices and that stuff.

“Farmers are farmers, they allus moan abowt one thing or another. If they can’t think of sommat they’ll get on abowt weather, idle labourers even about serving wenches. Mind you there’s getting to be more politics than there was. More lookin’ for someone to blame for it all.”

“What doest mean?”

“Well,” began Jed after thinkin’ it over, “sometimes there’s some blokes there winding ‘em up, men I haven’t seen before, men who I’d keep away from. I mean men looking for trouble. Tha knows, when you find six farmers together you’ll get at least ten different opinions on what’s wrong, what caused it and what should be done about it.”

As I sat bumping along the road I thought what Jed had been sayin. It seemed to me that there were as many disgruntled farmers and there were frame knitters in our village.

I decided to tell Tom about this.

Pentrich July 1815

Yo might like to know that there were a bit of a c’fuffle at the White Horse t’other naight when some men from Butterley Works come in. They’d bin playing football[1] on top field and were covered in mud. They ordered a load’a ale and when Nancy pulled their pints they tried to pay in Butterley Tokens. Well, she refused their tokens and started to grab hold of the ale pots.

Well, if it hadn’t bin for John, he was a local who woked at Butterley, there’d a bin trouble, mark my words. Anyway he stepped in and explained to Nancy that Butterley Company had started t’pay their men in tokens and notes which they could exchange for stuff at t’company shops. Apparently there’d bin a shortage of proper coins during Napoleonic War and they had to pay in tokens[2]. It turned out alraight when she understood; mind you I reckon she over-charged them a bit – yo had to watch old Nancy!

It were beginning to get through why food had been so expensive for years, Napoleon had been setting up a blockade for a few years[3]. Corn and other food stuffs could not get through from t’continent and nothing we were selling could get to them. It sempt a dirty way of fightin’ but Wellington had stopped it and that should be good. Mind you, we didn’t know how much the bloody Corn Laws would keep things as bad as ever wi bread even more expensive. That’s it tha sees, as soon as you get to know about sommat, it’s already changed!

On another subject, I haven’t heard of any frame-breaking for months now and there’s bin nothing in any newspaper. Men still talk about it in whispers; making it a hanging job seemed to have put an end to it. But it didn’t make life any easier for the frame knitters who were being stuffed good and proper by greedy frame-masters and bag-men. I even heard somebody saying that they’d heard that some mills were using steam engines to drive the machines and didn’t even need a river nearby.

I ort to mention one thing that happened. A couple a’days ago I were asked by Tommy Bacon to go to a meeting at his home. “Sit thee sen in t’corner lad and say nowt,” he said, so I did. Six men turned up and were squashed into his living room. I knew most o’them apart from a fellow from Nottingham, I think his name were Gravemor Henson or some’at like that. Tom told em that I were keen to join in and would be useful to run messages and the like. I was going to ask him what he meant but I remembered what he had said and I kept quiet.

I learnt they were planning to form a club to discuss the state of things in t’village and abouts. It were to be called a Hampden Club[4] and he said they planned to meet at Nancy’s pub across the road or even in a barn somewhere if things got hot. Tom told us how the magistrate had spies everywhere and they’d need to be crafty. Tom said as how he’d bin to a new club at t’Cock Inn at Ripley. I couldn’t hold me tongue anymore, “Is this against t’law, Tom?” I asked.

Tom looked at me and I knew should’a said nowt. “No, its not against t’law but we dunna want authorities to know everything we talk about, they might get t’wrong idea. We shall need to get every member to swear an oath to keep secrets, especially as to t’members.” I must admit that Tom’s answer didn’t really make much sense to me.

Mr Ludlam spoke briefly, “It’s a fact that sommat needs doing about the state of food prices, work for knitters and weavers, and sum buggar needs to listen to us.”

It went on like that for a while until they decided to drift across to White Horse. Tom suggested that we say nowt to nobody at this stage.

I could tell that things were getting bad, me dad were still in t’dumps and din’t want to do owt. Me mam does what she can but nobody seems happy like they used to be when I were a boy.

Mind you, them that had stuff to sell, like weavers, blacksmith, Mrs Abbot’s glove shop and some o’tenant farmers could get it to turnpike at either end’o Pentrich. There were the old turnpike at Buckland Hollow and new un at Swanwick. They were getting busy and so was Cromford Canal that was in full swing. I fancied a job going up and down t’canal but me dad said I should stick wi building, so I did. Some o’me mates had gone down t’pit but I never really fancied that. Mind you it did pay well so long as you didn’t get killed or injured as a good many did. There’s one or two in t’churchyard as did.

Anyway that’s as much as I can think of at t’moment, I’ve got to go and re-build a wall knocked over by old Sidney’s sow what got over-excited wi her new litter.

[1] There is evidence a ‘kicking’ game was regularly played from, perhaps, as early as 1300’s. It was common in the period we are writing of. However, formal codification of common rules was not until the 1860’s.

[2] During the Napoleonic Wars there was a shortage of coins and for a time Butterley Co issued tokens and notes to be exchanged at the company shops.

[3] The Continental System or Continental Blockade (known in French as Blocus continental) was the foreign policy of Napoleon I of France in his struggle against Great Britain during the Napoleonic Wars. As a response to the naval blockade of the French coasts enacted by the British government on 16 May 1806, Napoleon issued the Berlin Decree on 21 November 1806, which brought into effect a large-scale embargo against British trade. This embargo ended on April 11, 1814 after Napoleon's first abdication.

[4] The Hampden Clubs were political campaigning and debating societies formed in England in the early 19th century as part of the Radical Movement. They were particularly concentrated in the Midlands and the northern counties, and were closely associated with the popular movements for social and political reform that arose in the years following the end of the Napoleonic wars. They were forced underground, and eventually disbanded, in the face of legislation and pressure from the authorities.

Pentrich June 1815

It’s end a’June now and we’ve just heard that Duke o’Wellington as beat Napoleon Bonaparte and brought t‘war to an end. Its good news but some of men in t’village are not so sure about that. Them soliders who are still alive and not cut up will be back hom looking for wok and, as Owd Tom says, there ain’t any to be found around here – mebbe they’ll get to t’mills at Belper and Cromford or go down a pit.  There’s some work for children and women but not so much for men.

Mind you, they might not get back, there’s allis a war to faight somewhere. I dunna think I’d like to be a soldier. Why can’t Kings and lords sort out their differences like working men do; we don’t involve them, why do they involve us?

One or two families from Pentrich and South Wingfield have flitted to Cromford, Belper or even Derby looking for work at t’mills. There’s bin adverts[1] for families with kids and housing given. I’m not surprised as most o’frame knitters are short a’wok. It’s a big problem for some as they have old’ens to look after and you can’t drag them across fields. An another thing, as soon as anybody leaves their cottage, t’Duke’s agent puts someobody else in. So they’ve nowhere to go to if they come back – it’s a one-way road. I don’t think I’d do it and I’m not married.

There’s more bad news, my mate Jo told me he has been laid off from Jessop’s at Butterley cos th’army has cancelled all the contracts. I don’t really understand this but I can see that if there’s no war they’ll not need cannon shot and ironwork.

One or two of me uncles have been in th’army for years – I hope they come back, nobody’s heard a dinky bird from them for donkey’s. It makes you wonder if it wer all worth it for a shilling[2] a day.

I think I told you me dad is a strict churchman, well he’s not been too well lately. He goes to church regular but it does him no good and a raight grumpy bugger he is. He’s 45 now and quite a old man, probably working outside too much didn’t help. It’s a good job he taught me to build like ‘im. I can make a few shillings but it’s hard. Me mam looks after a few babies for women who work wi their husbands on frames. I like to get out’a t’house – kids is allus screamin’. I’m working on a new forge for t’blacksmith and it’s rough work – he’s never pleased wi how it’s going and he keeps changing his mind.

Tommy Bacon were tellin’ us t’other naight that as well as the Frenchies, who we’ve just beat, we’re at war with America[3] and have been for years. That’s one of problems living in t’sticks. It takes ages to find out what’s going off. It took a fortnaigth to get to know that one of me mates had been locked up for stealing bread at Ripley market and that’s only a hours walk away. I hope Ripley magistrates doesn’t take it too serious. These days a body could be hanged or transported, just for pinching bread to feed t’kids. I sometimes wonder where Tom gets his news from. He seems to disappear every now and agin. He might have a woman somewhere but I’ve never sain him wi one.

Ever since Arkwright and Strutt opened their mills there’s been less work spinning. They still mek a few Derbyshire Rib stockings but people don’t want ‘em anymore. I don’t know what it’s coming to, some are really struggling. It the devil’s job to get a handout from t’parish.

T’other day I were walking to a job at Blake’s farm when I had to go alongside t‘turnpike at Buckland Hollow. I saw a open four-wheel cart full’o kids going north. There were a couple a’dozen at least – boys and girls. When I got to pub later somebody told me they were London orphan apprentices going t’mills in north Derbyshire or Manchester. They did look a miserable, ill-fed bunch. Apparently some London orphan houses sells the kids to mill owners for a few pence an then forgets about ‘em. It’s a bloody shame that it’s got to that. I hear t’men in the pub talk about it. They all think that t’government are more interested in makin’ sure their friends who own mills are makin’ a profit – they’re not interested in working folks.

I dunna go to church nowadays, me dad used to force me but he’s not interested in much nowadays. Last time I went t’preacher were telling us to say prayers for King George and Duke of Devonshire. I’m bloody sure he wont be saying any prayers for me man and dad. I’m just beginning to realise that Owd Tom talks a lot a’sense. It aint fair and it aint right that our lot should struggle when others can’t eat all that’s put in front o’em.

What can we do? Tom tells us about t’French Revolution when people chopped t’heads of the rich and powerful. He says hundred were put down. I dunno know as I believe all he says but he swears by it. T’other naight he were reading from a newspaper called Tuppenny Trash and it says that there should be people in Parliament to talk for working folk; I can see t’sense in that. Trouble is that it’s not everybody who’s struggling. Frame knitters and some o’others are doing badly. Some are doing alraight. Farmers, some miners and shopkeepers seem to be doing well.

We don’t get beggars in Pentrich but some sit outside t’pubs on turnpikes until they get shooed off by t’publican.

If I find owt else out about t’war ending and t’soldiers I’ll let thee know when I find time to write agin.

[1] Factory did present adverts for workers, including opportunities for children. It was not uncommon for housing to also be offered.

[2] Typical private’s pay, equivalent to 5p in to-days currency.

[3] United States declared war against Britain in 1812. It was not settled until the Treaty of Ghent in 1814.

Pentrich May 1815

I wor wi’men as set out on the Pentrich Rising in 1817. Never mind what me name is, it dun’t matter. I managed to run off when t’Hussars[1] arrived and I never said another word about it. I wos 22 and me life affront of me. I’ll tell thee about it if you dunna say where you got it from.

I’ve bin blessed with a good memory and I can take meself back to the first time I heard Tom Bacon talking about politics. It was in May 1815, soldiers were still fightin’ t’Frenchies[2] and times were tough. Of course it took days, and sometimes weeks, to get to know what were happening around. That were a problem and it were a problem later on.

This particular night, after I’d bin courtin’ a lass in South Wingfield, I come home and ended up at t’White Horse pub in Pentrich. I’d walked across t’fields and I fancied a jug. Me dad had only just let me go to pub a month or two back, he dint drink much, he were a church man.

As usual I sat wi t’village men drinking in side room. Being no more than twenty at that time, I knew as I was expected to say nowt unless I were spoke to. Owd Tom Bacon were pontificating as usual. I settled down in a dark corner wi me jug o’rough. It were first time I’d really sat and listened. The thing about Tom were that when he opened his mouth men stopped talking and listened, it were strange the power he had.

I like Tom, it were ‘im as learnt me to write. I did reading at Sunday School but it were Tom as did writin’. Not many in ‘t village could write and most of old ens couldn’t read either.

There were only locals in and them that were frame knitters were moanin’ as usual. The bag man had not turned up with new work nor wi any money from week before – that meant no wages. You could tell they were sippin’ ale to make it last. Nanny Weightman, Owd Tom’s sister and landlady were handin’ around a few knobs o’bread and cheese. A couple of farmers and pitmen sat at back and didn’t say much – they didn’t rely on others bringing them work. They weren’t rich tha noes but not as poor as t’framemen.

Isaac said, “Tha knows that some hand weavers were earnin’ 30 bob a week ten year ago and now it’s no more than 5 bob. I’m only getting work three weeks out a four. If it weren’t for me bit a garden I’d be lost. One a’two lads have”

Tom pulled out a tattered book, “Wot dost tha’ think a’this lads?” he began to wave it in the air, “This is a book written by a fellow named Thomas Paine, he talks a lot of sense. He tells us to think about our position. Why should Prince Regent and t’Duke[3] ride in a coach and four while we canna fill our bellies. Why should men be prosecuted for taking wild creatures like pheasants and deer, and some hung an all! What rights should they have just because they were born to a particular women – does that make ‘em any better than you or me – aren’t we all men?”

Tom went on for a while reading quotes he had carefully underlined in his old book[4].

“Summat’s got to be done about this. T’Frenchies did it and they’re no match for a true Englishman. Ther’ll come a time when some men will take no more. Mebbe this year, mebbe not but it will happen.”

There were general nods and grunts.

“When we had a go at t’frame masters and broke a few frames a year or two back wot did they do? They made it a capital offence and began to hang as many as they could an as fast as they could.”

“Not all toffs are agin us; tha knows Lord Byron. He lives t’other side o’ Nottingham[5].” Tom pulled another sheet of paper out of his coat pocket.

“When parliament were talking about passing a law to hang working men, Byron spoke out for us – listen.

“. . . it cannot be denied that they have arisen from circumstances of the most unparalleled distress: the perseverance of these miserable men in their proceedings, tends to prove that nothing but absolute want could have driven a large, and once honest and industrious, body of the people, into the commission of excesses so hazardous to themselves, their families, and the community. 

They were not ashamed to beg, but there was none to relieve them: their own means of subsistence were cut off, all other employment preoccupied; and their excesses, however to be deplored and condemned, can hardly be subject to surprise.[6]”

“And the worst thing is that no bugger else were listening!”

Tom did most o’talkin and it went on for a while. I heard Nanny shout, “Bloody raight an all!”

Eventually we all went home; most of the men had run out of money before the beer took effect.

Tom drained his mug and looked at me, “Mark me words lad, summat’s going to happen one of these days, thou just wait and see.” I didn’t really know what he meant but he were serious, I could tell that.

It were all above me head at that time but it keep me awake and I remembered. I had a feeling that summat would happen.

I tell thee what happened when I have time.

[1] The 15th (The Kings) Regiment of (Light) Dragoons (Hussars) – the same regiment was deployed at the Peterloo Massacre.

[2] The Napoleonic Wars were still on-going at this time.

[3] Doubtless a reference to the Duke of Devonshire, who’s land encompassed Pentrich.

[4] Tom Bacon was quoting from books by Thomas Paine (1737-1809) maybe “Common Sense” (1776), “The Right of Man”  (1791) or “The Age of Reason” (1794)

[5] Lord George Byron, one of the ‘romantic poets’ had an estate at Newstead Abbey near Nottingham.

[6] A quote from Lord Byron’s first speech before the Lords, on 27 February, 1812 during a debate on the bill to make frame-breaking a capital offence – his contribution was unsuccessful.