It was close to dusk at about 6pm when they caught sight of the ruins of Nottingham Castle in the distance. It stood high on a hill overlooking the large town, but its gaping walls and collapsing parapets gave it a more sinister and awe-inspiring look than it could ever have had in the past.
‘Whatever’s ’appened to that castle, Dad?’ said Joshua. ‘It looks right ghostly from ’ere.’
‘I can’t tell thee, lad,’ said Jess, ‘but we’ll find out soon enough when we meet Mr O’Connor and Mr Place.’
O’Connor had stipulated that the two groups of marchers – those who had gone through the towns and those who had gone over the moors – would meet in a field between the River Trent and the River Leen about half a mile from the castle, where he believed the local Chartists could help them camp. O’Connor regarded the Nottingham group as one of the best organised in the country and had every confidence in their support.
Like the bigger towns of Lancashire and the city of Manchester, Nottingham was expanding fast at this time. At the heart of its activity was the lace industry, which had once depended on the ability of dexterous hands to do fine needlework, but had come to be increasingly dependent on machinery which took work away from those hands and gave it to machine minders. For this reason, Nottingham had been one of the centres of the Luddite movement, and ‘King Ludd’, the most famous of the great machine breaking hammers, had been made in Nottingham. Judd Ackroyd’s hammer, which had smashed machines in Halifax, was modelled on ‘King Ludd’. Judd, for one, was glad to be in such a famous town, and O’Connor had good reason to expect strong support there.
Frank and Jess easily found the area on the river that O’Connor had in mind. Although most of the marchers were ready to drop from exhaustion, Frank persuaded them to walk or hobble the final mile to the meeting place. Ruth and Joshua were relieved to find that here they met smiles and cheers as they finished the day’s march. It seemed unlikely they would be in danger here from soldiers, dogs or keepers.
The first sign of O’Connor’s encampment was a white flag flying from a long pole which Ruth and Joshua caught sight of through the hedge of a field. Stopping to peer through the hedge, Ruth said:
‘’Ere they are, Josh. Looks like there’s even summut to eat. See that smoke? They must be cooking.’
‘Thank ’eaven for that. I could eat a log of wood, never mind our mam’s oatcakes.’
‘Well, tha’s far enough from them, lad,’ said Jess, overhearing their conversation. ‘But it looks like we may fill tha’ belly toneet.’
He was smiling with relief to see that O’Connor’s group had arrived and had been able to camp unmolested. Although the marchers were standing, sitting or lying in groups about the large field, it looked as if most of the five hundred who had left Manchester with O’Connor had arrived at Nottingham.
Walking in the middle of the marchers, Ruth and Joshua followed the group into the main gate of the field. As they turned into it, they found their way barred by a long staff as a gruff voice said:
‘Stand and deliver in the name of the Charter!’
Looking up, they saw Jethro Strongitharm doing guard duty on the gate.
‘Jethro!’ cried Joshua, ‘tha’ got ’ere afore us! ’Ow did tha’ manage that? Tha’ must ’ave ‘ad a right nice stroll.’
‘Well, lad, I won’t say as ’ow it’s been like fighting Boney but it ’as been a march, I’ll tell you that. But you both look like this’ll be the last yard tha’ walk.’
‘Yes, I’m fair ready to drop,’ Joshua confessed. ‘But not before I’ve seen what’s cooking over yonder.’
‘Well then, I’ll let thee both in,’ said Jethro, ‘but only if you promise to bring an old soldier a bit of summut to fill ’is belly.’
‘We might,’ smiled Ruth, pushing Jethro’s staff aside and saying: ‘It depends what we find.’
Held back by this conversation, the children could see that their father and Frank Sykes were walking ahead to the flagpole where a small group was assembled in discussion. As they came closer, they could see that the group included O’Connor with his big beard and Francis Place with his top hat. They saw the two leaders take their father and Frank warmly by the hand and heard them quickly ask the whereabouts of the Charter. Turning round, Jess pointed to Eric Naylor and Jim Knotts who were amongst the last of their group to turn into the field, still carrying the Charter on a pole between their shoulders. O’Connor looked visibly relieved and strode over to meet them. As he did so, he saw Ruth and Joshua and stopped in his tracks to greet them:
‘Well, wonderful! Here they are! The ones who turned the cannons’ fire in Manchester. Still marching! And how was your journey? Your father tells me not so easy.’
‘Well,’ said Ruth, thinking quickly, ‘there’s not much left of us feet, clogs or ankles; but otherwise, we’re ’ere alreet.’
‘An’ there’s not much in us bellies,’ added Joshua with a smile.
‘Well, what we’ve got to eat, we’ll all share,’ said O’Connor. ‘And I’m really glad to see thee. You’d better go over to the fire and see what the smoke’s all about.’
Ruth and Joshua were happy enough to stake their claim for whatever lay cooking under the smoke and, forgetting how tired they were, went off in the direction of the largest of the campfires. Just as they parted from O’Connor, they could see his face light up as he saw the arrival of the delegation of Nottingham Chartists led by his close friend Francis Drayman. Walking towards the largest of the fires, they hardly noticed the slight figure of Ralph Murphy, still carrying his twisted walking stick, moving towards the flagpole where the leaders were meeting.
CHAPTER 7
ARREST THE RINGLEADERS!
As the light of the day faded, the flames of the fires appeared to burn more brightly and most of the marchers were attracted to one or other of the fires. As Ruth and Joshua walked in the direction in which O’Connor had pointed them, they found a group of about thirty marchers standing, sitting or crouching around the flames. These were faces which they did not recognise since they were part of the group which had marched through the towns. But they were friendly enough and could see from the children’s muddy clothes that they must have walked over the moors.
‘Well, you two, ready for some o’ this, then?’ said a young man with a bright red shirt and baggy trousers who was stirring a large pot of porridge.
‘Or ’appen tha’d like an oatcake or two?’ said an older man with a scarf tied round his neck but reaching up to his nose as he held a frying pan in each hand, both of which warmed six oatcakes.
‘Well, what about both?’ asked Joshua hopefully as he eyed the two cooks.
‘Joshua, tha’d better ask for one or t’other or tha’ll get neither,’ said Ruth.
‘Aye, well said, lass,’ said the porridge stirrer. ‘Tha’ mun never ask for more na’ what the Lord ’as made available to each on us and what Matt – that’s meself – can stir in a single pot.’ Looking at the children more carefully, he added:
‘But I will say there’s more mud on thee than us, an’ tha’must ’ave ’ad a rough time on t’tops.’
‘Well, it were a bit rough up there,’ said Joshua, speaking with the voice of experience.
‘But we ’ad some good friends what kept us out o’t bogs and saved us from t’cliff edge and gave us a bed… well, anyroad, until dogs came for us,’ said Ruth more thoughtfully.
‘What dogs?’ said a small voice from the other side of the fire.
Looking across the flames, Ruth was surprised to see a girl of her own age, crouching down on her knees looking attentively at her. Although her face was alert, it was also grimy, and she was wearing a ragged dress and no shoes. Ruth was surprised to see another child there but answered calmly enough.
‘Why, Black Sam’s ’ounds what they use for ’unting foxes an’ deer were what were set on us,’ sai
d Ruth.
‘An’ ’ave tha’ got scars to show it?’ said the voice.
‘Well, Joshua an’ I were lucky,’ said Ruth, ‘but there were some o’ men what we had to leave in Matlock what were that badly mauled.’
‘Eeh, ah’d like to see them scars,’ said the small voice.
‘Now that’s a wonderful thing,’ said Matt, stirring his pot. ‘The young lady wants to see a scar or two, and just what a dog can do to a man. Well, that’s curiosity for you. But shouldn’t you three get to know each other. This is Ellie from the great city o’ Nottingham where they make the finest lace in the world, and this is… well… I don’t rightly know…’
‘I’m Ruth and this is Joshua,’ said Ruth, uncertain as to whether she should go and shake Ellie’s hand.
Ellie felt no such uncertainty but came round and stood beside the children, looking at them carefully. She evidently liked what she saw for she said quickly: ‘Ah see mud but no blood. Let’s sit down.’
Ruth and Joshua were used to the bluntness of Todmorden speech, but this directness was something new. But Ruth particularly liked it. As Ellie sat down beside her, she saw that her hair, which hung in strands down her cheeks and neck, though unkempt and dirty, was a light blonde. Ruth marvelled that anyone would allow a girl of her age to run so wild, but any further thoughts were interrupted as Matt offered porridge to anyone with a plate to take it. Ruth and Joshua had managed to keep the small tin plates their mother had tied into their bundles as they left Todmorden and were delighted to see a large spoonful of porridge placed on them.
As the group surrounding the fire became absorbed in the scanty food being served by Matt and his colleague, they scarcely noticed the arrival of O’Connor and the leaders of the Nottingham Chartists.
Looking up from his pot, Matt was the first to see them. ‘Mr O’Connor,’ he cried, ‘will tha’ not ’ave a plate of porridge for tha’ tea?’
‘Not yet, brother, not yet,’ O’Connor replied. ‘We’ve still got to sort out tomorrow with these lads here.’
Raising his eyes from his scoop of porridge, Joshua noticed that the Nottingham leaders were a group of three and that O’Connor and Place were now talking to them in quiet tones. But he was puzzled to see Ralph Murphy on the fringe of the group, probably just within earshot.
‘Well, do you think tha’ you can bring out a good twenty thousand then?’ said O’Connor to the group.
‘Twenty thousand might be a bit on the high side, Feargus,’ said a well-dressed man, standing a little below six feet, with spectacles and a top hat. ‘But it’ll be over by ten, and they’ll be there for as long as you can hold ’em with your speech.’
‘Aye, tha’s right there, Mr Wilson,’ said a much smaller man, dressed in a rough grey overall which came down to his knees. ‘Nottingham folk’ll listen to Mr O’Connor for as long as ’e can find words for ’is voice.’
‘An’ it’ll not just be t’lace makers, Jack,’ said the third man, whose dirty appearance and unkempt fair hair suggested he came from a rougher background than either of the other two. ‘There’s canalmen, an’ porters what work for sixpence a day, an’ night-soil men, an’ servants that daren’t speak their mind, and then there’s us brewers on castle hill that yer’ll be remembering fro’ your visit last year. An’ there’s not a one o’ t’brewers what won’t come out.’
‘Aye, ah know that well enough, Davy, and you’ll ’ave an ’and in that. But will we be safe at Exchange Square – or will they bring the troops out if we come into the City? Perhaps tha’ should bring t’lads out ‘ere.’
‘Or into t’grounds o’ t’castle,’ said Davy. ‘It’s been practically deserted since it were burned down. Tha’ can do owt in there.’
‘No, Davy,’ said John Wilson. ‘We want the maximum possible impact and the maximum disruption of business. We want the Lord Lieutenant to report to the Home Secretary that Nottingham is on fire again and won’t settle for less than the Charter. We’ll close down most o’ t’lace mills as the lads walk out tomorrow.’
‘Very well, that’s settled,’ said O’Connor in his usual decisive manner. ‘When do we bring t’marchers in to meet your lads?’
‘Leave at ten, and meet at the canal wharf at eleven,’ said Wilson. ‘That’ll get us t’square at noon and we can start meeting then.’
O’Connor and Place nodded agreement to each other. ‘Tomorrow at eleven then, but send your scouts out early,’ said O’Connor. ‘Now, won’t you have some o’ t’porridge an’ oatcakes you sent out earlier?’
‘No, Feargus, we’ll leave that for you, as those who gave it intended,’ said Wilson, whose Chartist organisation had collected oatcakes and porridge oats in a mass of small contributions to feed the marchers.
‘Aye,’ said Davy, ‘they’d not want to see us downing it.’
Saying this, he looked across at the group to whom they were closest, took stock of the three children twenty yards away and called out:
‘Ellie, lass; come ’ere this minute.’
‘Why, Dad, what’s up?’ came the sharp answer.
‘That food’s not for thee, lass. There’ll be summut for thee when tha’ gets ’ome.’
‘That’ll not be much,’ said Ellie to Ruth. ‘There’s never owt to eat in our cave.’
‘Cave?’ said Joshua. ‘Tha’ mean tha’ lives in a cave?’
‘Aye, me ducks, wi’ ’undred other folk in t’caves on castle ’ill,’ said Ellie. ‘It’s not so bad in summer but it don’t ’alf freeze i’ winter. Anyway, that’s where we brew t’beer an’ we’d never get by without that.’
‘So tha’s a beer brewer,’ said Joshua, who was impressed, although his beer drinking had been limited to half a glass on special occasions.
‘Aye, tha’ could say that, since me dad’s out o t’way for most o’ week, organising for t’Chartists as he calls it. But I wonder. Any’ow, it’s me what brews and sells most of what’s sold from our barrels. Tha’d best come and see us tomorrow. We’re just down by Journey to Jerusalem Inn.’
‘An’ what’s tha’ second name, Ellie?’ said Joshua.
‘Oh, Tinker,’ she replied. ‘That’s what me grandad were, tha’ sees, a tinker. But me and me dad ’ave settled down. No more travelling, just sat in a cave. Mind tha’ come tomorrow.’
***
By midnight, the field where the marchers were camped had fallen quiet, and the noise of conversation arose from only a few small groups of huddled figures with blankets thrown round their shoulders, staring into the embers of the cooking fires. Most of the marchers lay stretched out where they had finished eating. Jethro had been replaced as guard on the gate to the field and had rejoined the Todmorden group. Ruth and Joshua were about a hundred yards away, sleeping close to the fire where they had met Ellie. Jess had talked late with O’Connor, Frank Sykes and the other leaders, who as a group now slept close to the flagpole in the middle of the field.
Ruth and Joshua both felt the cold. It was now mid-October and the autumn night already held the prospect of winter. As the night grew colder, they huddled together. But Ruth smiled to herself as she thought of Ellie, and looked forward to the chance of seeing her the next day. And then there was the prospect of London – with Parliament, the new Queen and the River Thames. She longed to see her mother, but only when she could tell her that she’d been to London and delivered the Charter to Parliament. Looking forward to the rest of the journey, and drawing heat from Joshua’s body, Ruth finally drifted off to sleep.
It was the noise of the horses that woke Joshua. As dawn began to break, he heard the jingle of harnesses and shouts of command and, opening his eyes, saw a column of about fifty soldiers canter through the gate to the field.
‘Ruth, Ruth, wake up,’ he cried. ‘We’ve got cavalry in t’field.’
Reluctantly opening her eyes, Ruth saw the column turning through the gate.
They were in full dress uniform and had their cutlasses drawn. A figure at the gate, waving a long stick, seemed to be trying to stop them from entering the field. An officer at the front of the column, holding his cutlass above his head, was shouting at him.
‘Get out of the way, man, damn you.’
‘That’s Jethro, Josh,’ Ruth cried. ‘’E’s going to be cut down! Let’s get over there.’
As the two children ran the hundred yards to the gate, they saw the cavalry officer take a swipe at Jethro and then watched him fall, as the column slowed to a walk. By now, men were standing up all over the field, and a murmur of protest began to rise on all sides. Ruth and Joshua continued to run over to where Jethro had fallen. They found him on his back with the cavalry formed up about twenty yards away.
‘Jethro, are tha’ ’urt bad?’ asked Joshua, bending over him.
‘Nay, not so bad, lad. ’E turned his cutlass flat to ’it me, an’ that’s what knocked me flying.’
‘Tha’s not wounded then?’ said Ruth.
‘No blood, lass. Gi’ us the crutch.’
The blow from the cutlass had separated Jethro from his crutch which lay a few feet away. Ruth passed it to him now, and letting it take his weight, Jethro pulled himself up. The soldiers were close by, but ignored Jethro and the children. The officer in charge, having slowed his column down to a walk, led them towards the flagpole in the centre of the field. O’Connor and the other leaders were just being roused to see the column heading towards them.
The officer in charge, dressed in a captain’s uniform, did not hesitate. Reining his horse to a halt close to the flagpole, he gave the command:
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