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 The Good Old Times | Tragedy and Comedy

"The Good Old Times" 


RECOLLECTIONS OF THE “HUNGRY FORTIES.”
By James Ashworth.
 

Biography of James Ashworth.
James Ashworth was born about 1841 at Spotland, Rochdale.  He says his father was considered a “gentleman” because he had “a pound a week, work or play” he also tells us that his grandfather was a carrier between Rochdale and Manchester before the railways and that he had three daughters who worked in the Mill (see part two of “The Good Old Times”) apart from little snippets like this in the articles that’s about all I can tell you of his young life.
 
An obituary in the Blackburn Times says that as a young man he was secretary to the Tam O’ Shanter Mill Co., in Shawforth and later became the manager of Victoria Mill Rishton.  After this he ran his own business in Clayton-le-Moors making mill furnishings, which had branches in Blackburn, Preston and Manchester.  He retired from this during World War One. The 1881 census shows him as a cotton manufacturer living in Rishton with his wife Sarah who died in 1924 and their three children. About 1887 he moved to Blackburn and from 1902 until his death lived in Feniscliffe.
 
He was a Methodist and attended Griffin Street Methodist chapel at which he was one of the oldest trustees.
 
He died at his home, Fairfield Feniscliffe on January 22 1927 and was buried at New Row Wesleyan Church, Heys Lane Livesey.
 
 
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Mr. James Ashworth of Fairfield, Feniscliffe, the author of the article which follows, will be 84 in November next. He writes:
 
If people we sometimes hear speak so approvingly of the good old days could only be transported back to the things as they actually were, say, at the time of the Battle of Waterloo, the glamour which their imagination was allowed to gather round them would very quickly disappear, and they would far more ardently desire to be back again to the times as they are now.  Work was scarce and wages were low.  There were no Trade Unions to see that standard lists were being paid, and no standard lists; and no inspectors to see that overtime was not worked.
 
The Corn Laws were then in force, and no wheat, flour or corn was allowed to come into this country, however poor the harvest had been, until the price had risen to a certain height, so high that the farmer was sure of his profit and the landowner of his rent.  There were schools, but the great majority of them were not worth attending.  They were kept by old women or old men, many of whom could scarcely read them selves.
 
In the first school I attended, I never saw the master anywhere except at one end of the school, sat on a platform some two feet high.  His only work that I can remember he ever did was to thrash the boys sent up to the desk by the two teachers, the only ones we had.  They went to work half the day, and taught school the other.  The clothing of the people was poor indeed.  The women’s dresses were made of printed cotton.  Such a thing as French merino, as the material was called, could be bought by very few.  Silk dresses were scarcely ever seen before 1860, when Richard Cobden negotiated the French treaty.  The food, even in days much later than this, consisted very largely of oatmeal porridge, and not always enough of that.  I myself have seen porridge poured out of a pan, boiling hot, into a common dish, and hungry boys and girls sat round it, each with a basin and spoon, and not too much skimmed milk.  I have seen a keen contest going on, as to who was to get the best share before the dish got empty.  There was no more to be had until the next meal, and if one complained that he or she had not had enough, they were told that they should have been sharper in looking after their share.
 
Tea was a rare thing.  It was bought in ounces, even for a family of four or five, and it was seldom used except on Sundays.  Many women wore shawls to go to school or chapel in.  Some even had handkerchiefs on their heads.  The only bit of silk I remember seeing when I was a boy, was a silk handkerchief.
 
 
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The “Pleasures” of the People;
The pleasures of the people were of a low order.  Bull baiting, dog fighting, cock fighting, and gambling.  The Rver Roach runs right through the centre of Rochdale.  It is very wide in the centre of the town, and the bed is very even, so that except in flood-time the water is shallow.  It has been covered over in recent years, but in 1820, and for some 60 years later, it was quite open.  The riverbed was, and still is, ten or twelve feet below the street level on both sides.  This was a favourite place for bull baiting.  The bull was taken into the middle of the stream, secured on to a stake, and the dogs were set upon it.  At this point there is a bridge connecting the two parts of the town.  It was then a wooden bridge, and was a favourite point from which to see the “sport.”  Seats in tiers were erected on the bridge, so that a great number of people could see what was going on.  At one of these affairs the crowd was so great on the bridge that it fell, and several people were killed and a great many injured.
Sunday was a day devoted to gambling, drinking, pigeon-flying, dog-racing, and similar things.  Of course, the churchwardens were going about on Sunday mornings with their official emblems of office, and if they came across men in an unwashed state, whether drinking or loitering, they marched them of to the stocks—that is, if they could catch them—and there they had to remain for a time, for every passer-by to laugh and jeer at.
 
On one Sunday morning a number of men were caught gaming with dominoes.  The old constable came upon them unawares; but all got away except one.  He begged the constable not to put the handcuffs on him, and promised he would go quietly, and suggested that they should go along the canal bank.  The prisoner’s request to go that way was accede to.  When they had got to a point where the prisoner knew they were a fair distance from a bridge, he dived into the water and swam across, the old constable looking on amazed.  When he got to the other side he looked over at his captor, and, in domino wording asked. “Can you come?” “No.” said the old officer. “Well, then.” Said the prisoner, slapping his hand on his thigh.  “Domino, then!” and away he went, a free if wet man.
 
 
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Reform Agitation and Peterloo;
People were in very poor circumstances continually and as the population increased, poverty and discontent increased likewise.  There were some men of intelligence who took the peoples part, and got up meetings calling on the Government to do something for the people.  They demanded land law reform, and extension of the franchise and other measures.  They modestly asked for a small plot of land to grow a few potatoes and other things.  Some of the people now got out of bounds, but peaceable meetings were often dispersed by order of the magistrates.  Among the leaders of the people were three men named Frost, Williams, and Jones, all of whom were arrested, tried, and sentenced to various terms of imprisonment or transportation.  In after years I knew Jones.  He was an attorney, or attorney’s clerk.  He was a young man when sent to prison, with jet black hair; but when I knew him after his release, his hair was grey; but like Boniyard’s, it was not with years.
In 1819 things were in a very bad state; mass meetings were held in many places, and riots sometimes occurred.  One summer’s day, in July 1819, a mass meeting was called on the outskirts of Manchester, to press upon the Government the need for passing measures of relief for the people.  They were a perfectly orderly gathering.  It was said there were 60,000 people present.  They were assembled on land on which the Free Trade Hall now stands.  Without the slightest warning a company of horse soldiers rode right in among them, killing and maiming all who could not get out of their way.  The Battle of Waterloo had been fought four years before and this wicked, unprovoked attack on defenceless people was christened Peterloo in derision, a burlesque on Waterloo.
 
The people as a nation were powerless and as far as the aristocracy was concerned, friendless.  The military were in constant evidence, and kept the workers in order largely by gun and sword.  The recruiting sergeant, with his flying ribbons, was a frequent visitor to certain public houses, offering the young men free food, shelter and clothing, for a term of years or for the rest of their lives.  Press-gangs were also scouring the country.  Their work was to obtain recruits for the Navy and if persuasion failed, they carried off their victims by force.  After a young man had voluntarily enlisted the sobriety of next morning made the volunteer sadly regret taking the Queen’s shilling.  It was a rare chance, however, that a young man had of escaping.  One young fellow did once succeed in playing the madman so well as to get away.  This was in the early years of Victoria’s reign.  The oath was read over to him, in which he had to declare his willingness to fight for Queen and country.  He looked as mad as he could, and then said, “Neaw, I’se nut feight for t’ Queen.  If hoose hed ony bother wi’ onybody, hoo mun feight fer hersel.  I’se nut feight fer hur.”
 
It was not an easy task to deceive the officer, but he managed it and was discharged.
 
 
Long Hours in the Mill;
The steam loom and Arkwright’s spinning jenny began to appear, and as they produced more than the handloom and spinning wheel had done, the market became more overstocked than ever.  Then came 1826, when over-production, as the operatives called it, increased the glut in this market, so that mills worked less and less.  These remarks apply more to cotton than to woollen mills.  Among all this there were woollen mills running generally three and four days a week, which would sometimes receive an order for quick delivery that would require them to run full time for a while and sometimes a good deal of overtime.  On such occasions the operatives had often to work so late that it was not possible for them to go to their homes.  They had to sleep in the mill, among the wool or unfinished pieces.  I well remember my mother relating that on one occasion some wool had to be finished by a certain time, for it was being spun on commission, and they were compelled to work late one night, so late that to go home was out of the question.  The overlooker came round when the water wheel stopped and said, “It is very late; you must get some sleep as soon as you can; we must start again by five o’clock in the morning at the latest, or we cannot finish the order in time.  So you must sleep two hours in one.”  This was done in many mills when they were busy.
A tragic event happened at a little mill in Healy Dell, a place now within the borough of Rochdale.  It was run by water, and on this particular night they had worked very late, so late that to go home was out of the Question; so they had to make themselves as comfortable as they could among the wool and unfinished flannel.  Here we may remark that having to remain without food for many hours formed no small part of the inhuman treatment to which the workers were often subjected.  Among the workers at this mill, on this occasion, was a little girl of very tender years.  The poor thing had worked so late that she was thoroughly tired out and soon got to sleep—got to sleep, but never to wake again.  The child slept so soundly that when she was attacked by an army of rats she did not awaken, and when the rest of the people came to her in the morning they saw much of the child’s face and neck eaten away.
 
Tragedy and Comedy;
Tragedy and comedy were often very near together.  The hand loom weavers had to carry there warps and weft from the putters out, as the masters were called, and when the piece was finished they had to carry it on their backs to the master’s warehouse in town, from which they had fetched the warp.  From the village of Spotland there is a road through the fields along which these hand loom weavers used to travel, and at one point there is a large stone, some three feet high. On which it was convenient for them to rest with their burden, when passing to or coming from Rochdale.  Many were the complaints of unfair treatment of the weavers by the masters when the pieces were taken back and looked over.
 
Two weavers were discussing the conduct of the man who was finding work for them and complaining of his hard dealing.  Said one of them. “I took my piece home yesterday and he fined me sixpence, but I just let off about it, I did so.  I towd him what I thought about him.”  Next day the other weaver took his piece home and found the same mood, and he determined to do as his neighbour had done.  The result was that he got sent back without a warp.  Seeing his neighbour a day or two afterwards he was asked how he had gone on.  “Not so well,” he said.  “He treated me as he had treated you, and I did the same as you did, I towd him what I thought about him, and he sent me home without a warp.”  “Why,” said his friend, “where were you when you towd him that?”  “I’th warehouse, to be sure.”  “Eh, thou foo I waited wol I geet out into th’ fields to th’ resting stone, an’ then, wol I rested mysel, I did let out, I con tell thi’.
 
 
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The Collier and His Old Father;
If this pathway through the fields could speak, it could relate many tragedies, many heart-rending secrets of burdened hearts as well as burdened backs.  The men were largely given over to drink, notwithstanding their poor earnings.  In the village (now incorporated in the borough) there lived a collier.  In spite of his poor wages he spent a great deal in drink.  His father, who had also been a collier, but was now too old to work, was living with his son.  The son found the cost of keeping his parent reduced the amount he had to spend on drink and decided that he would bear the cost no longer.  He accordingly made arrangements with the authorities for his father to go to the workhouse.  He told his father what arrangement he had made, and that he should carry him on his back there on Sunday.  Sunday came, and his son, taking his father on his back started his journey.  When he came to the resting stone, which I have often seen and know well, he rested his burden on the stone as weavers used to rest with their warps and pieces, when he heard his father sobbing, and looking round at him, saw that his face was bathed in tears.  “Oh,” he said, “you don’t need to cry; I shant tak yo back yo’l hay’ to go on.”  “Oh,” said the old man, “I don’t want thi to tak’ me back, tak’ mi forrud.”  “why, wot are yo cryin’ for then?”  “I’m cryin’ o’er mi own conduct, it’s come back to mi now.  I’ve bin recknin, un I find it’s jus’ so mony yer today sin I carried mi father to th’ workhouse, un I rested wi him on this stone, it sarves mi reet, I deserve it.  Thou were nobbut a lad then about size o’ yor Dick.  Ah, it sarves mi reet, tak’ me forrud.”  But a better man had been wakened in the son, and it did not take him long to say; “Nay father.  I know I’m doing wrong, I’ll tak you home again.  I’ll give up drink, un you’s have a better home and a better lad than you’ve ever had before.”  He kept his word and translated his promise into practical life.
 
 
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Fatal Rioting;
The steam looms and early spinning mules had produced more than the export machinery then in existence could take off, and in 1826 there were frequent riots and smashing of machinery.  The Government did nothing to assist the country’s trade, and consequently the growth was very slow.  One old man I knew well told me he was in a crowd in Rochdale, which had attacked a mill, and some machinery had been broken, when the military arrived just in time to save the main portion of the mill.  No doubt, he said, the Riot Act had been read, but there was so much noise that no one heard it.  Then the soldiers fired, at first in the air.  Then the crowed rushed to the soldiers, determined to pull them from their horses.  When the officer saw their intention he ordered them to fire on the crowd and many fell.  One man close to him received a bullet just over his mouth on his upper lip, when he jumped up quite half a yard, and then fell dead.  Those soldiers on the outside of the company defended themselves with their swords, while the others fired on the people.  Had they not used their swords they would surely have been pulled from their horses and killed.
Many scenes like this occurred in various parts of Lancashire.  The great bulk of the people were starving and had it not been for the presence of the military and the severity of the magistrates riots and outrages would have been far more numerous and destructive than they were.
 
By Stephen Smith
 
 
The  concluding part of James Ashworth’s the Good Old Times, taken from the Blackburn Times of May 3, 1924.
 
My father was considered a gentleman because he had a pound a week work or play, as the people put it.  My grandfather was a carrier in Rochdale, between that town and Manchester, before the introduction of railways.  Three of his daughters worked in the mill.  Carters were as given to drink as other men.  One evening, as two of the girls were going home from their work, they saw their favourite horse standing at the door of a public house while the carter they found inside was drunk.  They would not have their horse treated in that way, so they started it off home, and it showed itself very willing to go.  A number of half drunken men scrambled into the cart and refused to get out, so the sisters decided on a plan.  Not far ahead the road was in a very dirty state, and according to arrangement, when the horse got to this dirty part, the girls went to each side of the cart, drew out the “nugs,” and starting the horse at a greater speed, with the result that the men were shot out of the cart into the dirty road, where they were left to sort themselves as best they could.
 
 
 
“Chadderton Feight” and Plug Drawing;
Old inhabitants about Stubbins are sure to remember what was known as “Chadderton Feight.”  The mill at Chadderton contained some of the more modern spinning machinery.  A crowd gathered and began smashing windows and doors and machinery.  Soon the soldiers were on the scene from Bury.  The crowd began to disperse, taking refuge in the houses filling the rooms up stairs and down, from which they had to be dragged by the soldiers.
 
In 1842 there occurred what was known as the plug drawing.  Steam boilers of that day were constructed in such a way that by knocking in a plug over the fire, the fire was extinguished, and the water and steam escaped, so that the mill could not run again for some time.  Large crowds of men and women set out from Oldham and Rochdale, one crowd taking one way and another a different way.  Gathering strength as they went, they stopped every mill they came to and helped themselves to food without the formality of paring for it.  If any young man refused to go with them he got a good hiding.  One of these crowds walked from Rochdale to Bacup, securing food, and stopping every mill they came at on the way.  When they arrived at Bacup, they learned that a company of cavalry from Bury were on their way to meet them, and might be there any minute.  There was a quarry at the entrance to Bacup, and in that the crowd took refuge.  They formed a dense mass on three sides.  They were able to mount the sides of the quarry and place themselves in a position higher than the horsemen.  They quickly armed themselves with a large amount of ammunition in the form of stones, so that when the soldiers arrived they were ready for them.  The cavalry marched right into the quarry.  The rioters surrounded them.  A magistrate read the Riot Act, and demanded dispersal at once to their homes.  As no one complied he gave the officer in charge of the troops the order to fire.  The officer, however, refused to give the order.  He saw the piles of stones laid ready near the men on the side of the quarry all round, as well as on the lower ground, and told the magistrate that he was quite sure that if he gave the order to fire the crowd would quickly reply and not a soldier or magistrate would be left alive in an hour, and that a handful of soldiers against thousands of infuriated men with those heaps of stones and the forest of stout sticks visible on every hand would stand no chance whatever.  The soldiers were withdrawn, the town officials and residents made quieting speeches to them, food was provided as far as possible, and the soldiers paraded the streets to prevent looting if attempted.  In this they were successful, and gradually the rioters dispersed, as they had come, to home, to reach which they had many weary miles to tramp.  Very little looting was done either in the town or by the way by which they had travelled.
 
 
 
 
Some Early Weavers Difficulties;
These years have been rightly named the “Hungry Forties” and well deserved that appellation, though I do not know that they were any worse in that respect than the 20 years before.  In 1832 the first Reform Bill was passed.  I fail to find much good that came to the people through that measure.  Some years later Parliament was moved by the peoples need, and from1844 to1848 Sir Robert Peel and others repealed the Corn Laws, and passed the Ten Hours Bill.  But work was still scarce and wages poor.  A weaver could only mind two looms.  But lest present day weavers should think they were slow, let me ask how many looms they could mind to-day if they had no weft fork, no taking up motion that regulated the number of picks automatically.  As the one roller on which the cloth was wound grow larger, not more than from two to three yards of cloth could be woven before the loom must be stopped, and the weaver apply his counting glass to see what picks per quarter he was putting in.  Then he had to adjust his taking up motion, and weave a little to see if all was right.  These were only two things that made it imposable to get along with the work rapidly.  They had the movable temple which had to be moved near the reed every few inches, instead of the fixed side temple we have now, and this was another great hindrance to progress.  No wonder a weaver did very well to earn 4s per loom per week, and could only mind two looms.  When the weft fork was invented and put on old looms it was a long way from being perfect.  One great benefit which Parliament gave, and over which Lancashire rejoiced exceedingly, was the abolition of the Corn Laws.  As a nation, however, we have failed to follow up the blessings it would have given by neglecting agriculture, so that to-day food is much dearer than it was in 1848.
The amusements of the people were almost nil, at any rate in the country.  There was a tea party at the school two or three time a year, the yearly scholar’s treat, and once now and again a magic lantern display.  Of course we must not forget the annual rush bearing, remnant of still more ancient times.  The Sunday school was a most attractive institution.  We really loved it, and the good men who conducted it.  At nine o’clock on Sunday mornings we were at school.  After that we had service, and got home soon after12.  Then we were at school again at one, and a service after, so if the afternoon sermon was not too long we got home soon after four.  Sometimes we had to go again in the evening at six.  But we hardly knew what to do with the time if we did not have to go to chapel.  I feel grateful for being kept so close to school and chapel.  We did have several grand hymns in the Sunday school, and we sang them with gusto.  The Young people don’t sing them today.  How can they when schools are so much neglected.
 
Sabbath schools are England’s glory,
Let them spread no every hand,
They send forth the Saviour’s story,
To the thousands in our land.
 
 
 
 
Methodists and Dancing;
Of education there was little; writing as well as reading was taught at many Sunday schools.  Day schools were few, and few of them were worth attending.  There were a few dancing classes, but devotees had a long way to go to them if they lived in the country, in1848 our folk in the country, five miles from Rochdale, and two from Bacup.  In the same fold or cluster of houses were the farmhouse and five cottages.  The farmer had a nephew, a young man whom he had adopted on the death of his brother, the young man’s father.  The farmer and his wife were very strict Methodists, and to Methodists of that day dancing was anathema.  The nephew, however, before coming to reside with them, lived in Bacup, and attended a dancing class, and he was very determined he would still go, though he had over two miles to go along a very lonely road.  His old aunt gave him many a lecture but John took no heed.  One winter’s night John was making ready for going ad as usual had to listen to his aunt’s lecture.  She wondered he was not afraid of the devil appearing, and doing him some harm, going to such a wicked place form a Methodist home.  John listened to it all, but was still determined to go.  The farmhouse was a spacious one, and had, and still has, a wide and long porch in front, with stone benches on each side, on which were placed the milking tins.  On this particular night a heavy snowstorm had set in, but even that, added to his aunts lectures, did not deter him.  As events proved the lecture had made some impression on him.  When John was ready he opened the inner door, closing it again as he went out into the darkness.  Scarcely had he done so, however, before he stumbled over something, and cried out in agonised fear “Aunt Ailse, Aunt Ailse.”  A young man who was visiting there took up the candle, and a milking tin to shield it from the wind, and with the aunt went to investigate.  Opening the inner door they found John lying on the ground and showing terrible fear.  And there also lay the superannuated donkey belonging to the farm.  It had taken shelter from the storm in the porch, and when John fell over it had turned its large eyes upon him, which in the darkness seemed to blaze and made John think that at last his aunt’s prediction of evil had come true.
 
Work, both in town and country was still very poor and ill paid.  A good winder could not get more than 7s 6d per week.  A standing wage (work or play) as they put it, was a most unusual possession, because work being so irregular the condition was a safeguard against deductions for short time.  Young men were wanted for the army, and the recruiting sergeant was very often seen in certain public houses seeking victims.  I remember a popular song of that date: “Come and lose your limbs, my lads, for thirteen pence a day.”
 
 
Candles and Gas;
Gas was used in the mills, but each mill made it’s own.  Churches and chapels were lit with oil lamps or candles.  Our chapel was lit with candles, and when the wicks got long and the light consequently poor, after a lengthy burning, a person had to go round with a pair of brass snuffers on a small tray and snuff the candles just before the sermon and again when he was concluding.  Some times the man made a mistake and snuffed the light out; and as we had no matches he had to go back to another light.  A good story was told at the time of a country chapel, at which a young man, just beginning to preach, was appointed to take the evening service.  He must have been very nervous that night.  The chapel was lit with candles as usual.  The young man got on all right until he came to the sermon.  The candles had all been snuffed and were at their best.  He gave out his text “I am the light of the world.”  But somehow nothing more would come.  Again he read out his text, with no better result.  A third time he read it out and still no sermon was forthcoming, when an old lady in the congregation called out, “If thou art leet o’th word, lad thou wants snuffin.”
 
Revivals at Methodist chapels were more common then than now.  On the outskirts of Rochdale, at a Methodist chapel, a revival had taken place, and among those brought in was a pit worker, a big powerful man, as irreligious as he was big and strong.  Among the other pit workers was a man who indulged in a good deal of banter.  In the past, when Tom had a word and a blow for anyone who treated him unfairly, his tormenter durst not said anything to him.  Now, however, he thought Tom was a changed mon.  One evening as work was finishing, he accosted tom with.  “I don’t believe thou art a converted mon Tom.”  “Why, what makes tha think so,” said Tom.  “Why, if thou were a converted mon,” was the reply “if I were to hit thee on the right cheek thou would have to turn t'other, too, un I know thou would not do it.”  “Well,” said tom, “I think I should.”  Bye and bye after some parleying this way he struck Tom on his right cheek.  Tom did as he said he would and his enemy struck him on that too.  “Now,” said Tom, “does ta think I’m a converted mon now?”  “Ah,” his enemy said, “ I do Tom.”  “Where did ti read about turnin t’other cheek?”  Tom asked.  “Why i'th sarmon on th’ mount.”  “Ah it dose say so, but thou sees I’ve done more than it says, I’ve let thi hit it, but did ta nod read further on it same sermon, where it says summut else very important?” Neaw, I never read further.”  “Well I’ll tell thi wot it says.  It says `Judge not that you be not judged.  For with what judgement you judge you shall be judged, and with what measure you meet it shall be measured to you again. `  Thou hast measured to me two good slaps oth face, now I’m bown to measure them back to thee with a bit of interest.”  And he gave him a good physical admonition. That cured him forever more attacking Tom.
 
 
 
Discovery of Gold in California;
By 1848 employment had improved a little, although the rate of wages had not gone up much.  Young women now wore bonnets for Sundays and special occasions.  They were made of straw and were known as “coalscuttles”.  In this year broke out the great rush to the Californian gold fields—this rush for gold and the finding of it was destined to effect a great and lasting improvement in our Lancashire trade.  One of the popular songs of the day ran:
 
“Oh Susannah, don’t you cry for me,
I’m going to California,
A digging gold for thee.”
 
About this time the Southern States of America began to increase the number of their slaves by sending out the slave dhows to Africa, and filling them with natives, captured against their will, and transporting them to the Southern States, where they were sold to the cotton and other planters.  This slave catching and transporting did not at first excite public condemnation to any great extent, but one of the popular songs of the day ran:
 
“To the west, to west, to the land of the free,
Where mighty Missouri rolls down to the sea,
Where children are blessings, and he that hath most,
Hath wealth to his fortune and riches doth boast.”

A Queer Story;
Many years ago I happened to visit Scotland, and among other places went to Loch Katrine, Ellen’s Isle, The Trossachs, and by Callender and Stirling, made immortal by Sir Water Scott, in his “Lady of the Lake.”  After an interesting visit to Stirling Castle we visited the old churchyard adjoining, where an old soldier, wising, no doubt to earn an honest shilling, volunteered to show us the lions.  Last of all he said; “Now I will show you the grave of a man who was born after his mother was buried.”  There lived in Stirling, he said, a well-known and wealthy man, whose wife sickened and died.  It was known that she had been buried with a number of valuable rings on her fingers.  Her husband would not have them taken from her.  At that time there was a good deal of body snatching, as it was called.  Recently buried bodies were dug up soon after being interred and sold to the doctors for dissecting purposes.  The knowledge that this lady had been buried with her valuable rings, supplied an extra incentive to the body snatchers.  The first night after internment they dug up the coffin, opened the lid, got hold of her hand with the intention of cutting off the fingers containing the rings.  As soon, however, as they got hold of her hand, up she sprang, and away the men went.  She had only been in a trance.  She walked home to the amazed delight of her husband and family.  She lived to have three children, of which the man buried there was one.  The curious thing about this story is that I heard it from a soldier in our village when I was a boy, or not more than five at most.
 
The rush to the Californian and Australian gold fields continued and increased year by year; and the gold produced and put into circulation was the main factor in giving a fillip to trade in every branch, and starting into life that power of co-operation which quickly became the moving power in Rochdale, Oldham, Bacup, Rawtenstall, and all the places between.  Those of your readers who visited the Great Exhibition in London in 1862, will be sure to remember that at the main entrance of Brampton road, there stood a square obelisk gilded over.  It represented the amount of gold imported into this country between the exhibition of 1851 and the one in 1862.  It also stated the amount of sovereigns that had been minted from the gold, and put into circulation during the period.

The years 1858, 1859 and 1860 were three of the most prosperous years the trade of this country had ever known and had it not been for the civil war in America, which cast a cloud over Lancashire for a time, that property would have continued unbroken for a long time.  But as it was, we never again got down to the state of national poverty we had been in so long, and I trust we never may again.
By Stephen Smith
 
Tragedy and comedy were often very near together.  The hand loom weavers had to carry there warps and weft from the putters out, as the masters were called, and when the piece was finished they had to carry it on their backs to the master’s warehouse in town, from which they had fetched the warp.  From the village of Spotland there is a road through the fields along which these hand loom weavers used to travel, and at one point there is a large stone, some three feet high. On which it was convenient for them to rest with their burden, when passing to or coming from Rochdale.  Many were the complaints of unfair treatment of the weavers by the masters when the pieces were taken back and looked over.
 
Two weavers were discussing the conduct of the man who was finding work for them and complaining of his hard dealing.  Said one of them. “I took my piece home yesterday and he fined me sixpence, but I just let off about it, I did so.  I towd him what I thought about him.”  Next day the other weaver took his piece home and found the same mood, and he determined to do as his neighbour had done.  The result was that he got sent back without a warp.  Seeing his neighbour a day or two afterwards he was asked how he had gone on.  “Not so well,” he said.  “He treated me as he had treated you, and I did the same as you did, I towd him what I thought about him, and he sent me home without a warp.”  “Why,” said his friend, “where were you when you towd him that?”  “I’th warehouse, to be sure.”  “Eh, thou foo I waited wol I geet out into th’ fields to th’ resting stone, an’ then, wol I rested mysel, I did let out, I con tell thi’.
 
 
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The Collier and His Old Father
 
If this pathway through the fields could speak, it could relate many tragedies, many heart-rending secrets of burdened hearts as well as burdened backs.  The men were largely given over to drink, notwithstanding their poor earnings.  In the village (now incorporated in the borough) there lived a collier.  In spite of his poor wages he spent a great deal in drink.  His father, who had also been a collier, but was now too old to work, was living with his son.  The son found the cost of keeping his parent reduced the amount he had to spend on drink and decided that he would bear the cost no longer.  He accordingly
made arrangements with the authorities for his father to go to the workhouse.  He told his father what arrangement he had made, and that he should carry him on his back there on Sunday.  Sunday came, and his son, taking his father on his back started his journey.  When he came to the resting stone, which I have often seen and know well, he rested his burden on the stone as weavers used to rest with their warps and pieces, when he heard his father sobbing, and looking round at him, saw that his face was bathed in tears.  “Oh,” he said, “you don’t need to cry; I shant tak yo back yo’l hay’ to go on.”  “Oh,” said the old man, “I don’t want thi to tak’ me back, tak’ mi forrud.”  “why, wot are yo cryin’ for then?”  “I’m cryin’ o’er mi own conduct, it’s come back to mi now.  I’ve bin recknin, un I find it’s jus’ so mony yer today sin I carried mi father to th’ workhouse, un I rested wi him on this stone, it sarves mi reet, I deserve it.  Thou were nobbut a lad then about size o’ yor Dick.  Ah, it sarves mi reet, tak’ me forrud.”  But a better man had been wakened in the son, and it did not take him long to say; “Nay father.  I know I’m doing wrong, I’ll tak you home again.  I’ll give up drink, un you’s have a better home and a better lad than you’ve ever had before.”  He kept his word and translated his promise into practical life.
 
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Fatal Rioting;
The steam looms and early spinning mules had produced more than the export machinery then in existence could take off, and in 1826 there were frequent riots and smashing of machinery.  The Government did nothing to assist the country’s trade, and consequently the growth was very slow.  One old man I knew well told me he was in a crowd in Rochdale, which had attacked a mill, and some machinery had been broken, when the military arrived just in time to save the main portion of the mill.  No doubt, he said, the Riot Act had been read, but there was so much noise that no one heard it.  Then the soldiers fired, at first in the air.  Then the crowed rushed to the soldiers, determined to pull them from their horses.  When the officer saw their intention he ordered them to fire on the crowd and many fell.  One man close to him received a bullet just over his mouth on his upper lip, when he jumped up quite half a yard, and then fell dead.  Those soldiers on the outside of the company defended themselves with their swords, while the others fired on the people.  Had they not used their swords they would surely have been pulled from their horses and killed.
 
Many scenes like this occurred in various parts of Lancashire.  The great bulk of the people were starving and had it not been for the presence of the military and the severity of the magistrates riots and outrages would have been far more numerous and destructive than they were.
 
By Stephen Smith
 
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