Northern Stars

by Laurence Cockcroft

  The children were secretly relieved that Marion was joining them. Ruth took her hand but Joshua hung back.

  ‘I reckon we should be glad enough for anyone who’s willing to join us,’ said Jess. He was glad that Marion was joining them but nervous that his little group might not hold together. But then he remembered her singing and realised what a bond it could be when times were rough. ‘Especially someone whose voice can be ’eard ’alf a mile away. Come on, let’s go.’

  The little group moved across the market square, attracting a few shouts of good luck and support – but at seven o’clock on a Monday morning, most people were bent on their own business. Ruth and Joshua took one pole of the banner, and Jim Knott the other. The small band of marchers set off behind the banner; Judd Ackroyd with his hammer and Jethro Strongitharm with his crutch, bringing up the rear.

  They left the town by the gravel-topped road to Manchester that wound its way alongside the canal. Both the road and the canal were teeming with life: the road with horses and carts on local errands, the canal with barges piled high with bales of raw cotton or boxes of woven grey cloth. Joshua and Ruth had been delighted to hold the banner as they left the town. Half an hour later, the weight was beginning to tell; and they were glad when Jess Midgeley suggested that they furl up the banner until they’d covered the ten miles to Rochdale, where they expected to join the Rochdale marchers.

  Five miles out of Todmorden, they could hear the crash of a giant steam hammer as it smashed stone in a nearby quarry. The children ran up to the brow of a hill to watch it at work, and were amazed at the bustling scene of activity which was taking place below them. Hundreds of men were moving in all directions: some with wheelbarrows, some with buckets brimming over with liquid, some with sledgehammers at least as big as Judd Ackroyd’s. Most of this action was centred on two lines of metal, which ran into an opening in the hill. Small trolleys were running up and down this line and disappearing into the opening which was cut from rock.

  While they were staring at the scene, Jim Knotts came up behind the children:

  ‘Never seen owt like this before, you two, ’ave you?’ he said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Ruth.

  ‘This is ’t tunnel for railway from Manchester to Leeds – and some say it’s longest in ’t world,’ said Jim. ‘They’ve got a thousand men working ’ere and five killed already. God knows ’ow many more will die afore they’re finished.’

  An engine with a cloud of steam blowing out of its chimney puffed up to the opening of the tunnel, pulling behind it an enormous pile of bricks.

  ‘So that’s one of them engines,’ said Joshua.

  ‘Aye, an’ when tunnel’s through all ’t ’way, engines’ll tak thee from Manchester to Todmorden in a bit over two hours, and from Manchester to Leeds in near enough four.’

  ‘That’ll be the way to travel,’ said Joshua. ‘Can you get to London that way?’

  ‘Not yet. Tha’ can only get from London to Birmingham, but that’ll change soon enough.’

  ‘Just as well,’ said Jess Midgeley as he came up behind them. ‘We’re marching to show folk all long t’ road that we’ve got a just cause and that we’re fighting tooth and nail for it. Now come on, you three, back on to ’t road.’

  Ruth and Joshua with Jim Knotts at the big tunnel.

  Ruth and Joshua returned to their position in the group behind Jim Knotts, who was carrying the banner, now rolled up on its two poles and slung over his shoulder. They were followed by Marion Rowley, who wanted to keep close to the children. The others followed and Judd Ackroyd, swinging his big hammer as if to stamp out any opposition, brought up the rear.

  Before midday, they were on the outskirts of Rochdale, halfway to Manchester. Jess Midgeley had been told to meet the Rochdale marchers in Toad Lane. There they would meet marchers from all the nearby cotton and wool manufacturing towns. Feargus O’Connor had been busy stirring up support for the Charter throughout this area, and marchers from at least twenty towns were expected to meet in Rochdale. As the Todmorden group came closer to the centre of town, they realised that a large crowd was thronging the streets.

  ‘Put t’banner up, Jim,’ said Jess Midgeley. ‘We’ll ’ave to show ourselves ’ere. Ralph, you tak t’other pole from Jim. Ruth and Joshua, stick close to Marion. Now let’s walk in twos, with Judd an’ ’is ’ammer at back.’

  As the Todmorden group came closer to the crowd, their banner was recognised.

  ‘’Ere’s one lot, cum to join our lads,’ cried one.

  ‘Where they from?’ cried another.

  ‘Looks like Tod.’

  ‘Oh aye, cripples n’all.’

  ‘An’ a big ’ammer to keep off you an’ me. Tha’ can never trust folk from Tod.’

  ‘’Appen they want to keep their childer under control – look at them two.’

  Ruth and Joshua realised they were being scrutinised.

  ‘And are your children marching for ’t ’Charter?’ Ruth shouted at the speaker in the crowd. ‘We’ll get to London and back, tha’ knows.’

  Taken aback, the speaker disappeared into the crowd.

  By now, other marching groups were converging on Toad Lane, and it was difficult for Jess Midgeley to keep his group together. ‘Stick to Marion, children,’ he said. ‘I’m going to talk to ’t’ Rochdale organisers.’

  Ruth and Joshua held Marion’s hands as the crowd pressed around them. Some of the groups had brought musical instruments – drums, fiddles and trumpets – and a clash of different tunes filled the air as they all tried to reach Toad Lane. Marion could hardly bear to hear music without singing herself, but could now barely recognise a single tune. Some kind of order was beginning to emerge as a small man standing on a platform at the side of the square waved his hands, and was evidently trying to get the marching groups to form up behind each other.

  ‘Come on, lads,’ he cried. ‘You’ve got to be in Manchester by tonight for ’t procession by torchlight. Soldiers’ll be there and we need plenty of men. We don’t want another Peterloo with redcoats killing right, left and centre.’

  ‘What does ’e mean about Peterloo?’ Joshua asked Marion.

  ‘That’s twenty years ago in 1819 when t’army tore into a crowd of working folk in St Peter’s Field in Manchester – just because they was demanding their rights. Me Uncle Jim were there and ’e got ’issel knocked down by a cavalry officer on an ’orse.’

  Joshua looked uncertainly at Ruth; it was the first time he had thought they might meet real danger. Perhaps it would be better to be working in Stansfield’s mill after all – you might be tired but you stayed alive. Ruth could sense his feelings and shared his fear but wanted to go on at all costs.

  ‘They wouldn’t do it again, surely?’ she said to Marion. ‘Aren’t there too many of us now?’

  ‘Aye, there should be, lass. Let’s see ’ow many join us when we get to Manchester.’

  The small man standing on a platform was beginning to achieve some order amongst the various groups of marchers. ‘Come on, you from Bacup, you tak the second slot; you from Burnley, you’re at th’end; Rawtenstall, come in the middle ’ere.’

  Jess Midgeley came back to his group, and Ruth and Joshua both ran up to him, grabbing his hands. ‘What’s ‘appening, Dad?’ cried Joshua.

  ‘We’re at the beginning, lad; and we’d better get everybody there just now.’ Raising his voice, he called on the rest of the Todmorden marchers to follow him to the front of the line.

  ‘Why choose us, Dad?’ said Ruth.

  ‘They must think we look a likely bunch with a one-legged man, two children and an ’ammer,’ Jess laughed.

  ‘You mean the soldiers wouldn’t dare to charge us, like at Peterloo?’ said Ruth.

  ‘Who’s been talking to you, lass?’ said Jess, looking at Marion.

  ‘I were just telling ’e
m what ’ad ’appened before,’ said Marion.

  ‘Well, that’s a while ago anyway,’ said Jess. ‘Now, come on, let’s get into position. We’re going to form up again two mile outside Manchester, and move into the city in a torchlit march once it gets dark. That’ll be by about ’alf past eight. Then an ’our later, we’ll form up on St. Peters Field where there’ll be speeches from some o ’t’ leaders.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll still be awake?’ said Joshua to Ruth.

  ‘I’ll set you alight with me torch if I so much as see you nodding off,’ said Ruth.

  Jess led the children and the rest of the Todmorden group to the front of the march as the other groups tried to find their right places in the line. The jostling crowd, the increasing numbers of marchers, the different tunes being played by various marching groups all gave Ruth and Joshua a sense of excitement and expectation. By now, it was clear that most of the marching groups had many more than eight participants. As Jess looked back from the steps of the platform, he guessed that there were at least a thousand people trying to form a line.

  ‘Marion, you ’old t’poles of t’banner, and you two children t’other one. When you get tired, we’ll get young Jim ’ere to tak over,’ Jess said, nodding at Jim Knotts.

  ‘Right enough,’ said Jim, only too happy to march alongside Marion when his chance came.

  As the marchers fell into a rough line, the small man raised his voice to higher and higher levels so as to be heard.

  ‘Now, lads,’ he cried, ‘we want you at Ancoats by six o’clock.’ Fearing that no one had heard him, he asked a man with a bugle to blow a blast, which quietened those groups around him.

  ‘At Ancoats by six o’clock, lads. That’s when t’ Manchester crowd’ll ’ave your food ‘n’ torches ready.’

  Still doubtful that more than three or four of the marching groups had heard him, he rushed with the bugler towards the back of the column and repeated his message.

  ‘It’s off with you now, lads; and good luck. You must be at Ancoats by six – only ten miles. Let’s ’ave another blast on ’t’bugle an’ tha’ can start.’

  The bugler blew a long high-pitched note, and Jess Midgeley, guessing that this must be the signal for departure, called on the Todmorden group to lead off. For half an hour, Ruth and Joshua found the banner easy enough to carry. As they went further through Rochdale, they passed through a series of cobbled streets, containing both houses and workshops. In the background, there were enormous mill buildings, three or four storeys high. Gradually, the streets fell away again to low-lying green fields, but as Ruth and Joshua turned round, they could see the high moorland lying a few miles to the east.

  ‘When will we be back there, Ruth?’ asked Joshua.

  ‘Sooner than you think, Josh,’ but she wondered at the truth of her own words.

  CHAPTER 4

  UNDER FIRE IN MANCHESTER

  When Ruth and Joshua saw the immense crowd in the fields just outside Manchester, they were amazed. Within half an hour of leaving Rochdale, they had handed over their pole which carried the banner to Marion, and trudged behind her for a full four hours. Jess Midgeley had been too busy moving back and forth along the line of marchers, talking to the other leaders, to help them. By seven o’clock in the evening, they were so tired they felt they could hardly move another step.

  But now they could see that the thousand marchers from Rochdale were only one of at least twenty similar groups. Some had arrived well before the Rochdale group; others were arriving at the same time. Over on one side, beyond a stone wall, Joshua noticed a line of about a hundred horsemen in red uniform.

  ‘Is them soldiers, Marion?’ he said.

  ‘As like as not,’ said Marion, anxious that their earlier talk about Peterloo might have sapped the children’s eagerness for the march.

  ‘I’m going to talk to Jethro, wi ’t’crutch,’ said Joshua, dropping back in the line to the back of the Todmorden marchers.

  Six lines back from the front, Jethro Strongitharm was swinging his body along, balancing his weight between his crutch and his good leg.

  ‘’Ow are you feeling, lad?’ he said as Joshua made his way towards him. ‘Still ready for London, or missing yer mam’s tea?’

  ‘Oh, I’m reet enough, but what about them ’orsemen over yonder?’ said Joshua. ‘The ones in red coats?’

  Jethro glanced to the side of the enormous field into which they were now marching and could see the red and white colours of the West Riding regiment – his own regiment at Waterloo.

  ‘Well, damn me,’ he cried. ‘It’s our own lads that’s turning on us now.’

  Joshua gave him a startled look and thought he could see tears come to the old soldier’s eyes. He could n ’t’ believe that such a tough old hero as Jethro – who seemed to be happy enough living on one leg – could be brought to tears by the sight of a line of soldiers.

  ‘What do you mean, our own lads?’ asked Joshua.

  ‘Why, lad, them men there is from my regiment, and we were in ’t’last charge on the French cannons. ’Appen not my old comrades, but their sons, like as not. And now… and now…’ Joshua was sure this time that he could see a tear rolling down Jethro’s cheek.

  ‘Why, for the Duke of Wellington’s own regiment to turn on us… that’s more than I can bear, lad, after all we did for ’im. Charter’s a just cause. They’ve no right to turn one soldier on another. England’ll never stand for it.’

  ‘Will they charge us then?’ asked Joshua, looking up at Jethro.

  ‘Not they, lad; ah reckon they’re just there trying to scare us off. Keep your eyes on the man at front on the great white horse. If ’e’s moving up and down, it means ’e’s getting nervous and might do owt. If he’s still, ‘e’s not likely to tell ’is men to move. This is a bad day; I’ll not get over this, lad.’

  Joshua gave him a frightened look and moved back up the line to fall in with Marion and Ruth.

  ‘They ARE soldiers, and even Jethro’s scared of ’em,’ he said, not sure whether Jethro’s tears bespoke fear or pain at the sight of the men of his old regiment watching the field.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing you can do about it, Josh; so just keep quiet, will you?’ said Ruth as the whole of the Rochdale marching column came to a halt in the middle of the field.

  They spotted another group of children sitting down about a hundred yards away and, suddenly finding new energy, walked over to see them. Coming closer, they could see that they were eating a tea laid out on grey cloth.

  ’Allo,’ said Ruth. ‘’Ave you come far? Tired out yet?’

  ‘No,’ answered a red-headed boy with a lump of cheese in his mouth, ‘just from Salford.’

  ‘’Ow far’s that?’ asked Ruth.

  ‘About two mile.’

  Ruth couldn’t resist a laugh – Salford seemed so near after the twenty-mile walk from Todmorden. But the ginger-haired boy didn’t like it.

  ‘Well then, what’ve you got to laff about? We’re all ’ere together, aren’t we, Jack?’

  ‘That’s reet, Davey,’ said a small boy sitting next to him, with a red handkerchief tied round his neck. ‘Don’t tak owt from this lot tha’ wouldn’t tak from Manchester lads.’

  ‘Oh, what are you on about?’ said Ruth. ‘I didn’t mean to laff at you. It’s just that we’ve been walking all day, a good twenty mile, and two mile didn’t seem much.’

  Davey and his group calmed down at this news and asked if Ruth and Joshua had eaten.

  ‘No, but we’ve got ours over there,’ said Joshua, pointing back to the Todmorden group.

  ‘Bring it over then, an’ you can tell us ’ow you’re still alive after these twenty mile,’ said Davey.

  Ruth and Joshua went over to find their father with the knapsack which their mother had carefully made up, and returned with a good handful of cheese and brea
d.

  ‘That looks right good cheese,’ said Davey, surprised at its whiteness.

  ‘Try a bit,’ said Ruth, handing him a part of her handful.

  ‘Aye, I were right,’ said Davey. ‘This is better than we get from Mother Cross and ’er three cows in Salford, any day. But then she keeps those in what’s left of a meadow by th’Irwell River, where drunks dry out of a night.’

  ‘Well, this is from me aunt’s farm at Black Clough in Todmorden,’ said Ruth, ‘and she makes it right crumbly.’

  ‘Aye, it fair crumbles in yer mouth,’ said Davey. ‘I wouldn’t mind some more o’ this, eh, lads?’

  ‘Right enough, Davey,’ said the small boy Jack who had been sitting next to him, but now stood up signalling to his six fellows to do the same.

  Before Ruth and Joshua knew what was happening, their chunks of cheese had been snatched from them and they found themselves pitched onto the ground.

  ‘So that’s what you Salford lads are about,’ said Ruth, watching her precious tea devoured by Davey’s gang. ‘What shall we do about it, Josh?’

  Joshua, from his vantage point on the ground, eyed the ring of boys uneasily. ‘Well, I’ll tak on young Jack, if ’e’ll give me a fight,’ said Joshua.

  Jack was only too happy to test his prowess as a wrestler and came up to stand right in front of Joshua. The two boys locked arms and struggled to floor each other. Although naturally cautious, Joshua had been the best wrestler among the boys at Stansfield’s mill; and before long, he and Jack were rolling on the ground with neither able to pin the other down.

  Just as it seemed Joshua might gain the advantage, Marion Rawley came running over, having seen the fight begin.

  ‘Joshua Midgeley, stop that this minute,’ she said. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself. We’re not ’ere to fight each other. And what do you lads think yer doing?’