Northern Stars

by Laurence Cockcroft

Ruth glanced towards the twenty fugitives who were now being herded by the mounted police down the centre of Whitehall back towards Trafalgar Square. At least their lives seemed to be out of danger. It was Joshua who took stock of the situation first.

  ‘So it’s all over?’ he asked, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He had always imagined that the presentation to Parliament would be dramatic and that he would be there to see it. This seemed like a poor reward for so long a journey. On the other hand, the excitement of being reunited with his father, Jess, and the prospect of actually returning home suddenly overwhelmed him.

  ‘But where’s dad?’ he asked. ‘Can’t we find ’im now?’

  William Steele looked doubtful. ‘There was a terrible crush outside Parliament, and now the crowd’s disappearing in all directions. The police are not just chasing them down here; they’re going in all directions – into the Westminster slums, across the river to Kennington and east to Clerkenwell. Your father and his friends could be anywhere. I’d expect the leaders to break up and go different ways in a situation like this, and there’s no telling which one.’

  Joshua looked forlornly at Ruth, and they both looked at Marion. Susanna caught William’s glance too as they both realised that they would have to find a solution.

  ‘Well, you can certainly all come back with me,’ said Susanna.

  ‘But ’ow do we find dad?’ Joshua persisted.

  ‘An’ ’ow do we get back to Todmorden?’ pleaded Ruth.

  ‘We’ll be all right, lass, don’t worry yourself,’ said Marion, not too convinced by her own words. Suddenly she had a thought.

  ‘Do you remember, you two,’ she said with sudden enthusiasm, ‘as we were leaving the big meeting in Manchester, Mr Fielden asked us to come and see ’im in London? I never thought o’ that till now.’

  ‘Didn’t ’e say we might need a meal o’ two?’ said Joshua, remembering Fielden’s face in the flickering light as hundreds of torches were extinguished.

  ‘’E did that,’ said Ruth with new enthusiasm.

  ‘Yes, I remember that night,’ said William. ‘Fielden was talking to you. I went to see him at his house here a few months ago. Now let’s see. Yes, that’s it. Panton Street, off Leicester Square. Not far from here.’

  ‘Well, if he’s doing his job he’ll be in Parliament till close to midnight,’ said Susanna. ‘You’d best all come back with me, and we’ll call on Mr Fielden tomorrow morning. Mr Steele, will you come with us?’

  ‘No, I’ve got to see this through. Although my paper’s got its reporters in the House, they’re depending on me to tell them what happens in the streets. I’ll come to your house tomorrow at eleven and we’ll go on to Fielden’s. Where are you?’

  ‘Soho Square, on the west side: Inge and Son, Printers. That is, we print everything your newspaper leaves out and most of your readers would never believe.’

  ‘I’ll be there at eleven,’ he said and, with a final flourish of his hat, set off back towards Parliament.

  Stepping in the opposite direction, Susanna motioned Marion, Ruth and Joshua to follow her, and they retraced their steps towards the half-built Nelson’s Column.

  ‘No cab this time,’ said Susanna. ‘But we’ll be home in half an hour.’

  ‘Tha’s a treasure, Susanna,’ said Marion. ‘I’ll write a song for thee – no, more important, about thee.’

  ‘Well, I’m tone deaf so don’t get too carried away,’ said Susanna.

  ***

  Although Marion’s memory of John Fielden’s invitation was very clear, she could not help feeling apprehensive as she stood with the children and Susanna and behind William Steele on the doorstep of the house in Panton Street. The house lay in a short street of three-storey houses, many of which were rented out to Members of Parliament and others who needed a house in London for only part of the year. She was glad she’d asked Susanna to make the visit with them. Mr Steele was considerate, but she felt out of her depth with him. For Susanna, she felt an instinctive trust.

  Shortly after William Steele rang the bell, a housekeeper appeared in a black dress and a white hat. She looked kind, and Marion felt more at ease.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Steele. ‘I am here with these friends from Todmorden. They have an invitation from Mr Fielden to visit him in London.’

  The housekeeper looked as if this was not the first time she had found poorly dressed visitors on her doorstep saying that they had an invitation from Mr Fielden. But she knew that in most cases the invitation had indeed been given, and that he would wish to see them.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, in an accommodating tone. ‘Come in, and I’ll put you in the parlour.’

  Steele led the way as Marion, Susanna and the two children followed her into a room leading off the main hallway. There was a warm fire in the grate, white wallpaper, several bookcases full of books and a sofa and two chairs.

  ‘Yes, I remember this well enough,’ said Steele. ‘I talked to Mr Fielden here when the Charter was first published in London last year.’ Looking carefully at the folded newspapers lying on a low table in front of the fire, he added, mainly to Susanna:

  ‘I’m glad to see Mr Fielden hasn’t changed his taste in reading habits. We’ve got here a Manchester Guardian, a Times and a Northern Star.’

  ‘H’m. But only one of them is worth reading,’ said Susanna.

  ‘Oh, and I wonder which of ’em that would be,’ said a voice with a strong Lancashire accent from behind the door. John Fielden entered the room with a gleam in his eye and a welcoming handshake for each of the visitors. Meeting him for only the second time, and the first time in daylight, Ruth and Joshua were surprised by how small he seemed: several inches shorter than their father, Jess, and a good foot shorter than Judd Ackroyd. Marion remembered him clearly from Quaker meetings, but he seemed very different here. At the meetings, he had been quiet and had let others speak. Here, he clearly wished to be seen to be in control.

  ‘Ah, Steele; grand to see you again.’ Looking towards Susanna, he added, ‘Young lady, I don’t believe I’ve ’ad pleasure o’ meeting thee.’

  ‘Miss Inge,’ said Susanna quietly. ‘I’ve always admired you, Mr Fielden. One of the very few masters that their workpeople can count on. And as for opposing the Poor Law, you’ve been very courageous.’

  ‘Well, sometimes we can muster a bit o’c ourage when there’s summut as daft as that proposed. Now, who ’ave we ’ere?’

  ‘It’s Marion Rowley, Mr Fielden. An’ this is Ruth and Joshua. We met you at Manchester at that torchlit meeting and tha’ said we could call on you in London. Well… we’ve sort of got lost – that is, we’ve got separated from the rest of the Todmorden marchers, and the children from their dad, and we thought we best come to see if we could find you.’

  ‘You did right, lass. An’ I do remember meeting you well enough. Well, Ruth and Joshua, ’ow does it feel to ’ave marched from Tod to London? Tha’s not seen the Queen, I’ll be bound. But I’ll tell thee that tha’s done summut better – for yesterday me and Mr Attwood presented Parliament with every one of those million and more signatures. I must say the members didn’t like it much, only 46 in favour and 235 against, but before so very long I believe we’ll get the Charter, right enough. So tha’s done right well, and we should strike a medal for you. Sit down, sit down.’

  ‘We’ve made progress, Steele,’ he said, ‘but this Government is not minded for any more reform of Parliament and so we’ve got a long way to go. Were you about in the streets yesterday? What ’appened exactly? I’m not sure I believe what I read in The Times anymore, but let’s ’ear your side.’

  Steele recounted the events that had followed the handing-in of the Charter and the fact that the leadership had been completely scattered by the police and the army. He understood O’Connor had been able to meet some of the leaders late in the evening at a publi
c house in Clerkenwell Green, but that the police had kept a close watch; and after half an hour, the meeting had been forced to disperse. They were planning a full meeting of the leadership today to decide the next move.

  ‘Aye,’ said Fielden, ‘that’s tricky enough. The movement’s got to decide whether to stick together or disperse and meet again next year, ’appen in the spring. If they stick together, ’appen they should move out o’ London. Birmingham or Manchester’d be safer.’

  Fielden caught Joshua looking anxiously at Ruth.

  ‘Nay, don’t thou worry, lad,’ he said. ‘Whatever ’appens, thou’ll be back in Tod.’

  ‘An’ what about my dad?’ asked Ruth. ‘’E’s been wi’t leaders all time on this march. Me mam’ll never forgive ’im if ’e doesn’t come back now.’

  ‘Well, well, we’ll ’ave to see about that,’ said Fielden. ‘But aren’t you two ’ungry? Marion, didn’t I promise you an children a meal?’ He rang a bell and the housekeeper reappeared at the door. ‘Mrs Halstead, give our young guests a good dinner, will you. An’ mark you, plenty of Yorkshire pudding.’

  Fielden sat talking with Susanna and William Steele for another quarter of an hour before all of them joined the children at the dinner table in a large dining room. By the time they arrived at the table, Mrs Halstead was already offering Ruth and Joshua a second helping of roast lamb; in the centre of the table was a giant Yorkshire pudding which was half eaten. A large mirror ran down the length of the wall opposite the side of the table at which the children were eating. Marion had been almost as intent on eating as Ruth and Joshua, but as she glanced up from her plate, she was amazed to see the picture the three of them presented. More than a month of marching with inadequate and irregular food had left each of them thin and pale. Although she had tried to tidy herself before coming to Panton Street, and although she and Susanna had brushed hard on both her hair and Ruth’s hair, there was no doubt that they looked wildly out of place amidst the comforts of Fielden’s house.

  He showed no sign of being upset by their presence at his lunch table. Sitting down, and addressing himself to Joshua, he asked:

  ‘Well, lad, and what was the worst thing that ’appened to thee on this march?’

  Joshua looked thoughtful. ‘I were alreet,’ he said, ‘but our Ruth all but drowned on Kinder Scout. Got fair carried away by stream, would have gone over t’cliff if it weren’t for Jim ’n’ Marion.’

  Fielden was about to ask Ruth how she had managed to fall into such a deep stream, but at that moment the doorbell rang, and he asked Mrs Halstead to go and answer it. She came back, saying:

  ‘There’s a man from Todmorden outside, sir, asking to see you. He says he’s been marching with the Chartists and his name is Midgeley.’

  ‘Dad!’ exclaimed Ruth and Joshua at the same time, as they rushed from the table out of the dining room and down the hallway to the front door. Jess stood framed in the open door, standing at the top of the three steps which led up to the front door. Both children rushed up to him and threw their arms round his neck.

  ‘What!? Here at Mr Fielden’s house? I’d not expected this! I were looking for news of any of Tod marchers and ’oping to find you through them. You’re well ahead of me!’

  ‘We came ’ere asking for Mr Fielden’s ’elp, and ’e’s given us a right good dinner.’

  ‘An’ where were you last night?’

  ‘Never mind last night, Dad. What about yesterday morning? We were in t’police cells.’

  ‘Bow Street Prison, Dad,’ said Ruth. ‘We were arrested along with Mick, and Johnny and their friends – we were lucky to get out. It’s only thanks to Susanna that we did.’

  At this point Mrs Halstead reappeared in the hallway.

  ‘Mr Fielden asks you to come into the dining room, Mr Midgeley, if you would.’

  ‘No, I’ll wait outside wi’ these two,’ Jess replied.

  ‘But, Dad, we’re at the table,’ said Ruth. ‘Aren’t you ’ungry?’

  ‘Well, I won’t say I’m not ’ungry, lass, but I’m not dressed for Mr Fielden’s table.’

  ‘That you are, Dad,’ said Ruth. ‘Come this way.’

  Ruth took his hand in hers and walked him into the dining room.

  Jess had only met Fielden face-to-face for the first time on the previous day. He had been in the second of the carts carrying the Chartist leadership when they had delivered the Charter and the petition to Attwood and Fielden outside Parliament. He’d also seen him at a distance at the torchlit meeting in Manchester, and prior to that on various occasions in Todmorden. He regarded him with respect for his stand on both the Charter and the Poor Law, but could never regard the employer of a workforce of three thousand as a comrade-in-arms. However, there was no doubt in his mind that John Fielden was the working man’s best friend in Parliament.

  Fielden took the initiative.

  ‘Well, Jess Midgeley, I’m glad to meet thee. Not only because tha’s done so much to bring t’Charter to London, but also because you’re the father of Ruth and Joshua.’

  ‘It’s right good of you to say so, Mr Fielden. But we should thank you too for presenting t’Charter to Parliament. Without you and Mr Attwood, we might never ’ave got it there.’

  ‘Sit down anyway, and ’ave a piece o’ this joint. Now, tell us what the plans are. I ’ear there was a meeting at Clerkenwell last night. Were you there?’

  ‘Aye, though it were short enough, since police were camped outside and after ’alf an ’our told us we’d ’ave to pack up.’

  ‘So was anything decided?’

  ‘Well, it were more or less agreed that London was too dangerous. Too close t’government and too many soldiers and police about. O’Connor and Lovett proposed that the leaders and as many men as will come should move to Birmingham and set up a grand convention to keep t’Charter alive.’

  ‘That’s good enough,’ said Fielden. ‘I’d support that.’

  ‘But you’ll not go, Dad,’ said Ruth. ‘Mam’d never forgive thee.’

  ‘Well, if the lads go to Birmingham, I reckon I’ll ’ave to go with ’em. We’ve come so far. We’ve got to wait till Parliament gives us a response. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr Fielden?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right enough. Attwood and I will do everything we can. There’s another debate on t’Charter in three weeks. But outside pressure will be all-important in the next few months.’

  Ruth and Joshua looked crestfallen. Marion came to their rescue. ‘It’s all right, you two. I’ll go back with you.’

  ‘And ’ow will we get back?’ said Joshua.

  Fielden could see that his help was needed.

  ‘That’ll not be too difficult,’ he said. ‘I’ll give thee each a ticket on the new railway to Birmingham, and then tha’ can go by canal to Manchester and on to Todmorden. I assume you’ll travel with ’em, Marion.’

  ‘What about Jim?’ said Ruth.

  Marion looked uneasy. Fielden looked uncertain.

  ‘A friend of ’ers,’ said Jess. ‘But ’e’s coming to Birmingham, Marion. Just a few more weeks – please.’

  Marion could see that she had little choice if she was to retain the confidence of those seated round the table. Even Susanna seemed to be urging her to travel with the children.

  ‘Well, that’s settled then,’ said Fielden. ‘There’ll be a train tomorrow at seven o’clock, and you can buy a ticket this afternoon.’ He took a purse from his pocket. ‘’Ere’s three guineas, Marion. That’ll get you all ’ome and give you enough to eat on the way. Mind you, though tha’ll get to Birmingham tomorrow, it’ll be another four days to Manchester by canal and another day and night to Tod.’

  The children were not sure whether they were more delighted at the prospect of travelling halfway home by train, or more downcast at the prospect of travelling without their father. William Steele broke the unc
ertainty.

  ‘You know, Ruth and Joshua, you’ve done enough for now. You’d do well to get home for I’m sure your mother can’t wait for you to get back. I’ll go with you to buy a ticket at Euston Station as soon as we leave here.’

  Jess looked relieved. Marion was glad enough to have the decision taken out of her hands. Susanna was sorry at the prospect of losing her new friends so quickly.

  ‘That’s good of you, Steele,’ said Fielden. ‘I’ll ’ave to leave for Parliament now. Jess, would you tell Mr O’Connor that I would like to see ’im this evening. If ’e can come ’ere, I’d be grateful.’

  Fielden rose from the table and waved his guests through the door of the dining room into the hallway. As Mrs Halstead opened the front door, both he and William Steele reached for their top hats.

  ‘Ruth and Joshua,’ he said, ‘I’ll say goodbye now. Tha’ did right well to come ’ere, and I look forward to seeing thee again. Where do you live in Todmorden, Midgeley?’

  ‘Oldroyd, Mr Fielden.’

  ‘Oh, very well, then I’ll know where to find you.’

  ‘And Marion, where’s thy work? Or ’as ta lost it?’

  ‘I was last working at ’Eathcote’s mill, Mr Fielden, in t’sewing shop. But that were some time since.’

  ‘Well, I’ll give thee a note to my brother James. We can always use a good pair of ’ands. Goodbye for the time being.’ He raised his hat and walked down the street towards Leicester Square and Parliament.

  ***

  At six thirty the next morning, the streets outside Euston Station were already thronged with horse-drawn traffic, although it was scarcely light. Giant gas lamps lit up the square in front of the station and illuminated the enormous arch which led into it. Items of luggage were everywhere: on the ground, in people’s hands, disappearing into hansom cabs, falling off carts.

  Susanna led Marion, Ruth and Joshua through this multitude and under the great arch. Beyond the arch lay the six tracks and platforms. As they passed through the arch, the children could see three engines, each with a row of about twenty carriages behind them. Walking down the platform, they came closer to the clouds of black smoke that belched from the engines.