Now William, perhaps tired of what he regarded as ill treatment and insults from former employers, decided to invest his savings, such as they were, in a pit of his own in Barnsley. But trouble, as ever, dogged his efforts. This time there was a dispute with another local, who claimed that the workings were having an adverse effect on a watercourse on his land. Perhaps it could all have been settled amicably with negotiation and compromise but that, of course, was never going to be William’s way. He went to law. Going to law is almost invariably a course of action fraught with uncertainty and likely to cost more than it gains. It is not a course to be taken lightly, and should perhaps be avoided altogether if the man on the opposite side is also a lawyer, which was the case here. William Locke ploughed on anyway, with the inevitable consequence: he lost his case and lost his pit.
It was to be the last of his misfortunes. In 1832, now in his sixties, William inherited another post as coal viewer for Lord Stourton. He had pits between Leeds and Wakefield, and Locke and family moved to the area, first to Sandal Magna, a spot now on the outskirts of Leeds, then to Rothwell Haigh. Rothwell itself was then a pleasant, small market town and the house was an attractive one in substantial grounds. The house shared its name with the local pit that was later to be renamed Victoria Pit, and the name Rothwell Haigh lives on in a local primary school. His work was not onerous, involving no more than three or four trips down the pit each year to check on the amounts of coal that had been won. That did not mean he led an idle life; idleness was not part of his creed. He was up early each day, working in the grounds, which contained attractive areas for leisure and an extensive kitchen garden. His working day was determined by dawn and sunset, not the clock. As his wife remarked, he had ‘no moderation’.
There was much to admire in the life of William Locke. He was a devout Catholic, who was known to travel miles to church if one was not to be found close at hand and took the church’s teachings as the guiding force in his life. He was scrupulously honest and never shirked his duty. Devey tells a story from Barnsley days, when there were fears that the pit was full of firedamp, methane gas, the cause of many explosions that caused huge loss of life in collieries. Where others were reluctant, he was the man who took it upon himself to investigate the problem: personal safety was less important than duty. This was very admirable, but his character clearly made him an uncomfortable person to deal with: rigid and uncompromising. His early biographer Devey paints a picture of a man more sinned against than sinning, but when one finds him falling out with his colleagues and fellow workers time and time again, one cannot help feeling that the faults were not all on one side. But, however many problems he had at work, his home life seems to have been a happy one. In spite of his occasional grumblings about frivolities, he appears to have been a devoted husband and father to their children. Altogether, there were to be seven children, four boys and three girls, and the sixth of the brood was Joseph.
Chapter Two
EARLY LIFE
Joseph’s temperament was, it seems, very different from that of his father. His biographer Devey had the opportunity to talk to his surviving brothers and sisters, and they all spoke of a lively, mischievous young boy. He was fond of telling stories, practical jokes and teasing his sisters, but got on well with his siblings, especially the teased sisters. He was less popular with his father, who disapproved of his antics and the boy was apparently frequently sent up to his room for ‘being too forward and positive for anything’.
The family moved to Barnsley when Joseph was 5-years-old. The town is an ancient one, being mentioned in the Domesday Book. It might have been just an ordinary country town, its importance depending on the annual fair and weekly market, granted by a charter in 1249, but once it was found to be sitting on an extensive coalfield its character changed. By the early seventeenth century, glass making had been added to mining and in the eighteenth century it developed an extensive linenweaving industry. Its open spaces and commons disappeared when an Enclosure Act was passed in 1777, so that by the time the Locke family arrived it had already become what Alfred Austin called ‘that grimy town’.
Joseph’s education began at Barnsley Grammar School, an institution that apparently offered no more than the basic requirements of drumming in the three Rs with the frequent assistance of the cane and the cuff round the ear. According to one of his sisters, Joseph was a less than assiduous scholar, ‘though she used to be amazed at the neglect with which he treated his tasks up to the last moment, the concentrated determination with which he then attacked, and the accurate determination with which he finished them, even these did not save him from having to endure …those brutal assaults which a more understanding age condemns and disallows.’ In those days, grammar school education had to be paid for, so that it was unlikely that his father, given his views on academic subjects, would have been Willing to let him try for any form of higher education. In any case, for a boy who seemed destined for a practical career, there was very little on offer. Although some countries made provision for studying subjects such as engineering – the French had their École des Ponts at Chaussés in the eighteenth century – nothing similar existed in Britain. The English universities, had they been within the families’ means, would not have helped, though he might have fared better in Scotland, where educational ideas were more progressive than they were south of the border. The engineer John Rennie caustically remarked that ‘when a young man has been three or four years at the University of Oxford or Cambridge, he cannot, without much difficulty, turn himself to the practical part of civil engineering.’ There was only one route forward, so at the age of thirteen Joseph left school, and was apprenticed to William Stobart at Pelaw, just south of Newcastle. The placement was again using family connections, for Stobart was one of the Duke of Norfolk’s agents and a highly respected colliery viewer.
Stobart seems to have enjoyed a very friendly relationship with his young pupil and though as rough as many men were who worked in that industry, he always had a pious word when he and Joseph set off down the pit: ‘Now, Joe, God go wi’ us.’ This is not surprising, for miners at that time knew all too well the dangers of the job. The pit was very close to Felling Colliery where, in 1812, a disastrous accident resulted in ninety-two lives being lost, and the following year disaster struck again when twenty-two died.
Things went well between master and apprentice for a couple of years until one of those rows developed that seemed to plague the Locke family. It appears trivial enough. He was required to take the family letter bag to the post, which involved a pony ride. For some reason he took offence: either it was beneath the dignity of a would-be colliery viewer to be seen as a mere post boy, or perhaps he resented being used by the family as an unpaid servant. Whatever the reason, it soured relationships and Joseph returned to Barnsley.
Perhaps on reflection, Joseph realised that he had behaved in a rather petty, foolish manner. Many years later, Stobart and his daughter were travelling by stagecoach when an apparently highly respectable gentleman treated them with great courtesy. It was only after he had left the coach and they had asked the guard who the gentleman was that they discovered it was Joseph Locke.
His sisters welcomed him back, but his parents were less enthusiastic about having a hungry, unemployed teenager at the family table. William heard about a position with a young land surveyor in Rochdale, hired a gig and drove his son across the Pennines and deposited him with his new master. The surveyor turned out to have only just set up in business, could not afford to pay for a nurse for the latest addition to the family and the main occupation for the boy was to be baby sitting. Two weeks of that was enough. He left Rochdale and walked the thirty-odd miles back to Barnsley. As always he had an entertaining story for his sisters; striding across Blackstone Edge, a labourer shouted after him, ‘Eh! But thou art a swaggering fou!’ The parents were not amused. Two positions had been found for the boy, and still he was back living with them. The only option left seemed to be to find
young Joseph work at the colliery his father was managing. But it was comparatively menial office work that occupied most of his time and when there was nothing much there for him, he was sent out ‘leading’ coal, in effect going around the town with a horse and cart, selling coal to the locals. The boy who had objected to being seen carrying the post, was even less enthralled at the idea of being seen as a door-to-door coalman. He tried to keep this lowly employment from those who knew him, by hiding whenever anyone came in sight or even paying a man threepence to lead the horse in areas where he was known. He was intensely miserable and later recalled lying down in a field and ‘crying like a child.’
Joseph Locke does not seem to have had the sort of temperament to dwell too much on the miseries of life. He was still the boy who amused his family with stories and anecdotes and was always on the lookout for new amusements. On one occasion he entered a raffle hoping to win a fiddle, but it went to another man who, as is so often the way in such things, had no use for a violin. They agreed that if Joseph fetched his water from the pump for a while, he could have the fiddle, which he duly did, though there seems to be very little evidence of his musical talents. Being at home again meant having to do his share of family chores, including looking after the cow his father had bought. It was a task he loathed and when his father decided to sell the animal, Joseph recalled he got out of bed with more enthusiasm than he’d shown for months. These were not happy times for the eighteen-year-old and with no future prospects he is said to have considered emigrating. Everything changed, however, with a letter that arrived for william Locke from Killingworth Colliery dated 31 March 1823:
Dear Sir – From the great elapse of time since I saw you, you will hardly know that such a man is in the land of the living.
I fully expected to have seen you about two years ago, as I passed through Barnsley on my way to South Wales; but being informed you were not at home, I did not call. I expect to be in London in the course of a fortnight or three weeks, when I shall do myself the pleasure of calling, either in going or coming. This will be handed to you by Mr. Wilson, a friend of mine, who is by profession an attorney-at-law, and intends to settle in your neighbourhood. You will greatly oblige me by throwing any business in his way you conveniently can. I think you will find him an active man in his profession.
There have been many ups and downs in this neighbourhood since you left. You will no doubt have heard that Charles Nixon was thrown out of Wall-Bottle Colliery by his partners some years ago. He has little to depend on now but the profits of the ballast-machine at Wellington Quay which I dare say are very small. Many of his family have turned out very badly; he has been very unfortunate in family affairs.
If I should have the pleasure of seeing you, I shall give you a long list of occurrences since you and I worked together at Newburn. Hawthorn is still at Wall-Bottle.I dare say you will remember he was a great enemy to me but much more so after you left. I left Wall-Bottle Colliery soon after you and have been very prosperous in my concerns ever since. I am now far above Hawthorn’s reach. I am now concerned as civil engineer in different parts of the kingdom. I have only one son whom I have brought up in my own profession. He is now nearly twenty years of age. I have had him educated in the first schools, and he is now at college in Edinbro’. I have found a great want of education myself, but fortune has made me amends for that want.
I am, dear Sir, yours truly,
Geo. Stephenson
I hope Mrs. Locke and your family are all well. My best respects to them.
There are several interesting points about the letter. The first, and most obvious, is that it rather tends to make nonsense of the Smiles’ story about enmity between the two men. The tone is friendly and Stephenson believes that they are on sufficiently good terms that he can ask a favour on behalf of his friend the lawyer. Thirdly, it gives more than a hint that Stephenson’s life has been transformed since they last met – as indeed it had been. And it was not only his individual status that had changed: the world of the north-eastern collieries was also being dramatically transformed.
The experiments that had begun just before Joseph Locke’s birth in developing steam locomotives to run on rails had been abandoned, not because of any failure in the engines themselves, but mainly because the heavy machines fractured brittle, cast-iron rails. There matters might have remained for some time had it not been for the Napoleonic Wars, which caused a huge increase in the price of fodder. The owners of Middleton Colliery, just outside Leeds, relied on horses to haul their coal along a typical railed tramway to be loaded onto boats on the Aire & Calder Navigation. Replacing horses by steam locomotives had obvious advantages if only the problem of broken rails could be solved. Simply building a lighter locomotive was not an option as it would have lacked the necessary power, so a different answer had to be found and what they came up with was a rack and pinion railway. A toothed rail was laid along one side of the tracks, which engaged with cogs on the engine. The extra traction made all the difference and the first locomotives, designed by Matthew Murray and John Blenkinsop, went into operation in 1812, making the Middleton Colliery Railway the world’s first successful commercial railway.
Inevitably it attracted a great deal of interest, especially among mine owners in Durham and Northumberland, where many collieries relied on similar tramway systems. That year George Stephenson had just been promoted to a new and important position as engine-wright at Killingworth Colliery and was also placed in charge of all the machines for the Grand Allies, one of the most important colliery groups in the country. As the Chief Engineer he was sent down to see what was happening at Middleton. He duly noted various aspects of the machine developed by Middleton and Murray but did not rush to follow their example.
Other engineers began a series of experiments with locomotives, but without using the rack and pinion system. Among the early successes were locomotives designed by the Chapman brothers and by William Hedley. In 1816, over a year after Hedley’s first engine had run on the Wylam tramway that led down to the Tyne, Stephenson joined the fray with his first locomotive, Blucher, for the Killingworth tramway. In its main features it was very similar to the Middleton engine, but without the rack and pinion. In some ways it was less advanced than the Hedley engine. In order to raise steam efficiently, the latter had a return flue boiler: the fireman stood at the chimney end of the locomotive, and the flue that carried the gases from the fire was bent into a U-bend, increasing the area in contact with the water in the boiler. Stephenson’s engine had a single flue and was constantly having problems raising enough steam to work efficiently.
If this had been Stephenson’s only contribution to railway development, his name would have remained no more than a footnote to its history. He was, however, a man of greater vision than many of his contemporaries, and arguably his involvement in the next advance in technology was far more important than anything he achieved in locomotive design. Together with William Losh, partner in the Walker ironworks at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, he developed a vastly improved cast-iron rail, and a new type of chair to hold it in place. The latter did a great deal to overcome the problem of broken rails. Previously, rails had mainly simply met end to end, held in place by the chair with a flat base. This was spiked into a wooden plug in a stone-sleeper block, but if that shifted, the joint became uneven. Stephenson’s system had rails meeting in an overlapping joint, and the chair was slightly curved, so that even if the stone settled unevenly, the rails would remain level. It was a major step forward in developing rails that could safely carry heavier locomotives.
Most engineers and mine owners of the day saw locomotive development as little more than a means of replacing horses by machines to continue the work of transporting coal from pithead to navigable waterway. Stephenson had a wider vision: he saw railways as major transport systems to rival roads and waterways. He managed to persuade Edward Pease, a prominent businessman of Stockton-on-Tees, that the line of the proposed Stockton & Darlington Railway shoul
d be a public railway, relying mainly on steam locomotives. Impressed by his enthusiastic advocacy, Pease agreed and Stephenson was appointed to the post of Chief Engineer. This was the position he held when he wrote to William Locke.
The Act for making the S&DR railway had originally been passed in 1821, but this had specified nothing out of the ordinary. It was amended in 1823, and the second Act allowed the Company to build steam engines on or near the line, which were intended for cable haulage on steep sections, and to use steam locomotives. Stephenson was then about to take a momentous decision. Existing engineering firms were showing a marked reluctance to use their resources to manufacture the still rudimentary steam locomotives. Stephenson, together with Pease and other investors, agreed to set up their own manufacturing company in Newcastle, which was given the name Robert Stephenson. The latter gave up his university study for his new responsibility – although he had to borrow the money to pay for his portion of the shares. It was to represent a real turning point in railway history and was no less important in the life of Joseph Locke.
In their meeting following the letter from George Stephenson, the two men must have discussed old times and also the fortunes of their two sons. Robert was studying at Edinburgh University, but was not to enjoy the academic life much longer; he was to go into the busy new world of railway engineering. William Locke may perhaps have felt envious of the younger man who had once been his junior and he would certainly have been aware how much brighter young Stephenson’s future looked than that of his own son. There is no record of who first broached the subject, but at the end of that meeting it was agreed that Stephenson would take on Joseph as an apprentice at the Newcastle works for three years. In those days it was customary for the family to have to pay to have a son apprenticed, but not on this occasion. On the other hand, Joseph Locke was to be bound for three years, during which he would receive subsistence but no salary.
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