Article - Why Byron's first speech in House is now the only one for which he is remembered

IN 1798, Byron succeeded to the Barony of Byron on the death of his great-uncle, the fifth Lord Byron. He also inherited the Newstead estate.

At the time, Byron was only ten, but once he reached 21 in January 1809, he was entitled to take his seat in the House of Lords as the 6th Baron Byron.

Byron formally took his seat in March 1809, but he played no direct political role until he returned from his grand European tour, which lasted from 1809-11.

On his return to England, Byron had to sort out his estate at Newstead, and to deal with other matters, but he spent three weeks over Christmas and New Year 1811-12 at Newstead.

Part of his time was devoted to reading history and political memoirs to prepare him for a career in the House of Lords.

We have to remember that at this time he was a young peer with a small landed estate, and not all that many alternative prospects, so a political career must have looked enticing.

In January 1812, he returned to London, and began preparing a speech on one of the great political issues of the day, Roman Catholic Emancipation.

He was intending to vote with the radical Whigs, in opposition to the ruling Tories.

But on February 4, he learnt that the government was going to introduce a bill which would make the breaking of a stocking frame punishable by hanging.

As he had been in Nottinghamshire during some of the worst Luddite troubles that winter, Byron considered himself an ideal person to oppose the bill.

Newstead was quite close to some of the worst of the frame-breaking troubles at Basford, Bulwell and Hucknall.

Byron worked with his political mentor, Lord Holland (who held the largely honorary position of Recorder of Nottingham) to make sure that on the crucial second reading of the bill on February 27, he would be the lead opposition speaker.

Byron probably knew very little more about Luddite activities than anyone else who was able to read the local papers, and he had to rely on Holland to provide him with some background information.

This took the form of a letter to Holland from George Coldham, the town clerk of Nottingham.

Byron then had the temerity to tell Holland he did not really agree with Coldham's thoughts about the disturbances.

On February 27, Byron arrived at the House of Lords ready to speak. He was clearly nervous, and had written and re-written his speech several times, as well as trying it out on his friend Robert Dallas.

The arrangement was that the bill would be introduced by the Tory leader of the House, Lord Liverpool.

The Lord Chancellor, Lord Eldon, then called on Byron to address the House, which he proceeded to do.

Byron told his fellow peers that he felt justified in opposing the frame-breaking bill on the grounds that he was a person "in some degree connected with that suffering county", and had heard a great deal about the disturbances during his recent visit to Newstead.

His view was that the government needed to listen to the legitimate claims of the framework knitters rather than trying to overawe them with threats of capital punishment.

Byron went on to complain about the military presence in Nottinghamshire, and to ask questions about how the legislation would be put into practice if it passed through Parliament.

Then he sat down, but no one from the government front bench answered him, which suggested to other politicians that although they had listened attentively, they had not found the speech convincing.

After he had finished, Byron left the Chamber and met Dallas, who found him in a state of great agitation, an adrenaline rush as we would see it.

For several days, he received all sorts of messages saying what a wonderful speech it had been and he enjoyed every one of them.

The debate itself continued after Byron had sat down.

In due course, a vote was called and the Tories won, as everyone expected. The bill then had a third reading and became law on March 1, 1812.

In fact, no one was executed for Luddite activities in Nottinghamshire, and so the Whigs had enjoyed a moral victory even if they had been unable to prevent the legislation from passing.

Byron continued to attend the Lords through 1812 and 1813 and spoke on a number of issues, but eventually he lost interest in politics as his fame as a poet spread.

From 1816 until his death in 1824, he lived abroad and could take no direct role in politics.

His first speech is now the only one for which he is remembered.

It can be read on the internet, and there is even a YouTube video clip showing a young man of about Byron's age delivering the words.

On the anniversary of the speech, members of various Byron Societies, including the Newstead Abbey Byron Society, the London Byron Society and the Irish Byron Society, are to celebrate the occasion in the Cholmondeley Room, House of Lords, with a buffet.

The Earl of Lytton, who is a descendant of Lord Byron, will repeat the speech.

From: http://www.thisisnottingham.co.uk/Byron-s-speech-House-remembered/story-15306866-detail/story.html?dwrMeth=addComment&persist=true&afterReg=Y

 

Radio - Luddites radio show for local historian

A LOCAL historian will take to the airways today discussing our area’s role in one of history’s most controversial times.

Dr John Hargreaves, from Halifax, will feature on the BBC Radio 4 programme The Luddite Lament.

The programme marks the bicentenary of the outbreak of the Luddite machine breaking, which started in Nottinghamshire in 1811 and spread to Yorkshire the year after.

The programme, hosted by folk singer John Tams, will look back at the people and places involved in the Luddite uprising. Dr Hargreaves said: “To some, it was a rebellion but others argue the men at the heart of the machine breaking were fighting for their lives.”

Mr Tams wrote some of the scripts for and appeared in the episode of TV show Sharpe, filmed at Hardcastle Crags, Hebden Bridge, which focused on the Luddites.

He has now returned to the area to interview Dr Hargreaves.

There are several local connections to the story. Halifax man Samuel Hartley was one of those who guided the group across Hartshead Moor to attack William Cartwright’s mill in April 1812. He was buried at South Parade methodist church, and his burial stone is now in Stoney Royd Cemetery.

The plan of attack is thought to have been devised at the former Crispin Inn in Halifax, which is now re-created at Shibden Hall.

“There were a number of men from Halifax who became heavily involved, and some of those paid with their lives,” said Dr Hargreaves.

During the show Mr Tams performs an unaccompanied version of the Cropper song, written about the Yorkshire Luddites.

It will broadcast from 11.30am this morning, and will be available on BBC iPlayer for a week afterwards.

 

From: http://www.halifaxcourier.co.uk/news/local/luddites_radio_show_for_local_historian_1_3393990

Anniversary - Luddites 200th Anniverary of the first full scale Frame Breaking

Today marks the 200th anniversary of the first full scale rioting of the Luddites. After a peaceful protest went horribly wrong in Nottingham and the crowd was forced to disperce over 63 frames were destroyed in Arnold.

This was after months of protesting to government about poor wages and mass unemployment and starvation around the area. Some stockingers had even been forced to sweep the streets which must have been really demeaning for these skilled workers. 

The best article I’ve seen today is: http://ludditebicentenary.blogspot.com/2011/03/11th-march-1811-first-luddite-attack-at.html?showComment=1299838768093#c9216153351676385389

God rest your soul General Ludd and all the Redressers wherever their souls may lay

Article - An Irishman's Diary (Luddites)

IF you’ve ever thumped a TV set, or unplugged a computer (just to annoy it), or had a heated conversation with that woman in the automated supermarket check-out who keeps claiming that there’s an “unexpected item in the bagging area”, then chances are you qualify for at least associate membership of an organisation that marks its bicentenary this week.

Yes on Friday, March 11th, it will be exactly 200 years since a group of machine-knitters in Nottingham, angry at falling wages, set upon their stocking frames with axes and hammers. They struck at night, in disguise, and afterwards affected to be followers of a mythical leader called “Ned Ludd”, sometimes promoted to “General” or “King Ludd”.

Ever since which, Luddites of the world have united under the same banner. Or – at least as often, perhaps – have been lumped under it, for minor misdemeanours, by contemptuous technophiles. For the likely truth is that, even from the start, members of the movement were unfairly caricatured as hating machines.

It was poverty, not new technology as such, that drove the original Luddites to such extremes. Those were grim times in the hosiery industry. One commentator notes that, during the month before the first attacks, “numerous bands of distressed framework-knitters were employed to sweep the streets for a paltry sum, to keep the men employed [and] prevent mischief”. Then they lost patience anyway.

Besides, the stocking frame was not new, even in 1811. On the contrary, it had already been around for more than two centuries. Since 1589, in fact, when, according to the story, it was invented by a clergyman with his own axe to grind.

The Rev William Lee is said to have been besotted by a young lady who, at least once too often, used her knitting as an excuse to avoid him. Consequently – in a fit of constructive rage, maybe – he invented a machine to usurp her. And his machine was “so perfect in its conception that it continued to be the only mechanical means of knitting for hundreds of years”.

Thus the Nottingham desperadoes must have been well used to the technology by 1811. Nor was their idea of smashing it new either. In fact they took their leader’s name from a rebellious young knitter who had achieved notoriety more than 30 years earlier for a similar act, in defiance of his father. Ordered by the old man to “square his needles”, the youth instead “took his hammer and beat them into a heap”.

In any case, from 1811 onwards, the movement named after him flourished. Acting in groups of up to 60, the Luddites swore oaths of secrecy that made their circles hard to break. They defied curfews and military guards. In time, they also flouted an Act of Parliament that made frame-smashing punishable by death (in his maiden speech to the upper house, Lord Byron spoke against the measure).

The militants also took to plundering farmhouses for money and food, declaring that they would not starve while there was “plenty in the land”. Their signature activity, however, eventually destroyed more than 1,000 stocking frames in Nottinghamshire alone, having also spread to neighbouring counties. The rampage did not end until October 1816.

Byron was so enamoured of their cause that, later that year, he wrote from overseas to his friend Thomas Moore inquiring how the Luddites fared. He even included a verse in their honour, although he thought better of publishing it elsewhere during his lifetime: “As the Liberty lads o’er the sea/Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,/So we, boys, we/Will die fighting, or live free,/And down with all kings but King Ludd!” The call to blood aside, Byron’s romanticism set the tone for later, less violent generations of Luddites. Today, still, many who would proudly accept the designation see themselves as followers of a romantic world-view constantly threatened, under the guise of progress, by mad boffins.

Or as the film-maker Marcel Pagnol put it: “One has to look out for the engineers. They begin with sewing machines and end up with the atomic bomb.” Ranged against which is the reverse snobbery of the technophiles, quick to brand with the L-word anyone who admits to even slight unease about their creations.

Back in the 1970s – when the aforementioned atomic bomb was a bigger threat than it seems now – US philosopher Robert Pirsig thought that a lot of the world’s problems derived from the inability of these two groups to understand each other. So he wrote a book proposing a solution, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance , and it sold millions (although it also holds the world record for the most rejection slips, 121, earned by a future bestseller).

Which reminds me: the original stocking-frame smasher of 1779 – the young man who got mad with his father – is thought to have been named not Ludd, but Ludlum. A surname most famously possessed in modern times by the late writer Robert, author of such thrillers as the Bourne series, later an equally successful film franchise.

Ludlum’s recurring theme, as chance would have it, was that of the individual battling against the machine. Not the literal machine, usually. Faceless but powerful bureaucracies – and sometimes global conspiracies – were more the author’s thing.

Even so, the cause is broadly similar. And whatever their literary worth, his books’ enormous popularity suggests there’s life in Luddism yet.

From: http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/opinion/2011/0309/1224291664541.html

Nice to see a thoughtful well balanced description of the Luddites for a change.  Well reasearched Mr McNally.  There will be a article on the Luddites (or Redressers) in Priory Historical Society’s next Newsletter due out early April  (Price £1 available at meetings/post or eventually Worksop Library)