The Radical North, 1779-1914

The image of a Spence token sent to me by Malcolm Chase. Image Rachel Hammersley.

I start with a marvellous coincidence. At the end of November, I spoke at the symposium 'The Radical North, 1779-1914' which was organised at the University of Leeds, under the auspices of Northern History and with support from the Social History Society, to celebrate the life and work of Professor Malcolm Chase (1957-2020). As I began preparing my talk on Thomas Spence and the political culture of late eighteenth-century Newcastle, I spotted the photograph of a Spence token on the shelf beside my desk and thought I could use it as one of the illustrations. As I removed it from its frame I noticed that there was a message on the back and I realised that the photograph had been sent to me and my then husband, John Gurney, by Malcolm himself in 2007 as a 'New Year's Gift'. Though I have often looked at that photograph while working, I had completely forgotten that it was Malcolm who sent it to us. It seemed highly appropriate that I should have remembered as I began writing the paper, and I felt both Malcolm and John would have approved of my decision to dig more deeply into the life and times of Thomas Spence.

The symposium was a fitting tribute to Malcolm. It included excellent papers on topics ranging from Christopher Wyvill's Yorkshire Association to the legacies of Chartism in Lancashire, and the radical verse of the Pitman Poets. As always, what follows are my own reflections on the papers and the discussions they sparked.

Callum Manchester offered a thoughtful paper on the Yorkshire Association, which reminded us all of the problems associated with using the term 'radicalism', especially for the period before it was coined in 1819. As Callum explained, Christopher Wyvill is especially problematic in this regard because, while he fits neatly with some elements of the definition of a radical - in his sympathy for Dissenters; his staunch opposition to placemen and pensioners in the House of Commons; and his call for parliamentary reform - in other respects he does not. Callum's solution to this problem was to suggest that radicalism is not just about aims but also the methods deployed to achieve them. He argued that Wyvill's methods were moderate rather than radical, and presented him as taking a middle way between Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine.

Christopher Wyvill by Henry Meyer, after John Hoppner, 1809. National Portrait Gallery NPG D4946. reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Callum's paper set a helpful framework for what followed, not least in encouraging us all to pay attention to labels and their applicability to particular individuals and groups. One particularly curious label that featured in several papers was 'Tory Radical'. It has been used to refer to 'the Factory King' Richard Oastler, who was the subject of Vic Clarke's paper. Oastler was a staunch campaigner against cheap factory labour and exploitation, and yet he worked closely with the Tory MP Michael Sadler in the General Election campaign of 1837, and even stood as a Tory candidate for Huddersfield himself. As Vic explained, Oastler's apparent political ambiguity was mirrored - and perhaps prompted - by his social ambiguity. His background as a steward at Thornhill made it possible for him to engage with both mill owners and factory workers, and to build networks across class and political lines. Later in the proceedings, Christopher Day noted that the label 'Tory Radical' has also been applied to James Heaton of Clitheroe, who deployed Chartist methods - including mass petitioning, fly posting, and organising public meetings - in resisting the Public Health Act of 1848.

In his paper, Andrew Walker spoke in more general terms about the celebration of 'Old Chartists' in the northern press in the last forty years of the nineteenth century, noting that some of these men had become more conservative over the years leading to them being described by some as 'Tory Chartists'. Finally, something similar is perhaps evident in the life of the pitman poet Lewis Proudlock, who was the focus of Jordan Clark's paper. Though a promoter of the rights of working people, Proudlock took great inspiration from Jacobite myths, not least the story of Amelia Radcliffe. The political status of Jacobitism in different contexts has been of interest to me ever since I came across Jean-Jacques Rutledge (a Franco-Irish Jacobite) who featured prominently in my first book. It was, therefore, interesting to see how this ambiguity played out in a Northumbrian context.

In the discussion, we agreed that rather than dismissing the notion of Tory Radicals as an oxymoron, we ought to take such labels seriously. The figures of the past do not always neatly fit the pigeon-holes into which later scholars want to put them. Paying attention to how they viewed themselves - in all its complexity and ambiguity - may reveal important things about their aims and methods.

Some of these so-called Tory Radicals also share something else in common, in being what we might think of as footnotes to history. Malcolm himself had a fascination for those obscured in the conventional historical narrative, and it was therefore appropriate that several such figures featured in the papers presented at the symposium.

A copy of John Marshall’s The Northern Reformer’s Monthly Magazine from 1823. Philip Robinson Library, Newcastle University, Special Collections, Rare Books (RB 941.074 NOR). Reproduced with permission.

John Marshall, who was the focus of Harriet Gray's paper, is a good example of a forgotten radical. Marshall was a printer, bookseller, and librarian who lived and worked in Gateshead and Newcastle around the turn of the nineteenth century. He had links to better known radical figures including Eneas Mackenzie and William Hone, but Marshall himself is not well known and information on him is sparse. Nonetheless, Harriet did an excellent job of piecing together the evidence that does exist. Her paper, which was paired with my own on Thomas Spence, illuminated the political culture of the north east in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, and demonstrated the various ways in which Marshall continued to disseminate Spencean ideas - via Spencean methods - long after Spence's own departure to London in the late 1780s.

Though living and working half a century later, and being based in Sunderland rather than Newcastle/Gateshead, Thomas Dixon - who was the focus of Joy Brindle's paper - reminded me a little of Marshall. He too was a disseminator and seller of books, but he also emphasised the importance of moving from thought to action. A distinctive element of Dixon's activity, which Joy explored in detail, was his letter-writing. He built up a large network of correspondents, which included several well-known figures. In his letters, as in his dissemination of books, Dixon's aim was to bring about tangible improvements to the working lives of those living in his locality.

The aim of improving the lives of working people also lay behind the petitions sent to Parliament from the north of England in the late nineteenth century, which were the subject of Henry Miller's paper. Most of the signatories to these petitions are complete 'unknowns', and yet in the words of the petitions we can hear the voices of ordinary people, thereby learning of their grievances and political concerns. Much the same is true of Martin Wright's account of the Northumberland miner's strike of 1887 and its impact on the wider socialist movement.

Richard Oastler, by James Posselwhite, after Benjamin Garside, 1841. National Portrait Gallery, NPG D7845. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Another factor linking many of these obscure figures - and the papers at the symposium - is the important role played by religion in inspiring radical thought and action. Spence, Marshall, and Oastler were all driven by their faith, and referred to religious ideas and arguments directly in their writings. Other papers explored the influence of religious belief in more general terms. Andrew Walker paid attention to the impact of Methodism on the Chartists, while Tobin O'Connor offered a fascinating paper on the Labour Church in the 1890s. He argued that although it only lasted for a short time, and was quickly forgotten, it nonetheless provided an important path into the Labour movement for many working-class northerners.

Several of those who spoke specifically about Malcolm, referred to the importance to him of the connection between education and politics, and his commitment to sharing his knowledge with audiences beyond the academy. This was, of course, reflected in his first job at Leeds University in the Centre for Continuing Education, but he sustained his commitment to it long after transferring to the School of History. Katrina Navickas showed that, for Malcolm, politics and education were integral to each other, while Matthew Roberts and Robert Poole noted that he always wrote in a way that would engage the general reader and adapted his work to the interests and concerns of his audience.

Laura Foster also addressed the relationship between education and politics in her fascinating paper on reading and rambling groups such as the Eagle Street College in Bolton and the Clarion Sheffield Ramblers. Both clubs combined the reading and discussion of literature with walking in the countryside. Laura argued that in organisations such as these, participants created a space of pre-figurative politics in which the friendships and communities that were forged operated as a kind of microcosm of an ideal state.

This sense of creating an ideal politics through 'doing' is something that Malcolm Chase achieved in his own life and work - as was evidenced in the heartfelt testimonies offered by many of the participants. He was, his former colleague Laura King told us, a 'different kind of professor'. Though a talented and productive historian, he did not conform to the conventional academic and institutional hierarchies. He was consistently supportive of students and early career researchers. Pretty much everyone in the room appeared to have had the experience of a conversation with Malcolm about a current research project being followed up with a package of relevant material. In my case, I had simply presented a paper on Jean-Paul Marat's time in England to the History seminar at Leeds, which Malcolm had attended. A week or so later I received in the post a collection of ballads and offprints relating to Marat in Newcastle. I was neither a student nor a colleague of Malcolm's, and yet he treated my research with the same interest and generosity as those with whom he had closer connections.

Nor was it just those within the Academy who reaped the benefits of Malcolm's immense learning and kindness. He regularly spoke to non-academic audiences, ranging from parliamentary MPs to local history associations and adult education classes. Moreover, he genuinely acknowledged and valued the knowledge and expertise of those audiences. Malcolm's commitment to making historical and political knowledge widely accessible echoes the behaviour of many of the figures discussed at the symposium. Spence deliberately employed innovative methods - such as tokens, songs, and graffiti - to spread his ideas widely. Similarly, Marshall used his circulating library to make books available to the people of Gateshead, and Dixon often wrote letters to acquire key books for the people of Sunderland. Malcolm, then, embodied the marriage of scholarship and public engagement - of thought and action - that the figures he wrote about, from Spence to the Chartists, would have recognised and applauded.

The Materiality of Early Modern Political Texts - 2

In my last blogpost, I noted the point made by one participant at our Experiencing Political Texts workshop in York, that the correspondence of early modern men and women has been viewed differently. Whereas that of men who participated in politics has been read as a political text, that of women (even powerful and influential women) is often dismissed as gossip. That observation led me to ponder what makes a text political. Katie East addressed this point explicitly in her paper at the second part of our workshop on the materiality of texts, which took place on 28 March 2023. This is one of three themes that I want to explore here that arose out of the papers delivered on that day. The other two are the methods used by early modern authors to control or delimit the meaning of their text, and the survival of ephemeral texts.

Painting of Cicero denouncing Catiline and his conspiracy. Taken from Wikimedia Commons.

As Katie made clear, the political nature of a text is determined by several factors. Conventionally emphasis is placed on the content of the work and the intention of the author as well as the interventions of editors, commentators, or translators. Yet, as she explained, two other factors also play a critical role. First, the context(s) in which the work is written, printed, and read, and secondly the materiality of the text itself. Both Katie's paper and those that followed offered several illustrations of how context and materiality can enhance a text's political character.

Katie's paper focused on accounts of the Catiline conspiracy in ancient Rome that were published during the early modern period. She demonstrated how that story was given a new political edge: both during the Jacobite uprisings of the early eighteenth century, and in the chaos generated by the financial collapse of the South Sea Company. In her paper, Alex Plane showed how works that might be deemed apolitical in one context, could take on a political meaning in another. This was the case with the works on duelling held in the library of James VI and I. James was keen to establish his reputation as a peacemaker, yet this was undermined if members of the nobility were killing each other in duels rather than settling their issues via formal legal means. Duelling became a political matter, therefore, so too did the possession of books about it.

Sketch of Thomas Spence’s profile. Taken from the Hedley Papers at the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society. Reproduced with the permission of the Society.

Explicitly political works could also have their political edge heightened by being read in new contexts. Harriet Gray demonstrated this with reference to Thomas Spence's political works. Though Spence died in 1814, members of the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society felt the need to distance themselves from his ideas in 1817 due to both the campaign against the Society of Spencean Philanthropists in London and the activities of their own librarian John Marshall, who showed marked sympathy for Spencean ideas.

Titlepage from Thomas Gordon’s edition of Sallust. Taken from Eighteenth-Century Collections Online.

Perhaps more surprising are the ways in which the materiality of a text could render it more or less political. Katie showed how even just the title page could emphasise or de-emphasise the political nature of Cicero's speeches on the Catiline conspiracy - or be used to encourage a particular reading of them. The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries witnessed various accounts of the conspiracy, including both those that used it to call for loyalty to the existing (monarchical) regime and those that adopted a republican reading. The addition of paratextual material such as dedications and, in the case of Thomas Gordon's translation of Sallust's historical account, overtly 'political' discourses on the text, could further heighten its political character and/or a specific interpretation. Even the layout of the text on the page could contribute to this. Gordon deliberately adopted a clean, classical, layout to push his political message. This was in contrast to the busier appearance of scholarly editions which encouraged a more contemplative reading.

Page from John Spittlehouse’s pamphlet The Royall Advocate which includes the marginal note ‘Jesus Christ was no Quaker’. Taken from Early English Books Online.

Leanne Smith furthered our consideration of page layout by showing how the Fifth Monarchist John Spittlehouse deliberately used the white space at the edges of a page to draw the attention of his readers to key passages and to direct their understanding. His pointed comments in the margin alongside his account of Oliver Cromwell's speech to Parliament on 4 September 1654 encouraged readers to question Cromwell's actions and motives. While comments in the margin of The Royall Advocate such as 'Jesus Christ was no Quaker' sought to turn his readers against that radical sect.

The page from The True Patriot’s Speech at Rome which gives the false imprint. Taken from Early English Books Online.

Finally, Joe Hone showed us how even something as apparently innocuous as the imprint could enhance the political character of a text. His paper focused on the short pamphlet The True Patriot's Speech to the People of Rome. Though printed in London in 1708, the imprint read 'Amsterdam, 1656'. Joe argued that 'Amsterdam' was used repeatedly around this time as shorthand to indicate the republican or anti-monarchical content or implications of certain texts. In this sense it was not a way of avoiding censorship (as might be thought) but rather a declaration of allegiance. Similarly, dating the pamphlet '1656' suggested its relevance to the period of the English republic, and encouraged the audience to read it as a counterpart to key republican texts such as James Harrington's The Commonwealth of Oceana and Marchamont Nedham's The Excellencie of a Free State, both of which appeared that year.

Ben Jonson’s poem ‘To Groom Idiot’ taken from https://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/jonson/groomidiot.htm

We have already seen, with reference to Leanne's paper, how the materiality of the text could be used to encourage a particular political reading of it. This point was explored from a different perspective in Ruth Connolly's discussion. Ruth showed how Ben Jonson made careful use of punctuation to contain and control the meaning of his works. First, he made clear his expectation of readers in his poem 'To Groom Idiot', which criticises the eponymous recipient of the poem for failing to understand the punctuation of his works and for laughing in the wrong places. By this means Jonson created expectations as to how his works should be read. Secondly, Ruth used several specific examples to illustrate how a subtle change in punctuation - for example from a colon to a question mark - could alter the meaning of the text - and even how in a letter to Cecil from 1605 a colon was used to imply a meaning that was not explicit in the written words. Despite being very different kinds of writers, both Jonson and Spittlehouse used technical features of their texts to direct the reader's response. This is, of course, something we also see being used much more systematically in the elaborate bindings produced by Thomas Hollis for the works he disseminated, and in the marginal notes he added to those texts, which I explored in a previous blogpost.

The copy of Thomas Spence’s lecture held among the Hedley Papers at the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society. Reproduced with the permission of the Society.

Finally, having been prompted by the papers delivered at York to think about the ephemerality versus the durability of early modern texts, I was interested to hear in the final panel about examples of ephemeral texts surviving under what might seem strange circumstances. Alex Plane explained that there is in James VI and I's Library an edict against duelling issued by Louis XIII of France in 1613. This is exceptionally rare - indeed it appears to be the only surviving copy. Its presence in James's library is probably due to Henry Howard, who was commissioned by James to write a work for him that was critical of duelling. To prepare for this task, Howard produced a common place book on the subject, and probably collected the edict as part of an information gathering trip to France. In her paper Harriet Gray reported that ephemeral material relating to Thomas Spence and John Marshall (including the only extant copy of Spence's original lecture 'Property in Land Everyone's Right' and Marshall's Newcastle Swineheard's Proclamation) can be found among the papers of the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society. Their survival is due to the concern among members to distance the Society from both Spence and Marshall, it is even possible that placing the texts in the collection was more about hiding them than preserving them (or at least about controlling the context in which they were read). They were not easy to locate or access  - as reflected in the fact that the Spence pamphlet was only discovered in 2005.

In my reflections on the first part of our workshop, I suggested that it had enhanced my understanding of how political works were produced and read in the early modern period. The second part deepened this, not least in encouraging me to think more about early modern cultures of reading and writing. Both Jonson and Spittlehouse took great care to guide their readers. Alex's description of James taking his courtiers on what were effectively writing retreats and having them surround him at dinner to discuss recently published pamphlets and draft responses to them, suggests a different kind of reading and writing culture from the image of an author sitting at a desk scribbling in the margins. Do we also, then, need to think again about our own cultures of reading and writing? What do readers need to know in order to properly to understand modern political texts?

Radical Periodicals

On Twitter, I particularly enjoy following English Radical History (@EnglishRadical) which was created by Matthew Kidd. Its tweets introduce key figures and dates in radical history, as well as sharing short quotations from radical texts that often speak directly to contemporary affairs. In this last regard, @EnglishRadical is a modern reincarnation of the popular radical periodicals of the 1790s which sought to educate 'ordinary' readers by sharing short extracts from key political texts.

Title page of Thomas Spence’s Pig’s Meat: Or Lessons for the Swinish Multitude (London, 1793-1795). Image by Rachel Hammersley from the copy held at the Robinson Library, Newcastle University. Rare Books (RB 331.04 PIG). Reproduced with kind permission.

The best known of these publications were One Pennyworth of Pig's Meat; Or Food for the Swinish Multitude (1793-1795) produced by Thomas Spence and Hog's Wash; or a Salmagundy for Swine (1793-1795), later given the more prosaic title Politics for the People, which was the work of Daniel Isaac Eaton. The porcine references in the titles were not coincidental but a deliberate response to Edmund Burke's dismissive comment in Reflections on the Revolution in France that unless learning remained the preserve of the nobility and priesthood (as had traditionally been the case) it would be cast with them 'into the mire and trodden down under the hoofs of a swinish multitude' (Edmund Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France. London, 1790, p. 117). Far from being cowed by this slight, Spence interpreted it as a challenge. The first issue of Pig's Meat, which appeared in September 1793, offered extracts that had been collected by the 'Poor Man's Advocate' (a title Spence had first adopted in the 1770s) over the previous twenty years. His aim, in making them available to the 'Labouring Part of Mankind', was to promote among them 'proper Ideas of their Situation, of their Importance, and of their Rights. And to convince them That their forlorn Condition has not been entirely overlooked and forgotten, nor their just Cause unpleaded, neither by their Maker nor by the best and most enlightened of Men in all Ages' (Thomas Spence, One Pennyworth of Pig's Meat. London, 1793, p. 1).

Edmund Burke from the studio of Sir Joshua Reynolds, c. 1769. National Portrait Gallery, NPG 655. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.

The extracts offered in Pig's Meat were taken from a variety of texts. These ranged from relatively obscure pamphlets produced during the Interregnum, such as William Sprigge's A Modest Plea for an Equal Commonwealth Against Monarchy (1659), via standard commonwealth fare like John Trenchard and Thomas Gordon's Cato's Letters (1720-1723), to more recent radical commentary as in William Frend's Peace and Union (1793). The most frequently quoted author was James Harrington. Spence included excerpts from several of the works reprinted in John Toland's The Oceana of James Harrington, and his other works, and he stated explicitly in volume 1 that 'Portions of this Collection will frequently be inserted in the Course of this Publication' (Spence, Pig's Meat, p. 79). While the majority of excerpts were taken from prose pamphlets, the full range of genres on display was wide, with sermons, correspondence, travel literature, and even poems and songs all being included.

Title page of Politics for the People, or A Salmagundi for Swine (London, 1793-1795). Image by Rachel Hammersley from the copy held at the Robinson Library, Newcastle University. Special Collections (Friends 336-337). Reproduced with kind permission.

The extracts explored various themes including: free speech; constitutional reform; the oppression of the poor; and the superiority of republican over monarchical government. Many spoke obliquely to contemporary political events. For example, several considered the negative effects of war, particularly for the poor, a resonant (but also a controversial) issue at the height of the conflict with the French Republic. A key feature of Spence's periodical - which was advertised on the title page - was the fact that he included Biblical passages alongside secular texts. He was keen to demonstrate that the ideas he was advocating, in particular concern for the poor, could be found in the Bible itself. Moreover, the political authors cited included not just known radicals such as Joel Barlow, Richard Lewes, and Spence himself, but also more mainstream - even conservative - thinkers such as Jonathan Swift, Lord Lyttleton, and Samuel Pufendorf, who were cited in such a way as to draw out the radical implications of their arguments.

Just a few weeks after the first issue of Pig's Meat appeared, Eaton launched Hog's Wash, which was very similar in its approach and format. It too immediately drew attention to the Burkean inspiration. The epigram by 'Old Hubert' declared:

Since Times are bad, and solid food is rare;

The Swinish herd should learn to live on Air:

Acorns and Pease, alas! no more abound,

A feast of Words, is in the HOG TROUGH found.

The subtitle claimed that the work would consist:

Of the choicest Viands, contributed by the Cooks of the present day,

AND

Of the highest flavoured delicacies, composed by the Caterers of former Ages.

(Daniel Isaac Eaton, Hog's Wash, or A Salmagundy for Swine, London, 1793,

Titlepage).

Though the price was 2d (double that of Spence's periodical), it was still clearly aimed at ordinary folk. Alongside the sort of fare found in Pig's Meat, Eaton also made much use of fables designed to deliver moral messages. For example, at the beginning of the sixth issue he offers the tale 'Logs, Storks, and Asses' that he claims was written in 1694, soon after the Glorious Revolution. Its message was that even when the people choose their own king, they still tend to end up with a bad ruler who hinders, rather than benefits, his subjects.

Spence’s letter in Politics for the People. Image by Rachel Hammersley from the copy detailed above. Reproduced with permission.

The connection between Pig's Meat and Hog's Wash was more direct than just a similarity of purpose and format. Eaton's first issue opens with a letter addressed to him and dated 9th September 1793, which praises the publication. The letter's author expresses concern 'that the provision should be devoured faster than ever your unremitting exertions might be able to supply it' and so offers 'a few morsels from his own store of "Hog's Meat" (Eaton, Hog's Wash, p. 2). The passages that follow come from Lord Lyttleton's Persian Letters, excerpts from which had also appeared in the first volume of Pig's Meat. Moreover, the letter is signed  'A Brother Grunter', a pseudonym that Spence had previously used when writing to Eaton directly.

The first page of the first issue of John Marshall’s The Newcastle Christian Reformer’s Monthly Tract (Newcastle, 1821). Image by Rachel Hammersley from the copy at the Robinson Library, Newcastle University. Special Collections Edwin Clarke Local (Clarke 559). Reproduced with kind permission.

It was not only Eaton who was inspired by Spence's model, nor did such publications only flourish in London. In the 1790s Welsh-language versions quickly appeared. Similarly, in the 1820s a Newcastle printer, John Marshall, published The Newcastle Christian Reformer's Monthly Tracts in which religious and political texts were interspersed with fables. In January 1823 Marshall began publishing the Northern Reformer's Monthly Magazine. It comprised a range of political material and its purpose was reflected in this statement that appeared in the final issue:

The editors of this Magazine, during the short period of their labours endeavoured to enlighten and instruct their fellow countrymen on subjects closely connected with their interests and the common good; and have also exposed some of the grossest evils of the system of misgovernment under which we are, for some time longer, it is feared, doomed to suffer.

In many respects the zenith of this genre came with the publication in 1839 of William J. Linton's The National, which, as I noted in a previous blogpost, was subtitled A Library for the People. It provided readers with extracts from a wide range of texts, including a number that had appeared in the publications of Spence and Eaton - such as Swift, Harrington, Godwin, Milton, Voltaire and Rousseau. Indeed some passages were identical, suggesting that we can see here the creation of a canon of radical texts.

Though times (and methods) are very different today, the tradition does continue. On 2 July 2022 @Radical History commemorated the birth in 1750 of Thomas Spence with this tweet: