The Preston Guardian
Saturday 2 September 1876
Recollections of Clitheroe (By an old East Lancashire Man) [Article 7]
The strength of parties was fairly put to the test in 1832. It was a different state of affairs in 1852, when the Tories acted the part of crows in the borrowed plumes of the peacock, and made ardent and enthusiastic professions of love of local self-government — something they neither cared for nor understood, so that they carried out their pre-concerted scheme of magic lantern phantasmagoria and organised hypocrasy and deceit. In 1832, Mr. John Fort, of Read Hall, was the Liberal candidate. He was a plain, unsophisticated gentleman - very rich, and never afraid of parting with his money for electioneering purposes. Mr. Thomson was always on the same platform with Mr. Fort. He was the great orator; like Burke, he advanced every political proposition, to which Mr. Fort always said "Ditto," quite as much as he could advance with any effect after the exhaustive orations of Mr. Thomson. The stock theme of Mr, Thomson's speeches was the rottennesf of the Corporation, the closeness of the reprsentation, which for 50 years had been the Corporate lands - which were intended originally to keep the poor from want — given away, or fraudulently wasted — the Wapentake Court used by one or two local practitioners, whose exorbitant charges in too many instances, broke up the cottagers' household. The church Was no longer the church of the people — although a churchman himself - for it was comparatively deserted, and dissenting tabernacles were filled to overflowing. Moreover, the Grammar School, granted by Philip and Mary, and richly endowed with revenues derived from land, had fallen into decay. Its lower room was closed, and the upper room was tenanted by seven or eight scholars - taught by a clerical favourite. A period of 20 years elapsed before the grievance was redressed. The governors said they had been unfortunate in exchanging some land between Almondbury and Skipton, and had incurred much loss, for which they were exceedingley sorry, but they could bot be expected to make good the loss — disinterested and patriotic men as they were. But independently of Mr. Thomson, assisted as he was by Dr. Kay, of Salford, and Captain Harrison, of Marsden there was in existence in Clitheroe a branch of the Birmingham Political Union — an association that for closeness of power and organization has never had its equal for the last half century. At the head of this union were Mr. Attwood, Mr. Edwards, Mr. Titus Salt (now of Saltaire), Mr. Muntz, and others. Within the union there were great numbers of military men who contrived to sow the seeds of disaffection in the army. At one meeting there were as many as thirty military officers. Altogether, the country was on the brink of revolution. Nottingham Castle had been fired. The mansion of Jack Musters, Esq., had been burned down, and his lady had been frightened to death; and the streets of Bristol had been made to swim with blood. The block printers had a trades Union — thoroughly political — which was headed by a small unstamped paper — "The Voice of the People." The working men took independent action, which could not have been restrained by ten thousand Mr. Thomsons. The working men had a magnificent banner, on which was inscribed a slave bound down and in fetters. For a great number of years this flag was in the keeping of Thomas Hacking, who for many years was night watchman to Messrs. Dewhurst. Clitheroe was denuded of one member, and the Tories brought forward a great merchant named Mr. Irvine, who had sat in what was called the Borough Mongers' Parliament for the small village Of Brandon. It was announced that Mr.Irvine should make a public entry into Clitharoe in June, 1832, in order to set forth his political views. He entered the town, by Primrose Bridge in a splendid carriage drawn by four brown horses, with black points, and tails reaching to the ground. The Radical party had roused the whole country, and twenty thousand persons responded to the call. On Mr. Irvine's carriage stopping opposite the Rose and Crown,it is alleged that the mob seized it, and attempted to capsize it, besides beating the horses. Mr. Irvine hastily alighted and entered the Rose and Crown, but he was induced to get into the carraige again, and drive on towards Bellman. Arrived at the ancient hostelry of "Hark to Bellman" the Riot Act was read, and Mr. Wm. Arkwright, of the Rose and Crown, who for many years had been a public man in Clitheroe — a local preacher for the Wesleyans —rode off to Burnley Barracks, and brought back a company of horse soldiers via Twiston or Gisburne. On the road the soldiers had rum given to them - it is averred — as much as a pint of rum each. Mr. Arkwright rode into Clitheroe at the head of the soldiery, and exclaimed, while in York-street, to the crowd, "Now my lads we are ready for you." Numbers of strangers had left the town, but those who remained in the town, could not understand the arrival of horse soldiers at full gallop, never having heard the Riot Act read. The soldiers used their swords in a merciless manner; they cut and slashed in all directions; in three instances the soldiers used the flat sides of their weapons. Even in coming through Chatburn, an old man named Driver had his hat cloven and a scalp Wound inflicted. Dr. Garstang, the then in-bailiff, went as far as the Bellman, after hearing what step had, been taken by Mr. Arkwright, with the view of keeping the soldiers at the Bellman, where the Riot Act had been read by Mr. Whittaker, of Simonstone, a very old magistrate, and whose family, for two centuries had owned a burghage tenement in Clitheroe; but the counsels of Mr. Garstang, in the prevention of what he feared would be a terrible carnage, were unavailing. The slaughter was not terrible, but it was so serious that many persons were shockingly maimed and cut, and they filled untimely graves in consequence. The reaction against Mr. Irvine was fearful. The Rev. Mr. Vernon, of Grindleton, Church minister, swore an affidavit that, when the military entered, the crowd were still and peaceful — that he had been in the town all the morning — that while he witnessed much excitement he never saw any signs of a breach of the peace; that the importation of the military was a stretch of authority utterly uncalled for, or unlooked for; and that when the soldiers began to hack and hew there were no signs manifested of physical resistance. To see men running about with the blood trickling from their wounds was a sight that the Rev. Mr. Vernon did not at all relish. The leading affidavit of Mr. Vernon was supported by Dr. Dean, several influential strangers of good position, who happened to be at Clitheroe, and by Thomas Whittaker, who stood his ground in the steet near to the Swan Inn throughout the whole onslaught. Mr, Whittaker was best known as "Tom-o-Long Harrys." He was a man of collosal proportions. If he had been struck by any of the soldiers he would have done some serious lumber to about half a dozen of them. He was quite six feet six inches in height, and had bone and sinew in proportion. He went, along with two others, one night, to see a giant in West's Yard; but all the three were bigger than the giant. On the showman observing his customers, he politely informed them that the giant could not be seen that night, as he was taking "gin and bitters"; but early the following morning the giant drew out of West's Yard, and journeyed to parts unknown, evidently thinking that it was little use to carry coals to Newcastle, Mr. Whittaker spent about half a century in Clitheroe, and, like Long Tom Dixon and George Dixon, he was an ardent Huntite. In the year 1818, he led the Radicals of Clitheroe, Sabden, Padiham, and all that district to a meeting that was intended to be holden on the plot of ground that is now the site of th eBurnley Barracks. The veteran John Knight was to be the principal speaker. Mr. Whittaker's party were headed by a band of music, and all the members were stalwart men. Their drummer was James Clitheroe, a native of Leyland. He was more than six feet, and portly and very good looking. Clitheroe was a crafty man, and great at sleight of hand and all sorts of conjuring tricks. Having parted with his musicians, he wandered into the Tim Bobbin public-house to wet his whistle. Three Ightenhill men were in, one of whom said, "Here's the Radical drummer; We'll wallop him." "Well," replied Clitheroe, "before you wallop me, you will surely let me sup?" "Yes, that they would," and handed him a small glass which he swallowed along with its contents. Subsequently they tried him with a gill pot, then a pint pot, and afterwards with a quart jug — all of them disapearing in rapid succession — all of them being stowed away in the sleeves of his coat, probably, for his garments were always large and seedy. He was a good ventriloquist, and began to talk to a man in the chimney that was just coming out to his rescue. But the swallowing of the quart jug was more than the Ightenillers could stand, and they suddenly departed, exclaiming that Clitheroe wasn't a gradely chap at all, but none other than the devil. Clitheroe called after them, "Stop, lads, I'm going to swallow the drum." The "lads," however, had seen more swallowing than they could "swallow." Clitheroe went out and told Whittaker how he had been behaved to, as he called it, and Tom visited Tim Bobbin, where he failed to find the three countrymen. Had he done so, matters would have been very awkward. The meeting assembled; the Riot Act was said to have been read by Colonel Hargreaves, J.P., who rode amongst the crowd, and flogged every one whom he could reach with his horsewhip; amongst others he hit Tom, who at once took a horse pistol out of his breast pocket, and discharged it at the head of Col. Hargreaves, but the contents providently missed him. The slugs were gathered up, and, as no meeting could be held, all the folks having run away at the raising of a false alarm that the soldiers were coming, Tom ran away to Oswaldtwistle, where he was concealed among the ling on Oswaldtwistle Moor whither his meat was taken to him. His whereabouts was well known to hundreds, but as the Government was very unpopular, no one would give the authorities any information. Oliver and Edward, two notorious spies, were supposed to be at the Tinker and Budget, Oswaldtwistle. They were resisted by some men, who fractured their limbs, whereupon the spies left the neighbourhood as noiselessly as possible. Tom left his hiding place and went to Liverpool, where he undertook the erection of several large docks, being by trade a stonemason, and contrived to live "incog" for several years. In the year 1827, the Duke of Wellington visited Liverpool. He was then intensely unpopular owing to his opposition to Catholic Emancipation. The Iron Duke was anxious to see the principal buildings in Liverpool, but if the buoughreene or the corporation showed him round the town a riot, would be the result, could not some single person act as cicerone and thus avert sUspicion. Tom heard this proposition mooted, and he at once volunteered to see the Duke safely through Liverpool, and they started from the docks. Now and then the Duke was recognised, but not pursued. He had faced death in the cannons' roar and on the battle field, but did not want to die by the hand of the assasin. But both Tom and the Duke were insensible to fear, and with the exception of a few shouts of "Ould Ireland for ever," in Irish quarters, there was no interruption. On parting with Tom, the Duke of Wellington offered him a monetary reward. "No," said Tom. "I am above that. I consider I have been highly honoured." "Well," said the Duke, "however that may be, I feel deeply obliged by the services of such a colossal champion. Can I assist you in your business in any way?" "Yes," replied Tom, "I have a favour to ask you. Some years since I was at a meeting; Col. Hargreaves was whipping some folks as he sat on his horse, so I fired a horse pistol at him, but the shot missed the Colonel. For some years I have been 'laiking' at kid peep (hide and seek). It was generally thought I should have to swing for it." "I am sorry to hear that," said the Duke; "but have you been a loyal man ever since, Thomas Whittaker?" "Oh, yes," Tom replied. "Never in no trouble since. I have always minded my work, and kept quiet." "Well, I will write to Col. Hargreaves, and tell him of the great service rendered to me — perhaps saved my life - and I trust I shall be able to get the warrant against you withdrawn, and then you will be a free man; but in your future life let your escape be a warning to you." "Thank God for that," shouted Tom, and grasped the Duke by the hand, which, he shook very heartily. Tom went back to his work, and in the course of a week the Iron Duke wrote to Tom again thanking him for his services as Cicerone, and assuring him that Col. Hargreaves had forgiven him. The barrier being removed, Whittaker returned to Clitheroe, where he started the business of mason and contractor, and built the massive bridge at Brungerley across tho River Ribble, and just below the Hipping Stones, crossed by Henry VI, when he was betrayed by the Talbots, of Bashal, and where the King was caught, placed on horseback, and his feet tied under the horse's belly, and thus conveyed captive to London. Subsequently the river at this place was spanned by a rude wooden bridge over which cattle and horses could pass singly. There was a ford for carts and carriages. While erecting this bridge, Whittaker had a dispute with Jemmy Driver, a middle-aged man, who had been a great fighter, and who had bean twice in York Castle for riots during two barley periods, about the years 1806 and 1813. Driver walked with his legs apart and strapped, and Whittaker remarked that his gait was awkward and crooked, and that he could run faster than him and carry a jackass on his back. Jemmy accepted the challenge, and the race was fixed. Two of Whittaker's friends interfered and worked the oracle for him. The road was higher than the adjoining land on each side, so two men concealed themselves below each side of the road, having hold of the rope at each end. The start was effected, Whittaker carrying a live donkey. Jemmy Driver ran much faster than was expected, but when he reached the rope it was suddenly raised, and Driver fell forward on his face several yards, and his frontispiece much damaged. The rope was sharply snatched away. As soon as Jemmy could gather himself up, he went to look at the obstacle that had tripped him up, but nothing was visible; meanwhile, Whittaker had reached the winning post with thw jackass on his back, whereupon he was very glad to put down his load. He was highly complimented on his unprecedented feat of strength. Subsequently, Mr. Whittaker began business as a spirit merchan, where Mrs. Howard's shop now stands, in Castle-street. He also purchased a stud of race horses. He owned "Osbaldeston," once the property of Mr. Osbaldeston, of Birmingham, and formerly of Osbaldeston, near Preston. He had a famous mare, named "Lady Blessington," that was once about to win the Gold Cup, at Lancaster, but the jockey held it back. When Whittakar got hold of the jockey, he literally punched him like a football, all his life hung in the balance a long time, but nature triumphed at last. Mr. Thomson and "Tom-o-long Harrys" were great cronies. One day, Mr, Thomson wanted a horse to take John Walker, the gardener, to Preston, with some important dispatch, to catch the train from London. "Oh," saya Tom, "I have a horse that will go in a "toathery" minutes. So he brought out "Lady Blessington," a fine, tall, stately mare. To see John on a thoroughbred — safe and easy going mare, caused Mr. Thomson to laugh until he became two double. John got into the turnpike, and started "Lady Blessington," at a trot — at least he tried, but nothing so common would suit her ladyship, so she started at a long canter, never looking for a toll bar and obeying nothing but following the bias of the bridle. On reaching "Five Barred Gate," John shouted to the gatekeeper, "Heigh, heigh, stop this horse." The gatekeeper came out, change in hand, but he went not near the cantering racehorse. She never began to walk before she reached Brockholes broW, and afterwards resumed the canter till she got to Preston Station. John alightied as best he could, being galvanised in every limb. The return Journey was not so urgent but still John dare not tarry, and he took the faithful brute to the door, when Mr. Thompson again looked at it and at John's plight, for he was unable to stand straight, and then said, "Well, John, thou art the soul of trustworthyness. Go into the kitchen, Mrs. Eglin has some beautiful cold beef and some pure Burton ale." "No," said John. "I have vowed that so long as I live in this world, I will not again taste bee." "Very well," replied Mr. Thompson, "If thou wilt not taste beer in this world, I am persuaded thou wilt not get any in the next." Mr. Whittaker owned another thoroughbred that was used by Miss Thomson as a hackney. It was just the colour of a new copper kettle. It won a great match over Clitheroe race course, when it was 25 years of age. A young horse of Mr. Whittaker's, of immense promise, was staying all night at Lancaster, full of engagements, and with a certainty of winning, when some villains fired the stable purposely, and burned it to death. Mr. Trappes, afterwards town clerk, went to Lancaster on behalf of Mr. Whittaker, but the result of Mr. Trappes inquiries did not furnish one jot of satisfaction. Mr. Whittaker descended to the grave in 1842. There let his follies with his virtues rest, No drag frailties from their dread abode.
_________________ Mel
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