The annals have been filling up with history before our very eyes during the last week or two, with the pageantry of the royal wedding, the dramatic death of Osama bin Laden, the conclusion of the 7/7 inquest, an electoral reform referendum, and a political landslide with long-term constitutional implications in Scotland. History overload! Even as we witness them, we are conscious that these events are being recorded and analysed for posterity.
I’ve been wrapped up in another sort of history this week, though – the sort that involves discovering hints of forgotten daily lives by means of a kind of assimilative detective process. On Thursday evening, living-history aficionado Fiona Houston gave a talk to members of the Bewick Society at Cherryburn, the Northumberland birthplace of the engraver Thomas Bewick. I went along to listen and to see for myself something of the surroundings I’d seen depicted in his images.

Cherryburn - the National Trust-run site
Fiona had found Bewick’s detailed illustrations among the most useful of sources in preparation for her year of living in the past, when she recreated the 18th-century lifestyle of one of her ancestors just north of the Border. She documented the results in The Garden Cottage Diaries: My Year in the Eighteenth Century – a book that has particular fascination for family-history buffs as well as historians, partly because of its plethora of domestic details.

Carrying firewood bundle - Thomas Bewick engraving
The cottage and museum at Cherryburn is now run by the National Trust: as well as an exhibition of Bewick’s life and work, including several of his tiny engraved boxwood blocks, there are occasional demonstrations of printing on the equipment in his workshop. It’s well worth a visit (and to learn more about Bewick, I recommend Jenny Uglow’s biography – 2006, Faber; review here – which is a pleasure to read and includes some delightful prints). The society’s members, well-versed in 18th-century scenes, were the most knowledgeable audience yet to hear about Fiona’s project, judging by the conversation and questions.

Fiona Houston at Cherryburn, with Tyne Valley view
Cherryburn is situated in a beautiful, rolling part of Northumberland along the Tyne Valley. It would scarcely be possible to have visited on a lovelier spring day, with all the fresh greens of the new leaves clothing the hillsides, set off by blossoms and the hawthorn, with bluebells in the garden (which now even includes a croquet lawn!), and vistas of green to the north.
Making our way from this apparent rural idyll across the Pennines to our next destination, we passed evidence of the industry that once dominated the region: mining. At the top of Alston Moor rises an isolated 30m tower, the Stublick Chimney, once part of the lead-ore smelting equipment for nearby Langley Mill, designed in 1768 by John Smeaton, according to the sign standing near the tower.
From the construction it seems clear this is the same Smeaton who, about ten years earlier, had pioneered an influential technique of interlocking dovetailed stone to build an impregnable tower for the third Eddystone Lighthouse. If the high moor seemed bleak and inaccessible even on a benign day, and an almighty task for the workers bringing the shaped stones together to build the tower, construction there would at least have been easier than out at sea, it’s safe to assume. Looking up some local history later, though, I discovered (via the North Pennines Heritage Trust) that:
When the chimney was half finished, the mason, Nicolas White of Catton, went on strike for an increase on his eighteen shillings (90p) weekly wage. For two years no work was done, then, on being granted a two shillings (10p) increase he completed the chimney.

Alston Moor, May 2011
Standing on the windswept, lonely moor, it’s hard not to sympathise with Mr White. But I found this interesting mostly because I hadn’t heard of such an early example of striking for better conditions. And sure enough, on a quick look at Wikipedia, this coincides with the first ever strike known to have been declared in England.
The use of the English word “strike” first appeared in 1768, when sailors, in support of demonstrations in London, “struck” or removed the topgallant sails of merchant ships at port, thus crippling the ships.
Fascinating!

The Garden Cottage Diaries: My Year in the Eighteenth Century