Featherston Riots 1893.

[Ragger]

The Featherstone Riots.


Did you hear about bother at Ackton Hall Pit,
Colliers were locked out and starving bit by bit,
Well, there’d been trouble all round the place,
But the mob; they were proving very hard to trace.

They ended up in Featherstone, the situation dire,
And caused a bit of damage and lit a great big fire,
People came from miles around, just to see the sight,
The owners called soldiers in to give them all a fright.

They tried a bayonet charge to chase them all away,
But the crowd that gathered there decided to stay,
They’d never seen a fire as big as this before,
All they wanted was to watch; just a wee bit more.

The magistrate was called to read the Riot Act,
The next thing soldiers fired; a really awful fact,
The crowd were still around and they fired once again,
Many shouts were heard as men fell down in pain.

James and George Gibbs were among the men shot,
And Duggan, Edwards, Tomlinson, there was quite a lot,
Hobbs and Burns, Dowson, Oakley and Williams too,
All because they wanted to stay and watch the view.

James Gibbs and James Arthur Duggan both later died,
Villagers around were mourning; many cried,
An Inquiry decided they were innocent of any crime,
But that’s not much consolation for their families at the time.

Awards were given, from the Treasury I heard,
But as of apologies, I never heard a word.
Families of Gibbs and Duggan both given £100,
Not a lot for men who are buried in the ground.

[Ragger]

The Featherstone Riots really happened here is part of a poem from that era. 1893.

Some things never change.



Poem by E. Allen miner, Featherstone.


Then give an ear to this my tale,

Tis mournful to repeat;

For are we not all Adam’s sons,

And life we know is sweet.



Tis said were all one flesh and blood,

Our neighbours are our brothers;

If this be so, why all this strife?

Endured by some, not others.



And so it seems, they’d crush us down,

As men of little worth,

As though we were not fit to live,

And had no right on earth.



What have we poor coal miners done?

That they should thus us gag;

Tis because they wish to break our ranks,

So they may boast and brag.



Methinks I hear some one call out!

And say we should be quiet;

But will this voice speak plain and say?

Whence came the cause of riot.



Then why should we be thus shot down,

While but simply looking on?

The damage was done, and the riot o’er,

The mighty mob had gone.



But let us turn to those two lads,

Who are now quite free from strife;

Their only crime was, they were there,

For which each lost his life.



That the word to “Fire” would be given,

No one had any dread,

Till that shower of lead came whizzing by,

Twas bullets in place of bread.



And thus two men have passed away!

Which wealth can ne’re reclaim;

Twas all for a few tons of slack,

On whom must be the blame?


See! The procession moving slowly onward,

How solemn is their tread,

The band dolefully play the “Dead March.”

Tis music for the dead.