Whitby: unique, beautiful and historic

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The historic maritime port of Whitby conjures up a myriad of images that connect people through time to this beautiful ancient town.

 

From the iconic Abbey ruins atop its headland, reminding us of its Christian heritage, to the harbour below where the Esk flows into the sea, a booming whaling industry thrived; now it is a tourist magnet and thriving community.

The existing Whitby Abbey ruins date from the Norman period when Benedictine monks founded a new abbey on the site of the original, which had been destroyed by Viking raiders in 867 AD. The order and abbey was to be destroyed and dissolved by Henry VIII.  However, it is the original abbey that holds its lasting place in history, founded by Oswy, King of Northumberland in 657AD and associated with St Hilda. The Synod of Whitby, which was held in 664AD, was noteworthy as Celtic Christians lost the debate with Roman Christians on how the calculation of Easter would be made, the effect of which we still feel today.

Whitby as a settlement can be traced back to the Bronze Age. Brigantes, Romans, Saxons, Vikings all played their part in the town’s development, but it was the abbey that first made the difference between a settlement and the town it would become, between the mid-C18 and C19, a thriving maritime port.

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The Yorkshire Saga #1

The Alum industry in the C16 century also played an important part in the growth of the importance of the port. Alum was an important fixative used in the dyeing of cloth. The remains of such a works can be explored at Ravenscar further along the coast. In To Love Honour and Obey this is mentioned, as the fires and smells of the process polluted the coastline at the time. Modern methods of production made the century old methods of alum production obsolete, but in the early C19 it thrived.
From the mid C18 to mid C19 the port was an important whaling, fishing, boat-building, rope and sail-making harbour with many associated industries prospering alongside.

One of these ‘trades’ was smuggling and the narrow alleyways and snickets were excellent for moving contraband through the streets unseen to the prying eyes of the customs or revenue men. Another use for them was for young and able men to dodge the pressgang should one dare to come by.

 

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Today Whitby is a bustling town where freshly caught fish are savoured in the many restaurants and inns. Whitby crab is delicious.

The White Horse and Griffin is a restored C18 coaching inn on the east side where Charles Dickens once stayed. The cobbled yard to its side, and the style of small brick out houses further along hidden in one of these yards, inspired the bath house where Willoughby takes Beth in The Yorkshire Saga series Book 1.

The visitor can take a trip out of the harbour and see for themselves the view many a returning sailor would have seen, as the church on the headland welcomed them home.

 

Whitby has many historic sites and buildings to explore, a myriad of gift and crafts shops. It also holds a number of popular festivals including the very lively and colourful Whitby Folk Week, the dramatic costumes of the Whitby Goth Weekend and even a Pirate Festival to name but a few.

The famous cartographer and explorer, James Cook, lived at his master’s house in Grape Lane in 1748 at age 18 as he served a merchant seaman’s apprenticeship.  The house is now the home of The Captain Cook Memorial Museum and is well worth a visit.

Sir William Scoresby is another famous native who invented the ‘crow’s nest’ to protect sailors, and his family’s legacy to the town and whaling industry is also celebrated within the town’s museum.

After the mid C19 the whaling industry and shipbuilding trade died down but a new invention, the railway, arrived and the town on the west side of the Esk developed to accommodate guests in fine hotels. This railway accesses the beauty of North Yorkshire NYMR such as Goathland, Grosmont and Pickering; some of the locations were used in TV’s Heartbeat series and Harry Potter. It is a really beautiful journey to take.

One of the guests who stayed here was Bram Stoker. This gave the town a connection to his famous work ‘Dracula’.

 

The 199 steps lead up from Church Street from the C15 cottages to St Mary’s church at the top and the abbey beyond it. The church inspired another scene within To Love Honour and Obey because of the unique box pews and the gallery above. The setting, building and views from outside this church are well worth a visit.
When Queen Victoria went into a long period of mourning, another of Whitby’s industries thrived; that of Whitby Jet. The Jurassic period’s fossilised remains were mined and skilfully crafted into jewellery. Once the fashion changed, and association to death dulled its popularity in the early C19, demand faded, but not completely as it has regained some popularity today.

 

Whitby also features in For Richer, For Poorer as Jerome and Parthena escape their pursuer in a Yorkshire coble. The harbour would have been busy with many vessels leaving from the steps at all times of day and night to catch the tide.

 

The Yorkshire Saga series is set against the beautiful setting of North Yorkshire weaving fact and fiction, real and imagined towns along the coat and moors.

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Aunty Mary’s Rhubarb Crumble

 

The humble rhubarb has gone from being known as an ancient cure, to a favourite British dessert, to one that post WWII fell from grace. During the war years the price was controlled so that everyone could afford it and many, like my Aunty Mary learned how to use it in a variety of recipes from tarts to Rhubarb and Ginger Jam.

This article looks at the ever popular Rhubarb Crumble.

So what is it and how did it come to be linked so strongly with Yorkshire?

It is a large leafed herbaceous perennial growing from rhizomes – a vegetable, the stalk of which provides vitamins K and C but lacks sweetness and so is low in calories. However, the leaves are high in oxalic acid which can damage the kidneys.

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Because it is not sweet sugar is used in recipes and this will affect some of the benefits eating the stalk can bring, when cooked properly. It is thought to have been used as far back as 2700 BC as a medicine. Claims that it could treat gut, lung and liver problems kept it popular. In recent years it has come back into fashion and there is still a Wakefield Rhubarb Festival held in February.

Rhubarb was a native crop in Siberia growing on the banks of the Volga.  Marco Polo is attributed with bringing it to Europe. In the seventeenth century it is claimed to have been more valuable than opium.

The Yorkshire Rhubarb Triangle began around 1877 when the method of forcing rhubarb was brought to West Yorkshire. Forcing had been discovered by accident in the Chelsea Physic Garden, London, in 1817, but the conditions of the sheltered area  between Leeds, Wakefield and Bradford in the shadows of the Pennines provided a perfect growing environment. The rain, cold and the high nitrogen available from ‘Shoddy’ – a by product of the successful woollen mill industry that also thrived in the area – all helped. The Yorkshire coalfields provided an ample supply of fuel to heat the sheds needed to grow the crop in the dark. Then excellent railways in the region linked to London and Covent Garden market as well.

Forced rhubarb was grown in sheds and the first crop early in the year was said to be the best.

The following recipe is for a simple dessert and not a health recommendation for this unique rhubarb crop.

When picking rhubarb go for early and straight, thin colourful stalks. If the stalks are limp they are not fresh. Later in the year you might need to strip off the tougher outer layer before cooking.

Ingredients

6 Stalks of rhubarb
Two teaspoonfuls of ground ginger
1 level tablespoon of Demerara sugar

For the Crumble

7 oz  unsalted butter
7 oz golden caster sugar
14 oz plain flour

Method

Rub butter and the flour together until crumble is fine. You can substitute some flour with oats to make the top crunchier.

Add in the sugar (to taste).

When finely mixed it should clump together when squeezed once and fall apart again a separate time.

Leave in the fridge to chill.

Top and tail the crunchy stalks of rhubarb.

Either soften in a pan with a knob of butter and the ginger and sugar until softer, or bake on a tray in the oven on 170C for ten minutes.

If the pan method is used, drain off some of the fluid. If the oven method is used then transfer to the serving dish once the rhubarb has been tested to make sure it is tender.

I would love to receive any other original recipes for the versatile and unique rhubarb.

Aunty Mary’s Yorkshire Parkin

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Nothing felt more homely and welcoming when I was growing up in my home town of Redcar, North Yorkshire, than entering my Aunty Mary’s old terrace house and smelling the delights being created in her kitchen.

Artie, her friendly black spaniel, also shared my enthusiasm for her cheerful personality and her home cooking hospitality.

One such recipe, Parkin, is a traditional cake (not for the health conscious or diabetic) that is basically a ginger cake packed with oats and treacle. It is mentioned in my books, such as: For Richer, For Poorer, as its recipe has been passed down the generations.

It was certainly made during the Industrial Revolution and gained favour as the ideal snack to partake of in November on a cold Bonfire Night on the 5th. The first Sunday of that month is referred to as ‘Parkin Sunday’.

This rich cake, full of flavour, also helped to keep hardworking folk filled and warmed through the cold winter months.

Lancashire also has its own recipes for parkin, but there are differences between the two versions. Yorkshire includes oats and uses more black treacle (molasses) giving a darker distinct flavour. Lancashire Parkin tends to be lighter and sweeter using more golden syrup (not corn syrup, which is different) instead. Opinions on this vary, as much as the recipes because some people leave out the oats all together, but this version hits the mark when you want to feel re-energized on a cold and dreary day.

The recipe I have included here is the one my Aunty Mary used and the one that when I do indulge takes me back to my childhood, a warm and loving home with my aunt and of course dear old Artie.

Ingredients

5 oz      oats
4 oz      SR flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp     ground ginger
1 tsp     mixed spice
1/2 tsp  nutmeg
Pinch of salt
5 oz       black treacle
3 oz       golden syrup
4 oz       soft brown sugar
4 oz       butter
2 large   beaten eggs
1 tbsp    milk

 

Method

  1. Line a 1lb loaf tin with baking paper or a paper loaf case.
  2. Preheat oven to 150C
  3. Assemble dry ingredients in a large bowl
  4. Melt the brown sugar with the treacle, syrup and butter – DO NOT BOIL THEM – remove from heat once the sugar has melted. Allow to cool slightly.
  5. Pour the hot mixture into the dry ingredients and mix.
  6. Add eggs and milk – stir well. You should have a thick liquid batter mix.
  7. Pour into the prepared tin and bake for between 1 to 1 hour and 20 minutes. Or until a skewer comes out clean when tested. The cake should be firm and springy.
  8. Allow to cool in the baking tin.

The resulting cake should be dark, sticky, and spicy and has a flavour that improves if it is left in an airtight tin for 3-5 days after it has been allowed to cool.

Then enjoy a slice with a nice cup of tea – but in moderation!

If you know any other versions of this old favourite or more about the origins of it I would love to see your comments.

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Jacobean Architecture and Kiplin Hall, Richmond, North Yorkshire.

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Leaham Hall in For Richer, For Poorer is a Jacobean style of country house that provides employment for its estate workers and the small nearby village of Leaham. In reality the image of Kiplin Hall inspired its fictitious counterpart.

Jacobean architecture gained popularity during the reign of King James I (1566-1625) with its love of symmetry and the mixture of gable or flat roofs; these brick built buildings were houses of the well-to-do landed gentry.

The era’s love of colour, Palladian columns, woodwork and carvings, along with the use of granite made them quite unique. The central staircase would be a focal point that lead the family or visitors up to the first and second  floors.

The Jacobean period was one that was tumultuous and the use of heraldry could reveal the owner’s loyalty. These houses, like many of the time, could also have been used as safe havens for those who had Jacobite sympathies.

Kiplin is a treasure to be discovered, tucked away in the beautiful countryside of North Yorkshire near the village of Scorton. It was built by George Calvert who was the Secretary of State to James 1 and founder of Maryland USA.

I borrowed some aspects of this tranquil setting for my plot in For Richer, For Poorer and placed Leaham Hall under threat.  The early nineteenth century was a time of great social, industrial, political and religious change; so I set Parthena and Jerome Fender loose on a quest to save the Hall, the estate and the village.

Here are some pictures of the moorland trods that Parthena and Jerome have to cross. You can find out more about these ancient pathways in my blog post at Sapere Books

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Discover Ellie for only 99p!

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Click on the picture for Kindle Discovering Ellie!

Ellie has recurring nightmares of a child surrounded by early nineteenth century luxury who is kidnapped. When Ellie wakes it is to the normal sparse surroundings of her attic room and a life devoid of love. Yet, haunted by the child’s fear, she still dares to dream that one day she will be happy and find love.

Living in the old hall with her Aunt Gertrude and cousins Cybil and Jane, she feels as if she neither belongs to the family nor the ranks of the few servants. Her aunt frequently reminds Ellie that she is the child of shame – her mother had eloped with a Frenchman. The scandal, apparently, cast a long shadow over Ellie and the family.

However, when Aunt Gertrude announces that a suitor has been found for her Ellie’s initial excitement quickly turns to dread and humiliation.

Mr William Cookson’s unwelcome presence shines a light onto her past, but how can Ellie escape from her aunt’s plan for her future?

Find out here!

King Ludd & trouble at the mills!

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The term ‘Luddite’ is widely used even today, but its origins are shrouded in both truth and myth.

Two names that are supposed to have been associated with it are Ned Ludd and King Llud. Whatever the truth, the term has stayed in common language. Today it is used to describe someone  who is averse to technical change, but its origins stemmed from men who thought they were fighting to save their livelihoods and their families from being destitute.

Since medieval times the wool trade had been of great importance to the working people of our nation. Traditionally women and their children spun the yarn and the menfolk were skilled loom weavers. Each piece of cloth was then taken to market to be sold in the Piece Halls. In the early nineteenth century new inventions took over this traditional family method of making and selling cloth.

With new cotton and wool mills growing in size and numbers, the workers that left their villages to work in them need not be so skilled. They could be taught a task and become part of the overall process.

The volume of cloth produced could therefore be increased. Uniformity and scale of production would be guaranteed by the use of these wider weaving machines. But the downside was that the employment was no longer a cottage industry, but required a central approach, breaking up communities and leaving men without the means to feed their families. With the price of food, particularly bread increasing, the men felt somehow their concerns needed to be heard.

The actions of a man allegedly called Edward Ludlam also knonw as ‘Ned Ludd’ in 1779 was given the label ‘Luddite’. He was accused of breaking two frames in anger. So when in Nottingham in 1811 groups of weavers gathered and planned attacks on targeted mills to destroy the machines that had taken away their livelihood, the term ‘Luddite’ was used again and stuck.

These attacks spread to Yorkshire and other counties and continued for a number of years. Groups banded in numbers of up to three figures, but surprisingly few were actually caught or hanged.  Some were transported, perhaps unjustly, as those who were accused of being part of a gathering or an attack would have little defence heard to save them. King Llud was used on letters of demand to add weight to their threats and demands.

In 1812 The Frame Breaking Act made the breaking of stocking-frames a capital felony, hence allowing the death penalty to be given to those caught. Rewards were offered, but the local people were the very families of the men who were trying to stop a revolution of machine replacing manual labour, soit was unlikely that many would provide information. It is also likely they would be in danger if they were discovered by the gang members. It was a battle they could never win,

The government and the mill owners did not listen to their pleas. Workers, including young children, were paid low, had no say over their conditions and were often exploited.This was exactly the situation Phoebe and Thomas escaped from in Phoebe’s Challenge. As mills developed not all owners were as harsh (they were by comparison to today’s working practices) but some introduced education, shorter hours for children and healthier diet and living conditions. This is where the idea for Laura’s Legacy came from.

Just click on the link to see how Phoebe rises to the challenge or how Laura’s Legacy survives!

Laura's Legacy

 

Phoebe’s Challenge

When life changes, a strong woman will survive… 

Phoebe's Challenge

Read the full story for only £1.99!

Chapter One

“Thomas Baxter, clear that floor!” Phoebe raised her head in horror as she heard the order bellow out of the miserable mouth of Mr Benjamin Bladderwell, the overseer of the cotton mill. She saw the fear on her young brother’s face. Thomas froze. He was nearly nine, half Phoebe’s age and, like her, slight of build. Phoebe watched his back slowly straighten. He was obviously trying hard to be brave.

Bladderwell pointed to the clutter under one of the looms, where dust and other fibres had collected. The overseer yelled above the cacophony of sounds between the machines. “Move yourself, boy. Now!”

Thomas did not move, but looked at Phoebe who sensed his fear. He was small but going under a moving machine was a job usually given to the younger children. Phoebe felt an unusual and strong emotion – hatred. Bladderwell relished every minute he could sustain his power over their lives. Phoebe had to be brave for Thomas’s sake. They had had to adjust to living amongst the cruelty of his regime keeping alive the hope that one day they could make a run for it and be free again. The time for that brave or foolish gesture, she sensed, was rapidly approaching.

“Move it, you lazy scum-bag!” Bladderwell took a stride towards Thomas. A young woman dropped her shuttle as Bladderwell stormed past; without pausing he clipped the back of her head. She let out a sharp cry, but did not hesitate in her duty of retrieving her tool and continuing the thread of the weft.

Phoebe and Thomas both loathed the shame and the abuse which had become part of their daily existence. This and the constant hunger inside their guts were why they knew that they had to escape, before they were too weak, or injured to run.

Immediately, Phoebe stopped her work, placing her basket of wound cotton bobbins on the floor and ran over to her brother’s side. Standing by him she spoke boldly, to protect the boy from a beating if not from the task he had been set. “I’ll do it, sir. I’m more agile than Thomas and quicker too!” She then inched in front of Thomas hoping he would snap out of his fear-filled trance before Bladderwell’s temper broke and he lashed out at them.

She tried to move him aside. Thomas’s panic had quite reached the point where his blood ran cold and his feet were rooted to the ground. She was able to gently push Thomas away, out of the direct eye line of the brute she was facing down. Bladderwell was staring back at her. Phoebe decided they would run for it that very night if they were at liberty to do so.

Bladderwell swung the back of his hand down towards her. He was hefty in build. She instinctively ducked to avoid the force of the contact, but Thomas did not move so quickly, and the blow landed across the boy’s cheek. Thomas fell back onto the damp floor, scraping his knee through the thin fabric of his clothes. Phoebe saw his head turn sharply toward his attacker, the trance broken, flashing a look of pure unmistakable hatred at Bladderwell.

The man’s face creased with a grin. Somehow they had to run, Phoebe thought, as fear filled her soul. With the rags they stood up in as their only possessions, they would have nothing to weigh them down. When they had been brought to the mill they had worn decent clothes on their backs, but they were exchanged for paupers’ rags within the first hour of their arrival, such was their welcome to this hell hole.

Winded, Thomas tried to stand upright again. He was fighting to recover, breathing in the cotton dust and damp humid air. The factory was kept hot and moist so that the threads did not break on the weaving and spinning machines. No one seemed to care what happened to the people who had to breathe within it. Phoebe believed somewhere there must be a mill that was run in a kinder manner, where people were treated with consideration and happily worked for a fair wage, but she had not heard of one.

The owner of this mill, James Bartholomew Atkins, grew richer by the minute, whilst his workers choked their way through another gruelling day’s labour. Phoebe could cry with the injustice of it all; meanwhile, her brother had been struck and she feared for what would happen next.

Phoebe gasped as Bladderwell cupped her chin in his hand, pulling her towards him.

“Listen, missy.” He moved his lips near to her ear. His rank breath made Phoebe want to heave. She tried to pull away. He tightened his grip, until she stopped resisting. “You can make life much easier for yourself and the sprat, down there. Don’t see how he’ll survive in here, not that one. He can’t control his temper in front of his betters. However, I’m not a bad man. I’ve a heart.  I’ll let the little rat off if you’ll come to the store house with me now and show Benjamin how sorry you is for his bad behaviour.”

He looked into her wide horrified eyes and grinned.

She glared back at him. Phoebe had grown up on a farm and knew how life began, she had seen how animals coupled and guessed it was much the same for people. Phoebe felt her stomach knot. Did he honestly think that for one moment she could let him touch her, or lift her skirts for him?

“You know what I want – you to do exactly that…” he whispered in her ear again, “… anything I want.”

Phoebe could not control her words, “Never! You’re evil!”

Thomas stood up as Bladderwell threw Phoebe to the ground. “Get down there where you both belong, and when you’ve ‘ad time to think, missy, you can crawls your way back to Mr Benjamin Bladderwell on your hands and knees! Then see if I’m as generous in me offer.”

Phoebe looked at the back of Bladderwell’s jacket as he turned to face the boy. One day soon, she thought, I’ll make you crawl. I’ll see you terrified and cornered!  She promised her revenge in her mind and, almost at once, as if the man sensed it, Benjamin turned on his heel and picked Thomas up by the scruff of his threadbare wool jacket.

“Ain’t you got work to do?” Bladderwell dropped him from the height of his extended arm onto the stone floor and simultaneously reached for his lash which he kept on a hook on the wall. It was a constant reminder to the children to obey their master.

Phoebe had to act fast. Her thoughts were filled with heated emotion as she cowered beneath the great moving monster trying to sweep the debris away. There was no room for her to move. She was not a child anymore. Her build was slight and her movements agile, but she was a young woman. She tried to wriggle slowly back out, whilst Bladderwell’s attention was fixed on Thomas. Where had the big brave bully been when they needed men to fight Napoleon? she wondered; hiding behind his horrid machines, no doubt.

Phoebe forced a picture of her father into her mind – a long ago memory, painful for her to rekindle, but necessary to give her the courage to do what she must do now. A good man like her father had died in the long wars with France, yet a brute like Benjamin Bladderwell still lived. Life, she had learnt, was just not fair.

Thomas’s eyes stared accusingly back at the substantial figure bending over him. Phoebe prayed they would be able to escape that very day – now, in fact, for if they didn’t they would be broken, in body if not in spirit by the time Bladderwell had had his way. But how? Their situation seemed impossible.

“I’m goin’ to strip the skin off your idle little back!” The lines on Bladderwell’s forehead deepened as he gritted his browning teeth and raised the lash high behind him ready to swipe down. Thomas had curled into the tightest small ball that he possibly could, trying to protect his head, especially his eyes.

Phoebe was incensed; she moved quickly without taking enough care.

“Agh!” The high shriek of Phoebe’s scream stopped Bladderwell as his head turned to face the cause of the noise, stopping the lash from falling back down onto Thomas.

“Phoebe!” Thomas shouted, and stood instantly, running over to where she was trapped. She could not help her tears escape as she cried out, but lay there motionless underneath the great machine. She could neither move forwards nor backwards so great the fear that had overtaken her.

There was an unspoken bond between the brother and sister. Thomas began to panic when he realised that there was blood on her hand.

“Get out of there, you stupid bitch…” Benjamin Bladderwell’s words were drowned out by the noise of the weaving machine, as its clatter grew louder and more irregular. Phoebe had somehow damaged the machine, as part of her sleeve had caught in its mechanism. Thomas grabbed hold of Phoebe’s ankles as he tried to ease her out. However, he lacked the strength to do it. The ground seemed to move under him as he was yanked back. Then Phoebe was unceremoniously dragged out also. She coughed as she fought for breath as her face was pulled through a cloud of fibrous dank dust. Once free, Phoebe rubbed her eyes so that she could see the gash in her arm that was as long as her little finger. She swallowed hard and held her wounded arm to her protectively.

“It will be all right, Phoebe. It’s not deep; you’ll see it will be fine.” Thomas was trying to reassure her whilst she straightened her dress after being unceremoniously released from her fate.

“Oh, Didy…” She could see the overseer’s face behind the boy and it both angered and terrified her. Phoebe and Thomas’s mother had always called Thomas Didy. It was short for Didymus, another name used in the Bible for Thomas. Phoebe thought it suited his spirit better.

Phoebe felt hatred well up inside her with the strength of feeling she could not have thought possible for her to bear before she had entered the life of hell that was the mill.

Nobody in the factory stopped working to help them. They were all too frightened of losing their precious positions. Work was hard to come by and although the pay was poor, it was better than none and the resulting humiliation and illness that followed being locked away in the workhouse. The adults would be grateful that it was not their child who had been hurt today. A woman glanced sympathetically at them, but did not turn away from her task for fear of punishment.

Thomas helped Phoebe to her feet. “She needs her wound tending… sir.” The last word had been added reluctantly. “That cut needs balm… and cloth to bind it up.”

Phoebe knew Bladderwell did not care; she had refused to pleasure him, he was more concerned about the damaged machine and work lost than her plight.

“Get back to your work, girl! You can tie a machine rag around it, to make sure that you do not drip your blood on the weave. Once done, then collect up those spindles. Now move!”

“No!” the lad’s voice shouted out.

Thomas had a hot head and a short temper when it came to injustice.

“There’s scraps of clean cloth there. If it’s clean it mends better, my ma said so!” he shouted.

“Didy, I’ll manage.” Phoebe, seeing the danger Thomas was already in, tried to act normally, but she was pale and frightened. Her voice had been low, almost like a whisper. It only served to embitter Thomas further; although nearly ten years younger than her, he liked to assume the role of her protector. They had been raised in a fine home, on a working farm – born free. It had been a new farm, one that had been enclosed and the crops rotated to use the land more effectively. Phoebe knew that Thomas liked modern thinking and ways. From his earliest words he had asked questions, ones his ma could not answer, which frustrated her, but like Phoebe it also delighted her as Thomas seemed quick of wit. He was not against machines, but hated their misuse and the greedy men who abused them.

When the lash was raised once more, Thomas reached out and grabbed one of the besoms propped against the wall; they were normally used by the younger children to sweep the floor at the end of the long day. He swung it wildly. The gesture seemed to exhilarate him, giving confidence. The lash came down wrapping around its handle, becoming enmeshed. Thomas pulled at the besom with all his body’s weight behind it, flicking it sharply and, using the moment of surprise in his favour, he managed to jerk it out of Bladderwell’s strong hand. He flipped it free, but Thomas could not control what happened next. All watched in disbelief as the lash flew one way and the broom the other. Phoebe had expected them to fall to the ground, she hoped that they would, but neither did. Bladderwell lurched at him, his balled fists now opened wide like two claws ready to grasp at their prey. Phoebe felt her throat tighten in a moment of panic, but the almighty sound of a machine crashing put a halt to Bladderwell’s intentions. His head spun around. Two women screamed, scared by the noise and clatter and crunching of wood as the besom’s handle splintered. Bladderwell almost fell to his knees as he watched the machine falter, before coming to a shuddering halt. Phoebe saw a glint of fear cross his face. He was answerable to the mill owner for the upkeep of the machines and their output. The whip landed on one of the other weaving machines, becoming tangled in the threads, bringing work there also to a grinding halt. Things had gone too far for them to stay a moment longer. They had to leave straight away – somehow, before they were caught and punished.

Benjamin Bladderwell’s face that had been bright red was now slowly turning purple. Thomas pushed Phoebe behind him and grabbed a scrap of fabric from the pile of off-cuts.

“Use this, Phoebe,” he said.

Thomas helped to secure it firmly and quickly around her arm.

“When I say run, run!” she ordered her brother who nodded – there was no other choice.

Phoebe started backing towards the large double doors at the end of the mill. Her arm hurt. She would rather have a cut arm than have had Bladderwell fumble her. He was evil and a bully and she was glad he would have to answer for the damage caused in the mill, but they would now be hunted as machine breakers.

They were near the doorway when Bladderwell ran like a mad man, storming towards Thomas. Words they had never heard before came rushing out of his mouth. Thomas waited till he was nearly upon them, then grabbed another broom handle and jabbed it hard at the overseer’s shin. Bladderwell dodged, slipped on the debris under his feet, but could not escape the blow that glanced off his jawbone. Thomas drew the broom back, looked the man straight in the eye and grinned fleetingly before taking his ultimate revenge. Phoebe realised his intent, but could not stop the boy. With an almighty thrust she could see that he took great pleasure in deliberately hurling the whole broom into the workings of the nearest loom.

“No!” The roar from Bladderwell’s mouth was nearly as loud as the commotion Thomas had caused. The apparatus came to a standstill. The workers ran to the side of the mill in trepidation. The sound of splintering wood and metal hitting metal echoed in Thomas and Phoebe’s ears as Benjamin and his men were busy trying to stop the carnage.

“Run! Now!” Phoebe shouted, “Didy, run for the gates and don’t stop!”

Find out what happens to Phoebe and Thomas for £1.99!

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Phoebe's Challenge