Starving Britain

I have read today, that people are going to be charged if they appeal against their benefits being cut. Charged criminally and financially.
http://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/feb/20/people-stripped-benefits-charged-decision?CMP=twt_gu
 and footballer Wayne Rooney has just signed a contract that will pay him £300,000 a week.


 In 1811-16 this country came the closest it had ever come to revolution. A Tory government was crippling the country by paying for foreign wars and the excesses of those at the top of society.
Below is a section from my novel about preparation for a protest in Nottingham's Market Square about the plight of the stockingknitters, who were starving due to unemployment.

'Can we sacrifice one of our sheets?' Robert called from the bedroom. 'What should we use for the letters? Blacking?'

Lizzie considered for a moment. 'We could sew them, with pieces of waste cloth. The words might be clearer.'

Robert brought a sheet to the kitchen. He spread it out over the table.

            'It's too big. Let's cut it lengthways, then a few of us can hold it in front.' He took a pair of shears, slit the sheet and tore it in half. Lizzie took one end and they laid it on the floor.

            'This isn't how you usually spend Saturday night, is it?' She looked at Robert. He shook his head. Lizzie fetched the basket of discarded cloth. 'I'm glad you're not out gambling or drinking.'

Robert's face was serious. 'This is more worthwhile,' he said, drawing a deep breath. 'What's it to be then, God protect the trade?'

            'No,' Lizzie decided, 'I can think of something that will be easier to sew in capitals.'

She found pieces of dark fabric and arranged letters on the sheet to spell out the slogan. Pinning them to the cloth, the twins took needles and thread and began to sew them from one side to the other.  

                              G I V E   U S   B R E A D!

Once they had finished, they stepped away to admire their work. 'It's to the point,' she stated. Robert agreed.

            'Rain before seven, fine before eleven. I've never believed that. How can it be? It can't be the same weather every time, can it?' Robert munched his porridge as a shower spattered against the window.         

            'I suppose not,' Lizzie said as she sliced the last of the loaf. She had to saw at it; the stale crust resisted the knife.

            'Is there any cheese?' Robert asked with a look of doubt in his eyes.

            'A tiny bit… I'll cut it fine so we can both have some.'

Lizzie placed the wafer thin slices of cheese between the bread, wrapped them in a cloth and tied string around the parcel. 'At least we'll have something to eat this afternoon,' she told him. 'Only parsnips left for supper.'

Robert groaned, 'Not again.'

            'It's all we can afford,' Lizzie sighed.

            'Is there no more garlic?'

            'I had a look around in the churchyard, but all I could find was nettles.'

Robert grimaced: 'I keep dreaming about cakes and pastries, roast duck and green beans.' He leaned on his hands, resting his palms on his forehead. 'How is it fair? We work all the hours God sends and we have to survive on crusts and roots. It's like we're being punished for being alive.'

Lizzie sat next to him. She stroked his hair.

            'That's what today is about. We shall make sure we are heard,' she sighed. 'Although, it'll mean missing Mass.'

Robert took Lizzie's hand. 'This is more important,' he said. 'Fraternité!'

            'Fraternité!' Lizzie repeated.

Excerpt from 'Framed' by Christy Fearn.      www.open-bks.com

Regency tailoring...

A Dandy's wardrobe was only as good as his tailor...

 

Title for my next novel dilemma...

I have had to re-think the title, as there are already many books with the title 'Notorious'.

Inspiration and suggesions are welcome...

 

NOTORIOUS!

The second novel 'Notorious' is in progress at the moment! Each chapter (I hope) will have an illustration to accompany it...

The Bull & Mouth inn, near St Paul's. This was where the mail coach alighted from Nottingham. Passengers travelling to London would use the mail coach as a form of public transport.

Seasonal excerpt from 'Framed'

'I expected a greeting from a Benedictine or Carthusian Friar!' Francis Hodgson embraced Byron on the icy abbey steps.

Byron laughed, 'You must know me well enough to understand that I could never adopt a celibate life. Welcome to my gothic ruin.'

A second, younger man gingerly ascended the slippery steps. 'Heavens, George, how on earth do you manage these treacherous stairs?'

Byron held out his hand to him: 'Take my arm, Will. To answer your question, I seldom venture out into the frozen wastes. I prefer to cling to my fireside with a good bottle of claret.'

            'Alone?' William Harness shot his friend a quizzical glance.

            'For the most part, yes; however, I do have company on occasion.'

            'Someone to share your wine?'

Byron nodded as he showed them indoors, 'My cellar, my larder and my home is yours, for the duration.' They passed through the Great Hall and into the dining room. Byron indicated Wolf who was snoring by the fire, his legs twitching slightly as he dreamt.

            'You see what an effective guard dog I have.'

Will laughed and patted the sleeping animal. Byron poured large glasses of brandy for them.

            'I propose a toast,' Francis proclaimed as he raised his glass, 'to absent friends.'

They gulped the brandy.

            'And a second toast!' Will Harness offered: 'To Harrow School, to Byron, and to Cambridge, our seats of learning and licentiousness!'

Byron clinked his glass against Will's: 'Amen to that!'

The three friends made themselves comfortable in chairs around the hearth.

            'Another Christmas, George, another year gone,' Francis observed. Byron sighed, 'I will be twenty-four in a few weeks' time, almost a quarter of a century.'

            'Are you a year wiser as well as a year older?' Will asked as he leaned closer to him.

            'We all should be. Three wise men! I do not mind wisdom so much, but please reassure me that you have not grown sensible?'

Francis Hodgson laughed. 'Hardly. I saw Scrope Davies the other day; we spent the whole night gambling. I stumbled home to Picadilly at about two o'clock. He stayed on. The next day I went to see him. It was after lunch, and he was still in bed. Would you believe it, under his bed was a chamber pot - full to the brim -'

            'With banknotes!' Will finished the anecdote with a flourish.

Byron laughed heartily: 'Good God, I can believe it! Dear Scrope…'

            'He's had a winning streak lately.'

            'I hope to see him when I am next in London.'

            'When will that be, George?' Will smiled.

            'I shall be making my maiden speech in the House of Lords soon after my birthday.'

Francis gazed into the fire. 'What shall be your subject?'

            'I am toying with the idea of the plight of the local stocking knitters. Men are starving for lack of work. They are desperate. Someone has to speak up for them.'

            'Very noble of you, George, standing up for the underdog,' Francis raised his glass.

...from 'Framed' the historical novel about 

the Nottingham Luddites.

Yuletide Jubilations!

To have a look at everything Christy Fearn related in LeftLion magazine click on:

http://www.leftlion.co.uk/search/index.cfm?q=christy+fearn

Thankyou to all my readers, my publisher, my friends and family for making 2013 such a special year! 

With all good wishes for Christmas and a happy and successful New Year.

Christy x

Join us for festive fun at the Framework Knitters' Museum!

This Saturday 14th December - 11am to 5pm 

at the Framework Knitters' Museum 

Ruddington

Christmas Fayre!

http://www.frameworkknittersmuseum.org.uk/whatson_106703.html

There will be seasonal music, dancing, traditional crafts and refreshments. 

Christy Fearn will have a bookstall: buy  'Framed' the tale of the Nottingham Luddites and have your copy signed by the author!