David Selzer is a writer of poetry, prose fiction, screenplays and stage plays. He embraces digital platforms to share his work of more than fifty years… READ MORE


  • SLAVERY’S DIVIDENDS

    The Duke of Wellington vowed he would never

    travel by train again – and, while still alive,

    kept his vow. (His corpse was conveyed in state

    by rail from his house in Kent to London).

    The official opening of the Liverpool-

    Manchester railway ought to have been one

    of unqualified celebration: the first

    passenger train journey in the world hauled

    by a steam locomotive; with VIPs

    and a military band – albeit

    seated on benches in open wagons,

    except for the Duke, then Prime Minister,

    and his party in a bespoke, covered carriage.

     

    The dual track line had been built to convey –

    more quickly than the horse drawn narrow boats

    on the canals, or carts on the unmade roads –

    the raw cotton unloaded at Liverpool

    to Cottonopolis (i.e. Manchester)

    and its satellite cotton mill towns

    in south east Lancashire – and transport

    the finished products back for export

    to the growing British Empire’s colonies.

     

    George Stephenson, who designed and built the line,

    in order to show off the commercial

    versatility of the dual track approach

    on the day employed two engines – both of which

    he had designed and built: the Northumbrian –

    the Duke’s train, as it were – pulled rolling stock

    from west to east; the Rocket east to west.

    They met half way – at Parkside Station –

    to take on water. There, the MP

    for Liverpool, William Huskisson,

    became the first railway fatality.

    He fell on the north track, and the Rocket

    crushed one of his legs. The Northumbrian,

    pulling the first of its wagons – the one

    the military band had been travelling in –

    took the injured man to Eccles, where he died

    in the vicarage. Meanwhile the bandsmen

    began to march in step – or attempted to

    given the sleepers and rubble

    laid between them – back to Liverpool.

     

    The much delayed train arrived in Manchester

    in rain. A large crowd of mill workers,

    remembering the Peterloo Massacre,

    jeered loudly, and threw things. Wellington,

    always a defensive general,

    refused to alight. The train returned

    to Liverpool – passing the still stumbling

    and wet bandsmen – to a civic reception.

     

    I first learned about Huskisson’s demise

    in a history lesson in school – just the sort

    of Goon Show/Pythonesque fact to appeal

    to teenage boys. We did not learn about

    how Stephenson was able to build the track

    across Chat Moss, a peat bog, thousands

    of years old and many metres deep,

    a permanent way that operates now,

    an engineering feat of genius,

    a joyous testament to our large brains.

    Nor did we learn that the whole business venture –

    each spike, each bolt and nut, each foot of wrought iron

    rail, and each of the many, expensive

    courses at the celebratory banquet

    in Liverpool’s town hall – had been funded

    by the enslavement of Africans.

     

     

     

     


    3 responses to “SLAVERY’S DIVIDENDS”


    1. harvey lillywhite Avatar
      harvey lillywhite

      Great history lesson and reminder of the zero-sum game Western civilization pushes—for someone to win, someone else must lose.

    2. Kevin Dyer Avatar
      Kevin Dyer

      Very good, David. All that information and red herring… and then the final punch. Well handled. I applaud you.

    3. Drew Steele Avatar
      Drew Steele

      Nice stuff, David. Huskisson probably posing for the paparazzi. Perhaps already legless before the accident, although no buffet car I believe. Was he pushed? Over to you, Agatha.

    Leave a Reply

    Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Search by Tag