Revolution: An Amber Mills Family Saga: Amber Mills, #1

By Peter Cooke

About the book.

Fate brings about a huge change in the life of Obadiah Shaw when the sturdy fourteen-year old son of a struggling smallholder, saves the life of Mary Ellison, the niece of a small industrialist. Refusing the offer of a reward, he accepts a job at Ellison's Hosiery workshop.

As his love for Mary grows, so does his career. He dares to dream about an entirely new sort of mill community providing much needed housing, employment for all the family and education for the workers children.

Rivals since childhood with Billy Sutcliffe, the local bully, Obadiah's burgeoning career fuels Billy's envy. Rivalry turns to hate and as Obadiah realises his dream, Billy, whose life is falling apart, sets out to wreak havoc and bloody vengeance on Obadiah.

What follows is a battle for survival!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Cooke
• Release date: Nov 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9780956471048

Peter Cooke

I was born and raised in the county of Derbyshire and matured in Yorkshire, England, where I spent a lot of my working life as a Chief Clourist, a Senior Manager in both the textile and chemical industries, a Science teacher and a University lecturer among other things. A well-known speaker on the Elizabethan era and the history of English glassmaking, I now spend my time writing historical novels, of which to date, comprises of four novels in The Tudor Queen's Glassmaker Series. The books are fast paced adventure stories with a strong love interest. Martytn Bedford, Award winning author of Houdini Girl desribed them as having a fascinating original historical context with an interesting insight into the world of glassmaking. The backdrop of the story's setting, Venice and London and the 16th century times will be a key part of its appeal to readers. Recently, inspired by my background in textiles, I began a new series about the Industrial Revolution in the cotton spinning industry. The first cotton spinning mills in the World, were built in the Derwent Valley of Derbyshire in England. The imortance of these mills is reflected in their World Heritage status. The second mill built at Belper, Derbyshire by William Strutt, is the earliest examplke of a fire proof construction. The first book of the fictional series is provisionally title Revolution, Amber Miils. I hope to have thiis rewady for puplication later in 2016 or ealy next year. 

Book preview

The Shaws

Chapter One

Nottinghamshire, January 1755

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Obadiah Shaw shielded his eyes as the wagon turned the bend in the hill road to Great Torkard, straight into the face of the setting sun. The cobbles of the limestone cart-way were treacherous where the stream at the side had overflowed. Worn smooth by constant traffic, they were frozen into a translucent ribbon of fire by sun and cruel frosts. All around, stark branches of the sycamores, elms and silver birch sparkled orange and red, as icicles reflected the final throes of the sunset.

Suddenly, the horse whinnied in fright as its shoes failed to find a purchase on the icy surface and the wagon lurched to the side and slowly began to slide backwards. Jumping agilely down, the young man learned at first-hand how slippery the track was. His feet shot from under him and he crashed painfully on to his back. Thankful that he'd managed to retain a tight hold on the reins, he stood up and gently flexed his spine, thinking, Al 'ave sum reet bruises termorra.

Fortunately, the cart had slewed on to the grass verge, which had halted its slide, but the terrified horse was threatening to rear up as it struggled to regain a foothold. Moving cautiously, he approached the frightened animal, stroking its neck and ears, talking quietly until it settled. After a few minutes it had stopped trying to rear and was calm enough for Obadiah, with all the expertise of his thirteen years, to try to get the cart moving again. He scanned the cart-way seeking the safest path. Its far side seemed to be clear, so turning the horse's head in that direction, he clicked his tongue in encouragement and pulled on the bridle with all his might.

Reluctantly at first, the horse finally responded to his urging.  Once on the drier cobbles, it gained a little more confidence. Slowly, barely lifting its feet from the ground, the horse eased its way forward. After safely negotiating the sharp bend, Obadiah led it to a short stretch of dry, level ground. Patting the horse's neck in congratulation, Obadiah slipped the nosebag on as a reward and then climbed up to the driving bench.

On his left was a dangerous ravine, full of ancient firs and jumbled rocks. In its depths, he could hear the beck raging along, fuelled by the recent rain and sleet. The wind was rising again and he brushed a wayward lock of dark brown hair out of his eyes.

The light was beginning to fade and he pulled his collar closer, as a gust set the hairs tingling on his neck. Ah'd best non be too long, he thought, or Ah'll never mek it up wom afore dark. Ah'll gerra reight tellin off fer bein late as it is.

In the spare time he had from his work, Obadiah hired himself out as a carter. Since his father's farm was barely self-sufficient, the extra income was very welcome.

As soon as he was certain the horse was content, he got down to ready it for the last few miles. Removing the nosebag, he walked round to the other side of the cart and stored it safely under the driver’s bench. Glancing idly at the edge of the track, he stiffened as he saw wheel marks churning up the grass verge and disappearing down into the ravine. The slope was steep and in the gloom he could just make out deep score marks and broken branches in the bushes that clung tenaciously to the steep slope above the sheer drop to the raging torrent below.

God help them if they'm fallen in'ta ravine, he thought, as he searched for a safe way down. To his right, a track angled down, skirting the edge of the ravine. Easing his way down its steep incline, he clung to the frozen ivy, brambles and tree roots to steady himself. Nearing the edge, he peered into the gloom at the bottom. Wreckage of what looked like a horse-trap lay on the bank of the beck, in danger every moment of being swept away by the raging torrent. There was no sign of a horse, or the driver. Could he have missed them? He grimaced. More likely they'd been swept away.

Nevertheless, he scanned the bushes on the edge of the chasm, searching for any sign of the driver. About fifteen paces to his left he could just make out a pale glimmer of white on the far side and something flapping in the wind, caught on a bush near the edge of the drop. Realising it might be the driver, he started across the slope. On the jumbled terrain each step had to be made with the utmost care, as he made his way gingerly towards the far side.

Moving closer, he could just make out the prostrate body of a young woman in a navy dress. Her white petticoats, had been exposed as the result of her fall and it was those he'd seen. Her matching navy cloak, presumably torn off during her descent, was hanging from the bushes at the very edge of the precipice, flapping wildly in the wind.

His mind was working furiously. The cloak would have to stay where it was, but the girl was lying perilously close to the edge of a drop of more than thirty feet. Her eyes were closed and she was still for now, but if she began to move...!

Abandoning caution he crossed quickly to her side. ‘Are yuh all reet,’ he shouted, as he put his hand under her shoulders and lifted her head. There was no answer. Why, er's only a lass of about my age, he thought, as he studied her pretty but pallid face. Her eyes were still closed, her breathing was shallow and there was a nasty graze on the side of her head. I'd best gerrer outta theer afore er wakes up, else erl be over t'edge afore tha cud say Jack Robinson.

He planted his feet firmly, sliding them under her side, bent his knees, so they were overlapping her waist, leaned back a little and carefully slid one hand right under her shoulders and the other behind her knees. Applying a little pressure, he tried to gauge her weight. She didn't seem to be too heavy, but if he overbalanced they would both go over the edge!

Sure now that he was secure and he could lift her easily, he straightened his legs and swept her up into his arms. Her only reaction was a low moan. Taking great care not to lose his balance, he backed away from the drop and edged across the slope, back to the track. Once there, the going became easier, nevertheless, he was still relieved to reach the road without mishap. Laying the girl gently in the back of the cart among the canvas bags containing hanks of yarn, he wrapped her snugly in the horse rug. And still there was no sign of life except for her shallow breathing.

He studied her pale, attractive face. ‘Ah reckon theer’s nowt for it, but ta gerrer up wom, or er'll be frozzed ta marrer,' he said, thinking aloud. Standing up he flexed his back. The girl had not seemed heavy at first, but it had been a stressful, exhausting climb.

Darkness was almost on them now and once the girl was as comfortable as he could make her, he took out his tinderbox, struck flint on steel and, at the third try, managed to light the lantern. The horse tossed its head as he took hold of the head harness, and with a click of his tongue and a strong pull on the harness, Obadiah urged the horse towards home.

Chapter Two

Great Torkard, January 1755

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The weather became a worry as they plodded on towards Great Torkard. Snowflakes began to drift down and made it even more difficult to see the road. He pulled his cap forward a little, wrapped his collar more securely round his neck, lowered his head and battled on. As they descended the hill the snow became worse and the wind stronger. Obadiah found it hard to keep his footing, but fortunately the horse was sure-footed.

Darkness fell. The snow became a blizzard and wind-driven flurries sweeping across the valley made it difficult to see the road ahead. The limestone road had given way to one of rutted earth and stones with a central strip of grass, but now they were covered by drifting snow. At least the horse seemed to know where the road was.

Apart from the wind, the only sounds were the muffled hoof beats and the hiss of melting flakes on the lantern. They seemed to be travelling in a ball of golden light, with the falling snow obliterating everything else. Suddenly, the horse raised its head and picked up its pace and, looking up, Obadiah saw the warm orange glow of cottage windows.

It was now easier to see the road so, holding the reins securely, Obadiah climbed stiffly onto the driver’s bench. Shortly afterwards they came to a row of houses and taking the track to the right, they climbed up a gentle slope, at the top of which was the familiar old yew tree from which their farm got its name. Passing the tree, its branches festooned with settled snow, they turned into the yard at the rear of his father’s farmhouse. The door opened, sending a shaft of yellow light across the snowy-white yard.

A dog barked.

His father James, Jem to his friends, stumped out of the house. A sturdy, well-built man of medium height, his dark hair was now greying at the temples. Hanging his lantern on the bracket by the door he rounded on Obadiah. ‘Wers'ta bin ’til now,’ he shouted.  ‘Tha shoulda bin back ’ours ago.’

‘Ne’er mind about that, am eer now,' Obadiah said defensively, 'an theer’s a young lass wi’ me – ers bin hurt. Ah fun er down t'side of t’ravine at Torkard Top. Ers in t'back of t'cart lain on t'hanks, all cover'd er up w’it hoss rug, but er mus be rait frozzen be now.’

Shaking the snow off the blanket, he jumped on to the rear of the cart and lifted her into his arms, blanket and all.

His father helped him down. ‘I’ll see ta t’wagon and put up t’hoss. Tha'd best gerrer inta warm.’

Obadiah hurried into the house and his mother, Doris, a stout little woman with blue eyes and wrinkled brown skin, came hurrying down the stairs. ‘Ah wer getting reet whittled where ta was, when t’snow started.’

She eyed the hand that had just fallen out of the rug. ‘An what t’ells that then?’ she said hurrying over. She pulled back the rug and looked at the pallid young girl in surprise, carefully brushing aside the damp locks of golden hair that obscured her face.

‘And where didsta fun er then?' she asked, gently turning the girl's head. 'Ers taken a reet clonk on th’ead by t’looks of it.’

Not waiting for an answer she placed some woollen throws in front of the hearth with a cushion for the girl's head. ‘Lay er down ’ere then, sharpish like now. Er needs ta be kept warm.’

Obadiah did as he was told and stood watching as his mother gently wiped the mud and dried blood from the girl's face with her apron. ‘I’ve seen t’lass sum place recent like,' she said furrowing her brow in concentration. Suddenly her face brightened. 'I know! It wer in Frank Ellison’s werkshop on 'oppin 'ill. Er’s ’is sister's chance child, as cum to stay we ’im since ’er mam died.’

She turned on the gaping Obadiah. ‘An why art standin there gawping like a reet div, our Obadiah? Mend t’fire, t’lass's frozz ter marrer.’

When he’d put some logs and coal on the fire, his father came in and Obadiah explained to them how he’d found the girl. When he’d finished, his mother told him to get his coat back on and go round to Ellison's Hosiery at Hopping Hill, to let Frank Ellison know that his niece was safe.

‘Ay’ll be frettin where she is. An dunna forget to be reet polite, our Obadiah. Tha knows ey owns Ellison's Hosiery's, so e’s Eadscragg an a good un at that.’

When Obadiah had his coat on, she had another word with him.

‘Tell im ay’s welcome to cum ’ere, but er's best stay ’ere ’til mornin. No sense in er goin out agan.  Er needs sum rest.'

It was a very relieved Frank Ellison who received the news that his niece was safe and sound. He'd been about to set out to look for her, with some of his workmen. When Obadiah explained briefly what had happened, his worried, care-lined face, broke into a broad smile. Taking Obadiah's hand he pumped it up and down exuberantly. 'That's fantastic news, lad. You're Jem Shaw's lad, aren't you?'

'That's reet, Mr Ellison. Ers up at t'farm now. Me mam's lookin' after er.' He studied Frank Ellison who he mostly knew by reputation as a kindly benefactor. A man of about medium height, he had a kindly face, but there were deep lines around the steady grey eyes and around the mouth. His hair was white at the temples and he was well wrapped up against the cold in a very expensive riding coat, with trousers tucked into a pair of tooled leather riding boots.

'Lead on, young Shaw. I want to see my niece,' he cried jovially and they set off for the farm.

When they entered the living room, the girl was sitting up in a chair sipping a cup of tea. Although she was still pale, there was at least some colour in her face. She smiled weakly at Frank as he came over to her side. ‘I'm sorry Uncle Frank,' she said, her voice velvety, with barely a trace of accent.

Obadiah was fascinated. He had never in his life heard a voice like it.

'Don’t apologise, Mary,' said her uncle kindly. 'Just tell me what happened.'

'As I drove up to the top of Torkard hill, the horse skidded on the ice. Before I could stop it, the trap slewed over the edge and started to career down the slope.' Her voice became more agitated as she relived the moment and her uncle hurried to reassure her. 

'It's over now, Mary,' he said soothingly. 'Don't worry about it and try to tell me what happened next.'

'The horse lost its footing completely, tipping the trap over and throwing me out,' she said and her voice broke off for a moment. When Frank encouraged her, she continued. 'I'm sorry Uncle Frank, that's all I remember. Obadiah said I was caught up in some bushes, just before the steep drop into the beck, when he found me. I don't know what became of the horse, but the trap, I'm told, is a wreck down at the bottom of the ravine.’

‘Don't worry about that lass,' said Frank, stroking her hair lovingly. 'We can get another trap. As for the horse, it's none the worse for the accident except for a few scratches and cuts.'

'Oh, you found it,' she said, very relieved.

'That was the first we knew about a problem. The animal came home trailing its reins and dragging half a bush. Like you, it must have got caught up somewhere. We were just setting off to search when the young man came and told us where you were. Thank God you were all right.’ He turned to Obadiah, who was looking and listening to the girl with an admiring expression in his light hazel eyes.

‘As for you, young Obadiah, I can't thank you enough for bringing Mary safely home. She's my only relative since my sister died.’

‘It were nowt, Mr Ellison,' said Obadiah respectfully. 'Ah just 'appened to be in't reet place.’ He looked at Mary with a puzzled expression. ‘But wer did er learn to spake proper like?' he blurted out. 'Er can't be from round ere.'

'Watch yer manners, our Obadiah,' said his mother sharply, but Frank just laughed. ‘No offence taken, Mrs Shaw,' he replied, with a broad smile. 'And no she isn't, Obadiah. Her mother was my sister and worked as housekeeper at Framington Grammar School at Newark. The wife of the headmaster took a shine to Mary and taught her how to speak and read, as well as household management. All in her spare time.’

A frown crossed his face. ‘When my sister died suddenly from lung fever last summer, Mary had just turned thirteen and she came to live with me. She's good at figures too and helps me with the books, writes letters and does the ordering.’

Obadiah was impressed. ‘Er's only same age as me an can write as well as talk proper! Ers a reet pairler, er is.’

'Obadiah!' said his mother, scandalised, but Mary just looked at him shyly and blushed furiously.

‘That's put some colour in your cheeks, lass,’ said Frank with a laugh. ‘Seems you have an admirer.’ But Mary refused to rise to the bait and, lowering her eyes, sipped her tea. Obadiah just grinned sheepishly. He would never have admitted it, but he was absolutely smitten by this pretty girl with the velvet voice. As for Mary, the teasing didn't stop her from glancing warmly across at him, when she thought Frank wasn't looking.

‘Ah'll mek er a bed in front uv t'fire so er'll be kep warm like,' said Doris, eager to change the subject. 'Appen t'snow 'll be gone be mornin. Our Obadiah'll be tekkin 'anks round t' knitters, an ay can see er gets up to 'oppin 'ill when ay brings your 'anks.’

'I thank you, Mrs Shaw and you too, Obadiah. I'm sure you're right. No sense in Mary getting cold again. I'll look out for you at Hopping Hill in the morning.' Frank gave Mary a hug and kissed her on the cheek. 'Get a good night's sleep lass and, God willing, I'll see you tomorrow.'

Chapter Three

Great Torkard, January 1755

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Although the snow hadn't gone by morning, the weather had certainly turned milder and it was melting fast. Mary, exhausted from her ordeal, was still fast asleep when the Shaws had been about their daily tasks for almost two hours, Obadiah informed her when he woke her. He brought some hot water and a towel and left her to have a wash.

When he came back, she was sitting in the chair looking a little better. Her face had more colour and that was certainly true of the bruises, which were already turning yellow. There was every sign that she was going to have a black eye. 

Mary looked up as Obadiah came across to her side. 'I didn't thank you properly for saving my life last night, Obadiah. If you hadn't found me, I'd be dead now.'

'Well ah did - an it wer nowt special. It wer jus lucky ah stopped ther, else appen ah woudna fun thee.'

Mary was having a little difficulty following him and he smiled as she grimaced a little. 'Ah 'nows as ow ah dun spake like thee, burras all spake like it round ere.'

He looked so crestfallen that Mary stood up and gave him a hug. Instinctively, Obadiah held her close but, realising what he was doing, immediately released her and she quickly stepped back in an absolute turmoil, feeling dizzy and excited, both at the same time. Judging by Obadiah's stunned look, he had never held a girl in his arms before and it had taken his breath away. Mary was also breathless and embarrassed by her gesture. More than that, she was disturbed by the feelings that had risen unbidden. She'd been hugged by boys before - in an all-boys school it was inevitable that the older boys would try to kiss her! But Mary had never sought their kisses, nor welcomed them. Her feelings now, much to her consternation, were somewhat different.  The hug had been instinctive, but gave her a strange, warm feeling that made her think of this strong, good-looking lad as something more than just her saviour.

To save herself from having to reflect, she hurriedly answered his question. 'Don't worry about it. When I first came from Newark, the way everyone spoke, except Uncle Frank, was very strange, but I'm getting used to it now.'

Obadiah came out of his daze. 'Ah'm reet chuffed thas notsa badly,' he said quickly. 'Tha'd best cum in'ta parlour an ave sum snap.  Tha mus be reet clammed.'

Mary followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table as Obadiah sorted out the food his mother had left for her. He made her some tea and then explained he had to get the horse hitched up to the cart so he could deliver the hanks.

'If tha wants ta come wey us, that'd best gerron an’ eat.'

While Mary was eating the home-made bread rolls, butter and blackberry jam, she looked around the kitchen. The table was made from rough-hewn oak, as were the chairs, which were so heavy Mary could barely move them. The table was scrubbed clean, but bore the scars of many years of use.

Last night, she'd only been aware of lying in front of roaring fire, shivering with cold. Now, looking through the door, she saw it was a cosy parlour, with very old furniture and very little of it at that. The coverings were coarse home-spun throws and the floor was covered in straw. There were none of the trappings she was used to at her Uncle Frank's house.

Having finished her food, she looked out of the window to see that Obadiah was leading the horse and cart into the yard. Hurriedly picking up the warm shawl from the back of the chair, she rushed to the back door, just as Obadiah opened it. 'Were you thinking of sneaking off without me then?'

'Non if thas ready ta go,' Obadiah replied, 'Ah was just coming to check. T'framers ull be bustin' for t'hanks so ah'd bes get on an tek em.'

'Can I borrow this shawl until I get home,' Mary said, wrapping it snugly around her shoulders against the cold air. 'I can't see your mother to ask.'

'Ers down feedin t'pigs, burra dun' see as me mam ud mind.' 

They walked across to the cart and, much to Mary's consternation, Obadiah put his hands on her waist and swinging her up in one easy motion, lifted her on to the driver’s bench. He climbed up beside her and with a click of his tongue and a shake of the reins they set off. After a little while, Mary leaned her head against his shoulders and Obadiah pretended not to notice.

They drove along in companionable silence, calling at several houses to deliver hanks and it was about half an hour before they reached the workshop on Hopping Hill. As they pulled into the yard that had been made at the front, Obadiah looked at the former cottages with some curiosity. He'd seen them many times before, of course, but he'd never been upstairs, since the bedrooms had been converted into the hosiery workshop that was now known as Ellison's Hosiery Works.

When he'd helped her down, she asked him to come with her to see her uncle, to which he agreed, a little reluctantly. Entering the door of the first cottage, they climbed the stairs immediately in front of them. At the top was a door which did little to muffle the noise of the knitting frames situated in the room beyond. 

There was only a narrow passageway down the middle of the room with the clattering hand-knitting frames filling every corner of the room. Obadiah was amazed at the size of the room and realised that the extended space had once been the bedrooms of all three cottages. The noise was deafening, but Mary did not seem to notice as she hurried him along, trying to ignore the constant stream of catcalls and ribald comments from the cheerful framers

'A sees tha's fun a fella,' said one, and another called out, 'Weers'ta bin tha dirty stop out?' By the time Frank Ellison came out of his office at the far end and bawled at the grinning framers to get on with their work, they were both red-faced with embarrassment.

'Take no notice of that lot,' said Frank, ushering them into the office, 'they're only having a bit of fun. They don't mean anything by it.'

Inside, Obadiah looked around in surprise. The room was much bigger than he'd expected. A large leather-covered desk took up one side and another smaller one was across the other. Frank indicated the chair in front of the larger desk. 'Sit there a minute Obadiah, while I get some of the lads to unload the hanks. I assume we're the last port of call?' When Obadiah nodded, Frank called over his shoulder, 'I'll only be a minute and then I've something to say to you.' 

While they were waiting, Mary took off the shawl, folded it carefully, placed it on the smaller desk and sat down. Obadiah, feeling rather out of place, said nothing. Frank came bustling back in and pulled up his chair. Leaning on his elbows on the desk he made a steeple with his hands, pursed his lips and regarded Obadiah with a disconcertingly steady gaze.

'Now then young Obadiah,' he said, after what seemed like an age, 'I owe you a great deal for saving Mary's life last night. She's the only kin I have left and she's very dear to me, so I've decided to give you a reward.'

Obadiah tried to protest, but Frank waved it aside. 'The facts of the matter are plain, lad. If you hadn't found Mary when you did, there was little chance of her being found until morning, or perhaps not at all if she'd fallen down into the beck.' He shuddered as he thought of it. 'Either way, it's likely she'd be dead by the time she was found.'

'That's all reet, Master Ellison, tha dussna 'ave to pay me for savin t'lass.'

'Very well, lad,' said Frank, who had anticipated the reply, 'you won't take money, so I have another suggestion to put to you. I had a word with your father last night before I left. He tells me that you're very good with machinery, but there's not much work for you at the farm. There's barely enough work for him and your mother except at certain times, would you agree?' 

Obadiah nodded. 'That's why I took on t'cartin',' he replied, wondering where this was leading. 'T'farms not that big, an a few shillin extra 'elps a lot.'

'In that case,' continued Frank, 'how would you like to come and work for me as the mechanic at the workshop and learn the hosiery business?'

Completely taken aback, Obadiah thought furiously. He'd never thought of a reward. After all, what else could he have done!

'I dunna want ought for saving t'lass. It were fate, like, me funning 'er.'

Frank gave him a shrewd look and laughed. 'That's exactly what your father said, but you'd be doing me a favour. Fate works both ways, you know. I need someone who's good with machinery to keep that lot working,' he said, pointing out into the workshop, 'and from what your father tells me you could be just the man I need. Maybe fate had more in mind for you than just being in the right place to save Mary!' With that, he sat back and regarded Obadiah steadily and waited for an answer.

Obadiah stood mute, his mind in disarray. Then Mary touched him lightly on his arm. 'I wish you would, Obadiah,' she said, 'It would be good for you to have a proper trade.'

Seeing Obadiah was still hesitating, she regarded him very seriously. 'Please say you will. We only work five days at present and you'd be free to help your parents at weekends.' She paused then said pleadingly. 'At least promise you'll think about it.'

Frank, who'd been listening carefully to Mary's plea, turned to Obadiah. 'I'll pay you twelve shillings and sixpence a week,' he announced and smiled at the boy's look of astonishment.

This was nothing compared to the look he received from Mary, who knew full well that the going rate for the job was only seven and sixpence.

'I'll expect you to learn every aspect of the business, mind,' said Frank briskly. 'Talk it over with your parents and let me have an answer by the end of the week.' 

Chapter Four

Great Torkard, January 1755

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After a restless night following the job offer from Frank Ellison, Obadiah was up early the next morning. It was a cold, crisp day, with more than a hint of snow in the lowering clouds coming in from the north. Leaning over the five-barred gate from the yard at the rear of the farm, he looked across the field, white with frost, with drifted snow still lurking underneath the drystone walls. His father was forking some winter feed to the milk cows, leaving Obadiah free to see Frank Ellison to give him his answer to the job offer.

'Ah'd best get used to it,' he'd said, in his matter-of-fact way, 'if tha's goin to werk up at 'opping 'ill.'

Not that Obadiah was sure on that count. The offer from Frank Ellison was a good one, but it would mean a very different kind of life for him. Work on the farm was hard. Even with the three of them working, they'd barely enough to live on, particularly during the winter. The extra money from Ellison's Hosiery would change everything for the better, especially if he was able to carry on with the carting. With Ellison's connections, he might even expand it. It all came down to whether his mother and father could cope without him during the week and whether he wanted to swap the outdoor life to work indoors on the machines. 

He'd asked his father that same question before he went to feed the cows. 'Tha nows that, wiyout me tellin thee. There's norrenuf werk fer three on us, barrin't harvis time,' Jem had replied. 'As fer Frank Ellison's offer, thas gorra rait feel for t'machines on t'farm. Laik as not, a framing machine is summat else, burra'll bet tha'll pick it up, rait quick like. Thas good wi em. A toad Mr Ellison t'same.'

His reverie was broken by his mother. 'Tha shud be on tha way to Ellison's Hosiery be now,' she scolded, hurrying up to him, straightening his collar and, despite his squirming, wiping a smudge from his face with a rub of her apron. 

'An be polite, our Obadiah,' she warned. 'Ays offered thee a middling gud job wi summat be'ind it. An dun worry about us, we'll cope. Tha'd do well ta tek im up on it.'

Obadiah said goodbye and set off for Hopping Hill and his mother watched him go with a sad little smile on her face. It didn't take him long, but when Obadiah turned in to Ellison's Hosiery's yard, he was surprised to see Billy Sutcliffe lounging against the door to the workshop.

'Now then, Obadiah,' he greeted him. 'A little bird tells mey as Frank Ellison's offered thee a job fa sayvin is lass.'

Despite the seemingly friendly tone, Obadiah could see that Billy wasn't at all happy about this. Not that it bothered him in the least. He and Billy had often clashed when they were younger. Billy was a small sturdy lad, with carroty-red hair, who, though he lacked height, more than made up for it in aggression. A bully by nature, he was the cock-of-the-walk in the village, but he soon found out that Obadiah was a very different proposition to the village lads. He could neither intimidate, nor beat him - life on the farm had made Obadiah strong and resilient and Billy had learned the lesson the hard way on the only occasion he'd tried.

'What's it ta thee, ef ay as?' said Obadiah bluntly, as he made to pass by.

'Am afta that job meesen,' said Billy, stepping across in front of him with a threatening gesture. 'Tha'd best turn im doun.'

'Best!' scoffed Obadiah. 'Tha's joshin mey, inta?'

He fixed Billy with a steady, challenging gaze, daring him to try something and it was Billy who dropped his eyes first.

Obadiah allowed himself a little smile. 'It wer nice torkin ta thee, Billy,' he said, 'burra’d best geron. Ah dunna wan ta keep ma new gaffer waitin.' And with that, he shouldered past Billy and went up the stairs to the office.

When Obadiah informed Frank he would like to come and work for him, both he and Mary were delighted. Frank showed him round the knitting room and the workshop used by the mechanic.

'It's not very big, Obadiah,' said Frank, with a twinkle in his eyes, ‘but it's all yours.'

Obadiah gave an uncertain smile in return and they went back to the office, where Frank explained how Ellison's Hosiery worked.

The framers were expected to pay for the Lee knitting machines out of their wages. However, if they worked at home, the frame took up the whole of one of the two rooms of the houses that most framers lived in. Ellison's Hosiery could buy the machines for a lot less than the framers, and Frank spread the cost over the five year apprentice contract that all the framers had to sign. Because of this the framers not only had to pay less for the machine, they also received better rates per stocking, since there was no middleman.

'So theym much betta off werkin fa Ellison's Hosiery than up at wom.' 

'Exactly,' said Frank. 'We both gain, although the Breakers would have you believe different.' 

Obadiah thought a moment. 'An why dusta call 'em Lee knitting machines?'

'They're named after the Reverend William Lee from Calverton who invented the machine.'

Obadiah had another question. 'An wat about t'Breakers? Wen a were cartin tarra Nottingum merchunt's, t'storeman told mey t'Breakers ad smashed a machine to smithereens, t'week afore.'

'That's right,' said Frank, 'they try to intimidate the owners to get what they want, by breaking machines. You have to understand, Obadiah,' Frank explained, 'that machine breaking is not something new, it's been going on for sixty years or more.'

Ever since machines had been introduced to speed up labour-intensive jobs, Frank explained patiently, employers had come under pressure from their workers. At first some of the workers sought to set up what they called trade unions, so they could bargain with the employers.

This was met with huge resistance and the employers had gone to parliament who had banned unions by passing a new law. As a result, there was no official way for the workers to air their grievances, such as low wages, excessive use of apprentices, using outlawed, extra wide machines and failure to support the workers’ plea for parliamentary regulation. Their only recourse was to smash a machine or two and, in some cases, attack the employer’s private property.

'Cuttin off tha nose ta spite thee face, it seems ta mey,' said Obadiah. 'Anyroad. When does tha want mey ta start? 

Of course, it was not in Billy's nature to let a matter lie when he was thwarted. A few weeks later, when Obadiah was getting to know the machines a little better, Billy called him over and said his machine had stopped working. 'Av norra clue what's wrong,' he said, 'but t'gaffers gone out so it's down to thee to sort it.'

It was obvious to Obadiah that something was going on. As soon as he went to look at Billy's machine, the other framers were craning their necks to see what he'd do. Working on the principle that Billy had probably done something to stop the machine from working, he started with the treadle and quickly identified the problem. A small piece of wood had been used to jam the movement of the treadle. When Billy turned away to make a joke about Obadiah's lack of knowledge with the other framers, he slid the piece of wood out into his hand and, turning to the machine, began to remove a couple of gears. 

'Ast ad a problem wi castin off,' he enquired of Billy, with a straight face. 'Thers summat up wi these gears.'

'There's nowt up wi them,' said Billy hurrying up. 'What's tha doin. Put them gears back on, tha div.'

Obadiah regarded him blankly. 'Tha said as ow t'frame weren't wokkin, an am sure t'gears ain't rait.' Hesitating, as if unsure, Obadiah put the gears back the wrong way round, scratched his head, removed them again and then put them on again the right way round.  He was still examining the gears with a puzzled expression when Billy rounded on him. 'What's up with thee now.'

'Ah'm non sa sure as they'm rait way round. What dus think? Tha sais tha noes t'machines.'

'Purrem back t'way they wos just now,' shouted Billy wildly, barely looking at the machine, 'tha shunt be let loose on em.'

Obadiah did as he was told and then gave a small smile as Billy sat down and put his foot on the treadle. As he moved his foot, the machine started up and all the loops were cast off the nearly completed stocking. 

'What the 'ell,' shouted Billy in a rage. 'Look what's thas done now! Tha never toad me tha'd fixed t'treadle.'

Obadiah gave him an innocent look. 'How dista no it were t'treadle? Tha said tha'd norra clue what were up wi it. And, it were thee as tole me ta put t'gears back that way. Ah tole thee a weren't sure.' He turned to the grinning framers. 'Weren't that rait, lads?'

There was a general chorus of agreement from the framers and Billy started cursing at them to shut up. 'It were all thy fault, Obadiah. Ah tole thee tha shun't be let loose on t'machines.'

Obadiah pulled a face and held up the piece of wood. 'Ah dun laik mistrees,' he said. 'This bit a wood wer jammed in t'treadle.' He scratched his head. 'It’s a rait puzzle. Aslafta ax Mr Ellison when ay gets back. P'raps ayl no. What dus think, Billy.'

There was a loud guffaw from the framers. 'Ay Billy, what dus think,' shouted one, 'Al bet thee a week’s wage as how Frank Ellison ull no just ow it got theer.'

'Wind tha neck in Jonesy, before tha gets it twisted. An as fa thee, Obadiah Shaw, leave ma frame alone nex time and bugger off so ah can get this mess cleared up.' 

'Rait oh, Billy,' said Obadiah cheerfully, putting the gears back on the right way round. 'If tha sais so. Ah opes as ow tha dussnt lose too much brass. Dunna worry thissen tho, ah'l no wharram up agin nex time - if there is one!'

There was no mistaking Obadiah's meaning and Billy glared furiously at his retreating back. 

Unnoticed by all of them, Mary had come into the back of the workshop while all this had been going on and reported the matter to Frank the next morning. Later on, Frank wandered into the crowded little mechanic’s workshop and had a word with Obadiah. 'Any problems with the machines while I was away yesterday?'

'Nowt ah cudn't 'andle, Mr Ellison,' he replied gravely.

As Frank said to Mary later in the office. 'Obadiah has handled the matter with Billy very well and we've nothing to worry about on that score. The more I think about it, the more I believe that fate did us both a good turn when she directed Obadiah into our lives, Mary lass.' 

Mary was certainly not about to argue with that sentiment.

Chapter Five

Great Torkard, September 1761

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It was a very different Obadiah who walked into Frank's office six years later. Now he was a very important part of the thriving Ellison's Hosiery Works. He'd proved to be a fast learner. At first, while he gained experience about the machines and their maintenance, Frank had allowed him to keep the carter's business, as he would get to know Ellison's customers as well as their