There’s a massive hole in the ground at the top of Whinney Hill – a shale quarry that once supplied raw materials for Accrington’s famous Nori brickworks (as used in the Empire State Building and Blackpool Tower). It’s fitting, as there’s a chasm-wide gap in history when it comes to this unprepossessing spot on the edge of the West Pennine Moors.
On the morning of 24 April 1826, about 1,000 weavers met on the hilltop to plan their day and, no doubt, get the lie of the land and the weather before setting off. A banking crisis in December of the previous year – dubbed the Panic of 1825 by historians – had hammered the cotton industry. Lancashire’s weavers, who had already suffered years of declining wages and living standards, faced destitution and even starvation.
Desperate, they decided to carry out large-scale breakages of power looms to send a symbolic message to their employers and the government. On that fateful April day, the first of four days of action, they would split into groups to walk many miles to Clitheroe, Oswaldtwistle and Blackburn – mill towns where they were met by soldiers, cavalry and yeomanry with guns and swords. By the end of their protest marches, at least six people had lost their lives.
The views, once you get past the fencing around the old quarry, now a landfill, are extensive – especially on such a pin-sharp winter’s day as I had when I recced one of the weavers’ walks with local guide and historian Nick Burton, who is leading this year’s remembrance walks for the Weavers Uprising Bicentennial Committee (WUBC) charity. Eight guided walks, taking place across Lancashire between March and August, will follow the routes used by the 1826 protestors as closely as ipossible.
We could make out the moorlands around Darwen to the south, Burnley to the east and Pendle Hill in the north. Behind and below us was Accrington Stanley’s Wham Stadium, which has a terrace named after Whinney Hill.
We opted for the Clitheroe route, as it would take us near to home. Like the weavers, we began on the old turnpike road, now the A680, which is dotted with Victorian and earlier properties. I spotted several Mill Lanes, old access points to workplaces now turned into housing estates. There were also plenty of Moor Lanes. We passed through Clayton-le-Moors – best known for its fell running team, once presided over by the legendary Ron Hill – and Great Harwood, another textile hub, and birthplace of printing and dyeing innovator John Mercer.
Things got greener around the Grade II-listed Martholme (former) railway viaduct, where we looked down on the River Calder. I was on familiar ground, having learned to drystone wall in the shadow of this 10-arched beauty. The Calder takes wild meanders here, as it approaches the River Ribble. We followed what was probably an old limers way (packhorse routes used by traders to carry lime) before climbing to a shoulder of the Nab, a prominent, wooded hill above Whalley, with its stirring Cistercian abbey ruins and Lancashire’s longest viaduct. With views all the way back to Whinney Hill and dramatic wintry shadows, it was time for tea and a butty. We were soon at the summit and with even bigger vistas north. As the sun crept away, it turned chilly. We more or less raced across the last few fields to get to Low Moor, where there was one final disappeared mill and clash between unarmed weavers and soldiers to note – whence to the New Inn in Clitheroe for a warming ale.
A total of 415 power looms were broken on the first day of the uprising. It wasn’t the first time workers had smashed technologies, many of which had been invented and developed in Lancashire. The spinning jenny was invented in Oswaldtwistle; Blackburn and Manchester were testbeds for the power loom. But the workers had been pushed to the limit; after tramping 10 miles or more, sometimes encountering resistance, they had to hike all the way home.
My second walk, a week later – on a colder, even crisper day – started and finished at blue plaque sites. It began in Haslingden, this time heading south. The first plaque, on the former New Inn, recorded that on 25 April 1826, handloom weavers were arrested for destroying 100 power looms in nearby Helmshore. They were charged with riot but released when an angry crowd protested. Some were transported to Australia for life. A bystander called Mary Hindle was sentenced to death, later commuted to transportation.
This route – taken by the weavers on the third day of the uprising – passed some pitstops for coffee and culture, including the Whitaker museum and art gallery, which has a social history collection featuring a painted panel capturing the moment handloom weavers smashed power looms in the Whitehead family’s mill in Rawtenstall. They destroyed 96 looms in just half an hour. A new commemorative WUBC banner, Rise Up!, by textile artist James Fox is on display. On 16 April, a newly commissioned sound and film installation by Blackburn-based artist Jamie Holman, responding to the original painting, will be unveiled.
From the windows of the gallery you can see Hardman’s Mill, with its 49-metre (161 foot) high chimney, which postdates the uprising. Before it was bought by self-made textile magnate Richard Whitaker, the grand mansion containing the museum was the home of George Hardman. It’s said he liked to be able to see the mill from the windows.
The weavers took action at Hoyle and Ashworth’s Mill at New Hall Hey, and Longholme Mill – a site now occupied by an Asda. A lot of east Lancashire’s textile buildings have been razed, but you can see traces of foundations or old walls in some places, as well as repurposed mills used as offices or carpet shops. Wherever you see a big supermarket, it’s worth checking the old Ordnance Survey maps on the excellent National Library of Scotland website. There’s a good chance that a supermill once stood where now we buy groceries.
In the centre of Rawtenstall, we passed the famous Mr Fitzpatrick’s temperance bar (where I always take a pint of blood tonic) and a vintage chippy called Old Man Greenwood’s, which has been serving splits (chips and mushy peas) and babby’s yeds (steak and kidney pudding) since 1932 (it also sells fresh fish). After passing the terminus for the East Lancashire heritage railway, underneath the aforementioned chimney, and through a small industrial estate, we were on a path running along the side of the River Irwell (all the way to central Manchester if you’re so inclined). The busy A56 wasn’t far away, but it was peaceful and pastoral, with herons and mallards, and lots of songbirds; the all-day frost made the scene bewitching.
At the border with Greater Manchester, on Plunge Road, we went down into the woodland beside Dearden Brook. All that remained of the mill here were crumbling stone walls, draped, Angkor Wat-style, in a century of undergrowth. From Edenfield, we had distant views over the valley to Musbury Tor – a sort of miniature Pendle Hill, its pronounced profile standing out clearly amid the level moortops.
A hard-to-read small blue plaque on a house in Chatterton, bearing the specious title The Chatterton Fight, informs passersby that handloom weavers “were fired on by soldiers of the 60th Foot. Four men and one woman was killed. A fifth man, an onlooker, was also later shot dead.” The local magistrate, William Grant, had read the Riot Act, giving a green light to the violence. Soldiers fired 600 bullets into a crowd of 3,000 people over a period of 15 minutes. You can listen to actor Maxine Peake reading their names out loud here, on behalf of the WUBC.
Lancashire historians believe the significance of the April 1826 rising, and the Chatterton Massacre, have been unjustly overlooked. But the events of those four days – brave and tragic – are a historical bridge between the Luddite risings, Peterloo and Chartism. In the heartfelt words of Dr David Gordon Scott, founder and chair of the WUBC – who began organising remembrance walks in 2022 – “walking in the protesters’ footsteps and feeling the solidarity that arises by participating in their journey, deepens our understandings and sense of empathy with those courageous souls who 200 years ago risked their lives in a desperate attempt to ensure that their loved ones had enough to sustain them in the bleakest of times”.
See weavers-uprising.org.uk for more information on the history of the Weavers’ Uprising, plus dates and booking information for the guided walks
Chris Moss is the author of Lancashire: Exploring the Historic County that Made the Modern World, published by Old Street Publishing (£25). To support the Guardian order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply
