alternatehistory.com

John Telford

Fenham Barracks, Newcastle
5.30 am. 28 July 1912
A bang on the cell door. “Get your arse out of bed Telford. Move.”
John Telford lurched awake. He'd been dreaming of his sisters again, of before. Before he had ended up here for refusing to shoot at his own workmates. The cell door clashed back. A tin bowl with some thin porridge and a battered mug containing some milk less weak tea clattered on the floor before the door slammed shut again.

“You've got ten minutes” said the voice.

Shaking himself from sleep John sat up. He grabbed his shirt and trousers from a hook on the wall and pulled them on, then slipped his feet into his worn boots. The same boots he had been wearing when the army arrested him three weeks ago. The same filthy clothes. He gulped down the tea and porridge before going to the high window and peering up at the sky. It was just beginning to get light outside. So far as he could tell it was going to be a warm day.
Another bang. “Stand away from the door” came the same voice. Obediently John stepped back against the wall. He'd already learned the hard way what would happen if he didn't. The door flew open and in walked a large man in the uniform of a Corporal in the Military Foot Police. “Come with me” he said, “you're going on a nice holiday to Durham.” He turned on his heel and marched out. John followed him. In the corridor outside were two more MPs. They fell in beside him, one holding each arm, while the corporal strode ahead.

Waiting outside was a horsedrawn van. The corporal opened the rear doors and motioned to John to climb in. He did so followed by the two MPs. The corporal banged on the side of the van calling “On your way driver”. The van clattered off across the barrack yard. John turned to the two soldiers sitting by the door. “What's going on?” The nearest, a skinny, sharp featured type simply ignored him. The other, a much older man answered however. “You are off to Durham Jail to start your sentence.”

John sighed to himself. He knew the day was coming, but he still hadn't reconciled himself to the idea of being in prison. The older man looked at him sympathetically. “Don't worry – two months ain't long. If these new regulations had come in before you done it, you could have had two years.” The skinny soldier snarled at him.
“Don't waste your breath on this coward Dan. He left his mates in the lurch – he deserves all he gets.”

“That's easy for you to say – you weren't told to shoot down your friends and family” replied John.

The older man looked at John again. “What happened then?”

“We were on the Town Moor in Newcastle, supposed to stop trouble at a big Union meeting. The bobbies tried to arrest Tom Mann and got themselves knocked about for it, then the cavalry charged in and all hell broke loose. The crowd panicked when some of them were trampled and they ran. My mother and two sisters were there, and lots of my workmates. I could see them in the crowd as they ran towards me. I wasn't going to shoot them down. It was the bobbies that caused it anyway. So I got out of the way with my squad. None of us were willing to shoot.”

The skinny one's expression softened slightly. “You was in the Terriers weren't you? Stands to reason you wouldn't shoot. I don't suppose I would shoot my old mum either. My old man might be another thing though.” He laughed bitterly.

The horse clopped on slowly.

“We aren't going all the way to Durham in this are we?”

“No” said Dan “we're going to put you on a train at Gateshead. It's quieter there than the Central. I'd have a kip if I were you. You'll probably going to need all the rest you can get once you get to Durham.”

John lifted his feet on to the bench beside him and laid his head back against the side of the van. There were no windows but a small canvas hatch in the roof and two small grills in the rear doors let in some light. He dozed.

John woke suddenly, looking around. From the light filtering in to the van it was now fully light. The van had halted and from outside he could hear shouting. Suddenly the doors at the rear were thrown open and a rifle thrust through.

“You two! Out” The two MPs glanced at each other before slowly climbing out. The rifle withdrew and a head was stuck through the door. “Are you going to stay there all day?” John looked on in amazement. “Jack? What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you effing think I'm doing. I'm getting you out – now come on before we get company.”

John clambered down from the rear of the van and looked around. They were halted just on the High Level Bridge. Ahead of him he could see half a dozen men in military uniform armed with rifles guarding the road. He recognised members of his platoon. He turned to his rescuer. It was his cousin, Jack Jones, a fellow member of the Territorials and like him a corporal in charge of another section. They had been on duty with him that day but luckily had not been near any of the trouble.

“This is mutiny though Jack.”

“It's not mutiny mate – its a revolution! Those bastards in London have been sending in the regulars to shoot us down across the country for too long. Now we are fighting back.”