The defeat of the Second Reform Bill in October 1831 – An overview of public responses (part 3 – Black flags and dumb peals: the spread of news of the defeat  )

Edinburgh and London Royal Mail Coach, 1838

Black flags and dumb peals: the spread of news of the defeat 


In May 1830 Robert Stephenson opened the first railway in the world to run regularly scheduled passenger services. The line was in Kent, though it only linked Canterbury to the seaside town of Whitstable six miles away. Four months later the Liverpool and Manchester Railway (L&MR), designed by Robert’s father, George, opened for business. Within a few weeks the L&MR became the first railway in the world to carry mail. However, it would be several years later, in 1838, before a major railway company, the Great Western, opened its first line from the capital which ran from London Paddington to Maidenhead.[1] Commercial electrical telegraphy was also still a decade or so away in 1831, so the principal means of transmitting news from London to the rest of Britain was by horse-drawn carriage, typically mail or Express coaches. By the 1830s these could travel long distances, over several days, at an average speed of about 10 miles per hour including stops for water, forage and fresh horses.[2]

After the announcement of the defeat of the Second Reform Bill in the House of Lords early on Saturday morning 8 October 1831 a number of these fast coaches left London heading to major cities in the various regions of England and from there to Wales, Scotland and Ireland. These carriages carried news, often simply through the word of mouth of the drivers, guards and passengers and, as we shall see, through more symbolic means. In this article we are concerned with how the news of the defeat of the Reform Bill was communicated, how it was received by the public, and how they then reacted. A series of major cities have been included as examples in chronological order, not because they all experienced serious riots, which is not the case, but instead to compare their differing situations and outcomes with regard to the outbreak of collective violence.


An Express coach, carrying news of the defeat of the Reform Bill, left London at 7.00am on the Saturday and reached Birmingham, around 130 miles away, at 5.00pm the same afternoon. Large crowds had gathered around the newspaper offices in Union Street to try to get the latest news on the progress of the Bill. When the news arrived, the reaction was immediate: “An universal feeling of disappointment and indignation pervaded the whole population”.[3] Another journalist at the newspaper offices stated: 

The news spread as if it had been borne on the pinions of a swift wind; within a few minutes the inhabitants of the most remote parts of the town were acquainted with the signal rejection; the ringers hastened toward their several belfries, the bells were muffled, and either a mourning peal was rung, or the bell used on funeral occasions tolled until day-break; all was doubt as to the consequences, dismay, and fear. The streets were filled with groups of people engaged most anxiously in conversation upon the fate of that measure [the Second Reform Bill] upon which they had set their hopes. Never in Birmingham has there been a hundredth part of the excitement produced by any other political circumstance.[4]

This pattern of crowds gathering to receive news from London by carriage and then disseminating it across towns and cities by word of mouth and the ‘dumb peals’ of church bells was common-place and repeated across Britain and Ireland during the reform crises of 1830-32. 

Birmingham had been the birthplace of a new extra-parliamentary reform organisation, the ‘Political Union’ (PU), which had been formed in January 1830 by campaigner Thomas Attwood. The founding of the influential Birmingham Political Union (BPU) was followed soon after by the Metropolitan PU (London) and the Nottingham PU both formed in March 1830 and then by others in northern towns such as Bolton, Keighley, Stockport and Chorley near Manchester. By 1831 Political Unions were well established in a number of cities and towns and had proved they could mobilise thousands of demonstrators.[5] 

It is thus no surprise that when the ‘bad news’ of the defeat of the Reform Bill arrived in Birmingham members of the PU were already waiting and acted quickly:

The Council of the Political Union assembled spontaneously in the course of the evening and yesterday (Sunday morning) the town was found placarded with the following address, surrounded by a deep mourning border…[6]

Despite the attempt by the leaders of the BPU to defuse any potential “violence leading to anarchy” through their poster campaign on the Monday evening an “outrageous mob” roamed the centre of Birmingham smashing the windows of premises on High Street, Bull Street and St Mary’s Square. The following night the Council of the BPU met at the Globe Tavern. The Public House was “crowded to suffocation” whilst the streets “to some considerable distance, were surrounded and filled by a mob of highly excited persons”. BPU leaders Thomas Attwood and George Edmonds took it in turns to directly appeal to the crowds from the upstairs windows of the Tavern “urging them to keep the peace, and not to afford a handle to their enemies by committing outrage”. Although several groups of protestors continued to parade the streets until late into the night there appears to have been little further damage to property.[7] The most interesting part of this episode is the great lengths to which the BPU leadership went to convince protestors to be patient and non-violent. This begs the question as to what the Council of the BPU were afraid of? Concurrent events in the east Midlands would provide an answer to this question. 


The first carriage to reach Derby from London arrived at about 7:15pm on the Saturday night. As in many larger towns and cities it was greeted by a considerable crowd who had gathered in expectation that it might carry news of the fortunes of the Reform Bill. A correspondent described the moment the Express arrived with the “unwelcome tidings”: 

Disappointment and gloom were generally depicted on the countenances of the inhabitants, and the bells of the different churches were rung in mourning peals till nearly 3 in the morning. 


It is the prevailing opinion that these evidences of dejection and disappointed hope would have been the only evidence of feeling that would have been displayed, and that the peace of the town would have been preserved, had not an uncalled for and insulting ebullition of joy and triumph manifested itself on the part of a few anti-reformers, who it is stated, commenced cheering in front of Mr Bemrose’s shop in the Market-place, for the glorious majority of 41. 


This, as a natural consequence, produced a disposition to retaliate on the part of the people, who had congregated in large numbers, waiting with breathless anxiety the confirmation of the intelligence by the evening coach. 

Bemrose was a printer who had hosted an anti-reform petition for signing in his shop, so the crowd put the windows through, before going on to demolish the windows and premises of “many other persons who had shown themselves most decidedly inimical to reform”.[8] The selective destruction carried on till the early hours of Sunday morning and the following days would see the rioting escalate and intensify in Derby. 


Fifteen miles to the east, in the city of Nottingham, a Pickford’s Van carrying both cargo and the ‘bad news’ from London, appeared in the city centre about an hour or so after the express arrived in Derby.[9] However, there were no significant crowds to meet it. This was probably because it was later in the evening, was unexpected and because of the distraction of the annual week-long Goose Fair which was coming to its end that weekend. Consequently, there was no immediate reaction. Instead, because of rumours from the night before, the following morning (Sunday 9 October) a significant crowd was waiting for the mail coach to arrive at the Post Office in the centre of the city. At 10.00am the coach rolled in bringing confirmation of the defeat of the Bill and it was reported that a passenger “said that in London they were beating to arms, which was received with cheers” by the crowd.[10] As in Derby there was an immediate reaction to the news. 

Eight days before the news of the defeat of the Bill in the House of Lords the local newspaper the Nottingham Review had published the names of 19 ‘gentlemen’ who had signed a Tory inspired anti-reform Bill petition.[11] According to one of the petitioners: 

the ‘nineteen of us, whose names were published in the paper’ were ‘marked men’ as ‘every inhabitant of the town knew that men’ had gone ‘to public houses to read the nineteen names’ 

Another of the petitioners, John Hedderly, was a chemist and pharmacist, whose business premises were situated on Clumber Street, very close to the Post Office where the crowds had gathered that Sunday morning:  

Apparently the druggist [Hedderly] stood in front of his shop, watching the crowd as the mail coach arrived nearby. The [NottinghamMercury recounts rumours of Hedderly using ‘some offensive word or gestures’ towards the crowd before retreating into his shop… 

In reaction to the verbal abuse some members of the crowd broke the windows of the shop whilst, coincidentally, in the adjacent Pelham Street, another of the anti-reform petitioners, Dr Alexander Manson, was identified and “‘hooted at and abused’ before a ‘Brick Bat was thrown’ at him, which ‘struck his Servant’”.[12] As the various fracas continued, news of the defeat of the Bill spread across the city, and by the afternoon the crowds were growing in size. After dusk more properties associated with anti-reformers were attacked and the Riot Act was read, apparently to no avail. Despite the intervention of a unit of the 15th Hussars Cavalry Regiment that evening, attacks on properties continued into the early hours of Monday morning. By Monday evening, Nottingham Castle was ablaze, and the city would experience its most serious rioting in several centuries.[13]

Nottingham Castle on Fire, 10 October 1831[14]


As riots were breaking out in Derby and Nottingham the shockwave of news of the defeat continued to spread across the country at the pace of a speeding carriage. The news first arrived in Manchester at 6.00am on 9th October, though because it was a Sunday it took until the early afternoon for the information to be disseminated across the city.  The committee of the Manchester Political Union (MPU) met early and by the afternoon they had produced and posted placards around the city stating that they were in the process of requisitioning for a public meeting. A correspondent reporting to The Scotsman noted:

This wise measure of the Union had the good effect of in some measure quieting the minds of the population, which had for several days been on the rack with regard to the fate of this momentous question, and although every breast was burning with anger and anxiety at its fate, no sooner was it known that measures were yet to be taken to strengthen the hand of His Majesty, and his Ministers, then men’s minds got settled down into a calm melancholy, and I am happy to say that no mischief was done or even attempted.[15]

This optimistic assessment of the supposedly successful propaganda actions of the Political Union did not hold wholly true for very long.  

The MPU had been formed in November 1830 and its several thousand members were mostly “shop keepers and businessmen” whilst: 

their committee was dominated by middle-class veterans of the post war reform movement…Their main goals were representation for the town and for themselves and free trade for their businesses.[16] 

Unlike Birmingham, where the Political Union had no significant rivals, in Manchester the Political Union of the Working Classes (PUWC) provided a popular, vociferous and ideological opponent to the MPU which effectively split the reform movement on class lines. The PUWC supported universal suffrage along with many more radical demands which led the two organisations to distrust each other. This implicit difficulty in the relationship became explicit when the two organisations battled in public “over who had the right to represent Manchester in petitions to parliament”.[17] 

The public meeting requested by the MPU was agreed to by the civic authorities and planned to be held at the Riding School on Lower Moseley Street, “the most capacious building that could be selected for that purpose” at 11.00am on Wednesday 12 October. Tensions were high in the city and in preparation for any unrest the authorities stationed two companies of the 60th Rifle Corps in the Police Yard and the 8th Regiment of Hussars were held in readiness in the barracks. Before the meeting, it was reported that parties of the “lowest rabble” went from factory to mill requiring masters to let workers attend. In several instances, refusals led to the windows and gates of the plants being broken. As a result of the threats, it was claimed that almost every cotton mill and weaving factory in the area was closed.[18]

The meeting initially attracted at least 10,000-25,000 people, so the majority were left outside the Riding School which only had a capacity of 4,000, leading to vociferous calls from supporters of the PUWC for an adjournment to an open-air venue.[19] These were resisted by the civic dignitaries; it has been suggested because they feared another Peterloo as a consequence of holding an unauthorised public meeting.[20] The result was that the civic leaders left the meeting, which was now out of their control, a new chairperson was suggested and the gathering was moved to the nearby Camp Field.  

When the meeting finally got underway it continued to be a stormy affair where the views of the Whig moderates in the MPU, who would go no further than supporting the Reform Bill, were challenged by the radicals in the PUWC demanding reform of the House of Lords and “Universal suffrage, Annual Parliaments, Vote by Ballot”. The latter were supported by the majority of the crowd, some of whom chanted “No Peers, No Bishops”.[21] As the MPU speakers at the top table tried to resist including the popular radical amendments in the address to the King, missiles were thrown at them and a “troop” of armed bludgeon men appeared menacingly in the crowd. [22] It was now the MPU leaders that had lost control of the meeting; they were forced to concede to adding the amendments and they left in fear of “personal violence”.[23]

The following evening in the New Cross area of the city[24] a “large assemblage” of people gathered outside a beer shop: 

They were addressed from the window of the beer shop by a man named Gilchrist, in the most inflammatory terms. We understand that this fellow repeatedly advised the people to arm themselves for purposes of violence, and expressly urged them to go and destroy the factory of Messers. Birley and Co.[25] 

Hugh Hornley Birley, a leading millowner and Tory anti-reformer, was a well-known ‘villain’ amongst the reformers in the city and its environs. Birley had been a captain in the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry and had reputedly led their fatal charge during the infamous Peterloo massacre of 1819. The next evening hundreds of people gathered in New Cross again and “several extremely violent speeches were made”. Following this the crowd traversed Moseley Street and the London Road selectively attacking the houses of well-known Tory anti-reformers including Birley and Daniel Grant.[26] A “strong body of constables and a party of hussars” were deployed to Birley’s house but by the time they had arrived the crowd had left. 

Portrait of Hugh Hornby Birley painted shortly after the Peterloo Massacre of 1819[27]

The Manchester Guardian noted that the same evening: 

A placard made its appearance on the walls of the town, purporting to emanate from the members of the political union, denying that that body had any connexion with the parties who had been exciting the people to acts of violence. Of this denial the public will believe as much as they please.[28]

Although the MPU were indirectly intervening in the public domain, in this case it was clearly too late, the proverbial ‘horse had bolted’. This example should be compared to Birmingham where the leaders of the Political Union were able to directly, mediate and moderate the crowd’s behaviour because, in a sense, the crowd had come to them, or at least their meeting and were willing to listen. In Manchester the split on class-lines between the MPU and the PUWC meant that the former functioned less effectively in this mode because those sections of the working-class more likely to carry out direct action did not identify with them. It appears the PUWC were more concerned with the politics of reform than controlling the ‘lower-orders’. In any case, leading ‘moderators’ of the MPU had to be in the ‘right place at the right time’ to be effective in deescalating confrontations and dissuading crowds from taking direct action.  In order to do this effectively they required intelligence on what was happening in the mills and factories and on the streets of Manchester. Without the cooperation of the PUWC it is very likely they were ‘flying blind’. Militant, self-organised activities such as the forced shutdowns of workplaces before the Camp Field affair and the local street meetings of the sort seen in New Cross, made this an even more difficult task. 

A pro-reform meeting in Leeds in 1832[29]

Leeds and York 

According to the anti-reform newspaper the Leeds Intelligencer news of the defeat of the Bill first arrived in Leeds at 3.00am on the Sunday morning. The Intelligencer claimed an Express carriage from the pro-reform Sun newspaper office in London delivered the news to James Mann, a bookseller and leading member of the Leeds Radical Political Union (LRPU). The Intelligencer goes onto state: 

The result was so generally expected, that few persons expressed surprise, except as to the numerical strength of the majority; and throughout the day there was not the slightest indication of popular resentment or commotion.[30]

This benign response on the Sunday is backed up to certain extent by the pro-reform Leeds Mercury who stated that the rejection of the Reform Bill “excited a strong sensation in Leeds, but it was rather ‘deep’ than ‘loud’”.[31] Neither newspaper mentions crowds gathering in expectation of receiving the news. When it did arrive, it was in the early hours of the morning and, unsurprisingly, no ‘dumb peals’ rang out across the city or, it appears, the rest of the day. In Leeds, at least, the news appears to have diffused more slowly on the Sunday and was in the hands of members of the Political Union before anyone else. 

On the Monday morning the Leeds Mercury, normally only published on a Saturday, issued an Extraordinary edition. This was no surprise as the editors of the paper the Baines family were “mainstream Liberals… as well as political leaders in their own right” who were likely to have found out about the defeat through their pro-reform political affiliations.[32] The Intelligencer argues that this special edition of the Mercury was created to “stir up the public mind”, though it and the more radical Leeds Patriot and Yorkshire Advertiser were expressly against any kind of violent protest.[33] Instead, the paper carried nothing more radical than a call for a county meeting. As the Extraordinary edition of the Mercury hit the streets, the walls of the city were posted with placards, presumably by the Political Union, encouraging the inhabitants to sign addresses to the King and Lord Grey (the Prime Minister) that were placed around the town.  

However, despite the calls for calm and all this somewhat sedentary political activity did not mean that some sections of the public were not ‘stirred’ into action. On the Tuesday evening a crowd of “many thousands” gathered and paraded effigies of the Duke of Wellington and the Lord Lieutenant (Henry Lascelles, Earl of Harewood) around Leeds stopping several times at the Intelligencer newspaper office, amongst other anti-reform locations, to hoot, jeer and set off fireworks. The effigies were eventually burned and gibbetted respectively in the Free Market by the crowd, along with a manikin of Lord Wharncliffe who met a similar fate by fire “in this and in other towns in Yorkshire”.[34] Despite the raucous nature of the occasion, the ‘rough music’ given to the Intelligencer and other anti-reformers appears to have stayed largely within the bounds of non-violence. 

In York, 25 miles northeast of Leeds, the ‘bad news’ of the defeat of the reform bill also arrived on the morning of Sunday 9th October via an Express coach, though at a more respectable hour. This moment was described by a local journalist:

A gentleman, who was an outside passenger [on the coach], gave indication of the unpleasant result by displaying a black flag, hung with crepe. The manner in which the news was received by the public showed the deep feeling which prevails on the occasion. During the day groups might be seen in every quarter, conversing with the greatest seriousness of manner, and THE BILL formed the prevailing topic. Every countenance wore an aspect of gravity, such as might be supposed to be occasioned by the reception of disastrous tidings in which a person had a deep and individual concern. 

That evening large crowds gathered in St Helen’s Square in the centre of York to await the evening mail coach. There were numerous “eager inquirers, as to the state of the metropolis [London], and whether anything further had transpired”. Dumb peals rang out across the city which were repeated the following day at noon.[35] 


When the Express left York to travel further north to Scotland once again the “outside passenger” bore the black flag which would be the “token of the intelligence north of the Tweed”.[36] One can only imagine its symbolic effect as the carriage sped through the towns and villages of Yorkshire, Durham and Northumberland. By early Monday morning (10 October) the Express had passed through Newcastle, crossing the Scottish border around midday, and entering Edinburgh in the late afternoon. There had been unusually large crowds wanting news of the progress of the Reform Bill gathering at the Post Office in the centre of the city for the previous five days. Over the weekend these had grown from an estimated 5,000 on the Friday and Saturday to 10,000 on the Sunday. When the Express arrived the following day, there were 8-10,000 people gathered at the confluence of the North bridge, Register House and Regent Bridge.[37] 

The Council of the Edinburgh Political Union suspecting that ‘bad news’ might arrive on the Monday evening were proactive. In the early morning they had issued large placards:

entreating the people, in the almost certain event of disappointment, to keep the peace…These precautions were laudable, and perhaps had the effect of keeping the city quieter in the evening than it would otherwise have been[38] 

The reaction of the crowd, described as “chiefly gentlemen and respectable citizens”, to news of the failure of the Bill was “grave and silent” and the “dense mass of people quietly dispersed and retired to their homes”.[39] However, not everybody went quietly. In the late afternoon groups of “mischievous” and “idle boys” had smashed the windows of the offices of the “obnoxious” anti-reform newspaper The Evening Post.[40] Later in the evening, after several skirmishes, these youths gathered in the vicinity of the Tron Church where they were attacked by Police and High Constables. A pitched battle began which led to several officers being injured with stones and broken bottles before the crowd was dispersed.[41] Despite these violent incidents it appears Edinburgh remained free of serious rioting over the succeeding weeks.

In Glasgow the situation was similar in that, for several days “immense crowds” had gathered at the foot of Nelson Street to await the arrival of the Express coaches. Despite the disappointment when the news finally arrived on the Monday evening, one journalist commented: 

I have never, as yet, witnessed so visible and determined a feeling of calm and deliberate resolution, as the general deportment and language of all classes have this day indicated.[42] 

The following day the Committee of the Trades’ Union “placarded the streets with a notice cautioning their brethren against all acts of intemperance or violence”. When the Express arrived in nearby Paisley, huge “crowds from the Cross to the East End” received the news of the defeat “in sullen silence”. In the early evening a huge throng paraded the streets with a black flag whilst there were general calls for a mass public meeting.[43]  

Similar responses appeared in other Scottish towns as the news travelled north. In Perth at 10.00pm that evening, when a thousand people who met the mail coach received the news, they issued a “shout of…ruthless determination”. The authorities acted fast; within a few hours a public meeting had been sanctioned for the following day and handbills were circulating the following morning “urging to patience, peace and unanimity”. The call for an immediate public meeting was replicated in Dundee and over the following days in numerous Scottish towns.[44]


The news of the defeat of the Bill reached Dublin, Ireland at 4.00am on Monday 10th October and was announced in the second edition of the Dublin Morning Register.[45] Within hours a group of pro-reformers had met and issued a requisition for a public meeting of the “Friends of the great Ministerial Measure of Parliamentary Reform” to be held on the Wednesday in the city.[46] At midday on the day of the event a committee met at the Hayes Hotel to draw up resolutions to be presented at the meeting. Initially the demands were radical: 

…in the event of the ministry being unable to carry the Bill, the people should pledge themselves to pay neither tithes, church-rates or any other taxes; and to demand annual parliaments, universal suffrage, vote by ballot and abolition of hereditary and spiritual peerage.  

However, after a debate during which several “gentlemen” objected to these being “ulterior and of too strong a character” and despite others on the committee who “strongly approved of them” the demands were watered down to include only the non-payment of tithes and taxes.[47] 

Estimates of the “men of all ranks and classes” that gathered at Beresford Place for the meeting range from 15,000 to 30,000.[48]A correspondent claimed that they “had never witnessed anything equal to the enthusiasm manifested by the immense multitude” whilst other journalists stated it was the largest public meeting they had ever witnessed in the city.[49] The speeches and reactions of the crowd in the meeting demonstrated that significant undercurrents of Irish nationalism were in play. Several speakers openly disagreed over whether the address to the King should include a call for the dissolution of the Legislative Union with Britain. The same evening would see these arguments violently played out in quite a different setting.

In Armagh, about 30 miles or so south-west of Belfast in the north of Ireland, “low Orangemen” celebrated the defeat of the Reform Bill by following tradition and setting a large bonfire alight in the Market Place. After several hours this attracted a crowd of counter-demonstrators who “took umbrage with the proceedings and a fight ensued”. The violence was confined to stone throwing by both sides until some of the Orangemen decided to employ firearms to attack their opposition. One man, Dempsey, was shot dead and two others wounded, perhaps mortally. The Observer noted that “neither magistrates nor police interfered to preserve the public peace” and added, with an element of surprise, that “this is the only disturbance that has taken place in this country [Ireland] in consequence of the rejection of the Reform Bill”.[50]

Despite the event in Armagh in most of the rest of Ireland the reaction to the defeat of the Reform Bill followed the path trodden in Dublin, though clearly at a slower pace. Over the following weeks, pro-reform County level meetings to discuss the response to the defeat of the Bill were requested. These took place in many of the counties in the south of Ireland including Waterford, Wexford, Kilkenny, Sligo, Longford, Carlow, Tipperary, Kildare, Louth, King’s County [Offaly] and again in Dublin. However, similar meetings were noticeably lacking in the counties of Ulster in the north of Ireland where it appears the requisitions were either not forthcoming or were turned down by the authorities.

Feature image “The Edinburgh and London Royal Mail by John Frederick Herring” John Frederick Herring, Sr., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons,_Sr.jpg


1 “Key dates in the history of Britain’s railway” Live Wire
2 Archive Information Sheet: The Mail Coach Service, The British Postal Museum and Archive (2005)
3 The Times 10 October 1831.
4 Evening Mail 17 October 1831.
5 LoPatin states that 29 Political Unions had been formed in England by March 1831. LoPatin, Nancy. Political unions, popular politics and the Great Reform Act of 1832 (London: MacMillan, 1999) Chaps. 1 and 2.
6 The Times 10 October 1831.
7 Evening Mail 17 October 1831.
8 Evening Mail 12 October 1831.
9 Pickford’s Vans were private wagons carrying several tons of cargo for individuals and businesses.
10 Yarnspinner, Valentine. Nottingham Rising: The Great Cheese Riot of 1766 & the 1831 Reform Riots. (Nottingham: Loaf on a Stick Press, 2014) pp. 83-84.
11 Nottingham Review and General Advertiser for the Midland Counties 30 September 1831
12 Yarnspinner, Nottingham Rising pp. 84-86.
13 Ibid pp. 86-89
15 The Scotsman 12 October 1831.
16 Navickas, Katrina. Protest and the Politics of Space and Place, 1789–1848 (Manchester University Press, 2015) p. 123.
17 Ibid. p. 124.
18 Morning Post 14 October 1831.
19 The Guardian (15 October 1831) claimed 20,000-25,000 people attended and The Times (14 October 1831) 10,000. After the meeting moved to Camp Field, Navickas states “The newspapers estimated that ‘no less than 100,000 were persons’ were present” Navickas, Protest and the Politics of Space and Place p. 126.
20 Navickas, Protest and the Politics of Space and Place pp. 124-125.
21 Morning Post 14 October 1831.
22 The Times 14 October 1831.
23 Navickas, Protest and the Politics of Space and Place pp. 127.
24 “Until the 1960’s, the area around the junction of Tib Street, Swan Street and Oldham Street was a well known, and quite distinct, district of Manchester called New Cross”. Jennings, David “New Cross – one of Manchester’s lost locations” Edward II Roots, Folk, Reggae.
25 The Guardian 15 October 1831.
26 Tiratelli, Matteo. “The changing practice of rioting: revisiting repertoire transitions in Britain, 1800-1939.” Mobilization 25, no. 2 (2020) p. 208.
28 The Guardian 15 October 1831.
30 Leeds Intelligencer 13 October 1831.
31 Leeds Mercury 15 October 1831.
32 “Peterloo and After: 19th-century Radicalism in Leeds” Leeds Libraries (August 9, 2019)
33 Leeds Patriot and Yorkshire Advertiser 15 October 1831.
34 Leeds Patriot and Yorkshire Advertiser 15 October 1831; Leeds Intelligencer 13 October 1831; Leeds Mercury 15 October 1831.
35 York Herald 15 October 1831.
36 Ibid.
37 The Scotsman 12 October 1831; Durham County Advertiser 14 October 1831; Evening Mail 17 Oct 1831.
38 The Scotsman 12 October 1831.
39 Evening Mail 17 October 1831.
40 Morning Post 19 October 1831; Evening Mail 17 October 1831
41 Evening Mail 17 October 1831.
42 The Scotsman 12 October 1831.
43 Evening Mail 17 October 1831.
44 The Scotsman 12 October 1831.
45 Dublin Morning Register 11 October 1831.
46 Freeman’s Journal 11 October 1831.
47 Evening Mail 17 October 1831.
48 The Scotsman 19 October 1831; Evening Mail 17 October 1831.
49 Evening Mail 17 October 1831; Dublin Morning Register 13 October 1831.
50 Guardian 22 October 1831; Morning Post 12 October 1831.