I propose that we adjourn the meeting for a week, I said – to ascertain if the waterworks company will comply with our wishes and enter into an arrangement such as we have put forward.

It was apparent that there was no seconder. But another gentleman, Alstrom by name, stepped up.

From what I can gather, he said, the land belongs to the people.

(Loud cheers at this.)

… And the water company has taken it upon itself to lay down the rails. Until the company has obtained an injunction against us – against all of us, every one – we commoners ought not to hesitate to maintain our rights.

More cheering followed this.

A committee man, Mr Beadle, then counselled delay in case further writs were served, but was met with cries of No!

I tried again. I submitted a motion that we adjourn the meeting. Only two or three hands were held up for it, while the large majority voted against (though a number of people didn’t hold up their hands at all).

The big fellow, the blacksmith, stepped forward with: Come along, lads.

This was all they wanted. Some dozen others followed his example, and they commenced scraping away the ballast from the sleepers, which were firmly embedded. Inspector Wallace rode up to them.

I see you’re the ringleader. If there’s a riot then it’s you will go to prison.

No riot. We only mean to have our rights.

And he continued the work he had begun. Sacks of tools were emptied onto the ground and men from the crowd grabbed at them. Torches blazed and were passed from hand to hand.

I jumped from my barrow. Very well, gentlemen. Then I leave you to do as you please.

The blacksmith nodded at me, and began to sing, and others took up the melody:

Work, boys, work and be contented

As long as you’ve enough to buy a meal

A man, you may rely, will be wealthy by-and-by

If he’ll only put his shoulder to the wheel!

As I turned to leave, to the music of singing and hammer blows, a sergeant accosted me and demanded my name and address, which I refused to give. I am perfectly well known, I told him, and you know where to find me at any time. I am not going to facilitate the service of writs.

*

Ambrose let himself in, through the back door. He glanced at the page I was working on at the kitchen table – the pencil sketch and text.

A monument? he scoffed. Vanity.

No, not vanity, I said. Insurance. I turned it round so he could see. A nice solid list of what they tried to do, how we fixed it, and the promises we extracted from them in law. With dates and references. All in the hardest, most durable stone, picked out in gold and sited prominently.

Paid for by the word?