Dear Friends,
We often ask history to offer us something: lessons, warnings, inspiration.
There is another way to approach the past, though. Not as a source of answers, but as a space for listening. What follows is a story of people who worked, loved, lost and who were forgotten. What I've pieced together here comes from fragments. Brief mentions, archival traces, the margins of other people's stories. In this story, I'm trying to reveal something. How power operated in silence. How control was masked as opportunity. How lives were shaped by systems that seldom declared themselves.
One May Morning by the Village Green
M and I walked past the house called Brookwell, came to a stop by one of the village greens, close to Roger and Yvonne’s house, Ivy Green.
About fifty people had gathered that morning, waiting for a coach to take us on an outing to a castle. It's good to see friends and neighbours, but I think both M and I felt somewhat detached. Too young to be on a coach trip for the over-60s.
How did M get to be sixty-four, already?
What a strange dislocation, to be surrounded by your own generation and not quite feel part of it. It's as if the outward passage of time is a rumour you've politely agreed to believe.
Back at our cottage, I'd been waiting for more documents from the county archive about Brookwell, so I could continue the story I'd been writing about that house. They hadn't arrived, so I returned to the tithe maps. In the days before the coach outing, I’d discovered that a coal mining official leased Brookwell earlier than I'd thought. In the 1840s, Williamson Peile leased Brookwell from the Lord of the Manor. Across the road at Ivy Green, I knew that William, and then John Quayle, leased Ivy Green from the Lord of the Manor, in the mid-1830s. William Quayle was a mining official too.
M and I made our way to the back of the coach and sat. I looked out of the window toward Brookwell, turned my head, looked back at Ivy Green. Williamson Peile. William Quayle on my mind. On my mind, but I didn't know then they were colleagues and, perhaps, friends. I didn't know I'd be writing their story into the small hours in the weeks to come.
Piecing the research together would reveal not just individual lives, but the hidden architecture of power in late Georgian and early Victorian Cumberland. Once again, dear reader, history had grabbed me by the hand. It pulled me backward, deeper and deeper. Layers of causation and connection. But this is what making a community archive is about. If you're on a similar journey, you’ll find yourself excavating layers of history. You might want to explain, as I am trying to do, not just what happened, but why it had to happen the way it did. Listening to what these places remember. The ancient farm cottage where M and I live. The homes where our neighbours raised their families. The houses that builders constructed for coal miners in a nearby hamlet. The merchant houses in Whitehaven. The thirty-odd castles dotted about the county. The county we think we know. Decisions, tragedies and remarkable acts of survival that occurred, generations before we arrived to call this place home, shaped all of it.
Sunday June 22. Forty-nine days have passed since the coach trip. After six weeks of sunshine, the rain, much needed, had returned, bringing the delicious smell of petrichor, a froth of umbellifers and all the shades of green in our wee walled garden. Fair weather meant we got the outside of the cottage painted, could eat outside most nights, too. My mind was on painting and decorating, or William and Williamson, these past weeks. I'd been pondering research material that pointed toward a system of employment. A system which created the illusion of respectability and independence. Yet it maintained control over workers' lives, housing, voting rights and economic security in West Cumberland.
I don't think William or Williamson ever lived in our small rural village. Instead, it seems they maintained a distance, leasing properties here as functional components of their colliery enterprise. The village is twenty-odd miles from Whitehaven, where they lived. Or perhaps Brookwell and Ivy Green were their country retreats. Either way, their twenty-one-year lease of a colliery close to this village exists as just one near-forgotten chapter in the area's mineral history. It left traces on a landscape where fields and farms have defined the horizon since Roman settlement, through Norse farming communities, into the medieval period.
The system I’ve been paying attention to was designed to make the miner essential, but expendable. I think this applied to the so-called 'middling class' like William and Williamson, too. Following the trail deeper revealed connections that may have shocked the communities living under the influence of the landowning gentry. The vast wealth that enabled such comprehensive control over Cumberland employment, housing and political representation had roots overseas. Robert Lowther (1681–1745), governor of Barbados, had inherited Christ Church, a sugar plantation. Then, in 1756, Sir James Lowther ('Wicked Jimmy Lowther') inherited Christ Church.
"Sir James Lowther, before he came of age, was reckoned the richest commoner in England. From his father he inherited estates in Cumberland and Barbados; from Lord Lonsdale, large estates in Westmorland; and in 1756 the Cumberland property of the Lowthers of Whitehaven, including Whitehaven itself - a fortune estimated at over £2,000,000."
I can't help but wonder if paternalistic employment relationships in Cumberland carried the DNA of plantation management. The system would've been adapted for free workers, but operated through similar mechanisms of manufactured dependency. I thought about dependency relationships built upon existing British traditions, too. Hiring fairs bound agricultural workers. Apprenticeship systems controlled young people's lives for years. Tied cottage arrangements made housing depend on employment. Plantation experience added the refinement of these controls. Psychological management transformed total dependency. It made such control feel like the master looking after his own.
The Parish of Springs and Coal
A gentle rise of land on the south bank of the River Ellen, with limestone breaking through the surface, giving "variety to the landscape." Springs and wells set the village apart. The village is "probably unrivalled, certainly not excelled, for the number, perhaps also the variety, of its springs. Everywhere in this parish you will find water coming from natural springs throughout the greater part of the year." Most remarkable are two in a field east of the village: one sending forth fresh water, the other salt, "Funny Tack," with rumoured medicinal properties.
Mining revealed the geological cause: a dyke running east to west, pushing limestone upward, creating impermeable barriers that forced water to seek the path of least resistance.
A quirk of stone and strata, a gift for the village above, a challenge for the miners.
William
"William Quayle, born in 1796, was the eldest son of John and Jane. Reader, there are so many Quayles in 19th century Cumberland. I'm still looking into William's heritage, but believe his family's roots are in the Isle of Man.
By the 1830s, William had secured a position within Lord Lonsdale's extensive coal operations. William Lowther, 1st Earl of Lonsdale, was the cousin of James Lowther ("Wicked Jimmy") who had inherited plantation wealth. This inheritance included the Christ Church Plantation in Barbados.
Whitehaven, 1832. How Lord Lonsdale's system constrained individual lives becomes clear when we examine the events of November that year. When the Revising Barrister's Court met to determine voting rights, the testimony revealed how employees made strategic choices about housing.
The 1832 Reform Act gave voting rights to property-owning men, but these could be challenged. A witness explained that William Quayle and his colleague Mr Jackson “lived in houses of their own” and “had an addition made to their salary, which was paid half-yearly.”
William had chosen independence over convenience. He likely declined company housing when first employed, accepting lower pay to maintain his property qualification and voting rights. The court evidence suggests this was “usual with all coal agents.”
But even this independence operated within Lord Lonsdale's system. I get the feeling William was not a man of inherited wealth, likely his family had maritime or merchant roots. Through ability and persistence, he rose. But his position, though earned, was never secure.
John Peile
The same court proceedings reveal a different relationship to power. When the newspaper describes “Mr Peile examined witnesses,” it refers to Williamson's father acting as a Justice of the Peace. This John Peile held judicial authority granted by class position. His role in Lord Lonsdale's system was already well established by the mid-1820s.
An advertisement in the Cumberland Pacquet from January 1827 shows his influence.
"MINERS WANTED, AND STEAM ENGINES FOR SALE. WANTED, at Whitehaven Collieries a Number of PITMEN. They will meet with constant Employment, and the Benefit of Free Houses during their continuance in the Works. Persons unacquainted with the Work required, will be put under experienced Hands to teach them."
The notice continues.
"For SALE, by PRIVATE CONTRACT,— A Second-hand Fourteen Horse double-powered ATMOSPHERIC ENGINE, originally constructed by Messrs. Heslop, Engineers. Also, A Thirty Horse double-powered Engine, constructed upon what is called Bolton and Watt's Principle. Further Particulars may be known on Application to Mr. JOHN PEILE, at the Colliery Office, Whitehaven."
This shows John Peile's technical knowledge and authority. He oversaw recruitment. He also managed equipment sales. He operated within Lord Lonsdale's industrial empire. He was not just an agent, but a commercial manager. By the end of his career, John Peile had served for thirty-seven years as chief colliery agent. He had also served forty-three years as trustee of Whitehaven's town and harbour. His 1855 obituary described a man who "took a prominent part in all public matters connected with the port of Whitehaven" for "upwards of half a century." He embodied the long arc of power that connected industry with governance.
Williamson
Williamson's financial independence, scientific pursuits and presence in Whitehaven's elite circles all stemmed from one source. He had inherited a place within Cumberland's governing structure.
The Peile family belonged to the prosperous middle class, with ties to professional and academic circles. Later, the family would boast two Cambridge Masters. This reflected not only social position but educational ambition. By the early 1830s, Williamson had followed his father into the mining profession. He became a colliery viewer, a role requiring knowledge, oversight, and social fluency.
Though he entered with advantages, Williamson was well-educated. He was active in the highest circles of industrial and civic life. Where William Quayle's strategic housing decisions suggested caution within a constrained system, Williamson's residence on Duke Street signalled comfort, security, and inherited status. That house, situated among Whitehaven's most desirable addresses, was a mark of his family's established position. Yet even inherited power carried constraints. As the son of Lord Lonsdale's most trusted agent, Williamson would have grown up under scrutiny. Every decision reflected on the family.
Arguably, perhaps that's why, when the chance came to lease colliery rights from the Lord of the Manor at Dovenby Hall, the soon to be whig politician Fretcheville Lawson Ballantine Dykes, Williamson pursued the opportunity. Dykes had been no friend to the Lonsdale system, in 1820, he had nominated the Whig Curwen against Lonsdale's candidate, declaring they needed a 'saviour' from 'aristocratic bondage.' That said, the archival records suggest Lord Lonsdale may have had some involvement in this colliery venture, though the exact nature remains unclear from the documents that are making my eyes ache reading them. The evidence suggests William and Williamson may have acted as Lord Lonsdale's agents in securing the village colliery lease. This follows the established pattern, Lonsdale used agents like John Benn to develop collieries at Reagill, Sleagill and Newby around the same period. Rather than direct involvement, Lonsdale typically operated through intermediaries who handled the practical arrangements while he provided capital and influence.
Let’s say for now that, for Williamson, the venture represented possibility. For William, it was a calculated risk, part of an expanding business, built on effort rather than inheritance.
Quayle & Peile
In 1831, William and Williamson secured their lease from Fretcheville Lawson Ballantine Dykes. The surviving documentation reveals that by early January 1832, Cockermouth solicitor John Steel was coordinating the legal formalities. Steel, who from archive material I can see helped structure the systems of power that defined industrial West Cumberland, would later (1854-1868) become a Liberal MP for Cockermouth.
Further evidence of William and Williamson's partnership exists in a copper mining token marked: QUAYLE & PEILE. These tokens functioned as company currency, giving employers control over workers beyond wages alone.
Coordinating multiple mining operations would have demanded William's full attention. Archive material shows the two men leasing operations in this village, and also in nearby Warthole and Allerby, while fulfilling duties to Lord Lonsdale. This presented many opportunities for conflicts of interest and divided loyalties. William Quayle was not marginal. He operated several ventures and maintained property. But within the industrial systems of West Cumberland, even success offered no protection. Status could be earned, but not secured, unless inherited. Rather than achieving independence, William may have created a dangerous multiple dependency.
When Politics Turned Violent
William and Williamson could not escape the political tensions that shaped their working lives. In 1831, the same year they leased the coal-bearing lands in the village from Fretcheville Dykes, tensions erupted into violence on the streets of Whitehaven. The Cumberland Pacquet reported what it called a "Dreadful Riot at Whitehaven."
The trouble began during the heated campaign around the Reform Bill, when Whitehaven colliers received orders to march to Cockermouth to support the Liberal candidate against Conservative opposition. This was not voluntary political participation. These were instructions from employers, treating workers as instruments of political influence.
One newspaper account places William and Williamson at the centre of the event. "Mr. Quayle, Mr. Jackson, and Mr. W. Peile ordered the colliers to form a line from the inn door, and allow any gentleman to pass who chose to leave it." Here were two men attempting to build their independent business empire, yet acting as crowd control officers during a political riot, managing agitated workers on behalf of their employer. Another local paper accused the Cumberland Pacquet of distortion, calling its descriptions full of "falsehoods … that amiable paper has lost none of its ancient fibbing propensities."
A Letter from October 1831
In mid-October 1831, just weeks after the riot, William Quayle wrote a letter that reveals another side of his character. The recipient was John Steel and Quayle's message was short and pointed.
"The Bill is in its last stage, and to be a consistent Reformer you must give it your interest."
William was referring, almost certainly, to the first Reform Bill, that transformative legislation that would redraw the political map of Britain, removing so-called rotten boroughs, and expanding the vote to more property-owning men. To call someone a Reformer in 1831 was not casual. It meant modernisation, progress. And a break from entrenched privilege.
Quayle was not only advocating for national reform. He was pursuing a local goal, securing the lease on the coal mine in the parish. Here was someone who linked business with politics, William was rhetorically skilled, politically aware, conscious of the moment he inhabited. He was positioning himself as a man of progress. Someone who understood that power, and leases were shaped by political alignment, as well as negotiation. It makes what follows in this story all the more tragic.
(To be continued.)
Apologies for the poor quality of sound in the last few paragraphs of this podcast, gremlins in the machine.
Bibliography and references pending.
This podcast is from an essay by me, Bee Lilyjones. The podcast was narrated and produced by me with additional narration by my friend Mark Leckenby.
Soundtrack produced by me from my own library of field recordings, musical compositions and sound FX. Other sound FX and traditional pieces licensed through Epidemic Sound include Amazing Grace, traditional, featuring Sven Karlsson and Cuckolds All in a Row, traditional, produced by Erasmus Talbot. epidemicsound.com
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