The Burston School Strike

by Casey

A BISHOP’S ADVICE.

Three people have received notice to quit the globe. The Bishop of Norwich has been appealed to. The Eastern Daily Press, July 28th, 1915, which lies on my knee as I write, contains his photo. He is standing outside the Hospital for the Indigent Blind, in Magdalen Street, Norwich, with the Earl and Countess of Leicester, looking as though he had his meals more regularly than many village folk.

Surely he is interested in the blind of Burston, also? Shall they be ousted? Will he allow his rector to press this injustice? But he has been appealed to. Here is his reply:

The Palace,
Norwich.

Dear Sir,—I am directed by the Bishop of Norwich to acknowledge receipt of your letter of the 15th, and to say that if the persons named feel aggrieved they should seek redress through the legal tribunals.

Yours faithfully,
J. A. Parsons, Secretary.

E. B. Reeves.

So His Lordship, with income of £4,500 per year, palace, etc., advises three poor folk, one of whom is blind, to “seek redress through the legal tribunals.” This be certainly His Lordship’s grim joke. How poor folk, waxing lean and keeping families on between £40 and £50 per year, sometimes feasting on bread and lard, whilst glebe owners munch biscuits and cream, can indulge in such luxury as “The Law” passes what Darby Doyle would call “the wit av mortial man.”

The only law we can appeal to under these circumstances is the Law of Humanity. The ancient tribunal, vox populi, vox Dei: The voice of the people is the voice of God.

I would that these people had better advocate than myself. Their cause is founded on justice, reason, and truth. They want public inquiry which, I believe, will end in their well-beloved teachers reinstatement. The tyranny of the countryside is still a menace to freedom of thought and action. I have done my best to explain this.

To the Braves of Burston I tender my appreciation and admiration for their gallant sixteen months’ struggle. They are the pioneers. They are real live women, with red corpuscles dancing in their veins, not the phagocytes of serfdom. None but James Oppenheim, the poet, may do them justice:

Bread and Roses.

As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts grey
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses
For the people hear us singing, “Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses.”

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying thro’ our singing, their ancient song of bread.
Small art, and love, and beauty, their drudging spirits knew;
Yes! ’tis bread we fight for, but we fight for roses, too.

As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days,
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes
But a sharing of life’s glories, “Bread and Roses,” Bread and Roses.

And you, chance reader, may be able, even in a small way, to focus the light of public opinion by either voice, pen, spoken word, or this booklet, upon this grave miscarriage of justice.

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?

The time is quickly drawing nigh. Michaelmas Day, September 29th, 1915, sees the expiration of the glebe notices. Trades Councils, Brotherhoods, Co-operative Guilds, Associations of all kinds may help in this matter. Our brothers are laying down their lives in Flanders to preserve that heritage of the ages, Freedom. We want that freedom in Burston. The people require freedom to worship God in their own way. Freedom to have their children taught by those whom they love. Freedom to remain in the villages where their fathers died, and not to be ousted at the caprice of every gentleman whom they do not see eye to eye with.

Freedom is a goddess worth dying for. Here I express the thanks of the Higdons, and the Babes and Braves o’ Burston, to the many friends who have risen up.

A cynic once said, “Gratitude is a lively sense of favours to come.” Granted—and why not?

The recipient confers a pleasure in accepting. Our hearts are still full of hopes of help in the near future. The Trade Union Congress meets in September. Maybe we shall find more friends there. To E. B. Reeves, of The Bungalow, Norwich, I tender thanks. As Robert Louis Stevenson puts it, “He is a bonnie fechter” for freedom, vigilant, tireless, painstaking. To the many noble speakers thanks also.

Offers of help, orders for this pamphlet, friendly suggestions, and letters of advice will find him at the address: E. B. Reeves, The Bungalow, Norwich.

The fight after all is a real fight for “Bread and Roses.”

The same year that Calvin died Shakespeare came on earth. It was a real good exchange without any robbery.

The National Labour Press, Ltd., Manchester and London.
18991

“CASEY”

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