on the Continent. The soldiers’ terrible deeds were cited as illustrations of the King’s personal cruelty.
Amidst terror that Irish rebels would cross to England, bringing such atrocities with them, men of conscience carefully read the news-sheets. Many were turned into supporters of Parliament by their revulsion for the royal power that had caused, encouraged, tolerated and apparently remained unmoved by the inhuman events.
The
Grand Remonstrance
was passed in the House of Commons by a majority of only eleven, after a tense all-night sitting. Gideon had begun to take serious notice of what Parliament did. Where Robert had the hard attitude of a man who had been knocked about by life, Gideon was open, fresh and eager to receive new ideas.
People began to issue petitions of their own, many sent from remote parts of the country. All the London apprentices, thirty thousand of them, signed one. They then flocked around Parliament, armed with staves, oars and broomsticks, but were cleared away by the Westminster Trained Bands, for ‘threatening behaviour’. They moved on and mobbed Whitehall Palace. This was when Queen Henrietta Maria was said to have looked out and christened the lads with their short haircuts ‘Roundheads’. The apprentices took it up eagerly. Meanwhile staider demonstrators flowed down the Strand to Westminster, members of the lower and middle classes from one shire after another, beseeching Parliament to urge the King to abandon his evil counsellors, as if people believed all the country’s ills were the fault of bad men who had bamboozled him.
The abolition of the Star Chamber and official censorship directly affected printers. Robert and Gideon were furiously busy. News-sheets erupted onto London streets, giving reports of Parliamentary debates. They were cheap, and the public devoured them. It was the first time in England that detailed political material was available without crown control. The first tentative pamphlets were followed by a rash of competing
Mercuries, Messengers
and
Diurnals.
Many were printed in and around Coleman Street. Robert and Gideon produced their share.
In December, Gideon’s brother Lambert made a journey across the river and out to Blackheath. A cavalcade of coaches turned out along the Dover Road, with thousands of well-wishers on foot. Lambert jumped on the back of a carriage and was carried up the short steep hill near Greenwich, arriving just in time on the bare, windy heath that had previously seen Cornish rebels and Jack Cade, and which now witnessed the triumphant return of the convicted pamphleteer Dr John Bastwick from his intended life-imprisonment on the Isles of Scilly Roaring crowds adorned him with wreaths of rosemary and bay, for remembrance and victory — garlands which hid his missing ears, sliced off as a punishment for sedition on the orders of Archbishop Laud’s Star Chamber. Lambert hitched a lift home with an apothecary, who was looking forward to boosting his fortunes with salves for soldiers if there was a war.
A week later, the
Grand Remonstrance
was formally presented to the King at Hampton Court. He loftily said he would reply ‘in due course’.
‘I cannot imagine His Majesty will miss dinner because he has his nose buried in our two hundred clauses!’ Gideon’s brief experience as a masquer made him feel an expert on court etiquette.
After a fortnight of royal silence, the
Grand Remonstrance was
printed for the public anyway.
Six days later, significant change came to the Common Council of the City of London. Elections were held and the council was packed with radicals, displacing the traditional conservatives who grovelled to the monarchy. John Jukes was one of the new members. He reported that support for the King was fast declining in the City, although the present Lord Mayor remained loyal to Charles. ‘A bombast in greasy ermine, a corporation sultan!’ scoffed Robert.
Gideon described how the ermine was passed down
Amidst terror that Irish rebels would cross to England, bringing such atrocities with them, men of conscience carefully read the news-sheets. Many were turned into supporters of Parliament by their revulsion for the royal power that had caused, encouraged, tolerated and apparently remained unmoved by the inhuman events.
The
Grand Remonstrance
was passed in the House of Commons by a majority of only eleven, after a tense all-night sitting. Gideon had begun to take serious notice of what Parliament did. Where Robert had the hard attitude of a man who had been knocked about by life, Gideon was open, fresh and eager to receive new ideas.
People began to issue petitions of their own, many sent from remote parts of the country. All the London apprentices, thirty thousand of them, signed one. They then flocked around Parliament, armed with staves, oars and broomsticks, but were cleared away by the Westminster Trained Bands, for ‘threatening behaviour’. They moved on and mobbed Whitehall Palace. This was when Queen Henrietta Maria was said to have looked out and christened the lads with their short haircuts ‘Roundheads’. The apprentices took it up eagerly. Meanwhile staider demonstrators flowed down the Strand to Westminster, members of the lower and middle classes from one shire after another, beseeching Parliament to urge the King to abandon his evil counsellors, as if people believed all the country’s ills were the fault of bad men who had bamboozled him.
The abolition of the Star Chamber and official censorship directly affected printers. Robert and Gideon were furiously busy. News-sheets erupted onto London streets, giving reports of Parliamentary debates. They were cheap, and the public devoured them. It was the first time in England that detailed political material was available without crown control. The first tentative pamphlets were followed by a rash of competing
Mercuries, Messengers
and
Diurnals.
Many were printed in and around Coleman Street. Robert and Gideon produced their share.
In December, Gideon’s brother Lambert made a journey across the river and out to Blackheath. A cavalcade of coaches turned out along the Dover Road, with thousands of well-wishers on foot. Lambert jumped on the back of a carriage and was carried up the short steep hill near Greenwich, arriving just in time on the bare, windy heath that had previously seen Cornish rebels and Jack Cade, and which now witnessed the triumphant return of the convicted pamphleteer Dr John Bastwick from his intended life-imprisonment on the Isles of Scilly Roaring crowds adorned him with wreaths of rosemary and bay, for remembrance and victory — garlands which hid his missing ears, sliced off as a punishment for sedition on the orders of Archbishop Laud’s Star Chamber. Lambert hitched a lift home with an apothecary, who was looking forward to boosting his fortunes with salves for soldiers if there was a war.
A week later, the
Grand Remonstrance
was formally presented to the King at Hampton Court. He loftily said he would reply ‘in due course’.
‘I cannot imagine His Majesty will miss dinner because he has his nose buried in our two hundred clauses!’ Gideon’s brief experience as a masquer made him feel an expert on court etiquette.
After a fortnight of royal silence, the
Grand Remonstrance was
printed for the public anyway.
Six days later, significant change came to the Common Council of the City of London. Elections were held and the council was packed with radicals, displacing the traditional conservatives who grovelled to the monarchy. John Jukes was one of the new members. He reported that support for the King was fast declining in the City, although the present Lord Mayor remained loyal to Charles. ‘A bombast in greasy ermine, a corporation sultan!’ scoffed Robert.
Gideon described how the ermine was passed down
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