The labourer’s attitude, as I have said, is suspicious towards lawyers.  I was chatting with a man, specially taken on for harvest, who expressed doubts of them; he continued, “If anybody were to leave me a matter of fifty pounds or so, I’d freely give it ’em,” meaning that by the time all charges were paid he would not expect more than a trifle, because he supposed stamps and duties to be a part of the lawyer’s remuneration, and that very little would be left when all was paid.

I was once discussing farming matters with a labourer when prospects were looking very black, and ended by saying that I expected soon to be in the workhouse.  “Ah, sir,” said he, “I wish I were no nearer the workhouse nor you be!” It should not be forgotten that the agricultural labourer’s financial horizon does not extend much beyond the next pay night, and were it not for the generosity of his neighbours—­for the poor are exceedingly good to each other in times of stress—­a few weeks’ illness or unemployment, especially where the children are too young to earn anything, may find him at the end of his resources.

Almost the first time I went to Evesham, in passing Chipping Norton Junction—­now Kingham—­three or four men on the platform, in charge of the police, attracted my attention.  I was told that they were rioters, guilty of a breach of the peace in connection with the National Agricultural Labourers’ Union, then under the leadership of Joseph Arch.  Being so close to my new neighbourhood, where I was just beginning farming, the incident was somewhat of a shock.  Arch undoubtedly was the chief instrument in raising the agricultural labourer’s wages to the extent of two or three shillings a week, and the increase was justified, as every necessity was dear at the time, owing to the great activity of trade towards the end of the sixties.  The farmers resisted the rise only because, already in the early seventies, the flood of American competition in corn-growing was reducing values of our own produce; and as all manufactured goods which the farmer required had largely increased in price, he did not see his way to incur a higher labour bill.

Arch sent a messenger to me a few years later, to ask permission to hold a meeting in Aldington in one of my meadows.  I saw at once that opposition would only stimulate antagonism, and consented.  The meeting was held, but only a few labourers attended, and no farmers, and agitation, so far as we were concerned, died down.  One or two of my men were, I think, members of the Union, but having already obtained the increased wages there was nothing more to be gained for themselves by so continuing, and they soon dropped out of the list.  Eventually the organization collapsed.  Arch was a labourer himself, and exceedingly clever at “laying” hedges, or “pleaching,” as it is still called, and was called by Shakespeare in Much Ado About Nothing: 

       “Bid her steal into the pleached bower,
     Where honeysuckles, ripen’d by the sun,
     Forbid the sun to enter.”