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HEXHAM RIOT SONG
by Terry Conway
Sarah, have you heard the talk that’s in the air?
News from Durham City, flying here and there.
they've refused to ballot men to muster the militia.
It’s a yolk no working folk should bear.
Oh, if there were only peace on every shore,
And the King did not need soldiers any more,
But if that’s too much to hope then let them be provided,
By the men of substance as before.
Hexhamshire men, tyrant laws have sore incensed you.
Sticks and clubs and quarterstaves are held in angry hands.
But you must beware of the weapons ranged against you.
Hexhamshire men, here you stand.
Pitmen, servants, wagon lads and husbandmen
Though to right a wrong that few can apprehend.
By an Act ill understood and thoroughly detested.
Will they lose their freedoms once again?
Now the men of property are feeling fear.
Common men and women roving far and near.
Word has gone to Colonel Duncombe quartered in Newcastle,
Call the Yorkshire lads and march them here.
Richmondshire lads stand your grand, the law commands you.
You must face King George’s foes wherever they are found.
Do not heed their cries, though as butchers they may brand you.
Richmondshire lads, stand your ground.
Prudhoe, Corbridge,Whittonstall and Corsenside,
From throughout the county, not to be denied.
Some shake fists and some blow horns while some hand in petitions.
Major Crowe stands firm against the tide.
When they read the Riot Act, few seemed to care.
Earlier success had given them good cheer.
Suddenly, two shots rang out. One killed Private Greenock,
And Ensign Hart lay dying in the square.
Richmondshire lads, stand your ground, the law commands you.
You must face King George’s foes wherever they are fond.
Do not heed their cries, though as butchers they may brand you.
Richmondshire lads, stand your ground.
As night follows day, the retribution came,
The muskets giving fire, to murder and to main.
People lying, dead and dying, as the Law responded,
Caring not for mercy nor for shame.
After Bloody Monday came the bitter rain,
Sluicing down the gutters, softening the stain.
Some would mourn for Ensign Hart, but more for Sarah Carter,
And her unborn child among the slain.
Hexhamshire men, tyrant laws have sore incensed you.
Sticks and clubs and quarterstaves are held in angry hands.
But you must beware of the weapons ranged against you.
Hexhamshire men, here you stand.
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