1800s: When fear turned Derbeians True Blue

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Fear of terrorism seems natural in today’s climate, but anxiety concerning “unknown forces” has always existed. Peter Seddon looks at the early 19th century when a group of nervous Derby men formed an unusual club in defiance of the “reign of terror” they felt sure was around the corner.

Certain arbiters of current opinion stubbornly insist that the past was always far safer than the terror-ridden climate of today.

Perhaps it’s only natural to seek that idyllic refuge by convincing ourselves that everybody felt more secure in bygone days than they do now.

But, while it’s certainly true that there have been eras of relative stability throughout history, it would be folly to imagine that our forebears were always entirely at ease with the world around them.

Take the year 1812. Al Qaeda-style terrorism had yet to be conceived, but other dark forces were causing staunch traditionalists to blanch with fear and fury.

Quite simply, advocates of conservatism felt the British way of life itself was under severe and imminent threat.

Consider the historical timeline. In 1762 the Prime Minister, the Earl of Bute (a Scotsman who raised the tax on wine!), was so unpopular that he employed a permanent armed bodyguard.

In 1776, America declared its independence from British colonial rule. In 1789, the disgruntled masses in Paris yelled “Vive la Revolution” and, in 1803, Britain declared war on the French.

The resulting Napoleonic Wars dragged on for 12 long years until the Duke of Wellington’s famous victory at Waterloo in 1815.

So that was the British lot around 200 years ago – a succession of unpopular prime ministers, a bullish America wanting to rule the roost, uneasy relations with the French, and troublesome engagements in distant war zones.

It certainly has a familiar ring to it. Nor was the monarchy a steadying influence. After years of folly, “mad” King George III was finally declared unfit for duty in 1811 and his son, the Prince of Wales, made Regent in his stead.

But the entire concept of monarchy had become so unpopular in extremist circles that one historian was moved to write: “Such is the growth of republicanism that the most honest and well-disposed tradesman dare not propose the health of his sovereign without being subjected to insult” – another modern parallel, perhaps.

As traditionalists in society became seriously worried, the final straw occurred on Monday, May 11, 1812, when a disgruntled bankrupt, John Bellingham, committed an atrocity which remains unique in our country’s history.

In the lobby of the House of Commons he shot dead Spencer Perceval, the British Prime Minister.

What concerned decent members of society just as much as the terrible act itself was the reaction from Jacobin (anti-Royalist) sympathisers, who roundly applauded the assassin’s unprecedented deed.

It was in such a climate that a group of 12 “loyal and respectable artisans” of Derby became founder members of a club which they initially called the Penny Pot Club.

Its early guise was undoubtedly little more than a vehicle for a few pots of beer in convivial company where mutual moaning was high on the agenda – the very gatherings which still occur informally in Derby’s hostelries to this day.

The Penny Pots met weekly at the Mitre, in Amen Alley, adjacent the cathedral, an ancient inn long-since demolished to accommodate a road widening scheme.

The club began with only one rule – “that no Jacobin be admitted” – and its mission statement was “to support the constitution and to check dangerous and demoralising influences in society”.

The message evidently rang true, for by 1813 the membership had broadened socially and grown from the “12 good men and true” to a healthy figure of 62. Several years later it had reached almost 300.

More to the point, rather like certain golf clubs today, it became socially desirable to be a member of the Penny Pot, and a number of influential Derbyshire landowners joined the ranks, among them the Honourable Nathaniel Curzon of Kedleston and Henry Stanhope of Elvaston.

By 1814, the millionaire banker and property magnate Richard Arkwright junior (son of Richard Arkwright the famous industrialist) had added a certain caché to the membership, which was quickly swelled by many of Derby’s leading businessmen and traders.

In truth, the humble club had gone upmarket, a shift marked by a change of name.

Mindful that the exclusively Tory membership most feared the onset of a “red revolution”, they called themselves The Derbyshire Loyal True Blue Club.

Thanks to surviving accounts, a vivid picture of the club’s activities emerges, with hearty dining, copious drinking and vigorous fund-raising the general rule.

The Rotary Club might be the nearest comparison today.

Weekly dinners took place at the New Inn, on King Street, in Derby, a renowned coaching post sadly demolished in 1968 to make way for the inner ring road.

The old Assembly Rooms

Special events were held in the Old Assembly Rooms. In 1814, the annual dinner there attracted 114 members, who enjoyed a fine feast and drank no fewer than 27 “healths”.

Not surprisingly, the local newspaper reported that “the day passed in the greatest harmony and conviviality”.

One of the heartiest proposals (the heaviest laden toasts were known as a “three times three” and “a bumper”) was “to the immortal memory of Lord Nelson” – having lost his life in the famous victory at Trafalgar in 1805, the legendary admiral had quickly become known as “the idol of the nation”.

Later club dinners were often held at the Lord Nelson pub in the Wardwick – it is now the Aqua Bar, the splendid stone name plaque the only remaining link to the naval hero, barring the surely accidental use of the Latin word for water.

Other toasts were overtly patriotic: “To our glorious constitution, the pride of Britons and the envy of the world,” while glasses were also wisely raised to important absentees who might have to be faced later – “To the True Blue Ladies of Derby”.

Nor, as proceedings wore on, did the drinking rituals lack humour. The health of mad King George III was drunk to “Our sovereign – and may we never forget HIM though he can no longer remember US”.

There were many such raucous nights, but also some serious fund-raising. The magnificent sum of £100 was collected for “distressed Russian soldiers” who had suffered so cruelly at the hands of Napoleon Bonaparte’s ruthless armies.

Little wonder, with such Francophobia prevailing, that the greatest ever night for the True Blue Men of Derbyshire was the one that celebrated the ultimate victory over the French at Waterloo.

The Duke of Wellington’s celebrated triumph occurred on June 18, 1815.

When the mail coach bearing the glad tidings reached the outskirts of Derby, the True Blue Club sent a delegation to meet it.

By the time the coach entered the town it was drawn by eight grey mares, with two postillions in blue silk jackets, and was decorated with blue flags, laurels and white lilies. Dragged behind in the summer dust was the tri-colour flag of France, which was ceremoniously burnt at the New Inn along with newspapers and broadsheets whose sentiments were considered to be “averse to order and loyalty”.

Derby can have seen few nights like it before or since, as the general populace joined in the rejoicing – suffice to say there were many sore heads the next morning.

Thereafter, the True Blues celebrated Waterloo with an annual dinner at the Lord Nelson, but continued to fret about subversive forces.

Indeed, after workers’ riots in Derby in 1817, many of the Blues convinced themselves that widespread anarchy and a terrible revolution were an absolute certainty.

And that’s where we came in, the distinction between yesterday and today a narrow one indeed.

But the greatest fears of the True Blues of Derbyshire were never realised.

Society changed, but certainly didn’t break down as they had dreaded and, in time, the True Blue Club faded from consciousness.

Perhaps the long-dead members would point to today’s troubles and say “we told you so”, before adding that much-used phrase “gradual erosion of values”.

It’s all a matter of opinion. But despite our varying political persuasions, perhaps we should raise one more glass to those staunch Derbeians who stood up for what they thought was right 200 years ago.

May I propose that final toast (and let’s make it a “bumper”): “To those who liked Derby the way it was – The Derbyshire Loyal True Blue Club.”

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