Wodgate, or Wogate, as it was called on the map, was a
district that in old days had been consecrated to Woden, and
which appeared destined through successive ages to retain its
heathen character. At the beginning of the revolutionary war, Wodgate was a sort of squatting district of the great mining region to which it was contiguous, a place where adventurers in the industry which was rapidly developing, settled themselves; for though the great veins of coal and ironstone cropped up, as they phrase it, before they reached this bare and barren land, and it was thus deficient in those mineral and metallic treasures which had enriched its neighbourhood, Wodgate had advantages of its own, and of a kind which touch the fancy of the lawless. It was land without an owner; no one claimed any manorial right over it; they could build cottages without paying rent. It was a district recognized by no parish; so there were no tithes, and no meddlesome supervision. It abounded in fuel which cost nothing, for though the veins were not worth working as a source of mining profit, the soil of Wodgate was similar in its superficial character to that of the country around. So a population gathered, and rapidly increased, in the ugliest spot in England, to which neither Nature nor art had contributed a single charm; where a tree could not be seen, a flower was unknown, where there was neither belfry nor steeple, nor a single sight or sound that could soften the heart or humanise the mind.
Whatever may have been the cause, whether, as not unlikely, the original squatters brought with them some traditionary skill, or whether their isolated and unchequered existence concentrated their energies on their craft, the fact is certain, that the inhabitants of Wodgate early acquired a celebrity as skilful workmen. This reputation so much increased, and in time spread so far, that for more than a quarter of a century, both in their skill and the economy of their labour, they have been unmatched throughout the country. As manufacturers of ironmongery, they carry the palm from the whole district; as founders of brass and workers of steel, they fear none; while as nailers and locksmiths, their fame has spread even to the European markets, whither their most skilful workmen have frequently been invited.
Invited in vain! No wages can tempt the Wodgate man from his
native home, that squatters' seat which soon assumed the form
of a large village, and then in turn soon expanded into a
town, and at the present moment numbers its population by
swarming thousands, lodged in the most miserable tenements in
the most hideous burgh in the ugliest country in the world.
But it has its enduring spell. Notwithstanding the spread of
its civic prosperity, it has lost none of the characteristics
of its original society; on the contrary it has zealously
preserved them. There are no landlords, head-lessees, main-masters, or butties in Wodgate. No church there has yet raised its spire; and as if the jealous spirit of Woden still haunted his ancient temple, even the conventicle scarcely dares show its humble front in some obscure corner. There is no municipality, no magistrate, no local acts, no vestries, no schools of any kind. The streets are never cleaned; every man lights his own house; nor does any one know anything except his business.
More than this, at Wodgate a factory or large establishment of
any kind is unknown. Here Labour reigns supreme. Its
division indeed is favoured by their manners, but the
interference or influence of mere capital is instantly
resisted. The business of Wodgate is carried on by master
workmen in their own houses, each of whom possesses an
unlimited number of what they call apprentices, by whom their
affairs are principally conducted, and whom they treat as the
Mamlouks treated the Egyptians.