King George IV visited Scotland from the 12th-29th of August 1822. Two years prior, the country had seen a Radical uprising, the figureheads of which demanded various reforms and supposedly the ultimate establishment of a Provisional Government. King George’s visit brought about two standout effects. Firstly, at least from the documents I examined, there appeared to be a resurgence of loyalist sentiment, in contrast to the dissenting climate that imbued Central Scotland in the onset of the 1820s. Yet simultaneously (and not necessarily paradoxically), there was also a more definitive sense of national identity that began to emerge as a result of the King’s visit. I recognise that my research on King George’s visit is inherently lopsided because of the nature of the sources that I viewed. These were largely letters sent by Scottish universities that were addressed to the King upon his arrival in Scotland. Although they evidently reflect loyalist passion towards the Crown, this is not necessarily representative of the true breadth of such a feeling. University provosts and those in similar forms of office likely remained sympathetic to the Crown throughout the Radical developments post-1815 and thus are unable to reflect the full extent of loyalist emotion felt by the Scottish people at this time. However, I do not think that this completely undermines their views expressed within their respective letters and, indeed, warrants a greater focus on what they say. The very fact that those in the high echelons of Scottish society – such as university masters – were able to express their deep allegiance to the Crown and shore it up as a prevailing rather than diminishing institution underscores that the King’s visit was placed in a highly significant time of tussle between separatist and loyalist factions. Hence, although I did not examine sources that remained true to Radicalism and continued to propagate a sectarian line of thought, the abundance and availability of pro-Crown sources symbolises a conscious (and successful) push for a change in perspective. The eventual complete failure of post-Waterloo Radical campaigns presented those in government and in positions of high societal power with an opportunity to swing the momentum in their favour; through the royal visit, loyalist rhetoric was more easily and less-divisively disseminated than it had been previously. In turn, although discordant voices certainly remained, loyalism had at least established a foothold in the Scottish political arena after the summer of 1822. Both the Universities of Glasgow and Edinburgh drafted and issued letters addressed to the King in anticipation of his visit. Interestingly, both seem to be rather similar in terms of their content (and also mimic other forms of literature produced for the royal visit), suggesting that they were intentionally standardised prior to their distribution through official guidelines or by corresponding with each other. For instance, they both emphasise the importance of “the moral and intellectual cultivation of the people” which they claim to be “the most solid basis of a nation’s prosperity” . Glasgow in particular recognizes the responsibility that they purport to possess as a university – namely, that they must instill into the minds of the youth “those principles which shall lead [them] to support the Constitution, adorn the literature and advance the prosperity of their country” – thus exhorting the value of loyalism to their students. Moreover, both schools express their “strongest feelings of national pride and gratitude” and “devoted loyalty and attachment” towards King George, alongside the “most gratifying proofs of the advantages” that Scotland derives from being under British monarchical rule. This final aspect of their addresses hints at a related effect of the King’s visit. Not only did his tour of Scotland evoke loyalist sentiment, but it also elicited reflections of national pride that were tied up not with movements of independence but a feeling of Scotland as a participant within the wider conglomerate of the United Kingdom unified by the monarchy. This sense of the Scottish nation as a coalescent body with the monarchy is reflected in other documents regarding the occasion; for example, the Highland Society of Scotland issued a letter addressed to the King upon his arrival and speaks on behalf of all Scottish people to assure King George of their “unalterable loyalty” and “faithful attachment” . The remarks of the Highland Society are significant for two reasons. Firstly, not only did it begin as a society in reaction to an inherently Scottish issue – namely the subsistence crises of the early 1780s – but, unlike the university addresses which spoke for a small minority of high-ranking officials, the Highland Society also represented a diverse (and evolving) range of Scottish inhabitants and their interests. For instance, although one of its main objectives was the “preservation of the language, poetry and music of the Highlands” , this was something to be accessible and relatable to the entire Scottish nation, with them holding a show in Edinburgh a matter of months after the King’s visit in which sixty to seventy-five breeds of Highland cattle were displayed . Moreover, by 1834 it had changed its name to ‘The Highland and Agricultural Society of Scotland’ as it had moved away from promoting the sole concerns of the Highlanders and instead focused on agricultural matters that pertained more to the nation as a whole. Hence, by acting on the behalf of an ever-growing body of people, the loyalist remarks of the Highland Society underscore this affinity between Scottish national identity and the monarchy. Secondly, the assertions of the Highland Society also connect to the Highlands as a marker of cultural representation and a body of national significance. Their comments hold additional weighting because of the choice made by the organiser of the royal visit, Walter Scott (who, perhaps not coincidentally, was an active member of the Society) to include various manifestations of tartan throughout the occasion. Perhaps most famous of these was the inclusion of tartan kilts, with David Wilkie’s official portrait of the King (commissioned specially for the royal visit) displaying the King adorned not just with a tartan kilt but in full Highland dress. Wilkie’s depiction of King George thus exemplifies how tartan in turn became less of a solely ‘Highlandised’ feature and instead was adopted as an emblem of national identity. But this cultural evolution of symbols such as tartan and kilts was not something that merely occurred within the reign of King George IV but was indeed catalysed by the King himself. The unification of the Highlands and Lowlands through their shared acceptance and celebration of previously culturally-guarded markers such as tartan was only possible by monarchical intervention, therefore reinforcing the sense of Scotland as a country intrinsically and necessarily connected with a higher power.

I came across the Monthly Repository while researching Harriet Taylor Mill. Her husband, JS Mill, wrote for the magazine, and so I thought it would be interesting to examine some of its publications. Although not a Scottish periodical, it revealed various links with the Scottish reformist movement, alongside echoing a clearly sympathetic line with regards to the wider Radical developments that occurred during its lifespan between 1806-1838. Spanning thirty-two years of publication, I could not realistically read every issue from every year. Thus, I decided to focus on a small selection of the magazine’s output – namely, April 1820, April 1829 and June 1832. I chose these dates because they coincided with notable progressive events: the ‘Radical War’ of 1820, Catholic Emancipation in 1829 and the passing of the Great Reform Act (and its Scottish equivalent) in 1832. Not every article that I uncovered within each issue was related, at least directly, to the connected event of that month. However, there almost always was some correlation between the entry and the event, with some links being more tenuous than others. The issue in April 1820 sees an interesting entry, dated 5th of April, dedicated to wishing King George IV well after a “short but dangerous illness which seized him almost immediately after his accession to the throne” . The article subsequently contains a prayer for the King’s health, upon which a selection of remarks regarding the poem were taken from an “Evangelical church magazine” for inclusion into the article. It is clear that these remarks (and the article in general) are much more religiously-oriented than politically-minded. For instance, they express concern that the use of the word “severest” within the prayer is inappropriate, since they assert that “we ought not… to speak of any of [God’s] dispensations towards his creatures as ‘severe’” . Moreover, the remarks further object that whole sentence which contains the word acts as a “oblique panegyric on the King for his trust in God… than a direct thanksgiving to God himself” . However, this is not to say that the entry never crosses into the political sphere. Firstly, the most glaring political connotation of this article is that it was written at the same time as the Radical War of 1820. Of course, a piece about the King’s health was clearly necessary during a time when it was threatened. Yet, it cannot be abstracted from the political context and therefore was surely not entirely coincidental that it was included at a time when in the north of the Kingdom, subjects were pushing to supposedly establish a ‘provisional government’. Furthermore, the lines between the religious and the political are blurred somewhat as one of the remarks declares that “a still greater defect… is that [the prayer] only prays to God to accept his Majesty’s thanks; not a word is said of the nation joining them” . The remarker clearly finds it abominable that we “pray God to accept the thanks of the King as if we had no concern in him ourselves” . Hence, the objection is stuffed with loyalist connotations; from their perspective, the King’s subjects should not merely be passive, but active and supportive, in such monarchical affairs. Additionally, in the same way that an objection is made regarding the appropriate use of language when referring to God within the prayer, they posit that “’our sovereign lord the King’ is a phrase so much oftener heard at the bar than in the reading-desk… surely it is an offence against… his loving subjects to repeat such a form of words as this misguided Thanksgiving” . What I do find intriguing is how an article that seems to be so abjectly staunch in its support of the King was permitted to feature within a magazine as politically radical as the Repository. This may have been because the article adopted a more religious than political angle. Indeed, anything political, such as the expectation that the nation prays for the health of the King, is evidently subsumed within the religious. Interrelatedly, at least from the perspective of both the Evangelical magazine and the Repository, there may not have been anything political about the expectation of national monarchical support. Although an anti-loyalist stance was being adopted in some areas of Scotland during this time, overtly criticising the monarchy as an institution or even demanding its abolition would not have been a widely-shared position within broader Radical circles, despite shared agreement on other socio-economic issues. Nonetheless, it remains significant that, aside from the fact that the magazine ran an article that evoked such stark political connotations, the issue contains no mention of the Radical War at all, since it embodied a movement that shared a great deal of values that the Repository’s editorial board held dear. I examined the subsequent issue to see if there was any belated reference to it, but to no avail. The next edition of the magazine I explored was that of April 1829. This tied in with the passing of the Catholic Relief Act, a major reformist victory which brought about Catholic Emancipation throughout the United Kingdom. The issue of Catholic Emancipation, and indeed the knock-on effects that it had on other issues such as the push to repeal the Acts of the Union, connects to other posts about Scottish Radicalism within this series – for instance, the letter sent by James Browne to William Tait expressing his anger at the invitation sent by the Edinburgh Citizens’ Society to Daniel O’Connell, an eminent Emancipationist and later proponent of repeal. But articles within this issue also connect to wider societal concerns that Radicals across the Kingdom wished to address. One example is discussed within the April 1829 edition of the Repository – namely, the question of ‘National Education for Ireland’, as the article is titled. Of course, as the title asserts, the focus of the article is on Ireland, not Scotland. But this is not to say that there was no crossover between the Radical movements between those in Ireland and Scotland. Despite the fact that the article discusses national education in an Irish context, they display awareness that the “radical error” concerning all schemes of national education “is that they are schemes for the poor” . Thus, despite a man requiring “even more skill and dexterity in his art because the minds in which he is to work are in an inferior state of cultivation”, scarcely any talented man “will take charge in a pauper school” – though, the article asserts – he should take no issue with this “if he is to be one of a profession” . Hence, “the… machine of national education should furnish teachers for both [wealthy and poor schools]” so as to improve the lives and futures of pauper children. As was the case in Scotland as well as Ireland, the article refers to education that was conducted by religious authorities in replacement of governmentally-funded schools, and the problems that this alternative raised. Some issues with this were inherently Irish – for instance, in the south of Ireland “the plan of having two separate days for religious instruction, one for Catholics and one for Protestants, may do very well” , whereas in the north “it would never do” since “the divisions of Protestants among themselves would… render three days at least necessary for them alone” . But there is clearly some overlap between them; potential educational inequalities raised by the variation of religious inclination across Irish populations were realised in Scotland, where despite religious education widening “by the 1830s and 1840s… to include various other forms of schooling including mission schools, Bible societies, and improvement classes” , these forms of education were only open to Protestants. An additional link to Scottish Radicalism that this article provided was that it contained a quote from an article written nine years prior titled ‘[an] Essay on the Evils of Popular Ignorance’, alternatively titled ‘The New Plan of Education for England’, within the British (its founders were a mixture of Englishmen and Scotsmen) Edinburgh Review. The Review, which was by 1820 in its third installation (having been established and then disbanded twice before, in 1755-56 and 1773-76), and, as a Whig supporting magazine, regularly called for political reform. The ‘Education for England’ article within the Review, despite evidently being concerned with the state of English education, also correlates to the question of Scottish education reform since with the problem of population growth “it became increasingly apparent that Scotland's educational system would collapse without… state aid” . Thus, the Review dispelled what they deemed to be “fallacious” arguments proposed by those who doubted the “expediency of the government interfering with the instruction of the people” , and made the case for government intervention within the education sector. Serious attempts made by the state to improve the condition of schooling within Scotland, however, would not be launched until nearly twenty years after the 1829 publication of the Repository, or thirty in the case of the Review. These forays would culminate ultimately in failure, but they would provide precedent for the 1872 Scotland Education Act which “took the control of education away from the churches and… into the hands of local popularly elected school boards” , as well as “mandated compulsory education for children aged 5 to 13” (with some exceptions in both cases). Lastly, I explored the June 1832 edition of the Repository, Within the issue, it includes the ‘Reform Song’ which appears to be an adapted version of the 1793 song Scots, Wha Hae. The original song depicted Robert Bruce addressing his soldiers at the battle of Bannockburn in 1314, in which the Scots fought the army of the English King Edward II, and contained lines such as “Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward’s grave?”, “Wha for Scotland’s King and Law, Freedom’s sword will strongly draw. Freeman stand or freeman fa’, Let him follow me!” and “Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty’s in every blow! Let us do or die!” . Indeed, the original 1793 version was not short of political controversy. As the lines given as examples clearly illustrate, their emphasis on liberty and freedom from their oppressors could be tied neatly with the desire for Scottish reform within the 1790s, which also coincided (and was likely exacerbated by) the French Revolution. Considering this alongside the fact that King Louis XVI had been executed in January 1793, it would have been a deeply contentious piece for Burns to write at the time – so much so, that “when it was published in the Morning Chronicle in 1794 Burns could not publicly acknowledge it” . But, because of its politically inflammatory nature, it became a favoured song among both Scottish reformists, and Radical bodies more widely, hence its inclusion within the Repository in 1832. With regards to the political backdrop of the time, however, the song was adapted and utilised not for usage within a strictly Scottish Radical context but within a broader reformist climate – namely, the passing of the 1832 Great Reform Act of England and Wales (with its equivalent in Scotland passed at the same time). Thus, certain lines had been altered to fit the triumphant mood within reformist circles; for example, “See the front o’ battle lour” was amended to “freedom is our nation’s dower”, and “Wha for Scotland’s King and Law, Freedom’s sword will strongly draw” was changed to “Gather like the muttering storm, wake your thunders for REFORM” . What I find particularly notable about the inclusion of the Scots, Wha Hae adaptation within the Repository, though, is that it reconciled Scottish Radical calls for change and interrelated movements (such as the French Revolution) of the late 18th century with 19th century advances in reform embodied by the 1832 Reform Acts. By replacing the wording of Scots, Wha Hae but retaining its spirit, the ‘Reform Song’ represented a new era in Radicalism which symbolised that, firstly, reform and the democratic representation that it brought was possible and, secondly, that those who desired change could not rest on their laurels but should instead reject satisfaction or complacency so as to effectuate further progress. But this epoch was only possible through the work done by the Scottish Radicals and reformists of the late 18th century, as well as those much earlier movements such as that of Robert Bruce’s in 1314 that laid the all-important foundations for later change. Scots, Wha Hae, and its form within the ‘Reform Song’, therefore reflects not individual and fractured moments of reformist thought, but rather a legacy of Scottish resistance towards the status quo and steadfast desire for change.

After a brief period of liberal rule under the Constitution of Cadiz (1812-1814), when Spain was fighting against French occupation, the country became subordinated to the absolutist rule of Ferdinand VII. Over the next six years, Spain was deeply divided between supporters of the restored absolutism of Ferdinand VII, those wanting a restoration of the privileges of the elite and the Church, and liberals who wanted a constitutional order and something close to representative democracy. Moreover, the loss of the South American colonies had dramatically curtailed the revenues of the state, and there were inadequate and costly attempts to restore Spanish control of its former colonial lands. On 1 January 1820 Lieutenant Colonel Rafael de Riego was due to lead troops from Cadiz to Buenos Aires to subdue those resisting the attempt to restore Spanish rule. He assembled the troops in the plaza of the small Spanish town of Las Cabezas de San Juan where they were stationed and called on them to resist Ferdinand and to support the restoration of the 1812 Constitution. This 'pronunciamiento' was followed by similar eruptions across Spain. Riego then led his troops, which were greatly outnumbered by Ferdinand, in a march punctuated by skirmishes with the enemy over a two month period that served to spread the revolt more widely. However, his extensive losses meant that he was eventually forced to seek temporary refuge in Portugal, and he was there when he learned of Ferdinand’s capitulation. Riego became a national hero, wholly identified with the ensuing trienio. There was a Royalist putsch against the liberal regime (increasingly bitterly divided between moderates and 'exaltados', which weakened it further) in July 1822, when Riego led an urban guerilla group resisting the Royal Guard. Sections of the country remained under control of counter-revolutionaries, and the government became increasingly dominated by 'exaltados'. In 1823, Ferdinand appealed to France for assistance in re-establishing his regime and the French invaded. The consequent war lasted from April through to September 1823. Riego was captured by the French and turned over to Ferndinand’s forces to be executed as part of a wide-scale set of reprisals against those who had challenged his authority. The Himno de Riego was written by a compatriot of the soldier during the 1820 uprising, but became a popular song associated with 'exaltado' ambitions in which he held a major place. The Spanish wars, like the Peninsular War before it, were often marked by extreme brutality and reprisals. Riego, however, seems to have shown consistent restraint in his treatment of his opponents and those loyal to the old regime.

El Trágala was a Spanish revolutionary song composed soon after the triumph of the 1820 revolution. Radical liberals sang it at public gatherings, often as part of street protest events and patriotic festivals. It was used to single out and shame those suspected of compromising, or of sympathising with absolutism. On 3 September 1820, the singing of El Trágala during a theatre performance in Madrid at which Lieutenant Colonel Riego was the guest of honour – there are contradictory reports on whether he actually joined the chorus – sparked the first of many crises pitting the radicals against the moderates. The music and the lyrics drew on popular tradition. The performance, following the script of charivari songs, featured a lead singer, who often adapted the words to local circumstances, followed by the crowd singing the chorus: 'swallow it [the constitution], dog, swallow it, swallow it'. Some contemporaries called it the Ça Ira of the Spanish Revolution and, for the non-radicals, it represented the intransigence and violent disposition of the liberal mob. The riotous singing caused such a prominent debate that one version from 1821 was self-referential: ‘They say that El Trágala is insulting but only the ruffians feel the injury. Swallow it and die, you slave because in Spain, bedbugs die’. During the civil (Carlist) war of the 1830s, pro-Isabella militiamen often played the tune on the church organ during mass as part of the ritual of liberating a town or village from absolutist hands.

After Peterloo and the Cato Street Conspiracy, in both of which the outbreak of substantial violence, either by the state or against it, seemed to threaten political opposition in the country suddenly coalesced around the cause of Queen Caroline, the wife of the Prince Regent, who had been estranged from him more or less from the moment she had given birth to their daughter Princess Charlotte (one of the few popular members of the royal family, who died in childbirth in 1817). Rumours surrounding Caroline's conduct abroad were widespread, fueled by the Regent and his allies. An investigation had been conducted in anticipation of divorce proceedings in 1806, but while the inquiry censured her for 'levity of conduct', the Cabinet agreed not to exclude her from court. A further fishing expedition in Italy was conducted in 1816, producing the widely caricatured and notorious 'Green Bag' of evidence to be used against her. On the death of George III in January 1820, and with the prospect of Caroline attending the coronation, an attempt was made to buy her off (for £50,000) and get her to repudiate her title. This failed, and she declared she would return. As she approached Britain, popular enthusiasm for her cause became widespread. In part, she provided an excuse for organisation and public meetings, otherwise forbidden by the 'Six Acts' but permissible because they ostensibly offered 'sympathetic addresses', which fell outside the Acts; however, the meetings were also often rambunctious and sometimes violent. London provided a major focus. The new king brought a bill of pains and penalties to be heard in the House of Lords that would dissolve the marriage and deprive Caroline of all titles and privileges. The case made its way slowly and increasingly scandalously through the House of Lords, but as it did so support for the King ebbed, and while the bill passed a third reading, it did so barely. The government abandoned it because Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister, could not see how it would pass the Commons. Hone and other radical satirists made much mock of the King and the government - with Hone's 'toy' - the matrimonial ladder - depicting the rise and fall of the Queen through the shabby behaviour of the King. The 'toy' had an accompanying pamphlet that spelt out in detail the sordid character of the King's behaviour. Caroline was locked out of the Coronation in July 1821 and died the following month. While her popularity had declined after the trial, falling again in March as she accepted a £50,000 pay off, and still more sharply after her behaviour at the coronation, her funeral generated huge crowds, who seized the initiative and the cortege and forced it into a new route through the city. At one point the crowd were fired on by the Life Guards. The whole sequence of events remains puzzling. Some historians see it as a resurgence of eighteenth-century traditional crowd behaviour, although the political and satirical value of the movement to reformers suggests that some part of the response was a function of the closure of other avenues of protest. But it is also true the catalogue of her indiscretions at the trial discredited her cause, and correspondingly increased public sympathies for the King. And the violence associated with the crowd produced in turn something of a loyalist backlash after the funeral. Perhaps the best explanation for the furore was the opportunity the case provided to ridicule and attack a king who had done little or nothing to endear himself to his people, without fear of reprisal. What is clear is that there was much to be made fun of! The Barricades Project arranged a performance of the Trial of Queen Caroline, drawing on trial transcripts, in association with The Loft Theatre, Leamington. A recording of the production will be available on-line here: https://lofttheatrecompany.com/the-trial-of-queen-caroline/

This is a threatening letter addressed to Thomas Monument who gave evidence at the trial for Treason of Arthur Thistlewood and James Ings, two of the Cato Street Conspirators in their trial in April 1820. The Judge strictly limited reporting but the London Observer broke ranks on Sunday 23 April releasing details to a wider public. The Monument brothers gave evidence in the Thistlewood trial on 19 April, Ings on the 23, and Brunt on the 24. The date of this letter, according to reports in the Morning Chronicle and Morning Post, Thomas Monument actually gave very little evidence, largely corroborating that given by his brother James as to the collecting of arms by Thistlewood. Nonetheless, this letter is addressed to him and was postmarked 24 April 1820. It expresses itself in no uncertain terms: 'you Dand vilion yu have Been Swearing against those Poor men things that you know nothing of and you Shall have your Reward as you Duly Deserves and as for your hellfire brother England shall never hold him there is no place of Safety for him for we are deteremed to finish his work and Shortly If he is in England we are Deteremed to Drag him to Some please [place] and Burne, Burne him or flea [flay] him alive for there was not one amongst them that thried to Do more than he and we will finish you Both If we are hanged on the Cross of St Pauls you Damd vilions.'

The French Insurrection of 19-20 August 1820. The most detailed account of the 19-20 August 1820 insurrection against the Bourbon King Louis XVIII and his ministers is Joseph Rey’s (1779-1855) unpublished description of it [Bibliothèque Municipale de Grenoble, Mss. T8938]. Following the second White Terror (1815-16) and the repressive policies that followed the assassination on 13 February 1820 of the Duc de Berry, the son of the Comte d’Artois and heir to the throne, Rey established a secret society called the Union whose aim was to overthrow the Bourbons. Modeled on the Italian Carbonari, the Union counted among its supporters leading liberals such as General Lafayette, the Duc d’Argenson, the political economist Charles Dunoyer, and the philosopher Victor Cousin. The planned insurrection had widespread support in the military and among students. It was over a month in planning and was to be launched on 19 August with various military regiments seizing power in cities throughout France and marching under the tricolor on Paris where they were to be joined by armed students. Disputes over what kind of government would replace the Bourbons led to some young soldiers betraying the conspirators’ plans. The plot’s leaders became aware of these leaks and lost their nerve. At the moment when 600 troops under the future Saint-Simonian leader Saint-Amand Bazard were to storm the fortress at Vincennes, no order was given. The authorities were more decisive, and the plot failed. Rey evaded arrest. Supported by a network of sympathisers throughout Europe he found refuge in 1821 in London.

Tract distributed to the Lords by the Spitalfields silk weavers the 9 July 1823 This tract was given to the Lords by a committee of silk weavers before they entered the Houses of Parliament to vote on the repeal of the Spitalfields Acts, on 9 July 1823. Passed in 1773, the main clause of those laws empowered the justices of the peace of London to enforce lists of prices negotiated between the silk manufactures' Masters and Men. The parliamentary debates over their repeal were opened on 9 May by the violent critiques of David Ricardo, who said that they served to 'cramp the freedom of labour itself.' He easily convinced the Chamber of Commons to do away with those old regulations that he believed contradicted the principles of political economy. The bill thus passed to the House of Lords, who were much more sceptical about these arguments, and inclined to recognise the beneficial effects of the Spitalfields Acts in terms of political stability. That is why the weavers displayed on the front of their tract, on either side of the traditional emblem and motto of the trade, a soldier and a sailor, to underline their patriotism during the Seven Years War. Their loyalty to the King is then directly related to the prosperity produced by the Spitalfields Acts, as opposed to the 'speculative measure' prescribed by political economy. In doing so, the weavers summoned the traditional agreement on which the acts rested, that consisted in granting industrial regulations in return for a promise from the workers not to engage in any political activity. This attitude was harshly criticised by most of radical political leaders, such as Francis Place or William Cobbett, who depicted the Spitalfields weavers as 'base dogs.' However, a large majority of the Lords approved the weavers’ arguments and adopted amendments which led its proponents to drop the bill. It was nonetheless reintroduced the following year, in May 1824, and finally passed 17 June. The repeal caused terrible industrial damage to the London silk industry, but also disoriented politically the silk weavers’ community. Indeed, the repeal of the Combination Laws, passed just a few days before, meant that the workers’ movement would now rally around the large politicised associations that were emerging in the northern industries and towns. Many weavers were reluctant to join this movement, as it implied abandoning their traditional repertoire of collective action, but the repeal of the act made that repertoire increasingly ineffectual.