William Morris seems to be everywhere these days, his patterns speaking to us from over a century ago and covering everything from hand cream and chocolates to Christmas baubles and socks. None of which he designed them for, and most of which would make him turn in his grave and growl out one of his favourite words: shoddy. Quite how they would all fit with his most famous saving: ‘have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful’ is anybody’s guess. But then, I am wearing a nice pair of Morris ‘strawberry thief’ socks so what would I know?
Equally, what do today’s consumers know of Morris? That he preferred to call himself a communist? That he wrote poetry and was once thought of as a potential Poet Laureate (until they spotted his revolutionary politics) or that he translated Norse sagas and set up a printing workshop? Not to mention coming to the North East to address striking Northumberland miners, speaking on street corners across the country or founding the Socialist League.
William Morris
Let us take a step back from his beautiful designs and look outside the National Trust shop to see Morris as a whole and wonder why he might end up marching from Blyth to Ryton (or at least most of the way) to support miners facing a wage cut.
His family moved from Birmingham to London at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when his father was lucky enough to invest in what has been described as the largest copper mine in the world: Devon Great Consols. Something that provided William, the eldest son born in 1834, with a good income until he resigned his directorship and famously sat on his top hat. William defied expectations when, at Oxford, he decided that the church was not for him and he’d give art and architecture a go instead. The art and social critic John Ruskin had something to do with that, but whilst Morris adopted his argument that good art could only come from those who had pleasure in their labour – something severely lacking in Britain’s factories – he could never accept Ruskin’s essential conservatism.
Leaving Oxford and getting married, what might a prosperous young man do next? Ask his architect friend, Philip Webb, to design him a house, of course. The Red House in Bexley (now owned by the National Trust) became an iconic building, lauded by subsequent architects as well as being a crucible of artistic endeavour and the foundation of what eventually became Morris & Co. (‘the Firm’).
Sadly, Morris’s friend, Edward Burne-Jones was unable to take up the joint residency and London was too far away for the rapidly expanding wallpaper, textiles and stained glass business, so Morris, his wife and two daughters were there for little more than five years.
It was stained glass that formed the basis of the business in the early years and we are lucky to have some excellent examples in the North East. For example, at Sacred Heart church in Gosforth, Holy Cross in Haltwhistle, St Oswald in Durham and even in the café at the Laing art gallery (removed from St Cuthbert church). Further along the Tyne valley at Brampton in Cumbria is St Martin’s, the only church designed by Philip Webb and with a complete set of outstanding Morris & Co. stained glass.
Later, the Firm moved on to the wallpapers and fabrics, for which they became famous. Morris was prolific in his output and soon had a shop in London’s Oxford Street and then in Manchester, as well as a workshop in Merton where he focussed on his hand printed papers and tapestry designs.
He also found himself with clients in the North: in particular George Howard, who later became the Earl of Carlisle, his wife Rosalind and the man who made his money from his Middlesborough iron works: Isaac Lothian Bell. It was at Bell’s house, Rounton Grange (inevitably designed by Webb and now demolished) that Morris had another famous outburst when, covered in paint from his work decorating the ceiling, he protested in a loud voice about always “ministering to the swinish luxury of the rich”.
Socialism
How then did he get to socialism and what was he doing in the North East supporting the miners? His transition to the former came as a result of the failed liberal politics of the time and the establishment of the first avowedly socialist organisation the (Social) Democratic Federation which Morris joined in 1884. As is the way of these things it had split within a year and Morris led a group including Eleanor Marx, which established the Socialist League and its newspaper: Commonweal.
No armchair socialist he, and, as with everything he did, Morris pitched in with enthusiasm. Speaking across the country in venues from little socialist drinking clubs, to middle class audiences in Oxford lecture theatres and on cold street corners in Salford. On 16 November 1884 he came to the Tyne Theatre to talk to the Sunday Lecture Society on Art and Labour. Describing his talk as one of his ‘milder ones’ he nevertheless spoke to a mixed audience of an estimated 3000 which ended with him asking them to ‘take sides’ and support the working class in the revolution that was to come.
Morris was back in 1887 when Northumberland miners were either striking or locked out for seventeen weeks in the face of a 12.5% cut in their pay. Morris recorded the event in his Socialist Diary (reprinted by Five Leaves Books) and how he marched behind the banners from Blyth, met Harry Cowens at Newcastle station (which he hated) and spoke at Ryton Willows where he got a ‘bit lectury’ and thought he went on too long.
Morris’s politics is still contested but what is not in doubt was that he remained until the end of his days a socialist revolutionary who gave all his energy to ‘the cause’. So next time you spot somebody buying some ‘William Morris hand cream’ you have the ideal opportunity to whisper in their ear’: ‘did you know he was a communist?’
(a fuller account of Morris and the Northumberland miners can be read in North East History, volume 46, 2015, which is published by the North East Labour History Society and is available online at their website)
