Eyam - Plague Village

The Great Plague of 1665-1666 was the last wave of bubonic pandemics to sweep England, and the Derbyshire village of Eyam is significant in the history of that time as a notable example of lockdown, or cordon sanitaire.

Not that lockdown was a new concept even in the mid-17th century. The Byzantine emperor Justinian tried to lock down Constantinople in the 6th century to prevent seamen and traders bringing the plague into the city. He imposed quarantine regulations but ultimately they were ineffective and at the height of the infection, the citizens of the greatest city on earth were dying at the rate of 5,000 a day. That outbreak of plague effectively brought an empire to its end. Later, in the 13th century, notably in Italy and France, there were more successful attempts to impose cordons to protect individual towns and cities from the waves of plague like the Black Death that periodically engulfed the continent. 

What marked the example of Eyam out from other lockdowns was this: the measures that the people of that Derbyshire village took in cutting themselves off were not to protect Eyam from infiltration of disease (it was already too late for that) but to contain the pestilence within their bounds and not let it spread to neighbouring villages or to the nearby city of Sheffield. It was a remarkable act of self-sacrifice and one that touches me personally, for members of my own family lost their lives in Eyam during the fourteen month lockdown.

gravestones and tombs in Eyam churchyard

Here's how it happened. The plague arrived in Eyam in August 1665 in a bale of cloth sent from London to the village tailor. His assistant opened it to air it and a host of plague-carrying rat fleas were released. The unfortunate assistant was the first to die, within a week, and many other villagers soon contracted the disease. The village rector met with his parishioners and persuaded them that the moral thing to do was to isolate the whole village. An exclusion zone and warning signs were set up around the parish boundaries and amazingly no one left the village during the whole period. Eyam was self-sufficient to a degree but appealed by notice for foodstuffs from outside and these were duly provided t regular intervals at a boundary stone which was disinfected daily as was the money that was left to pay for the produce. Strict hygiene rules and social distancing were practised within the village with, for instance, the regular church services moving to an outdoor location. And plague victims were interred not in the churchyard, but close to their houses, to speed up the burial process and to minimise the movement of plague-ridden corpses.

My paternal ancestor Abel Rowland (son of Thomas and Alice) is buried in Eyam churchyard (see his gravestone pictured below). He had the good fortune to die at the beginning of 1665, just months before the plague hit the village. Of the 800 inhabitants, 260 died of the plague in a 14 month period, statistically way higher per capita than the death rate in any other village, town or city in the land.  That's members of 76 different families, the Rowlands among them. Such collectively bravery.

Abel Rowland's gravestone in Eyam churchyard (photo: Ray Rowland)

There was an understandable upsurge in interest about Eyam, the plague village, during the recent Coronavirus pandemic - and by the way that hasn't entirely left us, as in England there are currently about 1,000 new cases per day and despite the vaccination programme nearly 3,000 people right now are hospitalised with one variant or another - but my interest predates Covid, back to my father's family tree investigations in the 1970s. He grew up in Bakewell, some 4 miles from Eyam as the crow flies, and conducted extensive research into the parish records of the villages in the locale: Ashford, Baslow,  Eyam, Hassop, Over Haddon, Rowland (yes, a family seat of sorts), Stoney Middleton and Tideswell. Our ancestral connection to Eyam led me to research more and I made the remarkable story of what had happened in the plague village into an English and Drama project for the year ten children I taught at a comprehensive school in north London in the late 1970s.

Of course it's impossible for me to write about Eyam and lockdown without referencing obvious parallels with the Covid years and to take our present government to task. The fact is that the UK used to have the best and most well-maintained measures in place to combat a major health emergency (be that epidemic or pandemic), and this according to regular World Health Organisation audits. For decades we were best-in-class. That all started to change when the Tories got back into power in 2010. Cameron's coalition government made the decision to reduce funding for pandemic readiness and this trend only accelerated once the Tories were in complete control after the 2015 general election. The number of hospital beds reduced, stocks of PPE were not renewed, respirators and ICU facilities were not maintained to previous levels and so by the time Covid-19 arrived at the beginning of 2020, the UK was way down the list of well-provisioned countries, our emergency plans were rusty and our ability to react effectively to the pandemic was seriously impaired - as we all know now and as the ongoing enquiry will ultimately document in forensic detail. Tory apologists say it was a calculated risk to slash spending in the decade and that we just got unlucky. 24 million people (a third of the population) contracted the disease and a quarter of a million died as a result. Not good enough. The UK has consistently been in the top ten worst impacted countries in the world and we're still there (number 9 currently). 

To compound matters, our own cavalier idiot of a Prime Minister started off claiming it was all a lot of fuss about nothing and ended up on a ventilator himself, then there was all the flouting of lockdown regulations by government officials and advisors (with Cummings and Co. fleeing the capital much as Charles II had done in 1665). But far more pernicious was the scale of cronyism and profiteering that went on as a rash of contracts for making PPE, for building respirators, manufacturing test kits,  throwing together 'Nightingale' hospitals, outsourcing lab capacity went to firms in which Tory MPs or their immediate families had a strong financial stake. I hope the enquiry will not shirk from disclosing the true magnitude of the hundreds of millions of pounds of tax-payers' money thus  misspent.

Let's hope that when the next pandemic arrives, for there will be one at some point, useful lessons have been internalised from the Covid years.

a plague doctor

To send you off with anger in your hearts for the grasping, greedy, incompetent crew (Cummings, Dorries, Gove, Hancock, Johnson, Kwarteng, Patel, Truss, Zadawi and all), my latest incendiary poem.

A Plague Doctor Writes...

A pox on you rats and fleas of Westminster I say!

A plague on both your houses, such a verminous

self-serving horde.  No sooner had you unfurled 

your contaminated roll of shoddy than suddenly 

poured forth such contagion,  an overwhelming  

devilment  of virulent spores which has infected

not only Commons or Lords but the wider body 

politic and brought our misfortunate land down

to its very knees. A pestilence on the mop-head 

of that festering jester,  clown prince of calumny.

But we need deliverance from the whole bunch

whose stench  has become insufferable, beyond

which plasters, vinegar poultices, smoking sage

or sprigs of lavender could mask. You should all

be torched. My prescription?  A mighty bone fire

of all your vanities! I urge that a conflagration fit 

to purge us of your pestilence should rage soon.

Thanks for reading, S 💀

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Plague - Bubonic, Covid?

I haven’t been to Eyam, but I believe it to be beautiful and interesting. It is on my bucket list of places to visit. Eyam is a small village in the Derbyshire Peak District which worked hard to be self-contained during an outbreak of a highly infectious disease.

Taken from ‘The Plague in Eyam ’ by George May,

“The plague which was a highly infectious and very unpleasant disease widely known in Britain and Europe, came to Eyam in the summer of 1665, possibly in a bale of cloth brought up from London. The people in the house where it came to, caught the disease and died in a short space of time. Before long, others had caught the disease and also died, after a short and very painful illness. It spread rapidly. The local rector, The Rev. William Mompesson and his predecessor, led a campaign to prevent the disease spreading outside the village to the surrounding area. This involved the people of the village remaining in the village and being supplied with necessary provisions by people outside.

the boundary stone

                                                            
"There is still on the outskirts of the village a location called the Boundary stone, where traditionally money was placed in small holes for the provisions which those from the local area brought for the villagers. As a result of this action, the disease did not spread, but almost a third of the villagers died. Interestingly some of the villagers who were in contact with those who caught the plague, did not catch it. This was because they had a chromosome which gave them protection. This same chromosome has been shown to still exist in those who are direct descendants of those who survived the plague, and who are still living in the village at the present time. The action of the villagers in staying in the village is almost unique and makes the village the place of significance that it is.”

The nursery rhyme Ring-a-ring-of-roses is thought to have come from this event.

We had to apply a similar process during the Covid lockdown, by relying on grocery deliveries and isolating ourselves as much as possible. I will forever, keep to social distancing when possible and be mindful of handwashing and disinfecting.

Here's poet laureate, Simon Armitage,

Lockdown

And I couldn’t escape the waking dream
of infected fleas

in the warp and weft of soggy cloth
by the tailor’s hearth

in ye old Eyam.
Then couldn’t un-see

the Boundary Stone,
that cock-eyed dice with its six dark holes,

thimbles brimming with vinegar wine
purging the plagued coins.

Which brought to mind the sorry story
of Emmott Syddall and Rowland Torre,

star-crossed lovers on either side
of the quarantine line

whose wordless courtship spanned the river
till she came no longer.

But slept again,
and dreamt this time

of the exiled yaksha sending word
to his lost wife on a passing cloud,

a cloud that followed an earthly map
of camel trails and cattle tracks,

streams like necklaces,
fan-tailed peacocks, painted elephants,

embroidered bedspreads
of meadows and hedges,

bamboo forests and snow-hatted peaks,
waterfalls, creeks,

the hieroglyphs of wide-winged cranes
and the glistening lotus flower after rain,

the air
hypnotically see-through, rare,

the journey a ponderous one at times, long and slow
but necessarily so.

                            Simon Armitage, 2020

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Shakers And Makers

“To understand history, you have to go on reading till you can hear people talking”, says James Campbell in ‘The Anglo Saxons’. 

At the start of the Covid Pandemic I started to read about plague pandemics from other times. I guess I read enough to hear people talking.

Writers have often written about situations and place them in the future, in the past, on other continents or planets. Anywhere but here and now. But there are clues in 1348 as to where and when. You betcha.

I am sure you'll find them without too much trouble. This virus makes fools of its adversaries

1348

Some say it started with the all night barking of what sounded
like a diseased dog fox lying in the lee of a front door porch.
At dawn the door opened and a man collapsed into its frame
his lungs given out as if they were ripped bellows.
Some rushed to him, only to catch the last of his breath.

More deaths followed, leaving gargoyle faced bodies
as if this plague, for plague it seemed, was the Devil’s own spawn.
This was a savage and smiling death that took no prisoners.
Unknown before, it came under doors and seeped through walls.
It ascended to the light bringing its own darkness.

This pestilence was everywhere, passing from person to person
like a baton in a relay race, ripping out all sense of smell and taste,
leaving ravaged bodies as if this was a war on mankind.
Houses were locked down, bolted tight and windows blacked.
There were pleas for potions and pills to bleach bodies clean.

The local lord and his lady went to their second home
thinking that it would be safe as a church and as strong as a castle,
leaving young whippersnappers to make decisions for the village.
Being anything but leaders they failed to make the grade.
This virus makes fools of its adversaries. 

Father John went round to offer the Host, to no avail.
Old Mary the baby easer, not ready to die, shut herself away.
Young girls, heavy with child, were left to birth themselves.
One day three men went out to mow and never came back.
Only the dead came out to play, fearing nothing.

From time to time news arrived from other places to tell of
nurses, doctors and carers martyring themselves to let others live.
Their names and faces were carved into walls of honour
in church yards and high places on a par with royalty.
More important than politicians.

Death was on a mission to fill the graveyards.
For many there was no chance to kiss, hug or say goodbye.
Everything had changed and there was no normal any more.
Then one morning, one glorious morning, the village awoke
saying enough is enough, enough is enough.

We will never know its end until we understand it.
We can only hope to hold it off and make a fragile peace
by waving a white flag of truce on which
we can colour a new country and rainbow the world.
The way to commemorate the dead is to celebrate the living.

Bill Allison

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