The Matchgirls’ Strike: Courage in the Face of Injustice

The Matchgirls’ Strike: Courage in the Face of Injustice

Today I want to learn more about a part of history that up until now I knew nothing about, the Matchgirls’ Strike of 1888. A time when young working women in London stood together against injustice and changed the course of history. How could I not have known anything about this until now?

In the late nineteenth century, as we all know the East End of London was crowded, noisy, and steeped in poverty. One of the factories that lined its streets was Bryant & May match factory in Bow. Inside, hundreds of girls and young women-many still only in their early teens- they worked long hours for exceptionally low wages. Their job was to dip small wooden splints into a dangerous white phosphorus, a substance that could cause a horrific condition known as “phossy jaw,” where the bones of the face slowly decayed. Fines were imposed on the women for even the smallest of mistakes, things like talking, dropping matches, or arriving a few minutes late. Pay could and would be reduced without any warning. For girls already living on the edge, those reductions in wages often meant hunger, not just for her but for her family aswell.

By 1888, frustration had been building for years. The girls endured the hideous smell of the chemicals, the constant worry of becoming ill, and the humiliation of the unfair and frankly exploitative treatment. Many of these women were supporting parents or younger siblings. They may well have felt invisible-young, poor, and dismissed by society as completely unimportant. But beneath that surface was strength.

In June 1888, the social reformer Annie Besant visited the factory and began speaking with the workers. She was completely shocked by what she heard from the women. She published an article titled “White Slavery in London,” in her weekly newspaper, The Link. She exposed the conditions inside Bryant & May. The factory owners as you can well imagine were not happy and reacted angrily to article. They pressured the girls to deny the claims and to tell people that Besant’s words were lies. When several workers simply refused, one was dismissed.

That dismissal became the spark needed to provoke the women into action.

On the 5th of July 1888, around 1,400 matchgirls walked out. It was bold, frightening and maybe even a decision that could push them into destitution. Most had no savings. Striking meant no wages at all. But they chose solidarity. They marched to see Besant, asking for help in organising their cause. For perhaps the first time, many of them felt their voices finally mattered.

Public opinion quickly shifted in their favour. Newspapers reported on their bravery. Meetings were held. Donations were even raised. The girls elected representatives, they showed remarkable confidence and complete unity. They were not willing to be passive victims; they were determined young women demanding fairness.

Within two weeks, the factory management agreed to negotiate. Fines and deductions were abolished and a formal grievance procedure was introduced. The strike officially ended on the 16th of July 1888. The girls returned to work as pioneers of change.

In the following weeks, they formed the Union of Women Matchmakers, which was one of the first unions for unskilled female workers. Their action helped inspire the wider “New Unionism” movement, proving that even the poorest workers could organise successfully.

The Matchgirls’ Strike was not only about wages. It was about dignity. These young women-many only teenagers- had challenged powerful businessmen and forced society to see them. They must have felt fear, yes, but also a sense of pride. They had discovered their collective strength, and stood up to be heard.

Their story reminds us that history is often not about kings and politicians, but made by ordinary people who refuse to just accept injustice.

Do you think their courage would have been possible without standing together? How much influence did Annie Besant have on the women?

Image info:

Matchgirls on strike against Bryant & May in London

Date: 1888

The English Reformation: Faith, Fear, and the Fight for Authority

The English Reformation: Faith, Fear, and the Fight for Authority

We have been discovering more about people of the Tudor era, and today I want to turn that same lens toward one of the most defining and divisive transformations of their world: the English Reformation. Rather than treating it as a clean religious revolution or a simple shift from Catholic to Protestant, it makes far more sense to see it as a deeply human process, shaped by fear, ambition, conscience, frustration, and circumstance. The Reformation did not arrive fully formed, nor was it driven by a single motive. It unfolded unevenly, propelled by individuals making choices under intense pressure, often with limited understanding of where those choices would lead.

At the centre of this story stands Henry VIII, but focusing solely on him risks oversimplifying what happened. Henry did not begin his reign as a reformer or a critic of Rome. On the contrary, he was a committed Catholic who publicly opposed the teachings of Martin Luther and earned papal praise for doing so. The break with Rome grew out of a personal and dynastic crisis rather than theological rebellion. By the late 1520s, Henry faced the terrifying possibility that his dynasty might fail. His marriage to Catherine of Aragon had produced only one surviving child, Mary, and the shadow of civil war still loomed large in English memory. A disputed succession was not an abstract worry; it was a genuine threat to stability.

When Henry sought an annulment and encountered resistance from the papacy, the issue quickly became political as well as personal. The pope’s hesitation was caused by European power struggles and imperial pressure, but to Henry it felt like England’s and his personal future was being dictated by foreign interests. This sense of frustration and humiliation mattered. The Reformation, in this light, was partly a declaration of sovereignty. It asserted that England’s king would not submit to an external authority, even one that claimed spiritual supremacy.

But dynastic anxiety alone cannot explain the sweeping changes that followed. The English Reformation succeeded because long-standing tensions already existed between Crown and Church. The medieval Church was wealthy, legally privileged, and intricately woven into everyday life. Monasteries controlled vast tracts of land, clerics operated in separate courts, and money flowed out of England through papal taxes and fees. To many, this system looked less like spiritual care and more like an institution beyond accountability.

This resentment created opportunities for men who understood how reform could strengthen royal power. Figures such as Thomas Cromwell recognised that the issue was not just marriage, but authority. By redefining the king as Supreme Head of the Church of England, the Crown gained control over doctrine, law, and wealth. The dissolution of the monasteries, often justified in moral language, transferred enormous resources into royal hands and rewarded loyal supporters. For many beneficiaries, reform was as much about land and advancement as belief.

That does not mean religion was irrelevant. The early sixteenth century was shaped by genuine spiritual unease. Across Europe, people questioned whether the Church truly guided souls toward salvation or whether it had become distracted by power and ritual. In England, reformist ideas circulated discreetly among scholars, courtiers, and merchants. Access to scripture in English and an emphasis on personal faith challenged the Church’s traditional role as mediator between God and believer. For some, this offered clarity and hope; for others, it threatened the foundations of a familiar world.

These tensions explain why reform in England moved cautiously and often inconsistently. Henry himself remained conservative in belief, persecuting Protestants and Catholics alike when he felt stability was threatened. The Church he created was structurally new but doctrinally restrained. It was only later, under his children, that belief shifted more clearly. Under Thomas Cranmer, religious reforms reflected a sincere attempt to reshape worship and theology, even as they provoked resistance and even fear.

Fear played a powerful role throughout the process. Rulers had watched religious division tear other countries apart. The English Crown feared rebellion, foreign invasion, and the erosion of authority. Religion became a tool of governance, a way to define loyalty and obedience. To dissent was not merely to believe differently, but to risk being labelled disloyal or treasonous. In this climate, conformity mattered more than conviction.

For ordinary people, the Reformation was often confusing and unsettling. Changes arrived through law rather than consent. Practices that were part community life for generations were suddenly condemned, altered, or removed. Images vanished, prayers changed, and familiar rituals disappeared. Some welcomed these reforms as purification; others mourned what they saw as the destruction of sacred tradition. Many simply adapted, learning to survive in a world where belief had become political.

Over time, the Reformation reshaped English identity. Under Elizabeth I, religion became a careful compromise, designed to avoid extremes while reinforcing royal authority. Under Elizabeth I, the monarch was deliberately styled “Supreme Governor” of the Church of England rather than “Supreme Head”, a carefully chosen title designed to soften religious opposition, reassure traditionalists, and reinforce royal authority without provoking unnecessary division. Protestantism grew intertwined with ideas of English independence and resistance to foreign control. But the settlement rested on fragile foundations, shaped by memory, fear, and unresolved divisions.

Seen this way, the English Reformation was not inevitable, nor was it driven by a single cause. It happened because personal fears aligned with political opportunity, because economic gain could be framed as moral reform, and because religious ideas emerged at a moment when authority itself was under strain. It was shaped by people navigating uncertainty, trying to protect power, conscience, or survival.

So the question remains: when we strip away hindsight and labels, what were the real reasons for the English Reformation? Was it primarily a crisis of belief, a struggle for power, a response to fear, or an uneasy combination of all three-and can we ever truly separate faith from politics when the future of a dynasty, a nation, and individual souls seemed to depend on the same choices?

Image info:

Artist: After Hans Holbein the Younger

Date: 1540–1547

Collection: Walker Art Gallery

In Service and Silence: The Long Life of Louisa McDonnell, Countess of Antrim

In Service and Silence: The Long Life of Louisa McDonnell, Countess of Antrim

I want to learn about Louisa McDonnell, Countess of Antrim.

She was born on the 15th of February 1855 at St James’s Palace, into the influential Grey family, where service to crown and country was a familiar expectation. Growing up amid court connections and political responsibility likely instilled in her a strong sense of restraint and loyalty. From an early age, she would have understood that personal feelings were often secondary to role and reputation.

In 1875, she married William Randal McDonnell, 6th Earl of Antrim, beginning a family life alongside her aristocratic obligations. Balancing motherhood with public duty may have brought tension, as affection and absence pulled her in different directions. Noble life demanded composure, even when emotions were complex.

In 1890, she was appointed Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Victoria. This role required constancy, sensitivity, and absolute trust. Serving the Queen through her final years, Louisa would have witnessed grief, decline, and the loneliness of power. After Victoria’s death, she continued her service under Queen Alexandra, adapting once more to a new personality and court atmosphere, a testament to her emotional intelligence and resilience.

She lived to see extraordinary change, dying in London on the 2nd of April 1949, aged ninety-four. 

Do you think women like the Countess of Antrim found fulfilment in loyal service, or did such roles demand too much personal sacrifice?

Anna Maria Russell and the Social Ritual That Changed British Afternoons

Anna Maria Russell and the Social Ritual That Changed British Afternoons

I want to find out more about Anna Maria Russell, Duchess of Bedford, the woman often credited with the invention of afternoon tea. A custom that has become quintessentially British.

 

Anna Maria Stanhope was born on the 3rd of September in 1783. She was the daughter of Charles Stanhope, the 3rd Earl of Harrington, and Jane Fleming. Having been born into aristocracy, she would have learned how important behaviour and reputation was in elite circles, this must have shaped her instincts, making her aware that observing and adapting, was what was expected.

 

In 1808, she married Francis Russell, who later became the 7th Duke of Bedford. The marriage joined her to one of Britain’s most powerful families. When her husband eventually inherited the dukedom in 1839, Anna became Duchess of Bedford, a role that placed her even closer to court life. She was already considered a trusted figure, having already formed a close friendship with Queen Victoria. She had she served as a Lady of the Bedchamber between 1837 and 1841. This position required discretion, emotional intelligence, and a constant attentiveness, it also likely made her more aware of how routine and comfort mattered in the demanding royal schedule.

 

In 1841, Anna’s closeness to the royal household was made clear when Queen Victoria visited her at Woburn Abbey in Bedfordshire. The occasion must have felt like both an honour and a test. Entertaining a queen required organisation and a clear understanding of royal expectation. For Anna, the visit was likely a mix of pride and enormous pressure: pride that she was welcoming her queen, and pressure to make sure that it went I want to find out more about Anna Maria Russell, Duchess of Bedford, the woman often credited with the invention of afternoon tea. A custom that has become quintessentially British.

 

Anna Maria Stanhope was born on the 3rd of September in 1783. She was the daughter of Charles Stanhope, the 3rd Earl of Harrington, and Jane Fleming. Having been born into aristocracy, she would have learned how important behaviour and reputation was in elite circles, this must have shaped her instincts, making her aware that observing and adapting, was what was expected.

 

In 1808, she married Francis Russell, who later became the 7th Duke of Bedford. The marriage joined her to one of Britain’s most powerful families. When her husband eventually inherited the dukedom in 1839, Anna became Duchess of Bedford, a role that placed her even closer to court life. She was already considered a trusted figure, having already formed a close friendship with Queen Victoria. She had she served as a Lady of the Bedchamber between 1837 and 1841. This position required discretion, emotional intelligence, and a constant attentiveness, it also likely made her more aware of how routine and comfort mattered in the demanding royal schedule.

 

In 1841, Anna’s closeness to the royal household was made clear when Queen Victoria visited her at Woburn Abbey in Bedfordshire. The occasion must have felt like both an honour and a test. Entertaining a queen required organisation and a clear understanding of royal expectation. For Anna, the visit was likely a mix of pride and pressure. Pride that she was welcoming her queen, and pressure to make sure that it went perfectly and that the queen was comfortable. 

 

It was during this time that Anna became associated with afternoon tea. She had started to struggle with the time between lunch and an increasingly late evening meal, she is said to have felt a sinking feeling, and became fatigued and hungry. Her solution was a simple one, she requested that tea, bread, butter, and cake be served in the late afternoon. Whether or not she truly “invented” the custom or not altogether clear, but the practice spread through her social circles, eventually becoming popular with Victoria herself. This royal approval made the custom popular throughout Britain.

 

Anna Russell sadly died on the 3rd of July 1857 and is buried at Chenies in Buckinghamshire. 

 

Do you think everyday habits tell us more about history than any political event ever can?

 

The Angel in the House: Comfort, Control, and the Struggle of Victorian Women

The Angel in the House: Comfort, Control, and the Struggle of Victorian Women

The Rise of the “Angel in the House” Ideal

Today I want to discover more about the rise of the “Angel in the House” ideal in Victorian society and how women were expected to embody purity, obedience, and self-sacrifice -and who resisted it.

The roots of this expectation stretch back to before the Victorian period. In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Britain was changing rapidly. Industrialisation had forced men into factories, offices, and public life. All the while the home was increasingly being described as a moral refuge from a competitive and often harsh world. Religion, conduct books, and social commentary all reinforced the idea that a woman’s highest calling should be domestic. She was expected to be gentle, pious, and devoted to her family.

By around the 1850s, the ideal was promoted by the famous poem The Angel in the House by Coventry Patmore. It was written as a way to praise his wife and it portrayed her as the perfect woman. He praised her selflessness, patience and the fact she was entirely centred on her husband’s needs. The poem did not invent the ideal, but it gave it a name and spread the ideal further. Middle-class society though thoroughly embraced it. There were advice manuals that recommended that girls should protect their virtue, lower their voices, and always put others first. Education for girls was focused on refinement, music, and social graces. Many women must have felt the weight of this expectation from a young age, they would have learned that approval depended mainly on their compliance.

The image of the “angel” was a powerful one because it seemed to be flattering. Women were told they were morally superior, naturally pure, and spiritually stronger than men. But this praise came with many limits. Legal rights for women were restricted. Married women had very little control over property until reforms like the Married Women’s Property Acts that came in later in the century. Career options for women were scarce and were often frowned upon. A woman who stepped outside the domestic world risked being the victim of gossip or social isolation. Behind the language of reverence was a clear message that women should stay within the home.

For some, this role brought genuine pride and purpose. Many women poured all their creativity and intelligence into managing households, raising children, and shaping family life. They may have found comfort in being needed and valued, even if that value was narrowly defined. But for others, the ideal must have felt suffocating. It demanded endless patience, even in unhappy marriages. It expected them to remain silence even when they felt frustration. It praised sacrifice without asking what was being sacrificed.

Resistance gradually built up against this ideal. Authors like Charlotte Brontë and George Eliot created heroines who thought, desired independence, and questioned social limits, that subjugated women. Their novels explored the inner conflict-the tension between duty and self. Female characters were not simply angels, but complex and interesting individuals, just like real women are. 

Activists also began to challenge the legal and educational barriers often faced by women. Campaigners like Barbara Bodichon argued that women deserved property rights and better schooling, which is not unreasonable by todays standard. The suffrage movement was also gathering momentum toward the end of the century, it demanded a voice as well as influence. This resistance was not always dramatic or obvious. Sometimes it was a middle-class woman who chose to pursue paid work, seek higher education, or maybe in her refusing to marry purely for her security. Each small act chipped away at the idea of an angel in the home.

Even in the home, not all angels agreed to remain silent. Some women negotiated with their husbands, they shaped family decisions, and even supported reform causes from behind the scenes. Their influence was only subtle but it was very real. The ideal itself began to change as the economic realities required more women to work, especially in urban areas. By the early twentieth century, the image of the obedient wife no longer fitted into a society that had been irreversibly changed by war, industrial revolution and political changes.

The “Angel in the House” ideal had shaped generations it offered both comfort and constraint. It may have promised honour but it demanded submission. Some women embraced it wholeheartedly while others struggled badly. I can’t imagine feeling so trapped and restrained. Some women, pushed back against it. 

When you look back at this ideal, what do you see? Do you see it mainly as a protection in a turbulent age, or as a cage that limited women’s potential?

Image info:

The Angel in the House. Emily Peacock. 

Date:1873

Artist: Julia Margaret Cameron

The Language of Flowers: Secret Messages Beneath Victorian Petals

The Language of Flowers: Secret Messages Beneath Victorian Petals

Today I want to discover more about the language of flowers, a secretive form of communication used a lot during the Victorian era. It allowed people to say things that society would not permit them to say aloud.

Long before the Victorian era, flowers carried meaning in different cultures. In ancient Persia and the Ottoman Empire, arrangements known as selam let objects, including flowers, to represent messages. Travellers to the East during the eighteenth century brought home stories of this symbolic language. It fascinated people and became popular. By the late Georgian era, curiosity in botany was beginning to grow in Britain. Explorers were bringing back plants from all over the Empire. Gardening became fashionable. The wealthy filled greenhouses with beautiful plants. 

When the nineteenth century began, Britain was changing at an unexpected rate.

Industrialisation was reshaping cities, class structures and social rules. Nowhere was this more obviously than in courtships. Public displays of affection were a complete no, no. Especially among the respectable middle and upper classes. Women were supervised letters were often read, reputations could be damaged by even the smallest whisper of any impropriety. In this environment, feelings had to be disguised and so flowers became one way in which messages could be sent.

The publication of floral dictionaries made the trend even more popular. In 1819, a book simply titled Le Langage des Fleurs appeared in France and English translations soon became available. By the 1830s and 1840s, numerous British guides were available and listed flowers and their meanings. A red rose meant passionate love; a yellow rose could show jealousy; rosemary signified remembrance and lily of the valley promised a return of happiness. These books were not always consistent, and the meanings could vary, but that uncertainty only added to the mystique. Giving flowers to someone required thought and receiving them required you to translate. 

During the early reign of Queen Victoria, romantic sentiment became woven into culture. The Queen herself had a strong emotional nature, and her clear public devotion to Prince Albert helped shape ideals of perfect love and domestic affection. The Victorian imagination embraced passion but society was still demanding composure. The language of flowers offered up a compromise. Your feelings could be expressed, but discreetly and privately.

A young man might send a posy to a woman he liked. A sprig of myrtle for love, a white camellia for admiration, perhaps a touch of ivy to show his fidelity. He may have felt a mixture of hope and anxiety when he sent the bouquet. Would she understand? Would she reply? For the young woman, receiving such a gift was probably equally as exciting. She would translate the message, maybe with her heart racing as she matched each flower to its meaning. In a world where she had limited freedoms, decoding the message might have felt like rebellion.

Flowers also carried other messages, not just of romance. White lilies and chrysanthemums appeared at funerals, representing purity and mourning. Widows would wear small bouquets, the flowers might have given some comfort in the understanding these blooms conveyed. Even friendship and apology were communicated through carefully chosen flowers. Violets signified loyalty, lavender meant devotion. In a way, the language of flowers became woven into everyday life.

The expansion of printing and mass production helped spread the practice. By the 1850s, inexpensive floral guides were widely available. Middle-class households often kept them alongside their etiquette manuals. Flower arranging became an accomplishment for young ladies, part of a broader education in refinement. Gardens were expanded, parks thrived and urban flower markets became really successful. Covent Garden in London bustled with colour and fragrance, connecting rural growers with city dwellers eager to participate in this symbolic trend.

But there was also problems with this coded world. Misinterpretation was a real possiblity. A flower chosen for its beauty might unintentionally carry a hidden meaning. A wilted bloom could imply fading affection. The system depended on the same shared knowledge, and not everyone agreed on the definitions. Some Victorians may have found ambiguity frustrating. Others maybe enjoyed the drama, the way a single bouquet could cause anticipation, jealousy, or even longing.

As the century progressed, photography, faster postal services, and eventually the telephone began to change communication. It became far easier than ever before. Social conventions were slowly relaxing. By the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, the strict codes surrounding courtship had loosened slight but they never really disappeared. The intense popularity of floral dictionaries sadly declined, but the emotional associations remained embedded in culture even today. Red roses still mean love. Forget-me-nots still carry a plea not to be forgotten.

Looking back, the language of flowers reveals a society negotiating between restraint and desire. Victorian men and women were not devoid of passion; they simply lived within boundaries that shaped how that passion could be expressed. Flowers offered beauty, but they also offered safety. In them people found a way to confess, to grieve, to hope, and to remember without ever speaking a single word.

It is tempting to imagine the moments these exchanges created: a young woman pressing a flower between the pages of her diary, a soldier sending home a small bouquet before leaving, a widow arranging blossoms beside a photograph. Each gesture carried a feeling beneath its surface. Each stem held more than just decoration.

Perhaps that is why the language of flowers still fascinates us today. It reminds us that even in the most constrained circumstances, human emotion searches for expression. 

If you had lived in Victorian Britain, which flower would you have chosen to send, and what message would you have hoped it carried?

Image info:

Date:1900

Artist: Alphonse Mucha

Language of Flowers by Alphonse Mucha, Plate 35 from Album de la Décoration, 1900. Color lithograph.

Penny Dreadfuls: Escape, Imagination, and Victorian Readers

Penny Dreadfuls: Escape, Imagination, and Victorian Readers

Today I want to discover more about a form of Victorian reading that was cheap, thrilling, and to some, unsettling: the penny dreadful. Often dismissed as low culture, these small weekly publications played a powerful role in shaping imagination, fear, and identity during the nineteenth century, especially among the young and the working poor.

Penny dreadfuls emerged in the 1830s, at a moment when Britain was changing fast. Industrialisation had pulled families into crowded cities, work was long and repetitive, and education was slowly becoming more accessible. Literacy rates were rising, but books remained prohibitively expensive. For a single penny, these serialized stories offered escape. They were printed on cheap paper and sold by street vendors, thet were designed to be consumed quickly, often on the way to work or at the end of a long day.

Early penny dreadfuls drew heavily on older stories, Gothic novels, folk legends, sensational crime reports, and public executions all fed their content. Stories of highwaymen, pirates, crime, and supernatural figures were common. Violence, danger, and moral transgression were not hidden but placed front and centre. For readers living constrained, exhausting lives, these tales must have offered intensity. Fear became entertainment, and shock became something to anticipate rather than endure.

By the 1840s and 1850s, penny dreadfuls had found their audience. Young working-class boys, in particular, loved them. Many were apprentices or factory workers with little control over their own lives. These stories gave them characters who broke rules, challenged authority, and lived boldly, even recklessly. There was excitement in following an outlaw or anti-hero week by week. Readers may have felt a sense of power through identification, even if they understood it was fantasy.

Obviously, not everyone approved. Middle-class reformers, teachers, and religious leaders worried about their influence. They feared penny dreadfuls would encourage crime, laziness, and even moral decay. Public debates framed these stories as dangerous to impressionable minds. But this criticism also reveals how seriously their impact was taken. The fear was not that they were meaningless, but that they were effective.

As the century continued, penny dreadfuls began to change. Competition gradually increased, and some publishers softened the content or introduced clearer moral lessons. At the same time, alternative cheap literature also appeared, offering adventure without quite the same darkness. By the late Victorian period, the original penny dreadful was fading out, replaced by boys’ papers and illustrated magazines. Even so, their legacy still continued.

For readers at the time, penny dreadfuls were more than just trashy entertainment. They were moments in which they could escape, and experience excitement. They allowed readers to imagine freedom, and to step briefly outside their rigid boundaries. In a world that often demanded obedience without complaint, these stories must have felt like defiance.

Do you think penny dreadfuls were more harmful or more helpful to the people who read them-and what modern stories do you think play a similar role today?

Image info:

Spring Heeled Jack 

Penny dreadful 

Date: 1860

Artist: anonymous