The People to their Land


Entry 3087


From: holdoffhunger [id: 1]


Untitled Anarchism The People to their Land

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(1854 - 1944)

: Charlotte M. Wilson was an English Fabian and anarchist who co-founded Freedom newspaper in 1886 with Peter Kropotkin, and edited, published, and largely financed it during its first decade. She remained editor of Freedom until 1895. Born Charlotte Mary Martin, she was the daughter of a well-to-do physician, Robert Spencer Martin. She was educated at Newnham College at Cambridge University. She married Arthur Wilson, a stockbroker, and the couple moved to London. Charlotte Wilson joined the Fabian Society in 1884 and soon joined its Executive Committee. At the same time she founded an informal political study group for 'advanced' thinkers, known as the Hampstead Historic Club (also known as the Karl Marx Society or The Proudhon Society). This met in her former early 17th century farmhouse, called Wyldes, on the edge of Hampstead Heath. No records of the club survive but there are references to it in the memoirs of several of those who attended. In her history of Wyldes Mrs Wilson records the names of some of those who visited the house, most of whom are known to have been present at Club meetings. They included Sidney Webb, George Bernard Shaw, Sydney Olivier, Annie Besant, Graham Wa... (From:

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The People to their Land

 Photo by Vincent Moschetti, CC BY-NC-ND License

Photo by Vincent Moschetti,
CC BY-NC-ND License

(Tune: "Andreas Refer.")
O high rocks looking heavenward,
O valleys green and fair,
Sea-cliffs that seem to gird and guard
Our Island --- once so dear!
In vain your beauty now ye spread,
For we are numbered with the dead:
A robber band has seized the land,
And we are exiles here.
The moonlight glides along the shore
And silvers all the sands,
It gleams on halls and castles hoar
Built by our father's hands.
But from the scene its beauty fades,
The light dies out along the glades:
A robber band has seized the land,
And we are exiles here.
The plowman plows, the sower sow;
The reaper reaps the ear,
The woodman to the forest goes
Before the day grows clear;
But of our toil no fruit we see,
The harvest's not for you and me:
A robber band has seized the land
And we are exiles here.
The cattle in the sun may lie,
The fox by night may roam,
The lark may sing all day on high
Between its heaven and home;
But we have no place here, to die
Is the one right we need not buy:
Then high to heaven our vows be given,
We'll have our land or die.

Freedom: A Journal of Anarchist Socialism
Vol. 1 -- No. 7,
APRIL, 1887

From : AnarchyArchives


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April 1, 1887
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