The Ballad of Ned Ludd
It is now January, 1812. Johnson, having ridden the
coach from London to Nottingham finds a pleasant
public house, and orders a pint, along with his meal of
bread and cheese. The room is full of tradesmen;
mainly weavers, combers, and croppers. They look
healthy, but its hard to miss the tension when
this stranger from the capital walks in the room.
In the dim oil lamp light a minstrel begins a new
song. And Johnson can't help but note a bit of
defiance in his voice.