Rise of the Red Flags

The history of the banner begins with that of the Industrial Revolution, broadly understood. As the riches of empire made their way up canals and railways, lining the pockets of the British elite, conditions for the nation’s workers deteriorated. Steam power accelerated the aggressive expansion of industries — none more so than mining, such that pitmen were forced ever deeper underground in the search of greater coal yields. This was the era of the miners’ bond (an exploitative system whereby employers essentially ‘owned’ mining labourers on a yearly contract), child labour, and firedamp (flammable underground gases causing frequent explosions) — a time when coalmining disasters and diseases took the lives of thousands every year.

At the start of this period, fearing revolt, the British government passed the Combinations Act of 1799, which outlawed the formation of trade unions. By 1824, the act had been repealed, but establishment disdain for unionism remained strong. It wasn’t uncommon for union lists identifying perceived ‘troublemakers’ to be sold to the authorities for the price of a pint.

Despite these repressive measures, the nineteenth century was ultimately one of the most significant periods of working-class organisation, as radical groups like the Luddites and the Chartists were at the heart of various energetic pushes for reform. In the years around 1830 —the same period as the momentous Merthyr Rising in South Wales (where the totemic Red Flag was debuted), Thomas Hepburn formed the Northumberland and Durham Pitmen’s Union, which would win significant victories over the 18-hour working day and loosen the grip of the Tommy Shops (which forced workers to buy food and other provisions from their employers).

One of the first media references to union banners is from 1844, concerning a gathering of miners on Boldon Fell. ‘The roads in the vicinity presented an unusual bustle,’ the report says:

The men walked in procession from their different collieries bearing flags and banners accompanied by bands of music. The banners were numerous and of the gayest description, nearly all embellished with a motto more or less connected to the recent struggle between miners and their employers. One of these was surrounded with a deep border of black crape … with reference to the death of a person at the colliery to which it belongs.

Despite the prevalence of banners across the nineteenth century, their devices would not be reported in detail until the first Big Meeting of 1871. By now, the miners’ bond had been eradicated and the formation of the Durham Miner’s Association had created new legitimacy for unionised men — a union that by the time of the 1926 General Strike would become one of the strongest in Britain, boasting 3,000 more members than there were working miners. Those in attendance at these early meetings would have been no stranger to political agitation, most likely having relations who had taken part in previous uprisings and strikes.

Early reports of the banner highlight the presence of religious and nationalistic motifs like the Union Jack. Perhaps, this was an attempt to appeal to the patriotism of the ruling classes, but it also probably reflects the relative social conservatism of the average nineteenth-century pitman. Emotional appeals were also made to support for the union — often via pleas for donations to widows benefit funds — while other entreaties were made to causes of law and order, hard work, and arbitration (particularly between master and servant). Banners of this era often depicted handshakes between bosses and miners — the latter painted to look more presentable beside their middle-class counterparts.

The Most Revolutionary Banner in the World

The turn of the century brought new battles, however, and the birth of the Labour Party in 1900 initiated a new era for trade unionism in Britain. By 1913, coal output had reached its peak, and banners turned away from subjects like regulation, voting rights, and arbitration, and towards demands for improved wages and living conditions. Edwardian banners often centred on before-and-after motifs concerning housing and working conditions. One banner from the National Union of Railwaymen featured a sun-soaked idyll in which children were shown dancing around a maypole as miners watched on. As today, the idealisation of a mythical past England was never far away.

As the growth of the Labour Party spawned new leaders, the Edwardian banner became noteworthy for its portraiture. Images of Thomas Hepburn, Aneurin Bevin, and of the faces of local mining leaders were common. Changing social conventions also brought women to the fore (wartime nurse Edith Cavill featured on the banner of Bowburn Lodge). Meanwhile, in a parallel tradition to that of the miners, the suffragette movement was making use during this period of needlework and appliqué techniques to subvert prejudices about ‘traditional women’s skills’ and overhaul the template of the radical political banner. The WSPU Holloway Prisoners Banner of 1910 is a prime example of the collaborative nature of the suffragette banner, as compared to those of the male-dominated unions.

Mirroring the banners of the suffragette movement, the early banners of the 1900s also went through a period of experimentation, with some adopting the ornate style of socialist artist Walter Crane. Despite this, banner design was very much dominated by the oil-painted silks of one firm in particular: Tutill’s of London. Formed in 1847 by George Tutill, the firm would come to be responsible for over 75 percent of union banners, as well as the coveted production banner, awarded annually to the pit that had won the most coal that year. To combat the miners’ unfamiliarity with Tutill’s secretive methods of dying, winding, and warping, lodges would be provided with a catalogue featuring a series of templated banner designs to choose from, with more elaborate designs commanding a larger fee.

The years following the Great War were marked by grief, economic depression, pay disputes, and unemployment. In the years between the Russian Revolution and the 1926 General Strike, a growing culture of autodidacticism brought communism to the Durham coalfield. In the ‘Red Village’ of Wardley, the Follonsby Lodge banner featured the hammer and sickle, as well as portraits of Lenin, George Harvey, AJ Cook, and James Connolly, eventually gaining the reputation of being ‘the most revolutionary banner in the world’.

In a marginally less militant vein, the faces of Keir Hardie and Peter Lee were ubiquitous across the Durham Coalfield in the Long 1920s, especially in the years around their respective deaths in 1915 and 1930. Labour leader Ramsey MacDonald had been another stalwart; however his appeal diminished, to put it mildly, amid rising tensions with miners and his governments from 1929. Many lodges eventually opted to paint MacDonald out of their banners entirely, while Bewick Main went as far as to drape his face with a white sheet. To be depicted on red silk was a sign of arrival for many a politician. To be painted out was a death knell.

The Past We Inherit, The Future We Build

In the years after the Second World War, banners were increasingly influenced by classic post-war themes like nationalisation, apprentice education, and safety. In 1958, former miner and artist Norman Cornish would design a classic banner for Tudhoe Grange. However, the latter decades of the twentieth century would eventually come to be defined by the dismantling of the British coal industry. Despite formidable resistance to this throughout the seventies and eighties — climaxing with the 1984 Miners’ Strike — the closure of Monkwearmouth Colliery in 1994 would signal the end of deep coal mining in County Durham.

Today, some may view the union banner as a relic of a bygone past. But in the North East we know different. This fact is underlined by the continuingly inventive work of Durham Bannermakers — a firm responsible for the design of two new banners for this year’s Gala. Led by Emma Shankland and her husband Edgar, Durham Bannermakers was formed by Emma’s parents, Hugh and Lotte Shankland, who had previously created banners for the Anti-Apartheid and CND movements, before creating their first union banner in the 1990s.

Emma told me about the importance of adhering to traditional techniques while creating banners that have resonance today:

A double-sided hand-painted banner can take between 16 and 20 weeks to complete, and if taken care of can last for decades. Unlike times when banners were turned out at almost factory speed to support unionised booming industries, the cost of a hand-painted, high-quality, silk parade banner can be prohibitive. It’s therefore not surprising that traditional banner makers are few and far between. Good quality silks are also extremely difficult to find now, and we often have to piece panels together. We use a variety of paints, stylistically honouring the tradition and quality of the original Tutill banners but using new colour palettes to bring the art form to life.

A key part of the modernisation of the union banner lies in encouraging lodges to integrate new themes into their designs. Emma highlights the new Thornley Lodge banner — which features a group of school children who helped to drive the new banner campaign — as evidence. Similarly, Durham Bannermakers have also collaborated with artist Jamie Holman on his ‘Above, Beyond, Below’ and ‘The Politics of Cloth’ projects to create a union-style banner that memorialises Acid House.

As Reform UK takes control of Durham Council, avowing our history of radicalism and solidarity has become more important than ever. Soon a new generation with its own concerns and aspirations will come to understand the significance of the Gala and its banners. Like those on display at the first Big Meeting, the banners of 2025 continue to play a major role in highlighting the injustices of the present, while also remaining true to the memory of the past. Tomorrow, as the new Thornley Lodge banner is marched for the first time past the union dignitaries, along Durham’s cobbled streets, and on to the Gala service at the cathedral, it will briefly seem that little has changed in 150 years.