Bone Street/Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AT WORK AGAIN
Jack arrived at Bone Street by eight-thirty next morning, and knocking at the door he was greeted with a cheery “Come in.”
Breakfast was ready and waiting, and while Jack was eating it, Marthalice was unfolding her plans, for she had it all arranged.
“I’ve been to see Mrs. Collins that lives in Hillsley Road, an’ she says she’ll take you for twelve shillings a week. I think that’s reasonable enough, an’ she’ll sleep you in t’attic, cos if you start on t’neet turn it’ll be quieter for you there. I’ve got your clean shirt and stockings, so away wi’ you to the baths, and get a reight good clean afore you change, then tha mun come back for thi dinner. T’youngsters want to see thi.”
Catching a questioning gleam in his eyes, she said, “No, I told them nowt except tha were back, and I threatened ahr Polly and Ruth that I’d break their necks if they said a word of owt else.”
Breakfast over, she gave Jack twopence for the baths, also his clean shirt and stockings.
Jack went out feeling already a different being. Someone was taking an interest in him again, and the hopeless, aimless wandering about was changed into having an object in life. His object just then was the Public Baths, and never did he revel in anything as he did in that bath, the glorious luxury of lying full length in clean hot water, and thoroughly rubbing his flesh to cleanse it from the contamination with the lodging-house bed.
Buoyantly he walked back to Bone Street, feeling as clean as the crisp, frosty air, and mentally giving thanks for the big, kind, motherly heart of Marthalice.
Dinner-time arriving, he was soon having his dinner with the three unruly girls, who had but a few minutes in which to eat their food, but Marthalice insisted on them coming home to dinner, for, as she said, “If it was nobbut hash, it was better than a cold meal.”
Jack looked up from his meal, smiling at the sallies which passed between them, but soon they were off to work again, and after Marthalice had washed the dishes and tidied round, they departed to Jack’s future lodgings, and soon they were climbing the hill to reach Hillsley Road.
Marthalice puffed like a grampus. “Drat these hills,” she said. “I wish they’d turn ’em round.” However they soon arrived, and after introducing Jack to his landlady, the arrangements were soon made.
There were four other lodgers in the house, in fact lodgers were the mainstay of the house, for Mrs. Collins, his new landlady, was rapidly approaching old age, but with the assistance of a married daughter, looked after the lodgers’ comfort so well that rarely was there a vacancy in the house.
At four-thirty that night Jack departed for Clayton’s, and on arriving walked straight into the office as instructed, carrying some food tied up in a handkerchief, together with two brewings of tea, and promptly at five Ruth’s young man, Albert, arrived. He nodded to Jack, saying, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and in a few minutes he returned accompanied by the big man Jack had seen before when applying for work.
The foreman critically eyed Jack over, and after Albert had explained that he wanted him to be engaged, enquired a few questions about his age, experience, etc.
“All reight,” he said. “Happen he’ll be able to manage picking,” and then proceeded to the gates to inform the waiting men that there were no further men required that night.
By now the day hands had ceased their labours, and the night men were commencing on their nearly thirteen hours’ shift.
Albert escorted Jack to the washhouse, and giving him in charge of the foreman, whispered a few words in the ear of the latter, whereupon the foreman took Jack to the end of a wash-bowl, where a man was already engaged working, and instructed the man to show Jack how the work was done.
The man was stood on a platform watching the wool as it passed through the huge squeezing rollers out of the wash-bowl, and shaking up the wool as it dropped in an endless apron revolving round two drums, looking carefully through the material, picking out any foreign substance, such as string, wood, or pieces of skin cut off in the shearing process, for if these foreign matters were left in, the result would be faulty carding and combing.
After leaving the apron the wool dropped into a bin, and was then taken to the carding machines, the first woolcombing process.
Jack followed the instructions of the other man, who showed him what to pick out, and how to shake up the wool, making it free from lumps and much easier for the card to work.
Thankful for the opportunity to work, Jack intently devoted himself to it, his workmate at the opposite side of the platform apparently being as quiet as himself.
For two hours they shook and picked unceasingly, and at the end of that time the foreman shouted out “Soap,” at which the other man said to Jack, “Come on.” Going to the wash-bowl, commencing at one end, they poured three or four buckets of soap in each bowl.
These wash-bowls are cast-iron, more than a yard in depth and width, and eight yards long, and three in a set. The raw greasy wool is fed at one end, and fitting into each bowl is a mechanical arrangement which forks the wool right to the end of the bowl, when another set of forks takes it up and pitches it in an endless carrier, then it goes through a powerful set of rollers which squeezes the water and dirt out, the washed wool drops into the second bowl, and so on, until it finally emerges on the picking-board, perfectly clean, and ready for the carding and combing processes.
At 9 p.m. Jack’s mate told him to get his supper, and explained that the engine and machines did not stop, but one man relieved the other, by doing each other’s work, so that the other could get supper. Twenty minutes was the time allowed for supper, and then they reversed positions. Jack was shown where to brew his tea, and also where the day hands kept their pint pots, so after brewing his tea, he sat down just where he worked by the wash-bowls, to eat his supper of bread and cold beef, for, as usual in the mills, there was no place set apart for the cooking and eating of meals, they had to eat just wherever they could.
It took very little time to eat his supper, and acting on the advice of his workmate, Jack refilled his pot with hot water to extract the remainder of the strength out of the tea leaves, for the heat would be more intense as the night proceeded, and weak cold tea was a good thirst quencher. He then proceeded into the open air for a few minutes, but after the heated atmosphere of the mill, the frosty air drove him back into the warmth, and at nine-twenty he was ready to take his place and relieve his workmate.
At 10 p.m. his mate bade him follow for bowl-cleaning. And he confessed afterwards to Marthalice that he was glad when the cleaning out was over, for what with the smell of the wool dirt, and the humid, steamy atmosphere, it was enough to turn his stomach. His feet, too, were wet, for by now his boots were in a bad state, but he promised himself some new ones at the first opportunity, and it was with a feeling of relief that he climbed on to the platform when the machine was started, and again they commenced the monotonous job of shaking, picking, and again shaking the wool.
His workmate was a man of very few words, and for the remainder of the night very little was said by him beyond showing Jack the various jobs in connection with keeping the wash-bowls running.
At 2 a.m. they had their second supper, but this time Jack was almost unable to eat his, for the food tasted to him of wool grease. Perhaps it had absorbed some of the smell, for it was on a shelf, just tied up in a handkerchief, exposed to the steam which arose from the bowls. However, he enjoyed the tea and the break from the monotony, but by three-thirty he was feeling the need for sleep, for he had been up since early the day previous, and he almost fell asleep standing up on his platform. His eyes closed and his head nodded; each time recovering himself with a start. His mate observing him, advised him to have a souse of cold water. This was good advice, and Jack acted on it, feeling refreshed as a result, and at 5 a.m. the bowl-changing operation was repeated, and as this took nearly half an hour they had very little time to go before work ceased. At five-fifty some of the day hands had already arrived, and were divesting themselves of coats and shawls ready for the day’s work, while the night men were taking their coats from the nails, and rolling down their shirt sleeves ready for leaving to make way for the day hands. At 6 a.m. the engine slackened, for it never quite stopped from noon to eight next morning. They trooped outside and through the great iron gates, a stream of tired, drooping, sallow-faced men, giving up the work to the day hands who were coming in to the accompanying clang of the bell suspended in the gateway, which also served to inform late comers that they must hurry or be locked out till breakfast-time.
Jack walked briskly to his lodgings, and on arrival found his landlady just seeing the last man off, for with the exception of himself, all the other lodgers were employed on the day turn.
While Jack was washing, breakfast was being prepared, but although the smell of the food cooking was appetising, he found on commencing the meal that weariness had conquered hunger, and not more than half of the meal prepared was eaten.
By seven-thirty he was in the attic sleeping soundly, for away at the top of the house he was undisturbed by the street noises and cries, at last free from the haunting fears that had disturbed his slumbers for so many nights previously.
Jack had asked Mrs. Collins to awaken him at threethirty, and she did as requested. A good meal was waiting for him, which he attacked with considerable relish, for now that Jack was rested, the eager hunger of youth reasserted itself, and when Mrs. Collins pressed him to make a good meal, Jack smiled, assuring her that so far as meals were concerned he would endeavour to comply with her request. Pushing back his chair, he tendered thanks for a real good meal, and mentally thanked Marthalice for finding him such a good landlady. He then decided to pay a short visit to Marthalice, for he knew she would be anxious to know how he had fared, so promising Mrs. Collins to call back before five he departed for Bone Street.
True to expectations, his old friend was anxiously waiting for the news. She welcomed him with a smile, her arms all covered with flour—it being baking day—and immediately she started questioning him. “How has ta gone on?” “How does ta like the night turn?” “Sit thi down and tell mi all about it.” “Did ta sleep alreight to-day?”
Nothing would suffice but that he should relate all. He had to confess there was nothing about the work he liked, except that it was work. “Of course,” he added hastily, “I’m not grumbling, far from it. Indeed, if it was not for you, Marthalice, I might easily have been locked up for stealing food. Believe me, I’m satisfied enough, and thankful, and I mean to continue trying. I’ve been wondering to-day how I can possibly repay you.”
She shook her rolling-pin at him threateningly. “By gum, lad, I’ll flatten thi with this if tha doesn’t shut up. I’ve done nowt nobbut what anybody else ud ha’ done that has any heart in their body. Now shut up about it, and say nowt,” she said, though she was obviously pleased.
Jack made all arrangements for the removal of his box to Hillsley Road that night, and was soon off again with a cheery “Good night” and a smile, with a new currant cake in his pocket; not one of the miserable ones you see in the shops, but a real Yorkshire tea-cake, sufficient for a meal. He managed to get four nights in that week, and his wages being seventeen shillings and sixpence per week, he received fourteen shillings, just sufficient to pay his lodging money and get his boots repaired.
Friday night he played, which meant being another day short next week, but he did not worry much, for trade was on the mend, the new wool was coming in, and in the near future there would be work for everybody for a few months at least, in which time he would be able to get straightened up, physically and financially.
Night after night he continued his work, not enthusiastically, it is true, for there is nothing congenial in monotonous work, and this was like every other job in the mill, an intermediary task requiring no skill or thought. For all that, it was better than unemployment, so Jack intended to persevere, and change on to the day turn at the earliest opportunity, for excepting week-ends it was all bed and work. When Saturday mornings arrived he was free till Monday night, which gave him opportunity for rambling the country-side.
Spring was in the air, the moors were taking on their glorious spring hues, and many pleasant week-ends were spent roaming in their splendour.
The evenings of the week-ends were usually passed with the family circle in Bone Street. And what a happy family they were !—rough and ready of tongue, speaking the delightful Yorkshire dialect. “Thee” and “thou” for “you.” “Thine” for “yours.” “Wilt ta” for “will you.” Marthalice the while keeping a motherly eye over them all. Jack came in for a share of chaffing; they would rally him boisterously on his quiet ways. “When are ta going to start courting, Jack?” Ruth would say. “Nay,” said Bella, “she isn’t born yet, and her mother’s dead.” After a while Marthalice would interject with, “Bless mi sowl, ye’ll moyther t’lad to death. Come on, lad, let’s have a bit of Shakespeare.” The others would chorus the invitation, which they really meant, so Jack would bring out his copy of Shakespeare, and declaim from “Othello” or “King Lear,” but mostly they liked “The Merchant of Venice.” The girls, of course, hung on Portia, while the mother could never understand why they let Shylock live. “Of course they’d ta’en his bairn away from him, but he deserved all he got.” The immortal Omar Khayyâm was also another favourite, for Jack had found that as he walked, he could read the quatrains easily, and mere reading of them compelled memorising. Occasionally he would recite them to an admiring circle, who could just discern the beauty and philosophy of the ancient Persian.
These were happy times indeed, and as the days lengthened, and summer came, many a happy party they made on Dingley Glen, and always they turned to the quiet but pleasant Jack for advice or to settle disputes, and usually when he gave an opinion, it was accepted.
Soon his opportunity came for a change on to the day turn, and at the sacrifice of one shilling and sixpence a week he took it, for even though the actual job was at a less wage, in the aggregate the day worker received more wages per year than the night worker, because they had less slack time.
His lodgings were comfortable, too. The other men who lived there were decent chaps, and he had no difficulty in getting along with them.
He had found a new pleasure in life, too, as one day, whilst running his skep along (for he had another job now), he fell to singing to himself. He had a pleasant baritone voice, although quite untrained, and one day, as one of the clerks, a man about thirty years of age, was passing, on his way back to the office, he heard Jack’s voice above the whirr of the machinery, and listened for a moment; but as he was busy, he had to hurry away. At noon, however, he found Jack before the engine started again, and, rather diffidently, introduced himself as one of the clerks out of the office.
“Yes,” said Jack, “I’ve seen you there.” He wondered what was coming.
“Well,” said the clerk, “I was wondering if you were a member of a choir.”
“Nay,” replied Jack, smiling, “I’m not good enough.”
“But,” said the other eagerly, “you are. You see it’s this way. I’m a member of the Haxton Glee Union, and we’re getting ‘Merrie England’ up. We’re a bit short of men’s voices, and I thought you might join us.”
“But I don’t know anything about music,” was Jack’s reply.
“That doesn’t matter,” said the clerk, “we shall be pleased to teach you. Do come. We have only just commenced practice, and rehearsals are twice a week.”
The eagerness disarmed Jack, for he knew no reason, other than ignorance of music, standing in his way, so he agreed to meet his new friend that night to be introduced to the choir. Seven-thirty found Jack dressed in his Sunday best, keeping his appointment with Mr. Womersley, and he was immediately taken to the Oddfellows’ rooms, where the rehearsals took place. Soon afterwards with the score of “Merrie England” in his hand, he was endeavouring to follow the little black spots up and down the lines. Mr. Womersley was also singing with the bass, and whispered to him not to be discouraged, as half an hour would be given to beginners after rehearsal, and if he would only persevere, he would soon get the hang of it.
As a result, before many weeks had passed, an entirely new world had been opened to Jack, for during rehearsals “Merrie England” was plentifully interspersed with other and quite different pieces. He learned to appreciate music, becoming a very useful member of the choir. These evenings were keenly anticipated, and the outings they arranged greatly assisted to relieve the monotony of mill work.
It was purely a secular choir, the members of which were mostly factory hands like himself, the conductor being a teacher at an elementary school, and they gladly gave concerts for any deserving cause.
The rehearsals continued week by week until they were only a fortnight from the day for which the Free Trade Hall had been engaged for the rendering of “Merrie England.” On going to practice one night, Mr. Womersley told Jack that they were in a difficulty, for one of the men who was singing a small part, that of the tinker, was removing to another town, and another man would have to be found, and he suggested that Jack might take the part. “Now wait a bit, Bradley,” he said, when Jack began to object. “You are far and away the best baritone amongst us, and I know that Mr. Senior, the conductor, intends asking you, so don’t make your mind up right away, but see what he says about it.”
The conductor stated at the rehearsal that night that the “tinker” part was vacant, and that he thought of asking Mr. Bradley to take it. Now, had Mr. Senior asked Jack personally, it may have been refused, but when it was said openly, and the nodding heads and smiling faces were turned to him, he accepted, and so he had to get hard at work for a fortnight to learn his part.
At last the great night came. The town was placarded, Jack’s name appearing amongst the principals. There was Marthalice and her brood in the first row in the gallery waiting anxiously for “our Jack” to appear.
Very soon the orchestra crashed out with the overture, and then the chorus trooped on with their “Sing a-down, a-down.” There was a burst of applause for the “May Queen Comes,” and when the four men of Windsor made their entry, there was a very audible “Theer’s Jack” from the gallery, followed by a titter, and a reproving “Sh-h-h.” It means much to say that they carried it off with high honours, for Northerners are keen judges of music, especially choral music, and it was a very happy, perspiring crowd of people who stood on the platform, bowing to the applause which greeted them at the finale. It was a success for all. Principals, chorus and orchestra had given of their best, whilst Jack, after recovering from his stage fright, felt that the new experience had been well worth while.
Marthalice and the girls met him at the stage door, and triumphantly took him home to supper. Then off to his lodgings for a night’s rest, for even “Merrie England” must not interfere with work, and they all had to rise at 5 a.m. next morning.
The whole company thoroughly enjoyed the three nights’ performance, and what is more important still, the local hospital benefited, so as they say sometimes in Yorkshire, “It was worth it.”