Shining Threads (23 page)

‘
IF THOSE HANDS AT ALLSOP AND GREENS DO NOT PAY UP THEY WILL GET SOMETHING THEY DO NOT LIKE
.’

‘
IF THE BLOW ROOM HAND AT BRIDGEFOLD MILL DOES NOT PAY UP “PUNCH” WILL SEND A FINE TROOP TO HIM
.’

There were men, women and girls in many mills with a will on them like iron, short of cash and not a little impatient with those who were on strike for no good reasons that they could see, and
who would be bound to say so, and refuse their eightpence a week to those who demanded it of them.

It was a week later when the first of the bad troubles began. Chapmans had not experienced any problems since the unions had scarcely a toe-hold there. For twenty years the operatives had held
themselves apart from other mills, their better working conditions, shorter hours, decent wages and the neat and sturdy company cottages most of them occupied instilling in them no desire, or need,
to associate with those who wanted what they had. They were content with their labour and what it brought them and like those who believe that another man’s fight is best left alone,
especially if that fight made no sense, they walked by when the street-corner meetings, and the men who formed them, demanded they fight the injustice which was being done to their fellows. The
unions had become strong with spinners’ unions, weavers’ unions, combers’ unions and in the past twenty years many wrongs had been put right but the Preston operatives’
strike was a hardship of their own making, so most of those not involved believed.

It was said that young men and boys were turning to petty crime, stealing and getting into fights which were more than youthful squabbles, with nothing better to do than roam the streets and
look for mischief. Young girls might be had at any street corner for the price of a loaf of bread. These girls had no other way to keep themselves alive and some, finding they had a taste for such
a life, were unlikely to give it up when times were better. They were innocent, most of them, when they began their new trade, inexperienced, and when the strike was finally over and the cost of it
counted the number of illegitimate babies was found to have increased and who was to pay for their upkeep? Certainly not their mothers who were little more than children themselves, and so they
fell on the parish like hundreds of others whose lives were drastically changed by the lock-out.

Annie Beale was at her mule when the man approached her. It was three years since her mother had died, taking the child she had just borne with her, leaving Annie to support the four she left
behind. And she had done so uncomplainingly for they were her responsibility. A great one for responsibility and duty was Annie and if, with hard work and an obsessive sense of loyalty, she could
give them a bit of decency and a start in life, then she would. There was Jack, three years younger than herself, and bright and he’d make more of himself than her own father had, wherever he
was, for he’d run off and left them when his wife had told him he was to be burdened with yet another child. Nelly, who was eleven, had never been ‘right’ since she had been
interfered with by the overlooker but she worked besides Annie without complaint. The two youngest, Polly and Grace, not yet old enough to work, were champion in their tireless and sadly mature
preoccupation as guardians of their home in her absence and somehow or other the family managed. She was proud of her honest, independent, hardworking brother and sisters. They were obliged to no
one, paying their way as decent folks should, but only just.

On that day she was blind and deaf to all but the movement and sound of her two machines, keeping an eye on Nelly, who was piecing for her, and when the man touched her arm she was disposed to
be irritable for she had neither the time nor the inclination to turn and gossip.

‘Will yer support t’Preston strikers, lass?’ The man mouthed genially. He was a working man, dressed as one, since he did not want to be thought of as a cut above those from
whom he collected though it was plain from his confident, swaggering manner that he considered he was. His teeth glittered in his full, red face – no hunger there – as he showed them in
a false smile. ‘Eightpence a mule, that’s all, an’ the men an’ women o’ Preston will bless yer for it.’ He shook his collection box persuasively but when she
turned to look at him his eyes were cold, ready to be hostile if she refused.

‘I can’t. I’ve four childer ter support,’ she said curtly and turned back to her machine, the matter done with as far as she was concerned.

But not to him. He touched her bare arm again, only lightly, but she flinched away for though the room was hot his hand was like hard ice against her flesh.

‘Now then, lass, yer wouldn’t turn yer back on those in need, would yer? You’re a spinner thissen an’ will know the history o’t cotton trade. Maisters ’ave
trodden down t’workers long enough in our opinion an’ must be taught that us’ll not ’ave it.’

‘I’ve no time ter stand an’ argue. I’ve nowt ter give yer. I just told thi, I can’t afford it.’

Her face was expressionless. Indeed, she felt nothing, not pity for the workers, many of whom in her opinion were too bone-idle to get out of their beds in a morning; nor even resentment, for
all her emotions were concentrated on her need to get on with her work, her resolution to support her family, not those of another. If everyone was the same there’d be no need for all this
hullabaloo, and if she had had time to turn off her machine and tell him she would have done so.

But his face had become set in a perilous smile and it was clear he was not prepared to be brushed off as if he were of no more importance than a troublesome fly.

‘Come now, my girl. Yer mun ’ave a bit put by fer a rainy day an’ them in Preston are sufferin’ it now. Share it wi’ ’em an’ when ’time comes,
an’ it might, when yer in’t same plight, they’ll do it fer thee.’

Annie could feel her irritation growing, thrusting through the layers of attention she must pay her labour since she was on ‘piece’ work and every minute she lost would mean a
smaller wage at the end of the week. She could feel her hard-won equanimity slipping away and her pale eyes narrowed.

‘I’ve none ter give,’ she threw over her shoulder, ‘an’ if I ’ad I’d think twice about it. They’ve only themselves ter blame, them as is locked
out. Most on ’em was offered a rise last year but unions forced ’em ter stay out, goin’ on about a standard rate o’ pay, whatever that might turn out ter be. They’ve
’ad chance ter go back last month an’ they turned it down. I’ve no time fer ’em, nor yer collection, so clear off an’ let me gerron wi’ me work.’

Her face was cold and tight, and around her women were peeping furtively over their shoulders at her, wishing they had her nerve. Most had paid the ‘tax’, though the eightpence they
had been ‘asked’ to hand over could be ill-afforded. They were frightened by the tales of what had happened to those who didn’t, of beatings and harassment, of women being jeered
at by alarmingly large gangs of youths, and even physically assaulted, and they did not want their own families to suffer. Surely to God it would soon be over, they whispered to one another, and in
the meanwhile best tighten belts and pay up.

From the end of the room where he stood in the cabin doorway Will watched carefully, ready, should he be needed, to intervene on Annie’s behalf. He’d not have his operatives
intimidated by this new breed of union men who were really no more than troublemakers, denouncing tyranny and yet, in their own way, upholding it with their menace.

‘You’ve no call ter talk like that, my lass. Yon are thy people an’ they depend on’t benefits they get given by their own kind. If yer can’t find it in yer
’eart ter support ’em, there’s them hereabouts what’ll reckon yer as bad as them “knob-sticks” in Preston. Will yer not, me lasses?’

He whirled about and smiled at the mass of women who had turned to watch Annie, and in his corner Will took a step forward, then another, waiting for some sign from Annie that she was being
harassed, reluctant to interfere since the man had a right to go about the cotton workers as he chose; but he would have no violence.

The man smiled smoothly at the nervous women. He spoke in a voice just loud enough for them and Annie to hear above the noise of the machines.

‘Thee thissen’d not like ter work beside a “knob-stick”, would thi?’ His meaning was clear and they all looked away from him quickly, though one or two shook their
heads in sympathy with Annie. He turned back to her. ‘So will thi change thi mind, lass, an’ give ter them what’s in need?’

‘No, I won’t,’ and she turned a contemptuous back on him.

‘Right, lass, I ’eard yer,’ and he smiled at the back of her head before moving on to the next machine where the spinner already had her eightpence in her hand.

‘
IF THE SPINNING HAND AT CHAMPANS DOES NOT PAY UP CALICO JACK WILL SEE TO HER
.’

It was pasted on the wall by the side of the gate the following week, along with a dozen others, for Annie was not the only one to refuse to pay her ‘voluntary’ contribution in aid
of the Preston strikers. In the worry of how long it would take her to save up for a new pair of boots for their Jack who was shooting up like a weed, it had little impact on her. She lived from
day to day in her practical way, ekeing out her wage to feed hungry mouths, making do and putting a bit by when she could. Nothing much mattered beyond getting from one pay day to the next; beyond
the necessity of completing at the end of her ten hours the household tasks which were too much for her young sisters; of seeing to the children; of listening to their Jack telling her of the
clever things he learned at school where he went
full time
, worth every minute of her precious time for he’d make something of himself, would Jack, or she’d know the reason why;
and of cobbling together all the bits and pieces of her life which were so fragile.

They were hanging about on the edge of Chapmanstown when she finished her shift. The last houses were at her back and the empty track which curved over the moor towards Edgeclough lay before her
when she saw them. Half a dozen or so young men, brawny and brash, larking about, laughing, jostling one another as young men do, nothing to do with her, and her heart did not even miss a beat as
she strode past them.

It was March, cold and blustery, the clouds torn into long shreds by the wind, and through which a thread of blue tried to creep. The newly budding heather and bracken was caught by the gusts,
bending earthwards, and her fine hair was torn from her shawl, whipping about her head like pale fibres of cotton. She pulled her shawl more closely about her, tucking her arms inside it, and
stepped into the teeth of the wind which met her as she climbed higher.

She was glad their Nelly was not with her. She’d caught her finger on a ‘picking stick’ last week and it had festered and swelled, making it impossible for her to piece, so
Annie had made her stay at home today. Best place for her on a day like this and Annie wished with all her heart she could stay there for a couple of years more. She was so little, thin and quiet,
without the stamina she herself had, especially since she had been abused by that bastard of an overlooker.

Badger’s Edge came up on her left and soon she would be in the lee of Besom Hill and just half-way home. It had begun to rain, spilling in a cold sheet directly into her face. She wrapped
her shawl more closely about her head, bending down into the face of it, hugging herself as she quickened her step. She could still hear the shouted laughter of the men whom she thought must be
drunk, the way they were carrying on, and she wondered where they were going. She had never seen them before but she supposed they could live in Edgeclough. For once she had not waited on Will
since there were others on the track with her, turning off to Dingle, Moorside and Linthwaite, small villages in which some of them lived, but suddenly she was alone and she heard the men coming up
fast behind her.

They were still laughing as one fell against her, not hard enough to knock her down but with a force which sent her staggering almost to her knees. She regained her balance and her pale, pointed
face became a vivid, indignant flame and her eyes narrowed angrily.

‘’Ere, what d’yer think your up to?’ she cried, rounding on him fiercely. ‘Why don’t yer look where yer goin’, yer great oaf? Just come from ’t
Ship, ’ave yer . . . ?’ But before she could finish she was shoved from another direction, propelled quite violently towards the man who had first pushed her, his grinning face thrust
into hers as he caught her arms.

‘Well, if it ain’t little lass as what refused ter support ’er brothers an’ sisters in Preston,’ he smirked. ‘Look ’ere, lads. Look what we ’ave
’ere.’ He turned her about so that she faced the rest of them, holding her for a moment before shoving her towards them. Her shawl remained in his hands but he threw it to the ground
and trampled it into the muddy track. When the next one caught her he tried, leering and malevolent, to kiss her before she was pulled from his embrace.

For five minutes they pushed and shoved her from one to the other, laughing at her anger at first, becoming more dangerous as her anger turned to fear and they sensed it in her. She broke away
once and began to run, in which direction she didn’t know, anywhere to get away from the mauling hands, the loose, open-mouthed laughter, the mud with which they had daubed her, the rain
running down her face and through her hair wetting her to her undergarments.

They watched her go, still shouting with laughter for she was headed back in the direction from which she had originally come, and when she had gone fifty yards they started after her. Her
skirt, heavy with water and mud held her back and her scattered, frantic thoughts dwelled for a moment on simply stepping out of it and running like the wind in just her drawers, for she was sure
she could outrun them then. She was fit and strong, used to exercise, but what if she should fall and they should catch her without her skirt, in nothing but her sodden drawers and bodice? Would
not their thoughts turn to something of a more menacing nature than a ‘bit o’ fun’?