Home Life of the Lancashire Factory Folk during the Cotton Famine - Edwin Waugh
The labour master and I had a little talk about these things as we
went towards the lower end of the moor. A few minutes' slow walk
brought us to the spot, where some twenty of the hardier sort of
operatives were at work in a damp clay cutting. "This is heavy work
for sich chaps as these," said Jackson; "but I let 'em work bi'th
lump here. I give'em so much clay apiece to shift, and they can
begin when they like, an' drop it th' same. Th' men seem satisfied
wi' that arrangement, an' they done wonders, considerin' th' nature
o'th job. There's many o'th men that come on to this moor are badly
off for suitable things for their feet. I've had to give lots o'
clogs away among'em. You see men cannot work with ony comfort among
stuff o' this sort without summat substantial on. It rives poor
shoon to pieces i' no time. Beside, they're not men that can ston
bein' witchod (wetshod) like some. They haven't been used to it as a
rule. Now, this is one o'th' finest days we've had this year; an'
you haven't sin what th' ground is like in bad weather. But you'd be
astonished what a difference wet makes on this moor. When it's bin
rain for a day or two th' wark's as heavy again. Th' stuff's heavier
to lift, an' worse to wheel; an' th' ground is slutchy. That tries
'em up, an' poo's their shoon to pieces; an' men that are wakely get
knocked out o' time with it. But thoose that can stand it get
hardened by it. There's a great difference; what would do one man's
constitution good will kill another. Winter time 'll try 'em up
tightly. . . Wait there a bit," continued he, "I'll be with you
again directly." He then went down into the cutting to speak to some
of his men, whilst I walked about the edge of the bank. From a
distant part of the moor, the bray of a jackass came faint upon the
sleepy wind. "Yer tho', Jone," said one of the men, resting upon his
spade; "another cally-weighver gone!" " Ay," replied Jone, "th' owd
lad's deawn't his cut. He'll want no more tickets, yon mon!" The
country folk of Lancashire say that a weaver dies every time a
jackass brays. Jackson came up from the cutting, and we walked back
to where the greatest number of men were at work. "You should ha'
bin here last Saturday," said he; "we'd rather a curious scene. One
o' the men coom to me an' axed if I'd allow 'em hauve-an-hour to
howd a meetin' about havin' a procession i' th' guild week. I gav'
'em consent, on condition that they'd conduct their meetin' in an
orderly way. Well, they gethered together upo' that level theer; an'
th' speakers stood upo' th' edge o' that cuttin', close to Charnock
Fowd. Th' meetin' lasted abeawt a quarter ov an hour longer than I
bargained for; but they lost no time wi' what they had to do. O'
went off quietly; an' they finished with 'Rule Britannia,' i' full
chorus, an' then went back to their wark. You'll see th' report in
today's paper."
This meeting was so curious, and so characteristic of the men, that
I think the report is worth repeating here:--"On Saturday afternoon,
a meeting of the parish labourers was held on the moor, to consider
the propriety of having a demonstration of their numbers on one day
in the guild week. There were upwards of a thousand present. An
operative, named John Houlker, was elected to conduct the
proceedings. After stating the object of the assembly, a series of
propositions were read to the meeting by William Gillow, to the
effect that a procession take place of the parish labourers in the
guild week; that no person be allowed to join in it except those
whose names were on the books of the timekeepers; that no one should
receive any of the benefits which might accrue who did not conduct
himself in an orderly manner; that all persons joining the
procession should be required to appear on the ground washed and
shaven, and their clogs, shoes, and other clothes cleaned; that they
were not expected to purchase or redeem any articles of clothing in
order to take part in the demonstration; and that any one absenting
himself from the procession should be expelled from any
participation in the advantages which might arise from the
subscriptions to be collected by their fellow-labourers. These were
all agreed to, and a committee of twelve was appointed to collect
subscriptions and donations. A president, secretary, and treasurer
were also elected, and a number of resolutions agreed to in
reference to the carrying out of the details of their scheme. The
managing committee consist of Messrs W. Gillow, Robert Upton, Thomas
Greenwood Riley, John Houlker, John Taylor, James Ray, James
Whalley, Wm. Banks, Joseph Redhead, James Clayton, and James
McDermot. The men agreed to subscribe a penny per week to form a
fund out of which a dinner should be provided, and they expressed
themselves confident that they could secure the gratuitous services
of a band of music. During the meeting there was great order. At the
conclusion, a vote of thanks was accorded to the chairman, to the
labour master for granting them three-quarters of an hour for the
purpose of holding the meeting, and to William Gillow for drawing up
the resolutions. Three times three then followed; after which,
George Dewhurst mounted a hillock, and, by desire, sang 'Rule
Britannia,' the chorus being taken up by the whole crowd, and the
whole being wound up with a hearty cheer." There are various schemes
devised in Preston for regaling the poor during the guild; and not
the worst of them is the proposal to give them a little extra money
for that week, so as to enable them to enjoy the holiday with their
families at home.
It was now about half-past eleven. "It's getting on for dinner
time," said Jackson, looking at his watch. "Let's have a look at th'
opposite side yonder; an' then we'll come back, an' you'll see th'
men drop work when the five minutes' bell rings. There's many of 'em
live so far off that they couldn't well get whoam an' back in an
hour; so, we give'em an hour an' a half to their dinner, now, an'
they work half an' hour longer i'th afternoon." We crossed the
hollow which divides the moor, and went to the top of a sandy
cutting at the rear of the workhouse. This eminence commanded a full
view of the men at work on different parts of the ground, with the
time-keepers going to and fro amongst them, book in hand. Here were
men at work with picks and spades; there, a slow-moving train of
full barrows came along; and, yonder, a train of empty barrows
stood, with the men sitting upon them, waiting. Jackson pointed out
some of his most remarkable men to me; after which we went up to a
little plot of ground behind the workhouse, where we found a few
apparently older or weaker men, riddling pebbly stuff, brought from
the bed of the Ribble. The smaller pebbles were thrown into heaps,
to make a hard floor for the workhouse schoolyard. The master of the
workhouse said that the others were too big for this purpose--the
lads would break the windows with them. The largest pebbles were
cast aside to be broken up, for the making of garden walks. Whilst
the master of the workhouse was showing us round the building,
Jackson looked at his watch again, and said, "Come, we've just time
to get across again. Th' bell will ring in two or three minutes, an'
I should like yo to see 'em knock off." We hurried over to the other
side, and, before we had been a minute there, the bell rung. At the
first toll, down dropt the barrows, the half-flung shovelfuls fell
to the ground, and all labour stopt as suddenly as if the men had
been moved by the pull of one string. In two minutes Preston Moor
was nearly deserted, and, like the rest, we were on our way to
dinner.
CHAPTER XV.
AMONG THE WIGAN OPERATIVES
"There'll be some on us missin', aw deawt,
Iv there isn't some help for us soon."
--SAMUEL LAYCOCK.
The next scene of my observations is the town of Wigan. The
temporary troubles now affecting the working people of Lancashire
wear a different aspect there on account of such a large proportion
of the population being employed in the coal mines. The "way of
life" and the characteristics of the people are marked by strong
peculiarities. But, apart from these things, Wigan is an interesting
place. The towns of Lancashire have undergone so much change during
the last fifty years that their old features are mostly either swept
away entirely, or are drowned in a great overgrowth of modern
buildings. Yet coaly Wigan retains visible relics of its ancient
character still; and there is something striking in its situation.
It is associated with some of the most stirring events of our
history, and it is the scene of many an interesting old story, such
as the legend of Mabel of Haigh Hall, the crusader's dame. The
remnant of "Mab's Cross" still stands in Wigan Lane. Some of the
finest old halls of Lancashire are now, and have been, in its
neighbourhood, such as Ince Hall and Crooke Hall. It must have been
a picturesque town in the time of the Commonwealth, when Cavaliers
and Roundheads met there in deadly contention. Wigan saw a great
deal of the troubles of that time. The ancient monument, erected to
the memory of Colonel Tyldesley, upon the ground where he fell at
the battle of Wigan Lane, only tells a little of the story of
Longfellow's puritan hero, Miles Standish, who belonged to the
Chorley branch of the family of Standish of Standish, near this
town. The ingenious John Roby, author of the "Traditions of
Lancashire," was born here. Round about the old market-place, and
the fine parish church of St Wilfred, there are many quaint nooks
still left to tell the tale of centuries gone by. These remarks,
however, by the way. It is almost impossible to sunder any place
entirely from the interest which such things lend to it.
Our present business is with the share which Wigan feels of the
troubles of our own time, and in this respect it is affected by some
conditions peculiar to the place. I am told that Wigan was one of
the first--if not the very first--of the towns of Lancashire to feel
the nip of our present distress. I am told, also, that it was the
first town in which a Relief Committee was organised. The cotton
consumed here is almost entirely of the kind from ordinary to
middling American, which is now the scarcest and dearest of any.
Preston is almost wholly a spinning town. In Wigan there is a
considerable amount of weaving as well as spinning. The counts spun
in Wigan are lower than those in Preston; they range from 10's up to
20's. There is also, as I have said before, another peculiar element
of labour, which tends to give a strong flavour to the conditions of
life in Wigan, that is, the great number of people employed in the
coal mines. This, however, does not much lighten the distress which
has fallen upon the spinners and weavers, for the colliers are also
working short time--an average of four days a week. I am told, also,
that the coal miners have been subject to so many disasters of
various kinds during past years, that there is now hardly a
collier's family which has not lost one or more of its most active
members by accidents in the pits. About six years ago, the river
Douglas broke into one of the Ince mines, and nearly two hundred
people were drowned thereby. These were almost all buried on one
day, and it was a very distressing scene. Everywhere in Wigan one
may meet with the widows and orphans of men who have been killed in
the mines; and there are no few men more or less disabled by
colliery accidents, and, therefore, dependent either upon the
kindness of their employers, or upon the labour of their families in
the cotton factories. This last failing them, the result may be
easily guessed. The widows and orphans of coal miners almost always
fall back upon factory labour for a living; and, in the present
state of things, this class of people forms a very helpless element
of the general distress. These things I learnt during my brief visit
to the town a few days ago. Hereafter, I shall try to acquaint
myself more deeply and widely with the relations of life amongst the
working people there.
I had not seen Wigan during many years before that fine August
afternoon. In the Main Street and Market Place there is no striking
outward sign of distress, and yet here, as in other Lancashire
towns, any careful eye may see that there is a visible increase of
mendicant stragglers, whose awkward plaintiveness, whose helpless
restraint and hesitancy of manner, and whose general appearance,
tell at once that they belong to the operative classes now suffering
in Lancashire. Beyond this, the sights I first noticed upon the
streets, as peculiar to the place, were, here, two "Sisters of
Mercy," wending along, in their black cloaks and hoods, with their
foreheads and cheeks swathed in ghastly white bands, and with strong
rough shoes upon their feet; and, there, passed by a knot of the
women employed in the coal mines. The singular appearance of these
women has puzzled many a southern stranger. All grimed with
coaldust, they swing along the street with their dinner baskets and
cans in their hands, chattering merrily. To the waist they are
dressed like men, in strong trousers and wooden clogs. Their gowns,
tucked clean up, before, to the middle, hang down behind them in a
peaked tail. A limp bonnet, tied under the chin, makes up the head-
dress. Their curious garb, though soiled, is almost always sound;
and one can see that the wash-tub will reveal many a comely face
amongst them. The dusky damsels are "to the manner born," and as
they walk about the streets, thoughtless of singularity, the Wigan
people let them go unheeded by. Before I had been two hours in the
town, I was put into communication with one of the active members of
the Relief Committee, who offered to devote a few hours of the
following day to visitation with me, amongst the poor of a district
called "Scholes," on the eastern edge of the town. Scholes is the
"Little Ireland" of Wigan, the poorest quarter of the town. The
colliers and factory operatives chiefly live there. There is a
saying in Wigan --that, no man's education is finished until he has
been through Scholes. Having made my arrangements for the next day,
I went to stay for the night with a friend who lives in the green
country near Orrell, three miles west of Wigan.
Early next morning, we rode over to see the quaint town of
Upholland, and its fine old church, with the little ivied monastic
ruin close by. We returned thence, by way of "Orrell Pow," to Wigan,
to meet my engagement at ten in the forenoon. On our way, we could
not help noticing the unusual number of foot-sore, travel-soiled
people, many of them evidently factory operatives, limping away from
the town upon their melancholy wanderings. We could see, also, by
the number of decrepid old women, creeping towards Wigan, and now
and then stopping to rest by the wayside, that it was relief day at
the Board of Guardians. At ten, I met the gentleman who had kindly
offered to guide me for the day; and we set off together. There are
three excellent rooms engaged by the good people of Wigan for the
employment and teaching of the young women thrown out of work at the
cotton mills. The most central of the three is the lecture theatre
of the Mechanics' Institution. This room was the first place we
visited. Ten o'clock is the time appointed for the young women to
assemble. It was a few minutes past ten when we got to the place;
and there were some twenty of the girls waiting about the door. They
were barred out, on account of being behind time. The lasses seemed
very anxious to get in; but they were kept there a few minutes till
the kind old superintendent, Mr Fisher, made his appearance. After
giving the foolish virgins a gentle lecture upon the value of
punctuality, he admitted them to the room. Inside, there were about
three hundred and fifty girls mustered that morning. They are
required to attend four hours a day on four days of the week, and
they are paid 9d. a day for their attendance. They are divided into
classes, each class being watched over by some lady of the
committee. Part of the time each day is set apart for reading and
writing; the rest of the day is devoted to knitting and plain
sewing. The business of each day begins with the reading of the
rules, after which, the names are called over. A girl in a white
pinafore, upon the platform, was calling over the names when we
entered. I never saw a more comely, clean, and orderly assembly
anywhere. I never saw more modest demeanour, nor a greater
proportion of healthy, intelligent faces in any company of equal
numbers.
CHAPTER XVI.
"Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two white herrings.
Croak not, black angel; I have no food for thee."
--King Lear.
I lingered a little while in the work-room, at the Mechanics'
Institution, interested in the scene. A stout young woman came in at
a side door, and hurried up to the centre of the room with a great
roll of coarse gray cloth, and lin check, to be cut up for the
stitchers. One or two of the classes were busy with books and
slates; the remainder of the girls were sewing and knitting; and the
ladies of the committee were moving about, each in quiet
superintendence of her own class. The room was comfortably full,
even on the platform; but there was very little noise, and no
disorder at all. I say again that I never saw a more comely, clean,
and well conducted assembly than this of three hundred and fifty
factory lasses. I was told, however, that even these girls show a
kind of pride of caste amongst one another. The human heart is much
the same in all conditions of life. I did not stay long enough to be
able to say more about this place; but one of the most active and
intelligent ladies connected with the management said to me
afterwards, "Your wealthy manufacturers and merchants must leave a
great deal of common stuff lying in their warehouses, and perhaps
not very saleable just now, which would be much more valuable to us
here than ever it will be to them. Do you think they would like to
give us a little of it if we were to ask them nicely?" I said I
thought there were many of them who would do so; and I think I said
right.
After a little talk with the benevolent old superintendent, whose
heart, I am sure, is devoted to the business for the sake of the
good it will do, and the evil it will prevent, I set off with my
friend to see some of the poor folk who live in the quarter called
"Scholes." It is not more than five hundred yards from the
Mechanics' Institution to Scholes Bridge, which crosses the little
river Douglas, down in a valley in the eastern part of the town. As
soon as we were at the other end of the bridge, we turned off at the
right hand corner into a street of the poorest sort--a narrow old
street, called "Amy Lane." A few yards on the street we came to a
few steps, which led up, on the right hand side, to a little terrace
of poor cottages, overlooking the river Douglas. We called at one of
these cottages. Though rather disorderly just then, it was not an
uncomfortable place. It was evidently looked after by some homely
dame. A clean old cat dosed upon a chair by the fireside. The bits
of cottage furniture, though cheap, and well worn, were all there;
and the simple household gods, in the shape of pictures and
ornaments, were in their places still. A hardy-looking, brown-faced
man, with close-cropped black hair, and a mild countenance, sat on a
table by the window, making artificial flies, for fishing. In the
corner over his head a cheap, dingy picture of the trial of Queen
Catherine, hung against the wall. I could just make out the tall
figure of the indignant queen, in the well-known theatrical
attitude, with her right arm uplifted, and her sad, proud face
turned away from the judgment-seat, where Henry sits, evidently
uncomfortable in mind, as she gushes forth that bold address to her
priestly foes and accusers. The man sitting beneath the picture,
told us that he was a throstle-overlooker by trade; and that he had
been nine months out of work. He said, "There's five on us here when
we're i'th heawse. When th' wark fell off I had a bit o' brass
save't up, so we were forced to start o' usin' that. But month after
month went by, an' th' brass kept gettin' less, do what we would;
an' th' times geet wur, till at last we fund ersels fair stagged up.
At after that, my mother helped us as weel as hoo could,--why, hoo
does neaw, for th' matter o' that, an' then aw've three brothers,
colliers; they've done their best to poo us through. But they're
nobbut wortchin' four days a week, neaw; besides they'n enough to do
for their own. Aw make no acceawnt o' slotchin' up an' deawn o' this
shap, like a foo. It would sicken a dog, it would for sure. Aw go a
fishin' a bit neaw an' then; an' aw cotter abeawt wi' first one
thing an' then another; but it comes to no sense. Its noan like
gradely wark. It makes me maunder up an' deawn, like a gonnor wi' a
nail in it's yed. Aw wish to God yon chaps in Amerikey would play
th' upstroke, an' get done wi' their bother, so as folk could start
o' their wark again." This was evidently a provident man, who had
striven hard to get through his troubles decently. His position as
overlooker, too, made him dislike the thoughts of receiving relief
amongst the operatives whom he might some day be called upon to
superintend again.
A little higher up in Amy Lane we came to a kind of square. On the
side where the lane continues there is a dead brick wall; on the
other side, bounding a little space of unpaved ground, rather higher
than the lane, there are a few old brick cottages, of very mean and
dirty appearance. At the doors of some of the cottages squalid,
untidy women were lounging; some of them sitting upon the doorstep,
with their elbows on their knees, smoking, and looking stolidly
miserable. We were now getting near where the cholera made such
havoc during its last visit,--a pestilent jungle, where disease is
always prowling about, "seeking whom it can devour." A few sallow,
dirty children were playing listlessly about the space, in a
melancholy way, looking as if their young minds were already
"sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," and unconsciously
oppressed with wonder why they should be born to such a miserable
share of human life as this. A tall, gaunt woman, with pale face,
and thinly clad in a worn and much-patched calico gown, and with a
pair of "trashes" upon her stockingless feet, sat on the step of the
cottage nearest the lane. The woman rose when she saw my friend.
"Come in," said she; and we followed her into the house. It was a
wretched place; and the smell inside was sickly. I should think a
broker would not give half-a-crown for all the furniture we saw. The
woman seemed simple-minded and very illiterate; and as she stood in
the middle of the floor, looking vaguely round she said, "Aw can
hardly ax yo to sit deawn, for we'n sowd o' th' things eawt o'th
heawse for a bit o' meight; but there is a cheer theer, sich as it
is; see yo; tak' that." When she found that I wished to know
something of her condition--although this was already well known to
the gentleman who accompanied me--she began to tell her story in a
simple, off-hand way. "Aw've had nine childer," said she; "we'n
buried six, an' we'n three alive, an' aw expect another every day."
In one corner there was a rickety little low bedstead. There was no
bedding upon it but a ragged kind of quilt, which covered the
ticking. Upon this quilt something lay, like a bundle of rags,
covered with a dirty cloth. "There's one o' th' childer, lies here,
ill," said she. "It's getten' th' worm fayver." When she uncovered
that little emaciated face, the sick child gazed at me with wild,
burning eyes, and began to whine pitifully. "Husht, my love," said
the poor woman; "he'll not hurt tho'! Husht, now; he's noan beawn to
touch tho'! He's noan o'th doctor, love. Come, neaw, husht; that's a
good lass!" I gave the little thing a penny, and one way and another
we soothed her fears, and she became silent; but the child still
gazed at me with wild eyes, and the forecast of death on its thin
face. The mother began again, "Eh, that little thing has suffered
summat," said she, wiping her eyes; "an', as aw towd yo before, aw
expect another every day. They're born nake't, an' th' next'll ha'
to remain so, for aught that aw con see. But, aw dar not begin o'
thinkin' abeawt it. It would drive me crazy. We han a little lad o'
mi sister's livin' wi' us. Aw had to tak' him when his mother deed.
Th' little thing's noather feyther nor mother, neaw. It's gwon eawt
a beggin' this morning wi' my two childer. My mother lives with us,
too," continued she; "hoo's gooin' i' eighty-four, an' hoo's
eighteen pence a week off th' teawn. There's seven on us,
o'together, an' we'n had eawr share o' trouble, one way an' another,
or else aw'm chetted. Well, aw'll tell yo' what happened to my
husban' o' i' two years' time. My husban's a collier. Well, first he
wur brought whoam wi' three ribs broken--aw wur lyin' in when they
brought him whoam. An' then, at after that, he geet his arm broken;
an' soon after he'd getten o'er that, he wur nearly brunt to deeath
i' one o'th pits at Ratcliffe; an' aw haven't quite done yet, for,
after that, he lee ill o'th rheumatic fayver sixteen week. That o'
happen't i' two years' time. It's God's truth, maister. Mr Lea knows
summat abeawt it--an' he stons theer. Yo may have a like aim what
we'n had to go through. An' that wur when times were'n good; but
then, everything o' that sort helps to poo folk deawn, yo known.
We'n had very hard deed, maister--aw consider we'n had as hard deed
as anybody livin', takkin' o' together." This case was an instance
of the peculiar troubles to which colliers and their families are
liable; a little representative bit of life among the poor of Wigan.
From this place we went further up into Scholes, to a dirty square,
called the "Coal Yard." Here we called at the house of Peter Y_, a
man of fifty-one, and a weaver of a kind of stuff called, "broad
cross-over," at which work he earned about six shillings a week,
when in full employ. His wife was a cripple, unable to help herself;
and, therefore, necessarily a burden. Their children were two girls,
and one boy. The old woman said, "Aw'm always forced to keep one
o'th lasses a-whoam, for aw connot do a hond's turn." The children
had been brought up to factory labour; but both they and their
father had been out of work nearly twelve months. During that time
the family had received relief tickets, amounting to the value of
four shillings a week. Speaking of the old man, the mother said,
"Peter has just getten a bit o' wark again, thank God. He's hardly
fit for it; but he'll do it as lung as he can keep ov his feet."