by Lynn Russell
Some of the people in York who had opposed the takeover reacted as if it were almost a bereavement, the loss forever of a vital part of their city and their lives. There were even fears that the factory would be closed and production transferred to Nestlé plants overseas. Pessimists approaching the site today might at first feel that their gloomy predictions have been vindicated, for parts of the complex of great red-brick buildings constructed on Joseph Rowntree’s orders in the 1890s, and extended over the following half-century, have already been demolished and the remainder are now deserted, boarded up and fenced off, with ‘For Sale’ boards around them. ‘When I die I’m going to haunt the Rowntree’s factory,’ says one long-term former employee, ‘but there’s not much left for me to haunt now. They’ve pulled down most of the old buildings where I worked. I can’t understand why they did it, because they were beautiful buildings and if they wanted flats to sell, those buildings would have been perfect for that.’
Other parts of Rowntree’s have also gone, like Dunollie, the Cocoa Works Rest Home in Scarborough, while the closure of the girls’ Day Continuation School in 1970 seemed to many employees to symbolize the last rites for the old Rowntree’s way of doing things, though, since the school-leaving age had been raised and the company no longer employed fourteen-year-olds, it was arguable that Day Continuation classes were no longer of use anyway. Nonetheless, that feeling was accentuated when the entire Guides department was closed down, and after ninety years of feeding the hungry workers, the Dining Block served its last meal in 2002 and is now part of the Nuffield Hospital. Even more recently, in 2012 the Rowntree’s playing fields to the north of the factory were sold to York St John University.
However, the story is not all doom and gloom. Although production of some brands has indeed been moved elsewhere – Black Magic, Dairy Box and Smarties are no longer produced in York – Nestlé has invested approximately £200 million in new buildings and equipment in the city, and production now takes place in far more modern and energy-efficient surroundings than the cavernous rooms and draughty corridors of the old factory. It is one of the largest confectionery factories in the world, and as well as Aero, POLO mints, Milkybar and Yorkie bars, the factory produces one billion Kit Kats a year, making it one of the world’s most popular confectionery brands. Even now the workforce still numbers close to 2,000, and the factory remains today, as it was 100 years ago, York’s largest private employer.
Part of Joseph Rowntree’s legacy also remains. The charitable trusts that bear his name continue his efforts to alleviate poverty, improve social housing and promote international peace, social justice and democratic reform. New Earswick is still there too, and continues to be a lovely place to live, a thriving village with its shops, post office and Folk Hall still intact, though in a sign of the times that would no doubt have had Joseph spinning in his grave, the sale of alcohol, banned under the covenant establishing the villages, was overturned in 1978 when 87 per cent of the villagers voted for its repeal, so that alcoholic drinks could be sold at dances and at other events in the Folk Hall.
The shop in York where the Rowntree’s story began is still standing, though in another indicator of changing times, it now houses not a cocoa and chocolate emporium but a branch of Pizza Hut. Chocolate is still part of the fabric of the city, however, and visitor attractions, such as York’s Chocolate Story, the York Cocoa House and the Rowntree’s display at the York Castle Museum, testify to its enduring importance. To the shame of the city, however, nowhere in York is there a blue plaque to testify to the historic importance of the shop at 28 Pavement, Tanners Moat by the riverside, the Haxby Road factory, the New Earswick Folk Hall, or any of the multitude of other York buildings that played a part in the story of Rowntree’s and the city it has dominated – and nurtured – for well over a century.
Although the company is now known as Nestlé, the citizens of York continue to refer to the factory as ‘Rowntree’s’, even though it is now a quarter of a century since the takeover, and there is still immense local pride in the contribution to the city made by successive generations of the Rowntree family, their company and their charitable foundations.
The Rowntree’s legacy perhaps lives on most strongly through the memories of those who worked there. Like Madge, Florence, Eileen, Dorothy and Maureen, the vast majority of former employees still feel great affection for the place where they spent their working lives. ‘Working at Rowntree’s was the happiest time of my life,’ says Kath. ‘We used to laugh and joke till tears rolled down our faces. It was more than just a job, it was a way of life, and our fellow workers were like family to us.’ Another of her generation, Dot, adds, ‘It was lovely working at Rowntree’s. Some people used to play stink about it, but I never did. I don’t care what anybody says, the management at Rowntree’s were very, very good to the staff. We used to have our fall-outs sometimes and I’d mutter to myself, “I hate this so and so place,” but I’d always be there the next morning and always looking forward to the day. I never regret a single day I spent at Rowntree’s – never.’
For some of the younger employees, working at the factory may be ‘just a job’, but some of the women there still share the affection for the place that the earlier generations felt. ‘When you think about it,’ Sue Mizzi says, ‘for a lot of people in York, this was their life … and it’s been my life as well.’ Aged sixty-nine, but still working as a cleaner at the factory, she is hoping they won’t ever make her retire. ‘The Queen’s still working,’ she says, ‘and she’s eighty-six, and if they can’t make her finish work, they can’t make me finish either.’ Another employee from the company’s Golden Age, Margaret, says, ‘Rowntree’s played a huge part in my life, from the beginning of my life, throughout my working life, and almost to the end of my life. Rowntree’s is York; or at least, it was York.’
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Although Michael remarried, Maureen remained on her own for a while and found that ‘I quite liked it, to be honest. It was nice really, just looking after myself for the first time in many years, and pleasing myself – I could clean up and know it would stay that way – so I don’t quite know how I got myself back into the position of being in a relationship again, but somehow it happened!’ This time, twice burned, Maureen was in no hurry to get married to her new partner, Bob, but despite or perhaps because of that, the relationship has endured and they are still together now. She has been retired for seven years, but even now, aged sixty-seven, she has not given up work entirely, and does a few hours’ private cleaning a week just to top up her pension. She still likes to go dancing as well when she gets the chance, though since her partner doesn’t dance, she doesn’t get many opportunities these days.
Looking back over her life, she says:
I’ve got loads of regrets in one way: I shouldn’t have left Rowntree’s; I shouldn’t have got married at eighteen, though I suppose I must have had my reasons at the time; I should have got a bigger pension [part-time women workers couldn’t join the Rowntree’s pension plan and Maureen did not begin paying into a pension until she was working at Sainsbury’s at the very end of her working career]. That part of my life is past now, but it’s been a good life and an interesting one … sometimes too interesting! And whatever regrets I might have, they are nothing compared to the happiness I’ve had from my life. I couldn’t be happier with my children and grandchildren, so I suppose I can’t regret any of the steps that got me here, even the ones that really were mistakes. I’ve never been to a Rowntree’s reunion, which I suppose is a shame in some ways, but I still bump into people I knew from there regularly around York, and it’s always great to see them and have a chat about old times and a few laughs as well.
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Rod left Rowntree’s before Dorothy retired, and went to work for the council until he had to retire through ill health. They had been married for thirty-eight years when he died in 1995, aged sixty-two. The year after Rod’s death, Dorothy’s youngest son and his wife took her to Spain f
or a break, and organized and paid for everything. ‘I’d never been abroad,’ Dorothy says. ‘In fact I’d never even been in an aircraft before, and I was a bit frightened when we took off but once we were up above the clouds, I relaxed and started to enjoy it, so much so that I said to my son, “If we get any higher, we’ll be in heaven. I hope to God your dad doesn’t come knocking on the plane window!”’
Dorothy’s family remain very close and tight-knit. ‘We were all brought up’, she says, ‘that if one member of the family was in trouble, everyone would rally round and help out, and that’s what it’s like to this day; I just like to have my family around me.’ She regularly looks after her grandchildren and great-grandchildren and, she says, ‘Although at times you think, “Oh God, I need five minutes here,” I really like my family close by. I always try and see the good side of people as well. Some of my family tell me that I’m too trusting, but I can’t change that and nor do I want to; the way I was brought up is the way I am. I know that things aren’t like that any more, but I grew up in a different era, when you could go out or pop to the shops, leave your front door wide open and know that nothing would be touched.’
After she finished at Rowntree’s, Dorothy worked as a home help until she retired, but she says:
I was quite sad about it really. As a home help I was just going round on my own all the time and I missed the atmosphere and the laughs of working with a lot of people. So although in one way I was glad to leave Rowntree’s when I did, because it was no longer the place I remembered from when I was young, it was bittersweet as well because I’d had some very happy times there and I’d made some friends for life. Even the overlookers, once you got used to them, they were friends to you, though mind you, friends or not, you still had to abide by the rules. I worked with a lot of nice women there, and I’m still friends with many of them now, including two or three of them who were there almost from when I first started, back in 1950 when I was just a girl of fourteen. There were four of us who always seemed to be working together on the Smarties machines and we still all meet up and go out for lunch together. They were very happy times at Rowntree’s and I’ve never regretted working there for a single moment.
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Eileen retired in 1980 and, like many of her friends and workmates, it was a bittersweet moment when the time came to go. Eileen had also noticed a change in the atmosphere of Rowntree’s once the family were no longer directly involved in running the business:
When I worked in the offices in the 1950s, a lot of the Rowntree family were still working there – Philip, Peter and Christopher Rowntree all worked there when I was there, and it was a very happy place when the family were in charge, but I think it changed after the merger with Mackintosh [in 1969]. The old Rowntree family cared about their workers, they really cared about their people, and I think that was lost when it ceased to be a family business and became just a business.
Relations were brilliant in the factory in my day. You had the odd spark, that was natural – I mean, there were 13,000 people working there at one time – but generally it was a good place to work. Supervisors, overlookers and charge-hands came from among the people working on the line – from there you applied to become a charge-hand – and for the most part they were fine. There was only one charge-hand I remember, who used to march up and down the conveyor and she really was like a ‘death guard’, everyone was a bit frightened of her. I had a bit of a go with her one day and she didn’t like you to stand up to her – so she definitely didn’t like me – and she could be nasty at times, but she was the only one, the others were all fine. It was a happy factory, not a miserable one; you didn’t dread going to work, you looked forward to it.
I still see people in town that I knew at Rowntree’s, though I can’t remember half of them to be honest, but they say, ‘Hello Eileen,’ and I say ‘Hello’ back and then try and remember who they are. I went on a Rowntree’s pensioners’ trip about three years ago and a lady came up to me and said, ‘Eileen Morgan!’ I looked at her but I couldn’t recognize her so I said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.’ She said, ‘Tang Hall Junior School.’ I said, ‘I left there when I was eleven, sixty-five years ago, how on earth did you recognize me?’ And she said, ‘Well, your hair’s white now of course, but otherwise you haven’t changed a bit.’
I made friends at Rowntree’s who I’m still friends with now, and I do remember them! I have two really good friends who I met when I was on the cleaning staff in 1980 and they still come to see us. And one of them comes every week and takes me shopping, because we haven’t got a car. One of the first people I met when I went back in 1961 was a girl I’d known as a child, but only to say ‘Hello’ to. We made friends and I’m still friends with her now. She comes to see me every few weeks and we have a real get-together for three or four hours and it’s lovely. And when I hear music now, it often reminds me of different people I used to work with, who all had their favourite songs when we had the music playing and we all used to sing as we worked.
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Florence retired from Rowntree’s in 1983 when she was sixty – there was no choice about it, all their employees had to retire at that age. Then, at sixty-one and a half, chafing at the inactivity and in need of some extra money to make ends meet, she applied for a job as a cleaner at the University of York. When she went for the interview, the manager said to her, ‘Will you tell me why you want to come and work here?’
‘Yes, because I need the money,’ Florence said.
‘Fair enough,’ he said and hired her on the spot. It was hard physical work, but she kept on doing it, riding her bike there and back as well, until 1993, when she turned seventy and retired for the last time. Her husband, Arthur, had already stopped work well before then and was not in the best of health by the time Florence retired. He had undergone two major heart operations, including one in which they’d fitted a metal valve to regulate his heartbeat. ‘When he first had it fitted,’ Florence recalls with a laugh, ‘we were lying in bed that night and it was making so much noise that it was just like listening to someone playing table tennis. But it settled down after a day or so and after that you could barely hear it at all.’ Arthur had always been a dapper dresser and a handsome man with perfect teeth, but after his two heart operations he was on Warfarin for years to thin his blood and in the end, she says, it rotted his teeth. By the time his heart finally gave out in 2005, they had enjoyed fifty-eight very happy years together.
Florence has no regrets at all about her life with Arthur, and very few about her working life at Rowntree’s. ‘I’d have liked to have had the chance to go to Dunollie some time – the Rowntree’s rest home in Scarborough,’ she says, ‘but I was never poorly, so I never got the chance to do that. I did go to a reception in Harrogate when I’d done my twenty-five years working for Rowntree’s. They gave me an inscribed gold watch to commemorate it. I still wear it and it still keeps good time.’
Rowntree’s also paid for Florence to go to the Crown Hotel in Scarborough for a weekend on her retirement from the firm in 1983 – they did the same for everyone who had reached retirement age, though few of them could have matched Florence’s forty-six-year span of service with the firm. On retirement, as the Cocoa Works Magazine faithfully reported, in addition to any presentations from the company, men were usually given ‘a gift of banknotes collected in the department’ by their workmates, but women were more likely to receive a gift of china or glassware than hard cash.
Women receiving a company pension automatically became members of the Rowntree’s Pensioners Club, which helped them to keep in touch with former workmates and offered them the chance to take part in classes ranging from ballroom dancing to cake decorating. The club also organized a number of day trips and longer outings. However, the tea sets and the weekends away for retirees did not continue long beyond Florence’s own retirement, and the practice of sending former workers a Christmas card and a ten-pound voucher, allowing them to use a ‘waste
card’ to purchase cheap misshapes, was also discontinued as, one by one, the things that exemplified Rowntree’s traditional care for their employees were discontinued as cost-saving measures. Thatcherism and the ‘Big Bang’ in the City of London were now in full swing, heralding a more money-driven, selfish era, and Rowntree’s brand of liberalism and paternalism seemed old-fashioned and even archaic to the hard-nosed global businessmen of the coming age.
Increased mechanization was also making the work that women carried out at the factory ever more repetitive and monotonous. When Madge and Florence began working at Rowntree’s before the war, virtually everything – piping, marking, packing, labelling – was done by hand, and jobs like box-making and hand-packing were highly skilled. Some of it, like lifting up the outers and stacking them, was heavy work, too. Until the 1950s, women might well have packed a complete box of chocolates by themselves, ‘cupping’ them by putting them into the frilled paper cups and then packing the box in a strict pattern. They took a real pride in their work and the skills that they had mastered.
However, the company gradually introduced machine-packing instead, and in the 1950s the individual paper cups were replaced by VFP (Vacuum Formed Plastic) packing, and from then on women would just place one or two chocolates in the plastic trays as they went past on the conveyor belt. ‘You just sat there and did the same thing over and over again, all day long,’ Dot Edwards says. ‘One American visitor told me he thought the girls doing the packing were all robots. They’d put you on a chair and say, “Put that caramel in that mould,” and you’d do that all day, unless you swapped jobs with a friend. Mind you, no one minded who you swapped with as long as the box was correct when it got to the end of the line. As they brought in more machines, they also gradually closed the floors of the Cream Block. When I started there were still four floors working, but by the time I left there was just the ground floor.’
