The moment he turned out of Moorside Place he forgot it, and began to think of Elaine. But he could not see her till the morrow. How was he to get through the intervening hours, wondered Walter in a frenzy; he felt an overpowering restlessness, a longing for life and action; to return to Heights Cottage and sit alone would be simply intolerable; if he could not have Elaine, he must have lights, bustle, an animated scene to fill his mind.
On an impulse he drew up at a kiosk, telephoned Grey Garth, and suggested to Tasker that they might meet somewhere for supper to celebrate the happy issue of the day.
Tasker seemed pleased, though a little surprised at the suggestion, and agreed heartily; they met in Bradford, and spent what remained of the day recalling their dangers and their triumphs, congratulating each other as old friends should.
Walter was in wild spirits; he drank rather more than usual, and laughed and talked with a liveliness which astonished Tasker, who had expected he might have a little remorse to cope with on the part of his young friend. Seeing that it was not so, and that the moment was propitious, Tasker became confidential. He put into Walter’s mind the notion that the Heights turnover must be increased at all costs, so as to make a good impression on the new shareholders.
“The advantage of a big concern like ours,” he said, “is that overheads are so reduced that we can afford to cut prices, bring the cloth within reach of the consumer. That’s what all this talk about rationalization really means, you know.”
“Of course,” said Walter impatiently.
“You have to deceive people a bit for their own good, sometimes,” said Tasker later with a kindly air. “They’re too cowardly to take the risk, if they know it’s there; so you have to keep it from them, and take it yourself.”
Walter, who understood that this was a reference to the Heights valuation, and its effect on the prospective shareholders of Messrs. Tasker, Haigh and Company, agreed cheerfully. He felt bold, able, very protective towards all the Croslands, and master of his fate and Elaine’s.
Indefatigable as always, Tasker had already been at work drafting the prospectus of the new company. The proper formalities were rapidly pushed through, and in a few weeks Walter had the exciting pleasure of holding in his hand the thick glossy folio leaflet, which announced on its front page the issue at par of so many thousand ordinary and preference shares in Messrs. Tasker, Haigh and Co., so many of which had been applied for and allotted to the board. Under the heading DIRECTORS appeared the names of Leonard Tasker of Victory Mills, Ashworth, Yorks. (Managing Director of Messrs. Leonard Tasker 1925 Ltd.), Henry Clay Crosland of Clay Hall, Yorks. (Chairman of Directors, The Crosland Spinning Co. Ltd.), and Walter Haigh of Heights, Hudley, Yorks. (Dyer and Finisher). Within the folder was the usual statement of the company’s assets and profits, with signed valuations—the Heights one, Walter noted, bore the signature of a valuer named (perhaps significantly) Dollam; and coloured sheets were attached containing pictures and descriptions of the new company’s properties, and application forms for shares.
The general public, lacking Dyson’s experience and noting Mr. Crosland’s name, did not agree with Dyson’s estimate of the enterprise, and the subscription list had to be closed, full, a few hours after it was opened.
In addition to the dividends he might hope for from the new company, Walter now drew a very considerable salary—pushed through by Tasker rather against Mr. Crosland’s will, who considered many items in the new concern’s expenses quite unnecessarily large, but was always skilfully circumvented by Tasker, who knew how to yield small points in such a way that he gained the large ones—as manager of Heights Mill.
At Heights Walter worked with passionate intensity, not requiring Tasker’s repeated reminders to be conscious of the importance of showing a good balance sheet. Trade was still terribly bad, for the price of wool went swooping down beyond the limits hitherto thought possible; but Heights, being in the public eye just then in connection with the new flotation, did pretty well—even the men who distrusted Tasker’s financial arrangements admitted that in textiles he was as clever as a bagful of monkeys; and he and that young Haigh, they said, were as thick as thieves. Young Haigh was old Dyson’s son, too, and had been trained under the Lumbs. Besides, one could get a slight concession in price at Heights—competitors might call it under-cutting, and point angrily at the Heights non-union labour, but in these hard times, men said, it wasn’t human nature not to take advantage of it if one had the chance.
Walter bought a better car, joined several clubs, learned to ride, and pursued with delight his successful courtship of Elaine.
Scene 6. Trade Dispute
THE HUDLEY branch of the textile union to which the Lumbs’ men chiefly belonged held its meetings in a side street not far from the centre of the town, in the upper room of a substantial old building of blackened stone, which was used similarly by several other working-class organizations. Downstairs there was a club room where one could obtain beer, billiards and dominoes; beneath the roof a sect of one of the latest pseudo-scientific religions met to perform exercises and sing hymns. On the floor between came the longish room which was the headquarters of the Union.
As Messrs. Lumb was only a small firm, those of their employees concerned in the piece-rate question could be accommodated in this room with a little crowding, and accordingly the meeting to consider Arnold Lumb’s latest proposal was being held there on this bright evening of late spring. The room contained two long solid tables covered with American cloth; the shorter stood at right-angles to the longer, and both were surrounded by a good supply of chairs. Near the windows, the lower halves of which were coloured red, stood the roll-top desk, typewriter and metal files which were the working apparatus of the branch secretary.
The room was also the headquarters of various “lodges” of Oddfellows and similar organisations; the large chests containing their regalia stood in the corners, and their charters hung on the walls. Interspersed with these were rows of hooks for coats, an advertisement of the Daily Herald, and a collection of cards on loops of string, printed with the names of the organisations using the room, to be hung on the door-knob outside as a warning to passers-by when they were in session. On one of these some cheerful soul had added pencil marks, so that the word “Union” became “Onion.” This irritated Milner Schofield whenever he saw it, but Harry always felt inclined to snigger—it had remained thus for years.
Milner was sitting now beside the president and secretary of the local branch of the union, at the top table; his round black eyes were bright, his expression eager; in these surroundings, and about to conduct a fight against the employers he detested, he was in his element.
Harry sat at a little distance from his brother, about the middle of the long table; somebody had carelessly left a “Vacant Book” on the table, and Harry, his chair tilted back against the cupboard behind him (which announced itself in old-fashioned coloured lettering to be the Hudley Power Loom Tuners’ Society Technical Library), was idly turning its leaves and noting the constant recurrence of a certain signature, every working day, every week, since the book was started—“Been out of work a long time, that chap,” thought Harry sympathetically, throwing the book down.
The meeting now began.
“I reckon we all know what we’re here for,” said the president of the branch. “I’ll ask the secretary to give an account of the negotiation so far.”
The local secretary, a mild-mannered man rather over middle age, short and sturdy, with greying hair and moustache, rose and began an account of the many and complicated steps—the six or seven meetings, the pile of correspondence—comprising the negotiations between Messrs. Lumb and their employees since the beginning of the current year. He spoke in homely fashion, without emphasis, and in an impartial tone.
Milner listened with passionate attention to every word; he knew the progress of the negotiations better than the secretary, corrected him once or twice on details, and fidgeted restlessly w
hen some point was missed.
The president, observing these symptoms, stopped the secretary when he had described the history of the affair as far as the men’s last reply to Arnold, and announced that before asking him to read the latest offer from Messrs. Lumb, he would call upon their shop-steward, Milner Schofield, to comment upon the negotiation so far.
Milner sprang to his feet with alacrity, his eyes gleaming. He loved public speaking, for when he spoke to an audience the ordinary, every-day Milner Schofield, so hedged about, so impotent, seemed to be transcended; he seemed to rise into a freer air, where he had room to breathe and move at his ease, where he no longer felt inferior, thwarted. And all his people, all the class he was working for, seemed to rise with him, to be freer because he felt free. He knew, too, that he spoke well, sometimes even with eloquence; and as he rose now, he made up his mind at once to give an account of the whole negotiation again, laying the stress where he thought it should be laid, namely, on the unreasonableness of Arnold’s demands. He objected to wage-cuts on principle; and, further emboldened by the 1929 general election of a few weeks ago, which had resulted in a triumph for his party, he did not mean the Valley Mill wage-cuts to be accepted if he could help it—he saw vistas of power opening before himself and his class; there was no longer need to give way to the Arnolds of the world; down with them!
Looking about him with the eager, burning gaze which always fixed attention, he began his narrative. It was a keen pleasure to him to describe the visits of the local president and delegates to “Valley Mill, the discussions held as prescribed in his presence; for Milner loved union conventions, union formalities, union constitutional checks and forms of procedure; they fed his longing for order, his sense of affairs. We can do things handsomely too, he felt these formalities said to the employers: we are not impotent and defenceless; we are organised, we have power! His exposition was so dramatic that although the men had heard the story already they followed him at first with close attention, but after a time they grew tired of the back-and-forth-ing of letters packed with dates and figures, and the details of proposed compromises which had long since been superseded in the five months since the negotiations began. They knew in advance that the meeting had been called to consider a fresh letter from Arnold Lumb, and the president had spoken of it too, so they began to urge Milner to cut out the old stuff, and read it at once, jeering in friendly fashion at his long-windedness.
“Too fond o’ hearing hissen talk, is yon Schofield lad,” murmured one of the older men.
“Oh, let him be! Let him finish in his own way!” urged Harry Schofield good-humouredly.
“I would if he showed any sign o’ finishing,” replied the other man reasonably. “But he doesn’t shape at all.”
Milner, who was always sensitive to a meeting’s pulse though he could not always persuade himself to obey his own intuitions and cut his speeches short, now flashed his brilliant glance round the room to gather all eyes to himself; and cried in a slightly louder tone than he had hitherto used: “I will now read the latest letter received from Messrs. W. H. Lumb & Co.”
There was a stir of interest as, disregarding the movement of protest from the secretary, Milner drew out the sheet from the pile in front of them, shook it into position, and held it away from himself in an unconsciously oratorical attitude. A tense silence followed as he read emphatically:
Dear Sirs,
You will remember that it was on January 2nd we made the suggestion that we should either return to time rates for twelve months, or have a special reduction of 10 per cent for twelve months. Since then we have discussed the matter at considerable length with you, but no conclusion seems to have been reached. The outlook for trade is now worse rather than better, and in view of the competition we have to face we are compelled to carry out the suggestion made in that letter.
We should prefer to do it by agreement with your Union but otherwise can see no option but to give a week’s notice to all our employees and set on such as desire on time rate.
There was a pause. The last sentence had an ominous ring. Murmurs of:
“That’s new—aye, we never heard nowt o’ that afore,” arose on all sides.
“What does it mean, that last bit?” demanded somebody at the far end of the room.
“It means he’ll sack the lot on us, and tek on fresh men at time-rate pay!” cried Milner with a sombre fury.
“Nay, he can’t do that, surely!” cried several.
“Speak up, and tell us what it means,” one or two implored the secretary.
“I reckon it means pretty much what your shop-steward says,” replied the secretary drily, turning for confirmation to the president, who nodded.
“But how can he do that? What about th’ agreement?” was shouted hotly.
“Messrs. Lumb gave notice of the termination of the present agreement on January 2nd., and it’s May now, so he’s within his rights,” stated the secretary. “Three months’ calendar notice is what’s required.”
“You mean we’re all liable to a week’s notice now?” demanded Harry incredulously.
The secretary’s assent aroused a storm:
“Well, I’m blowed!” “That’s a way to treat a man after twenty year!” “You oughtn’t to have let it go so far!” “It’s a very serious position,” concluded one of the older men gloomily.
But Milner, who thought their resentment had gone far enough, for if it went further it might depress them into surrender, now cried out impatiently:
“But he’ll never do it! He couldn’t get the men to replace us!”
Amid the chorus of relieved agreement, the secretary observed: “I don’t know what you base that statement on, Milner, I’m sure. There’s plenty of experienced men wanting a job to-day, you know.”
“Aye! But they don’t know his work like we do,” said Milner with conviction. “Look how many different firms Lumbs finish for, and each one wants his cloth finished different. It’s bad enough trying to get ’em all right as it is, wi’ men that knows t’ job.”
“Tha’s reet there, Milner!” cried one of the older men feelingly.
There was a general laugh, and Milner, cheered, went on with a smile: “Wi’ strangers—well! I wish him joy of it. Besides, where will he find enough non-union men?”
“He’ll never do it,” said Harry with conviction.
“It’ll about finish Lumbs off if he does,” said another.
“Then why does he say he will?” demanded the man who had spoken gloomily before.
“Bluff!” cried Milner. He felt his moment had come, and cried with passionate conviction: “It’s part of the middle-class attack on the working man’s standard of living, that’s what it is. If we accept these cuts, then next thing Lumbs’ll be cutting prices, and then other firms’ll have to cut their prices, and lower their wages, and then Lumbs’ll have to cut us down again. And so it’ll go on. Wages’ll get lower and lower, and our standard of living’ll go down and down. And the nation’s purchasing power will go down and down, and trade will get worse and worse. It’s the capitalists’ paradox, that’s what it is; only they’re such fools they can’t see it.”
“I should have thought a steady, sensible sort of chap like Arnold would have seen it,” mused someone argumentatively, amid the chorus of applause which followed Milner’s speech.
“Him!” exclaimed Milner with contempt. “He’s never read a book on economics in his life. He’s so busy with his own narrow class views that he can’t see a world force when it’s put under his nose.”
“Aye—well—I reckon it’s my weekly wage I’m after, not a world force,” objected someone slyly, and there was a laugh.
Milner turned white with rage. The words: “Then you’re as bad as him!” sprang to his lips, but he would not throw away his influence over his audience by uttering them. Instead he shouted, vehemently thumping his fist into the palm of the other hand: “I’ve told you before, and I tell you again, it’s all part of the
attack on the working class standard of living. It’s an attack on the solidarity of the working class. If you give way now, you’ll make a breach in that solidarity! Besides,” he added, suddenly dropping his voice to a contemptuous undertone: “He’s only bluffing; he daren’t carry out his threat.”
“I take it you’re against going back to time-rates, then?” said the president.
“Aye! And I’m against his alternative, his ten per cent cut in the piece rates, too,” said Milner angrily. “We’ve only drawn bonus twice in the last year, so why should we have a cut? And we’ve accepted two cuts since them piece rates were first agreed, you know we have.”
“Headquarters in Bradford think you ought to accept,” observed the secretary.
“I daresay—they’re lily-livered chaps over there, and they don’t know Lumbs’ trade,” said Milner contemptuously. “He’ll never replace us—it’ll be the finish of Lumbs if he tries it.”
“Tha’s reet there, lad,” murmured one or two of the older men.
“Well, shall I take the vote?” demanded the chairman. “I may say I agree with Milner here; but in Bradford they think you ought to accept, with so many unemployed and trade so bad.”
“Wasn’t there some other scheme for modifying the rates a bit?” suggested the gloomy man: “I’ those letters?”
“We’ve washed all those out long ago,” said Milner with scorn. “They work out worse nor time rates or ten per cent cut.”
“I think Lumbs ought to knock summat off their own wage before they come on ours,” said a young voice shrilly.
“They have done a bit i’ that line,” replied another.
“Aye, but how much?” demanded Milner. “Those people’ll knock hundreds off the wages bill, and think they’re doing well to tek ten pound a year less themselves. Besides, the smaller the income the more valuable the shilling.” As this was received in a perplexed silence, he went on quickly: “Besides, I don’t see why we should suffer to help them show a larger profit.”
A Modern Tragedy Page 22
