‘What’s this then?’ asked Archie, blushing slightly. He knew very well what it was. All the workers round these parts had one. Known as mashing cans, they carried the worker’s lunch or liquid refreshment for the working day. If there was a stew or some soup, the mashing cans were stood against a stove or if they worked in the potbanks, against the kilns to keep hot.
‘It’s for you, son,’ his Mother said. ‘I got it down the market. You’ll need it, working in that hot place.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I appreciate it. I’ll be a proper wage-earner come Monday, with me very own mashing can. I’d best get upstairs and take off me uniform, for the last time.’
It was a strange weekend. He did his Saturday errands, handing over the pennies to his Mother as usual. He was very surprised when she gave him a penny back to spend on himself. He could buy sweets or even a comic or maybe a Woodbine from Mrs Machin’s. He knew she split the packs and sold the cigarettes singly to those who couldn’t afford a whole pack in one go. It was a hard decision. He finally bought a comic as it would last longer, and sat on the back step, laughing at the crazy antics of the characters. The pictures were simple, crude even. He knew he could easily copy them and possibly make his own improvements. He still had a few sheets of paper left in his old exercise books and was determined to have a go. Come a few years, he’d be a professional designer and the more things he could turn his hand to, the better. He sat for several hours on the Sunday morning trying and trying to get the figures to look the way they did in his comic. He quite changed his mind about it being easy. It took skills he didn’t have to make the figure seem to move rather than be a static, lifeless picture. He persevered until finally, just before tea, he was satisfied with his results. He propped up his best picture against the window where he could see the light shining through it. He realised with a start that this time tomorrow, he’d have finished his first day at work. It was a very scary thought.
Archie would never forget his first day. He walked into the factory, half fearful and half excited. The smell hit him as he went in through the factory gates. The bottle kiln had just been opened after cooling over the weekend. The heat wafted across the yard and he could see the fiery glow of the heated pottery still inside. He walked towards the office, unsure about where he was supposed to be starting. There was a smart woman sitting behind the desk. She wore a pair of spectacles perched on her nose and she raised an irritated glance towards the scruffy child.
‘What are you doing in here?’ she demanded. ‘This is the office. Not a place for the workmen.’
‘If you please, Ma’am,’ Archie said, doffing his cap. ‘If you please, Mr Draper said to report to work this morning. And I didn’t know where to go.’
‘What’s your name, boy?’
‘Archie Barnett, if you please.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ She gave a disapproving sniff. ‘I believe Mr Draper may have mentioned that you were coming. You’re to report to the clay shop. Like as not they’ll set you on fetching the clay up.’
Archie stared. He hadn’t given much thought to this side of things. Fetching clay up sounded like hard work. Dirty work as like as not. His Mum had insisted he went to work in the best clothes he had. He twisted his hands as he stood in front of the high desk. The woman pushed her glasses to the end of her nose and peered over them.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she demanded.
‘It’s just that . . . well . . . I don’t know where the clay shop is. And what do I do about overalls? I didn’t know what I’d be doing this morning. I’ve come in me good stuff.’
The woman sniffed, looking even more disapproving.
‘Even more stupid than you look,’ she snapped. ‘You supply your own overalls, naturally. Are you sure they’re the best clothes you have? Looks like they’re ready enough for the rag and bone man.’
‘That’ll do, Miss Baines,’ said a familiar voice behind him. ‘Mornin’, Archie. Glad to see you bright and early. I’ll see the boy in my office, Miss Baines. We’ll get his indentures sorted and signed. And I’ll have a cup of something hot. Dare say Archie would like something too, wouldn’t you, lad? See to it please, Miss Baines.’ Archie caught sight of the glare from the woman as he followed Mr Draper through a door at the side of the front office. He did not know it yet, but he had made his first enemy. Elsie Baines considered herself far too good to fetch and carry for some brat.
‘Right, lad. Let’s get you sorted,’ said Mr Draper, walking round his large desk. Archie gazed at the untidy room, taking in shelves of books to do with the various manufacturing processes, law, taxes and dozens more subjects that left him guessing. On the desk itself, apart from the clear space round a large leather blotter, there were several pieces of unfinished pottery, drawings and strange, glass-like objects that bore signs of being subjected to some great heat. He could have spent hours just looking. His heart thudded in his chest. This was the real beginning of adult life. This was where he wanted to be.
‘I’ve got your papers here, if you’d like to look over them and then sign at the bottom.’
‘I thought you wanted me to work for a trial period first,’ Archie said doubtfully.
‘Aye, well I decided there was no need for that. I know you well enough, lad. I know what you’re made of. I hope we shall be working together for a good few years, long after the apprenticeship is over and done.’
‘But won’t the others think it’s a bit strange? I mean to say, I expect they’ve all had to wait for a time before their apprenticeship began.’ Archie was worried that he’d be seen as the boss’s pet and given a hard time as a result.
‘Let’s say it’s your education that has pushed you forward a bit. Ah, here’s Miss Baines with our coffee.’
The secretary came into the room with a tray of coffee and wearing a scowl enough to turn the milk sour, Archie thought. She banged the tray down and turned to leave.
‘Thanks, Miss,’ Archie said loudly. She hesitated and gave another of her disapproving sniffs.
‘That’ll be all thanks, Miss Baines,’ Mr Draper said to her retreating figure. She reacted with the merest ripple running through her skinny shoulders. ‘Now, Archie, how do you like your coffee?’
‘I don’t know, sir. We usually has tea. I have that with milk.’
‘Then I’ll pour you some with milk. This is just to celebrate your first day, you understand. It certainly isn’t the normal thing for new employees. Only I promised Mrs Draper that I’d see you right. Insisted on it, she did. Now then, this is the plan. I shall start you in the clay shop. You’ll learn how the clay is prepared first off. I shall expect you to be an expert in everything to do with the clay, by the time you’re done. We’ll move on to the rest of the process later. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. What sort . . . I mean, how should . . . oh hang it. I’ve only got me best clothes to come out in. What am I supposed to wear? Me Mam wouldn’t take too kindly if me Sunday suit was covered in white clay dust.’
Mr Draper smiled.
‘How’s your coffee, lad?’
‘Very nice thank you.’
‘Then why is it going cold in the cup? You don’t like it, do you?’
‘It’s like pussy pee and pepper, to be honest. Sorry, sir. Shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Now. About your clothes. I reckon you should have a proper set of overalls. I’ll see what we can do. Don’t worry about it for today. I expect you’d like to have a look around. See where everything is. I won’t take you myself. The men’d give you stick afterwards. Don’t worry. I’ll organise something. You can start properly tomorrow. Don’t look so worried. I’ll still be paying you the full week.’
‘You’re being really good to me, Mr Draper. I’m ever so grateful.’
‘Think nothing of it. You’ve been a good pal to my Ernie. He’s going to miss having you to stick up for him at school. Oh, and don’t say anything about the overalls. They’ll all be demanding to have them
supplied, if they know. Right then. Just you cast your eyes over these ’ere papers while I see who’s available to give you the grand tour. Once you’ve been round, you can spend the rest of the day somewhere that interests you. Watch the men and women at work. You’ll learn by what you see.’
As Mr Draper went out into the reception area, Archie sat looking at the large, impressive looking document and decided he could make neither head nor tail of it. He picked up the pen Mr Draper had left on the desk to sign the bottom line. If Mr Draper was prepared to take a gamble on him, he reckoned it must be OK for him to sign something without really looking at it. No-one need know.
‘Right. Young Ned Reed’s coming to take you round. Nice lad but a bit simple. He’s everyone’s gofer. They’re always sending him for something stupid. Brushes to paint stripes, cat’s whisker paint, rubber hammers, you name it. He’s harmless though and knows his way around. I’ll be seeing you then, lad.’
Archie got up and went out into the reception. Miss Baines was still sitting at her desk, looking disapproving.
‘I hope you don’t think you’ll get this treatment every day. I thought as how you’d come here to work, not sit around like management drinking coffee all day.’
‘Thank you for making it,’ Archie said, at a loss to know how to treat this woman. He decided she was probably a dried up old spinster with a fancy for her boss. Only he was married, and had a kid, so she was left with no chance of her own happiness. He was surprisingly accurate in his estimation, except for her age. She was only in her early twenties but was the type of woman who had looked and acted middle aged, ever since she left school.
‘This is Ned Reed. He’s come to give your highness the guided tour. You have to watch what you say to this one, Ned. He’s a special pal of the boss’s.’ Ned looked over Archie’s clothes and down at his shoes. He looked into his face and at his untidy hair.
‘ ’E dunna look much like th’boss.’
‘You’re right, Ned Reed. Maybe he just hopes he’ll be th’boss himself someday. Now, get out of my sight the pair of you. Some of us have got work to do.’
The two boys, much of an age, began their tour round the factory. They crossed the yard to the clay end and Archie watched as a cart came in through the tunnel, the only way in and out of the factory. Workers and raw materials came in; finished goods went out. Dust hung in the air. The buildings were a uniform greyish colour from the smoke and clay dust. The boy gave a small rueful smile. He’d complained at the dirty, dismal life of the miners but this wasn’t really so much better. All the same, there was a world of difference between the end products from here and those of the coal pits. The large man who looked after the Lodge was going back into his room, holding his sheaf of papers as he clocked everything that came in and went out. Nothing escaped his eye and woe betide anyone who tried to take anything out that they shouldn’t.
The clay workshop was noisy. The steam engine ground along, filling the air with clanking sounds as the clay was prepared. Bemused, Archie watched the various machines as the clay was processed. Some of it was made into a liquid for casting into moulds. That was called slip he was told. Other clay was kneaded and worked until it could be pressed into solid lumps for the potters to shape into flatware, using various machines and sometimes, the potter’s wheels he’d expected to see.
‘I didn’t know they pressed stuff on machines,’ he said to the man he would be assisting, once he started work proper. ‘I thought it was all made by hand.’
‘It’s the finishin’ that’s all done by hand. But don’t let it fool yer. There’s real skill in getting the clay just right and putting the exact amount on the jig. Get it wrong and the plate or saucer or whatever won’t be up to standard. That’s money off your wages. All piece work here, you know. You get paid for each piece. The more you makes, the more cash in the wage packet.’
‘Oh. I thought I’d be getting a regular wage.’
‘Oh I see. One of the apprentices are you? Who are you with?’
‘I don’t know. You to start with, then I move to the next shop. Get a picture of the whole job, start to finish.’
‘I see. Sounds like you’re aiming for the top. What the ’eck made you want to start here?’
‘Well, I know Mr Draper like, well his son, really . . .’
‘I hope you’re not some sort of spy. Don’t like them sort, do we Ned?’
‘No, Mr Clough. Miss Baines says as how you’ve got to watch him.’
‘But you haven’t. I’m not any sort of spy. I just want to learn everything I can about making pots. Honest. I want to paint and make designs. I shall do one day, just you wait and see.’ He scrubbed angrily at his face, scared that he might shed a tear in his passionate desire to be a part of this world. Nobody could understand how very much it meant to him.
‘We’ll see, lad. You’d best get round to see the rest,’ Mr Clough said more kindly. ‘Make the most of it. I’ll be working you very hard after today.’
Though Archie had visited the factory once before, guided by Mr Draper and Ernie, he didn’t remember it very clearly. Ned was called away to do his own work, so Archie was left to look round on his own. He spent much of the day in the paint shop, watching the girls painting delicate patterns on the edges of plates. The gilders added dark brown stripes to cup handles and spun dishes on small, heavy wheels. He was amazed at their skill. Always exactly the right amount of the gold pigment to complete a circle and perfect symmetry of the brush strokes. It looked very easy but at once he recognised the skill behind the simple actions. Many of the dishes arrived with transfer patterns already made and they had to be finished with touches of hand painting. On first sight, it looked like cheating, he thought. Once he had seen the patterns made from engraved copper plates, he realised that the process was very hard work. Paint was rubbed onto the copper and tissue paper placed over the engraving and rolled, to pick up the paint. He watched some girls as well as men, rubbing down with enormous effort to make the printed pattern transfer to the china plates. If the paper tore when it was being applied, it was useless and all that energy was wasted. Even worse, it had to be scrubbed off and the whole process started again.
‘There’s a lot more to it than I realised,’ he said to friendly looking woman.
‘Aye, lad. It’s hard work. There’s some as can do it and some as can’t. My Florrie can’t for one. Useless she was. But look at her gilding in the paint shop and you couldn’t fault it.’
‘Who’s Florrie?’ Archie asked.
‘My eldest. Two more of ’em work as cup handlers. Me youngest son starts soon down the clay end.’
‘That’s where I’m going to be. What’s his name?’ Archie asked. The woman pursed her lips and suddenly looked less friendly.
‘What you doing here if you’re working at the clay end?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘I only started today and I’m getting a good look round so I know everything that’s going on.’
‘I bet my Charlie doesn’t get that sort of treatment. You someone special then?’
‘No. I’m just Archie. I want to work in the decorating shop eventually but Mr Draper says I should see how everything’s done. I’d best leave you to get on,’ he said awkwardly. Being a friend of the boss’s son wasn’t the advantage he thought it might be. In fact, unless he was careful, it could turn right against him. When the siren sounded for the end of the working day, he made his way to the tunnel, crowded with the workers clocking off.
‘You Archie Barnett?’ the Lodge man asked him.
‘Yes, sir. How did you know?’
‘They told me to look out for you. There’s a parcel waiting for you.’ He handed a package wrapped in newspaper to the boy.
‘What is it?’ he said, awestruck with the novelty of being given anything at all.
‘How do I know? I just ’ave to do as I’m told. Hang on a minute. Betty Prestwick. What you got in that bag?’
‘Only me mug for me tea. I’m taking
it home to give it a good scouring.’
‘Show us,’ demanded the Lodge Keeper.
The woman, not much older than Archie, blushing to her roots, fished out a grimy mug from her shopping bag. The man turned it over in his hands and gave it back.
‘All right then. Just checking up on yer. You’re OK this time.’ She stuffed it back in her bag and scuttled out. Archie clutched his parcel, something soft and squashy. Something clicked in his brain and he realised it was the promised overalls.
‘Thanks, Mister,’ he called to the Lodge Keeper and went over to the clock, found his card and clicked it through the machine. It gave him a sense of pride and he really felt like one of the team. It was a mucky, dirty environment but at least something bright and colourful came out at the end. Not dirty black coal which made everything else as black as itself. This was his future and not some filthy coal pit. Though he hated himself for thinking it, what was good enough for his Dad, certainly wasn’t good enough for him.
Two girls were standing just inside the main gate. One must have been about the same age as he was; the other was much younger. He smiled at them as he went out into the road. The young one giggled and hid behind her sister. Must be the Lodge man’s kids, he thought. Fancy being able to live here, in the middle of all this.
It was beginning to rain. The gutters were soon running with a greyish liquid as the clay dust was washed down. Rivulets of the dirty water filled the gaps between the cobbles and Archie’s feet were wet through. He added another item to the list of things he would buy as soon as he could afford it. A pair of decent boots.
CHAPTER SIX
The next day was the hardest day’s work Archie had ever done in his life. At the end of the first proper working day, he could hardly move. Heaving up great lumps of clay from the plug machine and kneading it into the right sized pieces had made every muscle in his body ache. His arms felt like jelly and he thought he’d never get up again if he should bend over. He dragged his feet as he toiled home and collapsed into a chair as soon as he could.
Rough Clay Page 7
