‘Aren’t you going to open your other presents?’ her Grannie asked. She nodded but for once, if she’d received nothing else, it wouldn’t have mattered so much. For the whole of Christmas that year, she kept looking at her china and even put it on her chest of drawers in her room, wanting to keep it there for at least some time, she told her Mum. It could join the other things later, when she’d got used to it.
Carole passed her eleven plus exam and was offered a place at the local grammar school. Archie was so proud and vowed she would never have to suffer the way he had and leave when she was still too young to have achieved anything. She would never have to wear second-hand uniform. Everything would be the best they could manage, even if it meant they might have to do without something else. Feeling slightly self-conscious, she stood for inspection before leaving that first morning. She put the empty satchel, apart from a pencil box, over her shoulders and took a deep breath before leaving to catch the school bus at the end of the road.
Dora wiped away a tear and Archie gripped her arm, knowing exactly how she must have been feeling.
‘Our little girl. All grown up,’ he whispered. ‘I feel ridiculously proud. She’s going to make it, isn’t she? Wonder what she’ll do with her life.’
‘Probably be a dreamer just like her father,’ she laughed.
‘She’ll be a good’un if she turns out like her Mum,’ he said, giving her a hug. ‘Now, I’d better get off to work and earn some money to pay for our daughter’s expensive uniform. Oh and don’t forget we’ve got the theatre this evening. Not the best planning, on Carole’s first day. Hope she doesn’t get too much homework. I’ll be home as soon as I can.’ It had become a feature in their lives to go to the theatre in Hanley once a month, for a live variety performance, a play or musical. One more sign of Archie’s progress up the social ladder. Carole usually accompanied them, despite the rather late hours.
Archie came home early, anxious to hear about the first day at grammar school. How different from his own welcome home, he thought bitterly. His mother had seen the whole thing as a waste of time and a source of inconvenience whenever he was later home than usual. His family were never going to know of the privations he had suffered. Carole was extremely non-committal about her day.
‘Pretty boring really,’ she announced. ‘Oh and I’ve got homework. I’ll have to take it with me and do it in the interval, I s’pose.’ Her parents looked at each other and felt slightly guilty. Their plans had not been well thought through. Carole seemed happy enough with the arrangements but they realised they needed to modify some of their ideas. Archie was torn between wanting all the trappings of success and wanting Carole to achieve success where he had failed. He took a keen interest in everything she was doing, hoping to fill a few of the gaps caused by his own early departure from education.
Nineteen fifty-one saw the culmination of years of planning for the Festival of Britain, to celebrate and encourage more optimism throughout the country. The Great Exhibition of eighteen fifty-one made it an auspicious date to select. Most of the celebrations were to be held in London, with the new South Bank site of the magnificent Festival Hall and Battersea Fun Fair being centre pieces. Bonfires were lit all over the country and smaller exhibitions, especially in the pottery industry, were held to promote everything that was good about Britain. The china industry featured strongly with special commissions taking their place amidst the rest. The optimism was mixed, as shortages were still biting in many areas. Meat rations were still causing a deal of hardship and in the Barnett household, Carole eased things by deciding she didn’t like meat any more. By the time the festival was closing, election fever had taken over. The Attlee Government had suffered much criticism of late and to Dora and Archie’s delight, Mr Churchill was returned to office. They had shared the guilty feelings of many, when he’d been voted out ‘after all he’d done for Britain during the war years’.
For Archie, the growth in his business was everything he had hoped for. He’d become friendly with many other small potters in the area and shared ideas about the actual manufacture. Experiments with new glazes and colours continued to fascinate him and some of them found their way into his work. But always, his first love was for the figurines and he produced fine work that many said rivalled even Royal Doulton in their quality.
Early in nineteen fifty-two, King George the Sixth died. It seemed the entire country mourned the loss of this gentle man and sympathised with his lovely wife. They remembered a visit he had made to Stoke in the early war years and it seemed everyone had a story to tell. The day of his funeral seemed to affect everyone. Many firms held lunchtime services for the workers to pay their respects. Two minutes silence was held at two o’clock that afternoon and many were hiding their tears at the loss of their once unwilling and shy king. They all felt a part of it, with many representatives of the local police forces joining their colleagues to be on duty at Windsor. The new young Queen Elizabeth was also viewed with a degree of sympathy. In the midst of the shock of losing her father, she was expected to come to terms with the fact that she was now the head of a very large community of people the world over.
‘And just when the poor dear was having a bit of a holiday,’ one of the girls said. Pictures in the newspapers showed the small sad figure descending the steps of an aeroplane, already holding herself high, as the Queen of England and the Commonwealth.
The news leaked out that the King had died of smoking related illness and many people began to consider the implications. If the King himself could die, what chance was there for the rest of them? Dora and Archie, always heavy smokers, tried to give up. It proved too difficult and they pushed away the idea of the threats to health and resumed the habit, thinking it would never happen to them.
The advent of the new queen meant there would be a coronation. This had dramatic implications for the whole of the Potteries. A whole year was to pass before the actual ceremony and the date was arranged for the following June. Whatever the reason for the long gap between the accession and the coronation, it gave ample time for preparing commemoration memorabilia. It seemed that everyone was planning something special, large and small companies alike. For Archie it seemed his moment had finally arrived. He was geared up to make long runs of smaller items and his imagination ran riot. Coronation mugs were his first priority. There would be different sizes and all would carry official badges. It seemed that any crests, badges, whatever were to be approved by ‘The Palace’. Hundreds of designs were submitted and only a relative few accepted. Lavish badges were produced and the lithographs sold to a number of manufacturers. Archie was delighted with the ones he had chosen and began to plan how he might best use them. Traditional beaker shapes were the obvious choice and he began production of these but he wanted something more special, something unique. He doodled on even more invoices, pads and even the office wall was not exempt.
‘I want to use the royal lion as a handle,’ he announced to the mould maker. He showed the sketch of the lion attached to the side of a small mug. ‘If we make it the right size for these badges, and gild the whole of the handle, I think it’s what we’re looking for.’ The mould maker looked at him sceptically.
‘You’re talking about a whole lot of gold. Make it a very expensive piece.’
‘I think it’s worth it,’ Archie insisted. ‘I bet no-one else’s thought of anything like it.’
‘It’s different all right. Shall I have a go, then?’
‘You? Do you think you can model it yourself?’
‘I reckon so. Get me a proper drawing done up. Make it the scale you want, allowing for the shrinkage of course. I’ll see what I can do.’
Archie set to work. It was a project he felt strongly about. He took a clean sheet of paper and unusually for him, began to construct lines with proper measurements. The finished result would always be considerably smaller than the clay model as everything shrank during the firing. As water is driven off to harden the clay into biscuit ware, the
correct proportion for shrinkage has to be ensured, to prevent spoilage. It needed to be of even thickness to ensure that no cracking or splitting could take place. They all knew how shapes could distort in the immense heat of the ovens. He worked for several hours, not even noticing when the workers left for the evening, calling their good nights. It was when the ringing of the office phone finally brought him back to reality that he saw it was almost nine o’clock. An extremely irate Dora demanded to know exactly when he intended coming home for supper. He barely listened to her words, he was so excited about his project. Frustrated beyond belief, Dora slammed the phone down and threw his tea on the back of the fire. She felt angry with herself and bored with being alone. Carole had of course gone to bed much earlier.
‘How do you think it feels?’ she demanded when he finally arrived home almost two hours later. ‘I’m on my own all day and then all evening as well. I’m sick of it. I don’t ever seem to do anything these days. You’re always working.’ She knew she was being unfair but with cricket taking up the weekends and now he’d joined the golf club to extend his social group, his spare time was non-existent. She began to hate the trappings of success.
‘But you always knew I’d have to work hard. I’m doing my best. For you and Carole.’
‘And yourself. Don’t forget that. It’s your own ambition that’s driving you.’
‘I have to try it, Dora. You must see that. If I have to work late some nights, well that’s just part of the price to pay.’
‘I bet you managed to find time for a pint somewhere on your way home.’
‘I didn’t, love. Not this evening. Oh I know I have done occasionally but I’ve had this marvellous idea. I’ve been working on the drawings and John’s going to have a go at making it tomorrow. I needed to get it finished. There isn’t much time. Look here. This is it. I’ve brought it home to show you. This is what I’ve been working on. I think this is going to be really big, Dora. What do you think?’
He held out his drawing for her to see and enthused well into the night about the prospects. She couldn’t be angry any longer. Seeing his absolute pleasure in his work made her realise exactly why she had married him.
‘Come here you daft thing,’ she said, pulling him into a hug. ‘It’s wonderful and you’re right, it is going to be big. But all the same, I was worried half to death not knowing where you were. I thought you might have fallen down those awful stairs after everyone had left. I kept trying to ring, several times I tried. That was what worried me most. Then I thought you’d had some sort of accident on the way home.’
‘I suppose you tried ringing the pub as well. Make it obvious to everyone what a terrible husband I am?’ She blushed. ‘You did didn’t you? I won’t be able to show my face there again. I’ll be known as the man whose wife has to keep tabs on him.’ She looked angry again but realised he was teasing her. ‘I don’t know why you always have to think the worst. Why should I suddenly have an accident?’
‘Must be when you really love someone,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You always fear they are going to be taken away, just when you know you’d miss them most.’
‘That’s always,’ he replied. ‘I couldn’t ever manage without you. And how’s Carole today? She’ll like this, don’t you think?’ His fingers continued to stroke the page where his own, special coronation mug was pencilled. He could see the finished object in his mind and could scarcely contain his excitement. ‘The Canadians are going to love it. Americans too.’
‘Carole’s fine,’ Dora interrupted, knowing he would continue his mental planning all night if she let him. ‘Having trouble with some maths though. She’d hoped you’d be able to help her with her homework.’
‘Has she left it out for me to look at?’
‘Well, she did but it’s far too late. It’s gone midnight. And I bet you haven’t had anything to eat?’
‘Had a pork pie earlier. I’m all right. I’m sorry but I promise I’ll be home early tomorrow night. Make up for tonight. We’ll go out somewhere if you like. By the way, did I tell you, our William came in today? He wants a job. I can’t say no but I’m not sure what he’s going to do. Probably mostly labouring at first. He’s a strong enough body.’
‘I see. And how’s your mother? Is he still staying at home with her?’
‘Seems like it. She sounds as if she’s the same as always. Our William doesn’t seem to have any interest in girls. He’s getting on a bit. If he doesn’t hurry up, he’ll be left on the shelf.’
‘He keeps telling you. He’s waiting for me,’ Dora chuckled.
Archie stared at her.
‘I hope he doesn’t mean it,’ he retorted almost fiercely. Dora stared at his unfriendly tone but he grinned again. ‘You go on up. I’ll just take a look at this homework.’
‘But it’s very late. Come to bed. She’ll just have to manage on her own.’
But it was too late, Archie was already trying to understand the complexities of proving Pythagoras’s theorem.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
John the mould-maker had made an excellent attempt to produce the little mug just as Archie had specified. Togther they worked on the lion shape, deciding exactly how best to produce the mould. It had to be a simple mould to make it viable to produce in large quantities. The two main pieces would be made to fit together down the sides of the lion and the third piece would form the bottom. With a bit of care, the last section was where the slip was poured in. It was tricky as the lion head was above the top of the rim. They worked hard on the piece, making several attempts to get it exactly right. Just a week later, the first ones came out of the kiln, ready for glazing. It had worked perfectly. Allowing for just a small amount of further shrinkage, the lithograph was going to sit perfectly on one side, with a smaller one for the back. Archie could hardly wait a further week for the next firing and wanted to make further moulds and begin production properly. He was persuaded to wait and complete the early stages first. He made a dozen or so and waited for them to go through all the processes, biscuit, glost and finally they were ready for the important part.
He personally applied the lithographs and put his most experienced gilder on the job of painting the lion handles. Several were completed, ready for the next firing of the decorated ware. The finished result was instantly approved by everyone and all the girls immediately ordered mugs for their children and families. He laughed delightedly.
‘By the time this coronation happens, you’ll be sick to the back teeth of the whole thing, just you wait. Now, that seems to be sorted. We’d better get on to the next line. I thought we’d try to make a scale model of the Coronation Crown. And the Queen sitting on the Coronation chair. What do you think?’
‘Bloody hell, boss. You don’t expect much, do you?’ Vera, one of the paintresses told him.
‘Oh but I do,’ he said with a warning. ‘Cancel anything you’ve got planned for the rest of the year. We’re in business for real.’ They watched fondly as he left their workshop.
‘He’s really something that one, isn’t he?’
‘I’ll have a job to cancel what’s going on in my stomach,’ said Betty, who’d recently discovered she was pregnant for the third time.
‘You’d better discover what’s causing it, right rapid,’ chided Vera. ‘He’s not going to be best pleased that one his best paintresses is in the club.’
‘I’m going to have a job to reach the bench in another couple of months. Do you reckon he’ll let me work at home? I’ll need the money.’
‘If it goes like he thinks, he’ll probably hold yer hand himself, just to make sure you paint and give birth at the same time.’
There was a buzz of excitement around the whole factory. Good humour and laughter could be heard in every shop and radios were playing the whole day. A new gas fired kiln had been installed and even this gave extra confidence to the work force.
‘They mean business, sure enough,’ the girls said to each other. ‘I reckon our Archie’s going to ma
ke it big. And we’re all a part of it.’
William had joined the team some weeks earlier and was quickly learning what he needed to do to play his part. Much of his work was basic labouring, carrying the new heavy moulds up to the casting shop on the first floor when they were ready for use. He helped with making the moulds, though only in a very basic way. He mixed the slip, the liquid clay used for casting the pieces, and invented ways of mechanising some of the longer tasks. A simple paddle and motor was fitted into an old barrel and this kept the slip moving, preventing the solid matter from settling on the bottom and spoiling. His main task of the week was to load and unload the Monster, the name they had given to the big kiln. It was an extremely unpleasant task, hot and dusty. His arms soon became marked with small burn scars from occasional encounters with the sides. But he worked happily enough, glad to be away from mining and the pits.
Dora was not entirely happy with the disruptions to their family life but she understood Archie’s needs, his driving ambition. Gradually, they made new friends and began to go out for Sunday lunch, a large party of them joining together. They would take turns to go back to each other’s homes for games of cards and large high teas in the evening. For Archie, the new, affluent friends were a sign that he was successful. His life was full and busy. Carole teased him about what she called his golf-club voice, used for answering the telephone. He laughed it off, claiming that she was just as much of a mimic as he was. All the same, he knew she was right. The posher accent went with the new status. They regularly went to dinner dances at the North Staffordshire Hotel, forgetting how uncomfortable both of them had been that first time, all those years ago. He was happier than he ever dreamed possible and was always bringing home small presents and even fresh flowers appeared regularly each week.
When their new television arrived, Dora had even more visitors and had to admit that she was very pleased with the addition. They even sat watching the test card before the evening’s viewing and remarked on the smart evening dress worn by the announcers. Mary and Harry visited more regularly, staying overnight, just to see what were fast becoming their favourite programmes. Harry had retired and they decided to move house to somewhere with a bit more garden.
Rough Clay Page 25
