Solomon's Song

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘Yes, thank you, Rabbi Abrahams, I am most grateful. I shall make a donation in memory of my father if you will let me know how this might best be done. Some useful project perhaps?’

  Rabbi Abrahams bows slightly. ‘Now is not the time to talk of such matters, but I am most grateful, Sir Abraham, the Lord’s work is never completed. We have a great need to build a new synagogue, thank the Lord our congregation grows. Perhaps I may visit you at some time more convenient to discuss this with you?’

  ‘Certainly, Rabbi. I will look forward to your call. We shall telephone for a taxi to take you home, there is a depot not far away, it will not take long.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Abraham, I must remind you that the body of your father must not be left alone. You or your wife must not leave him until the Chevra Kadisha comes to fetch him.’ Rabbi Abrahams looks around the room and points to the menorah. ‘I think maybe a small miracle, that is the first time I have seen candles that do not all burn down at the same rate.’ Then bowing his head slightly before leaving the room, the rabbi says the traditional blessing, ‘May the Lord comfort you with all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.’

  With the rabbi’s departure and Elizabeth seated facing the far wall, her back turned on the shrouded body of David on the floor with his feet pointed towards the door and with one of Mrs Tompkins’ brand new candles at his head, Abraham is feeling decidedly better. Tradition, tradition, how useful it can be. Expensive, but useful. Abraham decides he will call Hawk immediately and ask for a postponement to prepare for him and his clever little granddaughter. As he commences to wind the handle on the telephone he thinks that David’s timely death is the only true example of consideration his father has ever shown him.

  Hawk, putting down the telephone from Abraham Solomon, is almost as grateful as Abraham for the extra time David’s death allows him. Victoria is proving extremely difficult to convince that she should work with him at the Potato Factory.

  ‘But, Grandfather, you have been retired these twenty-one years, why would you wish to go back?’ is the first question she asks after he has approached her with the proposition he has in mind.

  ‘Not retired, my dear, removed, sacked from the chairmanship of Solomon & Teekleman, you well know the circumstances.’

  ‘Well, yes, but does it really matter?’ Victoria says, appealing to him. ‘We are well rid of the vile company, they exploit the poor at every opportunity.’ She shudders suddenly. ‘You know how very much I wish my name wasn’t a part of it!’

  ‘But you are a part of it, Victoria, and will, someday, with Ben, be its biggest shareholder. The three of us already are.’

  ‘It makes me feel dirty, Grandfather. They are singular proof that we must have stronger unions and a government that is prepared to take away much of the power of the large corporations.’

  Hawk sighs. ‘The working class will certainly benefit by a stronger union movement and you already have a Labor government, but as long as industry can be relied on to pay taxes, even a Labor prime minister will be reluctant to interfere. While I am all for curbing excesses, wherever they may be, it seems to me that the best way to change an organisation is from within.’

  ‘I should much rather work within a trade union to make the changes.’

  Hawk laughs, applauding Victoria’s quick mind. Nonetheless he continues. ‘Think of a corporation or company as a human with many of the same characteristics. For instance, Solomon & Teekleman is formed out of two companies, Solomon & Co. founded by David Solomon, and the Potato Factory founded, as you know, by Mary Abacus. The two, when they came together under the same parent company, were diametrically opposed in their philosophies, in other words they had quite different personalities. Like a husband and wife with different cultural backgrounds who are unable to agree on almost anything. Take David Solomon’s company, selfish, greedy, unsympathetic, cunning, vengeful and deeply suspicious of those who work for it, these are the characteristics of Solomon & Co. and are a mirror image of the man who founded it.

  ‘On the other hand, Mary’s company, in the light of the times, was straight-dealing, open, hard-headed but responsible for the welfare of those who worked for it. Your great-grandmother never forgot her humble beginnings or what it meant to be poor and so she understood the needs of her people.’ Hawk pauses and looks at Victoria, ‘Do you follow the analogy so far?’

  Victoria nods her head, ‘Yes but . . .’ She knows better than to interrupt, but simply cannot contain herself.

  ‘Yes but what, my dear?’ Hawk asks, a trifle irritated at being interrupted when, to his mind, his explanation is progressing along so nicely.

  ‘The bad swallowed the good! Evil triumphed, as it always seems to do in big business! David Solomon won, didn’t he!’

  Hawk shakes his head. ‘I know it looks that way. But David’s control came about by a series of unfortunate circumstances which allowed him to take control, rather than what was originally intended, that someone who believed in the Mary Abacus approach should be at the helm.’

  ‘You mean, of course, yourself?’

  ‘Aye. I failed to ensure my control of Solomon & Teekleman.’

  ‘Because our mother left without giving you her proxy? Is that why?’

  Hawk nods again. ‘It wasn’t evil triumphing over good, it was my own stupidity. I should have been more sensitive to the emotional needs of your mother. I’m afraid I’m a clumsy, insensitive fool when it comes to that sort of thing. Her restlessness was there for me to see if I’d been looking. David Solomon obtained control by default or, if you like, because of my own lack of foresight, and so he proceeded to create both companies in his own image.’

  ‘Grandfather Hawk!’ Victoria protests. ‘You are not clumsy and you are the least fool of any man I’ve ever known, you are the most fair-minded, honest and sensitive person I know!’ Victoria pauses then lowers her voice, ‘But after all that’s said and done, that’s my very point!’

  ‘What is?’ Hawk asks. To his surprise he finds himself slightly on the defensive. ‘That you think me weak and David strong?’

  Victoria sighs. ‘No, “fair-minded, honest and sensitive” doesn’t mean weak. But you would be the first to admit that they are characteristics largely missing in big business and deeply scorned by the capitalists. You must see the enemy for what they are! They are not going to change willingly but must be dragged kicking and screaming to the negotiating table.’ Victoria takes a breath, ‘And if they won’t come, they must be punished!’

  ‘Spoken like a true disciple of Labor!’ Hawk teases. ‘The dialectics are fair enough, though the wording a little too revolutionary for my taste. Capitalism as a system has many advantages but it is essentially based on the very human need that most of us have to want more. Greed being perhaps the most primitive of our many human urges, the capitalist system works very well for those who have the money to exploit it.’

  ‘But greed has no right to exist in a modern society, we are no longer primitive, there is enough for us all, we must learn to share our wealth.’

  ‘Unfortunately, right at this moment the capital on which the system is based is in the hands of those new Australian money aristocrats, the Clarkes, the Armytage family, the Fairbairns, Hentys, Mackinnons, Manifolds and Sargoods to name but a few and, indeed, David Solomon and yourself, my dear. With the exception perhaps of the Clarkes and ourselves, who have been generous in their public donations, they all have every intention of having as much as they can get and sharing as little as they can get away with.’

  ‘But they must be made to share!’

  ‘Well, perhaps, but remember they were prepared to take the original risks to acquire it. Taking risks should not go unrewarded or no one would take them. Sidney Myer Baevski was once a hawker, a poor Russian Jew who spoke no English when he arrived, working the small country towns for his living. He endured daily ridicule, young boys would throw rocks at him and shout, “Jewboy, Jewboy, take a piece of pork and put it on your fork!” T
hree months ago, as all of Melbourne witnessed, he opened his new emporium in Bourke Street, the greatest and grandest shop in Australia and few better in the world. All this in twenty years and achieved by taking countless risks. You could say that he deserves the reward of the risk-taker. Must he also be punished?’

  Hawk does not wait for Victoria to reply. ‘David Solomon was yet another who started out with virtually nothing. Men such as these, poor boys, Irish, Jews,

  Protestants, all took risks and some were successful while others failed. It only becomes a problem when the risk-takers are so successful that they control most of the capital, which means they are the only ones who can reasonably capitalise on the essentially risk-free and truly big opportunities that occur in a growing economy such as our new Federation. As capital expands it gains more and more power. Money and power is a heady mixture which very easily leads to corruption.’

  ‘So you agree with me, we need a strong counter-system to control these rich families and consortiums, these money aristocrats?’

  ‘Well, yes and no. Alas, it is my observation that counter-systems, as you call them, tend to acquire the same characteristics and many of the bad habits of the systems they oppose and are therefore often counterproductive. What’s more, they are essentially more difficult to remove than big business, because they do not have to survive in a risk-taking world or answer to shareholders.’

  ‘Ha, that may be reasonable speculation, Grandfather.

  But the unions do have the government of the day to restrain them.’

  ‘Perhaps not as far as you think, let me give you an example, and one I personally experienced. Though I confess it was a little too early for the union movement, it was the start of worker dissent in factories. A Workers’ Deputation, as they called themselves at the time, claiming membership of several factories and workshops in the Hobart area, visited Mary Abacus under the leadership of a Scotsman named Hugh Kirk. Kirk was a small-time firebrand and his movement one of many which preceded unionism as we know it today. He had visited Melbourne where he became acquainted with a newly formed group who named themselves the Brewers’ Employes’ Eight Hours Association and returned home to aim his sights at the Cascade Brewery and ourselves, urging the workers to unite against the bosses and join “the Association”. He was a popular speaker among the working classes and had gained some real success in recruiting members as I remember, by calling one- or two-day strikes and frightening some of the smaller workshop owners. But not, it was claimed, without a fair bit of heavy-handed coercion involving several broken heads among those workers reluctant to join. The Potato Factory was his first incursion into the big league and with his new Melbourne association, Kirk demanded that Mary allow his movement to operate within the brewery.

  ‘“Righto,” says Mary, “if that’s what my people want then they can ’ave it with me blessing.”’ Victoria laughs despite herself for Hawk brings her great-grandmother alive for her. He continues, ‘Mary points her crooked finger at Hugh Kirk, “But first, let’s ask ’em straight. You talk to them, tell ’em whatever it is you wish to say, you know, exploitation o’ the working classes, snot-nosed kids begging for pennies on street corners, wife dying in childbirth, father of consumption, leaving ten starvin’ kids behind, all the stuff what’s been goin’ on for ’undreds of years and all now blamed on big business. I promise I won’t say nothin’. I’ll keep me gob shut tight as a possum’s bum. Then we’ll ’ave the vote, let ’em decide for themselves. Fair enough, Mr Kirk?”

  ‘“Fair enough, missus,” Kirk says reluctantly. Well, Mary calls for the works foreman, Ernie Connaghan. “Mr Connaghan,” she says, “stop the brewery, close it down the ’ole box and dice, we’re ’aving a meeting o’ the workers this afternoon.”

  ‘Ernie Connaghan looks like he can’t believe what Mary’s just said, “Can’t do that, Miss Mary, we’d ’ave to steam-clean all the pipes, get the yeast vats started from scratch, build up the fermentation vats, take us all night to get under way again, cost a fortune in lost production, what’s more, you know it’s impossible to close the malt house, barley’s piling up as it is with no place to store it.”

  ‘“That all right, missus, maltsters don’t belong in the Association,” says Kirk.

  ‘“You hear that? Cost a fortune, Mr Kirk. My money, not the workers’.” She turns to Ernie Connaghan, “No matter, do as I say, Ernie, er Mr Connaghan, Mr Kirk here is from the . . . what did you say you were?”

  ‘“Brewers’ Employes’ Eight Hours Association,” Kirk replies.

  ‘“Yes, well them. He wants to spruik to all the workers, ’cept the maltsters and the clerks in the front office, whom he don’t consider the first brewers and the second to be workers, them wearing stiff collars and all.” Mary now turns to Kirk, “So what’s wrong with the clerks? You got something against clerks, Mr Kirk? I was a clerk once, still am as a matter o’ fact, only a bit better paid than most.”

  ‘“Clerks can become bosses, missus. Can’t trust a clerk.”’

  Hawk grins at the memory. ‘So we close the brewery down except for the malt house and the front office and all the workers assemble in the dray yard to hear Mr Hugh Kirk. And I have to say he does a damn fine job telling the workers how they are exploited by the owners, blah, blah, blah. He’s of a fiery Scots temperament and he works up quite a sweat socking it to the bosses, who in this case is Mary and myself, both of us sitting on a dray cart with our arms crossed listening. Then he says, “Righto, we’ll take a vote, like the boss said, all who wants to stop the exploitation by the bosses by joining the Association and getting an eight-hour working day raise yer hands.”

  ‘“Oi! Just a bleedin’ moment!” Mary shouts. “We’ll ’ave none of that, Mr Kirk. A vote you shall have, fair and square, but it will be by secret ballot, our people will vote with their consciences not with their bleedin’ ’ands. Only them and Gawd is gunna know who they are and ’ow they’ve voted.”

  ‘“That’s not how it’s done, missus,” Kirk objects. “We like things to be kept in the open like, democratic, know what I mean?”

  ‘“Democratic me arse!” Mary says. “Sure you want it open so you’ll know the names of those who are for you and them’s what’s against. All for the future records, eh? Very ’andy, if I may say so meself, being a clerk an’ all. Well, I tell you what I’ll do, I’ll exercise me own perog-ative as a boss and put democracy to work. I’ll allow a secret ballot to determine whether the people at the Potato Factory want an open vote, a show of ’ands, or want a conscience vote. Now what say you to that, Mr Kirk? Ain’t nothing says that’s against the rules, is there?”’

  Hawk spreads his hands. ‘Well, the Potato Factory workers voted in Mary’s ballot that they wanted a secret ballot to decide whether to join Kirk’s association or remain as they were. Then they used the secret ballot to say they wished to remain as they were.’

  ‘You mean your workers didn’t vote for an eight-hour day?’ Victoria asks, incredulous.

  ‘Indeed, they did not, but they got it anyway two months later.’

  ‘Well, Mr Kirk’s visit did some good then. But, Grandfather, the Potato Factory was an exception, other companies did, and still exploit their workers,’ Victoria challenges. ‘The intimidation from the bosses experienced by the workers during the Shearers’ and the Maritime strikes proved once and for all that the capitalists could not be trusted, that a strong labour movement had to be in parliament, that unionism was essential if the workers were ever to be free of what virtually amounted to a system of bondage!’

  ‘Perhaps, but let me make my point. Perhaps as a consequence of this single incident with Mary, for Hugh Kirk was later to become a very big figure in the Tasmanian and Australian union movement, the unions never allowed secret ballots. Today, coercion and standover tactics are more than common in our trade unions. So you see, my dear, power and corruption are not such a long way away in any organisation. We all want control, the bosses have it by owning the mean
s of earning wages and the unions have it by owning the workers. Mark my words, secret ballots are outlawed by the union movement and the next thing they will do is to make joining a union compulsory. In other words, a worker will not be able to find employment without a union card and, as a registered member, they will not be allowed to vote according to conscience for fear of repercussions, not from their industrial bosses, but from their own union bosses. Furthermore, industry will not be allowed to employ non-union labour.’

  ‘But the union officials will be serving in the interest of the workers, gaining advantages and better conditions for them, why would they vote against such laudatory pursuits? Besides, Mr Curtin says it is a matter of brotherly trust, that a worker must show where he stands at a union meeting, that secret ballots are sneaky and unmanly!’

  ‘Ah, well said, Mr Curtin, how very convenient to the cause.’ Hawk gives Victoria a rueful smile. ‘But in the end, my dear, it is a matter of freedom of choice. But it is interesting, is it not, that those who have been elected to the House of Representatives achieved this by secret ballot? The so-called common worker must enjoy the right to choose without fear or favour.’

  ‘Oh, I see, the age-old system of divide and conquer. Turn the unions against themselves. Is this then to be the new management weapon?’ Victoria snorts.

  Hawk looks amused, enjoying both Victoria’s lively mind and her strongly held convictions. ‘You have the makings of an excellent union leader, my dear.’

  Victoria appeals to Hawk. ‘But I am a member of the Labor Party and I do truly believe they are the solution to the terrible exploitation of the working classes in our country.’ Her eyes are sad, as though disappointed that he might not feel the same way. ‘Surely you also believe this?’

  Hawk smiles. ‘Of course. Capital and labour must both be seen to co-exist, to be a viable part of our economy. Both must benefit if we are to prosper as a nation, but there is an ingredient which is essential if each side is to have its rightful share of the good life.’