THE SHUNTERS--WATCHMEN--DETECTING A THIEF--FIRES--CARRIAGE
FINISHERS--PAINTERS--“WASHERS-DOWN”--CUSHION-BEATERS--CHANGES
AND INNOVATIONS--DEPARTMENTAL RELATIONS
A short way off in the yard, in a small space clear of the confusing
network of lines that cross and recross here and there, running in every
direction and connecting the various workshops together, are two old
railway coaches dispossessed of their wheels and lodged upon baulks of
timber let into the ground. Like the old scrap waggons, they have had
their day in active service, and, coming home in fairly good condition,
though antiquated in style and useless for passenger traffic, have yet
been found convenient as occasional storehouses and shelters. They are
now used as cabins, one for the shunters, who conduct their operations
round about, and the other for watchmen, and they are fitted with stoves
for warming the men’s food, and for drying their clothes in wet weather.
The roofs and windows are intact, and some of the original seats still
remain. These are of bare wood and are not padded and upholstered in the
comfortable and luxurious style now required and expected by the railway
traveller.
These old carriages are at this time very rarely met with and are nearly
extinct. For years after they disappeared from the general
traffic--superseded by more commodious and comfortable vehicles--the
best of them were kept stored up in sheds and yards in out-of-the-way
places to await the time of trippers and excursionists. Then they were
regularly hauled out to accommodate the multitude. The windows were
hastily wiped over and the interiors dusted out; they were ready to
receive the people. Goods engines of the old type were brought up to
draw them along. The trippers squeezed themselves inside, and, with the
shrieking of steam whistles and hooters and the playing of concertinas
and melodions, the trains started off and went jolting and jogging away
to their destinations. At the end of the tripping season the coaches
were again stored away in the yards and sidings, until they became too
crazy and dangerous to run on the main line, when they were either
utilised for storehouses and shelters, or broken up. The refuse wood
from the destruction of old worn-out rolling stock is sawn up and used
for lighting the fires in the furnaces and boilers, and is distributed
throughout the system. A large quantity is also sold to the workmen, who
use it both for firing and for the construction of outhouses.
The shunters of the yard are a hard-working body of men, and they are
exposed to many dangers. The hours are long and they must cover many
miles during the day by running up and down the lines. It is their duty
to transfer the carriages and waggons from road to road and from one
workshop to another, to dispose of the old ones brought in for repairs,
to lead out the new, and distribute the various stores--iron and steel,
coal, coke, and timber--at several points. Whatever the weather may be
they must be up and doing, or the traffic in the yard would soon be in
utter confusion. Rain or snow, cold or heat, sunshine or cloud, July
glow or December fog and gloom are all one to them. The busy swarm of
workmen comes and goes, the furnaces spout their dense black clouds of
smoke into the heavens; the dazzling steam, shot out from the engines
and steam-hammers, leaps up in an ascending pillar, the rapid wheels
spin round in the roof or under the wall, and the endless toil goes on,
all which must be catered for by the shunters.
Great care must be taken to prevent the sidings from becoming blocked by
crossing a wrong point. Where two or more engines are operating over a
complex siding this may easily be done, and a delay of several hours
will be the result. If an inexperienced shunter, mistaking the number of
his points, shifts his waggons on to the wrong track and, not perceiving
his error, at once proceeds to carry out several other manœuvres, he
may shut in the engines so completely and confusedly that he will want
all his wits about him to extricate them again; it will be like a
mathematical problem. Happily for the shunter’s credit, this is not a
common occurrence.
Strong, healthy men are selected for the shunter’s trade, to carry the
pole and whistle. By working in the open air, exposed to all kinds of
weather, they become hardy and seasoned and present a far different
appearance from that of those who are shut up within the walls of the
workshop, amid the smoke and fumes. Instead of becoming lean with the
constant running to and fro, they seem to thrive on the exercise, and
many of them assume substantial proportions. Their faces are bronzed
with the sun and wind, and they are a picture of health--strong,
stalwart, and of good physique. The shunters are not under as many
restrictions as are the factory workers proper, _i.e._, those within the
sheds. It is their privilege to smoke while on duty, or, at any rate, in
the intervals on the premises, an indulgence which is strictly forbidden
to all other employees. They remain always about the yard and never go
beyond the bounds prescribed for them, so that they really belong to the
factory.
The other cabin is used by the watchmen as an out-shelter--a kind of
half-way refuge. Their headquarter is at the main entrance, where there
are always one or two on duty to check the coming in and going out of
the workmen, to keep out intruders and to prevent any from passing out
before the regulation hour. They also act in the quality of police to
protect the property of the railway company, patrol the shops and yards,
and keep a sharp look-out for loiterers and any who should attempt to
smoke or read a newspaper on the sly.
Every workshop and building is provided with certain clock-like
instruments called “tell-tales,” which are fixed in many corners and
angles, and at frequent intervals along the high board fence that
encloses the factory grounds. The watchman appointed for the round is
furnished with a key that fits the instrument. It is his duty to visit
each of these every hour, or every two hours, according to the
time-table given him by his chief. When he comes to the tell-tale he
inserts the key and, after turning it round, withdraws it. This leaves a
record of his visit and certifies that he has gone his round regularly.
At intervals, unknown to the watchman, the tell-tales are removed and
privately examined, in order to see that everything is correct, and if
there has been any neglect of duty the offender is sought out and
punished. Occasionally it transpires that there has been wholesale
tampering with the instruments in order to escape going the rounds. The
watchmen, like all others at the works, agreed for the time, finally
come to loggerheads and play the tell-tale themselves. Someone or other
informs of his mate, this one retaliates and the scheme is laid bare.
Forthwith the whole staff of watchmen are summoned to appear before the
works’ manager, and are punished in various ways. Something new and
strange is adopted; the men’s time and rounds are altered, and they
patrol their beats the laughing-stock of the workmen whom it is their
duty to observe and supervise.
The watchmen, as a class, are surly and over-officious. Perhaps they
were chosen for some qualities they were thought to possess, fitting
them for the duties expected of them; they are not popular with the
workmen. The fact of their being placed in a supervisory position and of
being exempt from manual work induces them to have a higher opinion of
themselves than the actual circumstances warrant. They consider
themselves above the average at the works and cultivate the
pseudo-genteel.
When a new watchman is made it is noised abroad throughout the
department; his size, description, and all else that is known of him are
passed around the sheds for the benefit of the masses. Developments are
anticipated and the results eagerly awaited. Elated at his promotion and
great in his own conceit the newly initiated one, before he is
well-known and identified by the workmen, slips to and fro in the sheds,
eager for surprise captures. Immediately before the hooter sounds for
the men’s release at meal times he is to be found suddenly opening doors
and popping on the scene. If any of the workmen should happen to have on
their coats, or to have gathered near the door ready to rush out, they
scatter like wood-pigeons when a hawk has darted in the midst of them.
This forms the subject of a report to the shop foreman or to the
manager. Dire threats as to the consequences of loitering are launched
at the workmen; a few youths are suspended and forced to take a rest,
and so the matter is settled.
The watchman, however, is not forgotten or forgiven by the men. Some
nickname or other is coined for him on the spot. Perhaps he is hooted
for a sneak and teased in various ways, the boys especially enjoying a
joke at his expense. They set traps for him, and after racing about the
yard and dodging between the waggons and coaches, suddenly decamp and
make for the tunnels or entrances. Once a nickname becomes attached to a
watchman it seldom leaves him. One has borne the title of “Long Bill”
for a number of years; another is honoured with the appellation of
“Powerful”; this one is “Flat-foot,” that is “Rubber-heel,” and another
has earned for himself the ridiculous title of “Chesty.”
Theft is sometimes practised by the workmen, though it is much more
rarely committed now than it was formerly. Some of the schemes adopted
for getting the stolen materials outside the works have been quite
artistic, and others were ridiculously open and daring. Years ago loads
of timber and other valuables were regularly smuggled out in the middle
of the night, and especially on Saturday nights. They were piled upon
big trucks and bogies and got past the entrances with the watchman’s
consent and connivance. Probably he received a bribe for his silence--a
quart of ale at the club, or a share of the stolen goods. On at least
one occasion a brazen-faced fellow wheeled out a new wheel-barrow,
unchallenged, amid the crowd at a dinner-time and was never suspected.
At other times wheel-barrows and other tools have mysteriously
disappeared in the night, as though they had been swallowed up by an
earthquake. They were quietly lifted over the fence and received into
the neighbouring field and so got safely away.
Sometimes a workman will split on his mate whom he knows to be in the
habit of purloining things from the shed. Perhaps it is a little
firewood or a few screws or nails that were picked up in the yard.
Going privately to the watchman he acquaints him of the fact, and at
dinner-time, or night, a stand is made at the entrance, and the culprit
seized and searched. This invariably means dismissal, however small the
amount of the theft may be. Somehow or other, though, the informer is
discovered and for ever afterwards he is branded as a sneak and shunned
by his fellows. There is no forgiveness for this kind of thing among the
workmen. Honesty or not honesty, he is never tolerated but is looked
upon with the utmost disgust and contempt.
Occasionally, if you should stand at the entrance as the workmen are
leaving, you might see an abject-looking individual, with drawn
features, making his way painfully through the tunnel, limping, or
dragging a leg behind him. The casual observer would jump to the
conclusion that the man had met with an accident, or that he was
naturally lame or a cripple. But very likely, if the truth were known,
he has a staff of wood, or a rod of iron, four feet long, concealed in
the leg of his trousers and reaching up to the breast, and that is what
makes him walk with such great difficulty. Another plan is to bend a rod
of iron in the shape of a hoop and so fix it around the waist, or to
pack the contraband next to the skin, under the armpits and around the
stomach. This very often leads to detection. The watchman on duty at the
entrance has his suspicions aroused by the shape of the man. Accordingly
he steps out, calls him aside and feels the part, and the culprit is
discovered.
It sometimes happens that a watchman gets on the track of an innocent
workman and makes himself appear ridiculous, for he is sure to be
noticed by the crowd and heartily jeered at for his interference. Not
long ago a young workman, on his way out from the shed one morning
after night duty, was challenged and stopped and required to disclose
the contents of his dinner-basket, which, to the watchman’s eye, seemed
unusually heavy. The young man, who was an enthusiastic Christian,
smilingly complied and, opening his basket, took out a big Bible, and
presented it to his challenger. That was more than the watchman had
bargained for, and he immediately shuffled off in considerable
confusion. A few nights ago a surly watchman stopped me and curtly
demanded to know what I was carrying “in the parcel under my arm.” It
was merely my daily newspaper.
It is not the rank and file alone that are guilty of taking things that
do not belong to them. Some of the principals of the staff have been
notoriously to blame in this respect, as is well-known at the works,
though their misdeeds are invariably screened and condoned. If one of
the managers has stolen materials worth hundreds of pounds he is
reprimanded and allowed to continue at his post, or at most, he is asked
to resign and is afterwards awarded a pension; but if the workman has
purloined an article of a few pence in value he is dismissed and
prosecuted. This is no general statement but a plain matter of fact.
Further over the yard, towards one of the sheds that form the boundary
on this side, stands a large water-closet, one of many about the
factory, built to meet the requirements of about five hundred workmen.
These buildings are of a uniform type and are disagreeable places,
lacking in sanitary arrangements. There is not the slightest approach to
privacy of any kind, no consideration whatever for those who happen to
be imbued with a sense of modesty or refinement of feeling. The
convenience consists of a long double row of seats, situate back to
back, partly divided by brick walls, the whole constructed above a
large pit that contains a foot of water which is changed once or twice a
day. The seats themselves are merely an iron rail built upon brickwork,
and there is no protection. Several times, I have known men to
overbalance and fall into the pit. Everything is bold, daring, and
unnatural. On entering, the naked persons of the men sitting may plainly
be seen, and the stench is overpowering. The whole concern is gross and
objectionable, filthy, disgusting, and degrading. No one that is chaste
and modest could bear to expose himself, sitting there with no more
decency than obtains among herds of cattle shut up in the winter pen.
Consequently, there are many who, though hard pressed by the exigences
of nature, never use the place. As a result they contract irregularities
and complaints of the stomach that remain with them all their lives, and
that might easily prove fatal to them. Perhaps this barbarous relic of
insanitation may in time be superseded by some system a little more
moral and more compatible with human sensibility and refinement.
Near this spot, in the open air, are stored hundreds of gallons of oil,
spirits and other liquids of a highly inflammable nature, used for
mixing paints for the carriages and waggons, together with chemicals
employed in the rapid cleansing of the exteriors of vehicles that come
in for repairs and washing-down. The rules of the factory strictly
forbid the storing of any of these liquids within the workshops and
outhouses. This precaution is taken in order to prevent damage by fire
in case of an outbreak and to render the flames more easy of control by
the firemen.
At every short distance there is a connection with the water-main and a
length of hose always fit and ready for any emergency. The works has its
own fire-engine--a powerful motor and pumps--and if by chance a call is
made the men are speedily on the spot. Here and there around the sheds
are deep pits, walled up and covered with cast-iron tops, to contain
water for the fire-engines, for they cannot well draw clear off the
main. To these pits, in the afternoon or evening, the engines and
firemen occasionally come for practice. Immediately the wells are filled
from the main, the hose is coupled up, and a perfect deluge is rained
over everything in the vicinity, as though a fire were really in
progress. After half an hour’s lusty exertion with the hose and the
scaling of walls and roofs, the firemen stow their apparatus and the
motor rushes off down the yard quickly out of sight.
Though fires at the works are not of common occurrence, there is now and
then an outbreak, and sometimes one of serious dimensions. They are
generally the result of great carelessness, or the want of ordinary
attention on the part of a workman or official. Perhaps a naked light is
left burning somewhere or other, or a portion of cotton-waste is
smouldering away unobserved. The roof may become ignited through contact
with the hot chimney; and very often the cause of the outbreak is not
ascertained at all. In several cases incendiarism has been suggested as
the cause of a fire, but, notwithstanding all the efforts of the works’
detectives to fix the guilt, proof of the crime has never been brought
home to any individual. When fires do happen they nearly always
originate in the night. One reason of this is that, with so many workmen
on the scene, during the day, the first sign of an outbreak would be
immediately detected and dealt with before it could become dangerous.
But at night it would develop rapidly and obtain a good hold on the
premises before being discovered by the watchmen.
When it is known in the works that a fire is raging round about--if it
should happen to be at night--the few workmen employed, without waiting
for instructions from the overseers, throw down their tools and rush off
to the scene of the accident. They are impelled to do this, in the first
place, by the strong natural desire every man has to be of service in
times of danger; secondly, by reason of the intense excitement which the
cry of “Fire!” always produces in the most phlegmatic individual, and,
last of all--if either of the two causes before-named are wanting--by a
natural and uncontrollable curiosity and fascination for the smoke and
flames. It is usually the first of these three causes that impels the
workmen to throw down their tools and run to help the men with the
fire-engines. At such times as these nothing is held sacred. Doors and
windows are forced open or smashed in, bolts and bars are wrenched from
their sockets, offices and storehouses are entered; the most private
recesses are made public. All thoughts of the midnight meal are set
aside and there is no returning to the worksheds until morning brings a
fresh supply of hands accompanied by the day officials.
Not many years ago the station buildings took fire, shortly after
midnight, and most of the men on night duty in the department nearest
the scene flocked out to help the station staff and the firemen. By and
by the refreshment rooms were involved and there was a wholesale removal
of the viands and liquors. Under such circumstances, drinking was
naturally indulged in, and more than one--officials, as well as the rank
and file--who came out to help returned the worse for liquor. Such
adventures as these live long in the memory of the workmen: it is not
often they have the opportunity of taking a drink at the company’s
expense.
Some time after the station fire a much more serious outbreak occurred
in an extensive shed used for the construction and storing of carriages.
There were in the place sufficient vehicles to compose twenty trains,
and the most of them were brand new, representing altogether a huge sum
of money. When the watchman passed through on his rounds at midnight
everything appeared safe; the place was dark, silent, and deserted. Half
an hour afterwards a workman employed in a shed some distance away saw a
dull glow above the roof and thought at first it was the moon rising. A
few minutes afterwards flames leapt into sight and discovered a fire of
some magnitude.
Quickly the signal was given, and every available man rushed on the
scene. The centre of the shed was like a raging furnace. The roof was on
fire and the flames leapt from coach to coach with great rapidity.
These, from their slightness of construction and from their being
thickly coated with paint and varnish, caught fire like matchwood and
burned furiously, while large sections of the roof fell in. Every now
and then, as a coach became consumed down to the framework, the gas
cylinders underneath burst with a terrific report, like that of a piece
of heavy artillery. The shattered iron and steel flew in all directions
and increased the danger to the firemen. Hundreds of people of the
neighbourhood, roused with the repeated shocks, left their beds and ran
out of doors to ascertain the cause of the explosions. Some thought it
was an earthquake and others feared it was the boilers exploding. Many
volunteered to help, but their offers were refused, and a strong cordon
of police was drawn around the shed to keep out all intruders. So fierce
was the heat within that the steel tyres of the wheels were buckled and
bent, the rails were warped and twisted into fantastic shapes and the
heavy iron girders of the roof were wrecked. The frames of the burnt
coaches were reduced to a pile of debris and were totally
unrecognisable. The damage to rolling stock and to the premises amounted
to many thousands of pounds, yet the fire was all over in two or three
hours. As to its origin, that remained a mystery, and completely baffled
the detectives. Examination of the tell-tales proved that the watchman
had gone his round all right, and though many experiments were made the
cause of the outbreak remained inexplicable.
A great part of the repairs to carriages--such as washing-down,
smudging, and especially the cleaning and re-fitting of interiors--is
done out of doors in the yard when the weather permits, for it would be
impossible to contain all the vehicles in the sheds. The whole of this
work, even to the most trivial detail, is now done at the piece rate.
Experienced examiners decide the amount of repairs to be executed, and
the prices are fixed according to their recommendation. It is generally
a matter of luck to the workman whether the repair job pays or not. Very
often the carrying out of repairs takes a much longer time than had been
anticipated. The renewing of one part often necessitates the remodelling
of another, or the fitting up of the new piece may prove to be a very
tedious process. In this case the workman may lose money on the job,
though, on the other hand, he may have finished altogether earlier than
he expected. It would be very nearly impossible to have a perfect
equation in the matter of repair prices, and this is recognised by all,
masters and men, too, at the factory. The workman is commonly told by
his chief that “what he loses on the swings he must pick up on the
roundabouts,” i.e., what he loses on one job he must gain on another,
and this axiom is universally accepted, at least by all those who do
repairs. On new work the labour is uniform and there is no need and no
excuse for inequality of prices.
Great consternation fell upon the carriage finishers, painters, and
pattern-makers, several years ago, when it became known that piece rates
were to be substituted for the old day-work system, especially as the
change was to be introduced at a very slack time. It was looked upon as
a catastrophe by the workmen, and such it very nearly proved to be. Many
journeymen were discharged, some were transferred to other grades of
work--that is, those who were willing to suffer reduction rather than to
be thrown quite out of employment--and the whole department was put on
short time, working only two or three days a week, while some of the men
were shut out for weeks at a stretch. Several who protested against the
change were dismissed, and others--workmen of the highest skill and of
long connection with the company--had their wages mercilessly cut down
for daring to interpose their opinion. The pace was forced and quickened
by degrees to the uttermost and then the new prices were fixed, the
managers themselves attending and timing operations and supervising the
prices. Feeling among the workmen ran high, but there was no help for
the situation and it had to be accepted. Few of the men belonged to a
trade union, or they might have opposed the terms and made a better
bargain; as it was they were completely at the mercy of the managers and
foremen.
The carriage finishers and upholsterers are a class in themselves,
differing, by the very nature of their craft, from all others at the
factory. As great care and cleanliness are required for their work, they
are expected to be spruce and clean in their dress and appearance. This,
together with the fact that the finisher may have served an
apprenticeship in a high-class establishment and one far more genteel
than a railway department can hope to be, tends to create in him a sense
of refinement higher than is usually found in those who follow rougher
and more laborious occupations. His cloth suit, linen collar, spotless
white apron, clean shaven face, hair carefully combed, and bowler hat
are subjects of comment by the grimy toilers of other sheds. His
dwelling is situated in the cleanest part of the town and corresponds
with his personal appearance. In the evening he prosecutes his craft at
home and manufactures furniture and decorations for himself and family,
or earns money by doing it for others. Very often the whole contents of
his parlour and kitchen--with the exception of iron and other ware--were
made by his hands, so, since his wages are above the ordinary, provided
he is steady and temperate, he may be reasonably comfortable and
well-to-do.
The painters are not quite as fortunate as are their comrades the
finishers. Their work, though in some respects of a high order and
important, is at the same time less artistic than is that of the
cabinetmakers and upholsterers. It is also much more wearisome and
unhealthy, and the wages are not as high. Very often, too, work for them
is extremely scarce, especially during the summer and autumn months,
when every available coach is required in traffic for the busy season,
and they are consequently often on short time. Their busiest periods are
the interval between autumn and Christmas and the time between the New
Year and Easter. The style of colouring and ornamentation for the
carriages has changed considerably of recent years and there is now not
nearly as much labour and pains expended upon the vehicles as in times
past. The brighter colours have been quite eliminated and have given
place to chocolates and browns, while the frames and ends of the
carriages are painted black. The arms of the company, together with
figures, letters, initials, and other designs, so conspicuous to the eye
of the traveller, are affixed by means of transfers and therefore are
not dependent upon the skill of the painters.
The washing-down of the coaches is done by labourers, some of whom live
in the town and others in the villages round about. Little skill is
required for this, and the operation is very dull and monotonous. The
men are supplied with long-handled brushes, soaps, and sponges, hot and
cold water and chemical preparations. Large gangs of them are
continually employed in removing the accretions of dust and filth
acquired by the coaches in their mad career over the railway line,
through tunnels and cuttings, smoky towns and cities. Sometimes the
vehicles are completely smothered with grease and mud thrown up by the
sleepers in bad weather, and every particle of this must be removed
before the painter can apply his brush to renovate the exterior.
The washers-down are generally raw youths and many of them are of the
shifty type--the kind that will not settle anywhere for long together.
The drabness of their employment forces them to seek some means of
breaking the monotony of it, and they often indulge in noise and
horseplay, singing and shouting at the top of their voices and slopping
the water over each other. This brings them into trouble with the
officials, and occasions them to take many a forced holiday, but they do
not care about that, and when they arrive back upon the scene they
practise their old games as boldly as before. Having no trade, and
receiving but a scant amount in wages, they do not feel to be bound down
hand and foot to the employment, and even if they should be discharged
altogether they will not have lost very much. Their youthfulness, too,
renders them buoyant and independent; all the world is open to them if
they decide to hand in their notices.
The cushion-beaters, formerly well known about the yard, have quite
disappeared now. At whatever time you were outside the shed, in fine
weather, you might have heard their rods beating on the cushions in
perfect rhythm and order. They were taken from the coaches and laid upon
stools in the open air, and the beater held a rod, usually of hazel, in
each hand. With them he alternately smote the cushion, keeping up the
effort for a long time, until every particle of dust was removed and
blown away. His dexterity in the use of the rods and the ability to
prolong the operation were a source of great interest to the youths; all
the small boys of the shed stole out at intervals to see him at work.
Now the dust is removed from the cushions and paddings by means of a
vacuum arrangement. This is in the form of a tube, with an aperture
several inches in diameter and having strong suctional powers created by
the exhaust steam from the engine in the shed. It is passed to and fro
over the surface of the cushion, and the dust is thereby extracted and
received into the apparatus. So strong is the suction within that it
will sometimes draw the buttons from the upholstering if they are loose
or frayed. The quantity of dust extracted from one carriage often
amounts to a pound in weight.
Old customs and systems die hard at the works and, whatever their own
opinion of the matter may be, the officials are not considered by the
workmen to be of a very progressive type. Many of the methods employed,
both in manufacture and administration, are extremely old-fashioned and
antiquated; an idea has to be old and hoary before it stands a chance of
being admitted and adopted here. Small private firms are usually a long
way ahead of railway companies in the matter of methods and processes,
and they pay better wages into the bargain. They have to face
competition and to cater for the markets, while railway companies, being
both the producers and consumers of their wares, can afford to choose
their own way of manufacturing them. In addition to this, the heads of
small firms usually have an interest in the concern whereas the managers
of railway works are otherwise placed; it makes no difference to them
what they spend or waste, and they are always able to cover up their
shortcomings. Their prodigality and mismanagement would ruin a hundred
small firms in as many months, though the outside world knows little or
nothing about it. But if the officials creep they urge the rank and file
along at a good rate and make a pretence of being smart and
business-like. The fact of a workman being engaged prosecuting a
worn-out method for the production of an article does not make the task
lighter or more congenial for him, rather the opposite. Real improvement
in manufacture not only expedites production, but also simplifies the
toil to the workman, and the newer methods are the better, generally
speaking.
In everything, then, except in smart management and supervision, railway
sheds now resemble contract premises. Piecework prices are cut to the
lowest possible point; it is all push, drive, and hustle. No attempt is
made to regulate the amount of work to be done, and short time is
frequent and often of long duration. This is not arranged as it was
formerly, when the whole department, or none at all, was closed down.
Now even a solitary shed, a portion of it, or a mere gang is closed or
suspended if there is a slackness at any point. Consequently, one part
of the works is often running at break-neck speed, while another is
working but three or four days a week and the men are in a half-starved
condition. In one shed fresh hands are being put on, while from others
they are being discharged wholesale. Transfers from one shop to another
are seldom made, and never from department to department. One would
think that the various divisions of the works were owned by separate
firms, or people of different nationalities, such formidable barriers
appear to exist between them.
The chiefs of the departments are usually more or less rivals and are
often at loggerheads, each one trying to outdo the other in some
particular direction and to bring himself into the notice of the
directors. The same, with a little modification, may be said of the
foremen of the several divisions, while the workmen are about
indifferent in this respect. For them, all beyond their own sheds,
except a few personal friends or relations, are total strangers. Though
they may have been employed at the works for half a century, they have
never gone beyond the boundary of their own department, and perhaps not
as far as that, for trespassing from shed to shed is strictly forbidden
and sharply punished where detected. Thus, the workman’s sphere is very
narrow and limited. There is no freedom; nothing but the same coming and
going, the still monotonous journey to and fro and the old hours, month
after month, and year after year. It is no wonder that the factory
workmen come to lead a dull existence and to lose interest in all life
beyond their own smoky walls and dwellings. It would be a matter for
surprise if the reverse condition prevailed.