CHARACTERISTICS OF AGRICULTURAL LABOURERS AND VILLAGERS.
"My crown is in my heart, not on my head:
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones,"
--_3 Henry VI_.
The agricultural labourer, and the countryman generally, does not
recognize any form of property beyond land, houses, buildings, farm
stock, and visible chattels. A groom whom I questioned concerning a
new-comer, a wealthy man, in the neighbourhood, summed him up thus:
"Oh, not much account--only one hoss and a brougham!" A railway may
run through the parish, worth millions of invested capital, but the
labourer does not recognize it as such, and a farmer, employing a few
men and with two or three thousand pounds in farm stock, is a bigger
man in his eyes than a rich man whose capital is invisible.
The labourer in the days of which I am writing was inclined to be
suspicious of savings banks and deposit accounts at a banker's; his
savings represented a vast amount of hard work and self-denial; and he
looked askance at security other than an old stocking or a teapot. He
had heard of banks breaking, and felt uncomfortable about them. A
story was current in my neighbourhood of a Warwickshire bank in
difficulties, where a run was in progress. A van appeared, from which
many heavy sacks were carried into the bank, in the presence of the
crowd waiting outside to draw out their money. Some of the sacks were
seen to be open, and apparently full of sovereigns; confidence was
restored, and the run ceased. Later, when all danger was over, it
transpired that these supposed resources were fictitious, for the open
sacks contained only corn with a thin layer of gold on the top.
Formerly it was said of a certain street in Evesham, chiefly inhabited
by market-gardeners and their labourers, that the houses contained
more gold than both the banks in the town, and I have no doubt that,
even at the present day, there is an immense amount of hoarded money
in country places. Only a short while ago, long after the commencement
of the Great War, the sale of a small property took place in my
neighbourhood, when the purchaser paid down in gold a sum of £600, the
bulk of which had earned no interest during the years of collection.
No doubt people, as a rule, in these days of war bonds and
certificates, have a better idea of investment, but probably a vast
sum in possible loans has been lost to the Government through want of
previous information on the subject. It should have been a simple
matter, during the last fifty years of compulsory education, to teach
the rudiments of finance in the elementary schools, and I commend the
matter as worth the consideration of educational enthusiasts.
The labourer's attitude, as I have said, is suspicious towards
lawyers. I was chatting with a man, specially taken on for harvest,
who expressed doubts of them; he continued, "If anybody were to leave
me a matter of fifty pounds or so, I'd freely give it 'em," meaning
that by the time all charges were paid he would not expect more than a
trifle, because he supposed stamps and duties to be a part of the
lawyer's remuneration, and that very little would be left when all was
paid.
I was once discussing farming matters with a labourer when prospects
were looking very black, and ended by saying that I expected soon to
be in the workhouse. "Ah, sir," said he, "I wish I were no nearer the
workhouse nor you be!" It should not be forgotten that the
agricultural labourer's financial horizon does not extend much beyond
the next pay night, and were it not for the generosity of his
neighbours--for the poor are exceedingly good to each other in times
of stress--a few weeks' illness or unemployment, especially where the
children are too young to earn anything, may find him at the end of
his resources.
Almost the first time I went to Evesham, in passing Chipping Norton
Junction--now Kingham--three or four men on the platform, in charge of
the police, attracted my attention. I was told that they were rioters,
guilty of a breach of the peace in connection with the National
Agricultural Labourers' Union, then under the leadership of Joseph
Arch. Being so close to my new neighbourhood, where I was just
beginning farming, the incident was somewhat of a shock. Arch
undoubtedly was the chief instrument in raising the agricultural
labourer's wages to the extent of two or three shillings a week, and
the increase was justified, as every necessity was dear at the time,
owing to the great activity of trade towards the end of the sixties.
The farmers resisted the rise only because, already in the early
seventies, the flood of American competition in corn-growing was
reducing values of our own produce; and as all manufactured goods
which the farmer required had largely increased in price, he did not
see his way to incur a higher labour bill.
Arch sent a messenger to me a few years later, to ask permission to
hold a meeting in Aldington in one of my meadows. I saw at once that
opposition would only stimulate antagonism, and consented. The meeting
was held, but only a few labourers attended, and no farmers, and
agitation, so far as we were concerned, died down. One or two of my
men were, I think, members of the Union, but having already obtained
the increased wages there was nothing more to be gained for themselves
by so continuing, and they soon dropped out of the list. Eventually
the organization collapsed. Arch was a labourer himself, and
exceedingly clever at "laying" hedges, or "pleaching," as it is still
called, and was called by Shakespeare in _Much Ado About Nothing_:
"Bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter."
Pleaching is a method of reducing and renovating an overgrown hedge by
which all old and exhausted wood is cut out, leaving live vertical
stakes at intervals, and winding the young stuff in and out of them in
basket-making fashion, after notching it at the base to allow of
bending it down without breakage. Arch was a native of Warwickshire,
the home of this art; it takes a skilled man to ensure a good result,
but when well done an excellent hedge is produced after two or three
years' growth. The quickset or whitethorn (May) makes the strongest
and most impervious hedge, and it flourishes amazingly on the stiff
clay soils of the Lias formation in that county and its neighbour
Worcestershire.
I have often wondered at, and admired, the labourer's resignation and
fortitude in adversity; a discontented or surly face is rarely seen
among them; they have, like most people, to live lives of
self-sacrifice, frugality, and industry, which doubtless bring their
own compensation, for the exercise and habit of these very virtues
tend to the cheerfulness and courage which never give up. Possibly,
too, the open-air life, the vitalizing sunshine, the sound sleep, and
the regularity of the routine, endows them with an enviable power of
enjoyment of what some would consider trifles. After a long day out of
doors in the natural beauty of the country, who shall say that the
labourer's appetite for his evening meal, his pipe of tobacco beside
his bright fireside, and his detachment from the outside world, do not
afford him as great or greater enjoyment than the elaborate luxury of
the millionaire, with his innumerable distractions and
responsibilities?
The labourer has, as I have said, little appreciation of the invisible
or what does not appeal strongly to his senses; he cannot understand,
for instance, that a small bag of chemical fertilizer, in the form of
a grey, inoffensive powder, can contain as great a potentiality for
the nutrition of crops as a cartload of evil-smelling material from
the farmyard; nor is he aware that, in the case of the latter, he has
to load and unload 90 pounds or thereabouts of worthless water in
every 100 pounds with which he deals. Possibly, however, his
preference for the natural fertilizer is not wholly misplaced, for
there is, no doubt, much still to be learned concerning the relative
values of natural and artificial compounds with special reference to
the bacterial inoculation of the soil and its influence on vegetable
life.
He is not without some aesthetic feeling for the glories of Nature
daily before him, and though like Peter Bell, of whom we are told that
"A primrose by a river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more,"
and putting aside the metaphysical analogy and the moral teaching
which are presented by every tree and plant, he enjoys, I know, the
simple beauty of the flower itself, the exhilarating freshness of the
bright spring morning, the prodigality of the summer foliage, the ripe
autumnal glow of the harvest-field, and the sparkling frost of a
winter's day. But he very rarely expresses his enthusiasm in
superlatives: "a usefulish lot," and "a smartish few," meaning in
Worcestershire "a very good lot," and "a great many," is about the
limit to which he will commit himself. His natural reticence in
serious situations and calamity, and his reserve in the outlet of
feeling by vocal expression, give a wrong impression of its real
depth, and may even convey the impression of callousness to anyone not
conversant with the working of his mind.
To a nephew of mine who was surprised to see his gardener's little son
leaving the garden, the man explained: "That little fellow be come to
tell I a middlinish bit of news; 'e come to say as his little sister
be dead." Notice the "middlinish bit of news," where a much stronger
expression would have been justified, and note the restraint as to his
loss, suggesting an unfeeling mind, though in reality very far from
the grief he was shy of expressing.
An old woman in a parish adjoining mine, having lost a child, received
the condolences of a visitor with, "Yes, mum; we seems to be regular
unlucky, for only a few weeks ago we lost a pig."
A lady well known to me, the daughter of the Vicar of a Cumberland
parish, was calling on a woman whose husband had died a few days
previously, and expressing her sympathy with the widow in her
affliction, spoke of the sadness of the circumstances. The widow
thanked her visitor, and added: "You know, miss, we was to have killed
a pig that week, but there, we couldn't 'ave 'em both about at the
same time"!
All these incidents suggest callousness, but in reality they were
plain statements of fact from persons with a limited vocabulary and
unskilled in the niceties of polished language.
Another incident will illustrate how faulty expression may give an
unintended impression. A lady, calling at a cottage, exclaimed with
appreciation at the fragrant odour of frying bacon which greeted her.
The cottager was busy with it at the fire. "Yes, miss," she said, "it
_is_ nice to 'ave a bit of bacon as you've waited on yourself"--of
course, referring to the fact that she knew the animal was always fed
on really good food, an important and reassuring condition, though a
tender heart might have regretted the sacrifice of an intimate
creature which some would have regarded almost as a pet.
The cottager does not look upon his pig in that light; it is fed well
and comfortably housed with a definite object, and very little love is
lost between the pig and his master. Children in some places in
Worcestershire were formerly kept at home in order to be present on
the great occasion of the pig's obsequies. A woman, asked why her
children were absent from school, replied: "Well, sir, you see, we
killed our pig that day, and I kept the children at home for a treat;
there's no harm in that, sir, I'm sure, for pigs allus dies without
malice!"
Villagers accept the novel significations which time or fashion
gradually confer upon old words very unreadily. I could see, at first,
that they were puzzled by my use of the word "awful," now long adopted
generally to strengthen a statement, very much as they themselves make
use of "terrible," "desp'rate," or "de-adly." They connect the word
"friend" with the signification "benefactor" only; a man, speaking of
someone born with a little inherited fortune, said that "his friends
lived before him." I told an old labourer that my little daughter
considered him a great friend of hers. He looked puzzled, and replied:
"Well, I don't know as I ever gave her anything." They still
distinguish between two words now carrying the same meaning. I told a
man that I was afraid some work he had for me would give him a lot of
trouble. He corrected me: "'Twill be no _trouble_, master, only
_labour_."
The labourer does not appreciate a sudden order or an unreasonable
change in work once commenced; he does not like being taken by
surprise in such matters: the necessary tool--for farm labourers find
their own hand implements--may not be readily available, may be out of
order, require grinding, or a visit to the blacksmith's for repair or
readjustment. The wise master introduces the subject, whenever
possible, gradually beforehand. "We shall have to think about
wheat-hoeing, mowing, potato-digging, next week," prepares the man for
the occasion, so that when the time comes he has his hoe, axe, scythe,
or bill-hook, as the case may be, ready. The job, too, may demand some
special clothing--hedging gloves, gaiters, new shoes, and so forth.
He is often suspicious of new arrangements or alteration of hours, and
is inclined to attribute an ulterior motive to the proposer of any
change in the unwritten but long-accustomed laws which govern his
habits; he lives in a groove into which by degrees abuses may have
crept, and some alteration may have become imperative.
When we introduced a coal club for the villagers, with the idea of
buying several trucks at lowest cash price, collecting their
contributions week by week during the previous summer, when good wages
were being earned, and delivering the coal gratis in my carts shortly
before winter, they seemed very doubtful as to the advantage of
joining. Some saw the advantage at once, knowing the high prices of
single half-tons or hundredweights delivered in coal-merchants' carts;
others would "let us know in a day or two," wanted time to consider
the matter, being taken "unawares"; others, assured that nobody would
undertake such a troublesome business without an eye to personal
profit, but anxious not to offend my daughter, who was visiting each
cottage, replied: "Oh yes, miss, if 'tis to do _you_ any good"!
Eventually, however, they were all satisfied and very grateful,
appreciating the fact that the cartage was not charged for, and that
they were getting much better coal than before at a lower price.
Village people, I am afraid, are rather fond of horrors; the newspaper
accounts of events which come under that description, such as murders,
suicides, and sensational trials, afford, apparently, much interest. A
man was working for me on some repairs close to my door; as he was a
stranger, I tried, as usual, to induce him to talk whenever I passed.
I had no success and could not get a word out of him, until, one
morning, I chanced to see a sensational headline in a local paper
about a suicide in a neighbouring town. On passing my workman, he
immediately broke out in great excitement, "Did you read in the paper
about that bloke who went to his father's house at W----, sat down on
the doorstep, and cut his throat?" The account had evidently seized
upon his imagination, and had thoroughly roused him out of himself,
but the following day he was as silent as before.
Births, marriages, and deaths are interesting topics in the village,
and perhaps with reason, for, after all, they are the most important
events in our lives, and in the villages most of the cottagers are
more or less related. All the inhabitants were much excited when a
poor old widow, living very near my house, sitting on a low circular
stone parapet round her well, lost her balance in some way, fell in,
and was drowned. I was foreman of the jury at the inquest, and after
hearing the evidence, which amounted to no more than the finding of
the body soon after the event, the coroner expressed his opinion that
it was a case of accidental death, with which I at once concurred.
With some reluctance, the other jurymen agreed; they had, I imagine,
as usual, made up their minds for a more sensational verdict, but
scarcely liked to suggest it, and a verdict of accidental death was
accordingly returned. Afterwards I heard that the villagers were
saying that it was very kind of me to bring in such an indulgent
verdict, but they "knowed very well it was suicide."
I was invited to the wedding feast of my bailiff's daughter, and
being, I suppose, regarded as the principal guest, was, according to
custom, requested to carve the excellent leg of mutton which formed
the _pièce de résistance_. The parish clerk, considerably over eighty
at the time, was one of the most sprightly members of the company; he
kept us interested with historical recollections going back to the
Battle of Waterloo, and spoke of Wellington and Napoleon almost as
familiarly as we now speak of Earl Haig and the Kaiser. He had a
strong sense of humour, and, after a very hearty meal, announced that
he didn't know how it was, but he'd "sort of lost his appetite,"
pretending to regard the fact as an injury, premeditated by the
hospitality of our host and hostess.
The labourer dearly loves a grievance, not exactly for its own sake,
but because it affords an interesting topic of conversation. One
autumn, returning from a holiday in the Isle of Wight, I found the
whole village agog with the first County Council election. A
magistrate candidate, in the neighbouring village of Broadway, was to
be opposed by an Aldington man. I found a local committee holding
excited partisan meetings on behalf of the latter, active canvassing
going on, a villager appointed as secretary (always called
"seckert_ar_y" in these parts), and the election the sole topic of
conversation. The village people, always delighted in the possession
of a common enemy and a common cause, were making the election a
village affair, as opposed to the village of the other candidate;
popular feeling was running very high, Badsey, of course, joining up
with Aldington as strong allies. Some young men had lately been before
the magistrates at Evesham, and fined for obstructing the footpath,
and the magistrate candidate was selected as the scapegoat for the
affront to our united villages. At the election the Aldington man was
returned, and his supporters started with him on a triumphal progress
through the constituency. Of course, they visited Broadway, to crow
over the conquered village, but the wind was somewhat taken out of
their sails when the defeated candidate at once came forward, shook
hands with his opponent, and congratulated him upon his success! The
return journey was not so hilarious; one of the men of Broadway,
noticing a string of carts in the procession, conveying sympathizers
with the victor, in addition to the owners of the vehicles--thus
rendering the latter liable to the carriage duty of 15s. each--and
strongly resenting the spirit which brought the victorious party to
Broadway, sent a telegram to the Superintendent of Police at Evesham,
who met the returning procession and took down their names, with the
ultimate result of a substantial haul in fines for the excise!
During the Boer War the common foe was, of course, "Old Kruger" (with
a soft _g_), and we hoisted the Union Jack in front of the Manor
whenever our side scored a substantial success. The news of Lord
Roberts's victory at Paardeburg reached Badsey in the morning, after
the papers, and, returning by road from my farm round, I heard great
rejoicings and cheering from the direction of the village. Meeting a
boy, I learned that "Old Cronje" was defeated and a prisoner, with
"'leven thousand men!"--a report which proved to be correct with the
trifling discount of 9,000 of the latter! The same spirit of union for
a common cause was almost as evident at that time as in the far more
strenuous struggle of 1914-1918, and so long as England to herself
remains but true, doubtless our enemies will fulfil the part assigned
to them by the greatest of English poets.
A love of the marvellous is a common characteristic of country village
folks, and I have already referred to such beliefs in the supernatural
among my men. We had our own "white lady" on the highroad where it
turns off to Aldington, though I never met anyone who had seen her;
there were, too, signs and wonders before approaching deaths, and a
thrilling story of a headless calf in the neighbourhood.
An old house at Badsey, once a _hospitium_ or sanatorium for sick
monks from Evesham Abbey in pre-Reformation days, was reported to be
haunted, and people told tales of "the old fellows rattling about
again" of a night. Probably these beliefs had been encouraged in
former times by the monks themselves, to prevent the villagers prying
too closely into their occupations; and no doubt the scattered
individuals of the same body originated the popular theory that the
Abbey lands of which they were dispossessed would never, owing to a
curse, pass by inheritance in the direct line from father to eldest
son--an event that in the course of nature often fails, though by no
means invariably.
In recent years a startling story has been told, and even appeared in
a local paper, of a ghostly adventure near the Aldington turning. A
young lady (not a native), riding her bicycle to Evesham from Badsey,
passed, machine and all, right through an apparition which suddenly
crossed her path, without any resulting fall.
In connection with the monk's _hospitium_ I lately made an interesting
discovery as to the origin of a curious name of one of my fields,
which had always puzzled me. The field adjoined the _hospitium_, and
was always known as "the Signhurst." Field-names are a very
interesting study, they usually bear some significance to a
peculiarity in the field itself, or its position with reference to its
surroundings, and it has always been a hobby of mine to trace their
derivations. The word "Signhurst" presented no clue to its origin
except the Anglo-Saxon "burst," signifying a wood, but there was no
appearance or tradition of any wood having ever occupied the spot, and
the land was so good, and so well situated as to aspect, that it was
unlikely to have been such a site, even in Anglo-Saxon days. I
stumbled upon a passage in May's _History of Evesham_ which mentioned
the "Seyne House," meaning "Sane House," the equivalent of the modern
word "sanatorium," and I saw at once the origin of the corrupted word
"Signhurst"--the field near the Seyne House.
Wages are, of course, the crowning reward of the working-man's week;
throughout the whole of my time 15s. a week was the recognized pay for
six full summer days--"a very little to receive, but a good deal to
pay away," as a neighbour once said. During harvest, and at piecework,
more money was earned, and it always pleased me that I could pay much
better prices for piece-work among the hops than for piece-work at
wheat-hoeing or on similar unremunerative crops. The reason is
obvious: the hoeing of an acre of wheat, a crop which might possibly
return a matter of £10 per acre, takes no more manual effort than the
hoeing of an acre of hops, where a gross return of £70 or £80 per acre
is not unusual, and is sometimes considerably exceeded.
As wages must eventually always depend upon prices of produce raised
by the labour for which such wages are expended, when the agricultural
labourer buys his bread he is only buying back his own labour in a
concrete form plus the other relative expenses on the farm, and the
cost of milling, baking, and distribution, so that when he gets a high
price for his labour he must expect to pay a high price for his food;
and when the price of food is reduced the price of his labour also
falls. Here, again, the rudiments of economics, taught in the schools,
would conduce to his understanding the position, and the eradication
of discontent.
It is impossible, economically speaking, to defend the system of equal
wages to the most capable and industrious men on the one hand and to
inefficient slackers on the other; and as a graduated scale of
payment, according to results, is not practicable without arousing
ill-feeling and jealousy, the farmer's only remedy is to get rid of
the slackers. Inefficiency and slacking are often due to a man's
enfeebled mental and physical condition, owing to neglect in his
bringing up as a child, or to insufficient or unwholesome food
provided by an improvident wife in his home.
I was fortunate in meeting with very few of these degenerates, but I
remember one tall, delicate-looking man who seemed unable to apply
either his strength or his attention to his work. He was denounced by
the foreman under whom he worked as not only useless, but "the
starvenest wretch as ever I see," intended to convey the impression,
and confirming my own conclusion, that cold and hunger were really the
cause of his inability to render a fair day's work.
I remember, too, when some elderly women, with a younger one, were
hay-making, one of the old ladies, dragging the big "heel-rake" behind
the waggon in course of loading--always rather a tough job--tried to
induce the younger woman to take her place with, "Here, Sally, thee
take a turn at it; thee be a better 'ooman nor I be." My bailiff,
overhearing, at once interposed: "Be she a better 'ooman than thee,
Betsy, ov a Saturday night [pay-night]?"
Hard-and-fast laws and fixed prices for agricultural labour will be
found very difficult to maintain as to piecework; no wage board can
fix just prices, because conditions are so variable. Of two men
cutting corn on separate plots in the same field, the one at 12s. an
acre may really earn more money _per diem_ than another man at 15s. an
acre on the other side of the field, owing to the difference in the
weight of the crop or its condition, it being, perhaps, erect in the
first case, and laid by heavy storms in the second.
There is, too, a vast difference in the value of boys' work and
usefulness; one may easily be worth double another, yet no difference
is allowable by the new law; or one may demoralize another, so that
two are less effective than one. A good old saying puts the matter
very plainly: "One boy's a boy, two boys are half a boy, and three
boys are no boy at all!"
It is, in fact, ridiculous for townspeople, lawyers, and manufacturers
to legislate for the labour of the farm; they do not understand that
indoor labour in the workshop or factory, under regular conditions and
with unvarying materials, is totally different from labour out of
doors, in constantly changing conditions of season, weather, and the
resulting crops dealt with. An old maxim of the Worcestershire
labourer who, without a fixed place, took on piece-work at specially
busy times, will confirm this: "Go to a good farmer for wheat-hoeing,
and to a bad one for harvesting." I may explain that the fields of the
good farmer are clean and nearly free from weeds, so that hoeing is a
comparatively light job; but the same, or nearly the same, price per
acre is paid by the bad farmer, whose corn is overrun with weeds,
entailing much more time and harder work. On the other hand, the good
farmer's wheat crop is much heavier than that of the bad, and, the
prices for cutting being again very similar, more money _per diem_ can
be earned at harvest on the farm of the latter.
It is a sound old Worcestershire saying that "the time to hoe is when
there are no weeds"--apparently a paradox, but the meaning is simple:
when no weeds are to be seen above ground there are always millions of
tiny seedlings just below the surface ready to increase and multiply
wonderfully with a shower of rain; if attacked at the seedling stage,
these can be slaughtered in battalions, with far greater ease and
efficacy than when they become deep-rooted and established, and
dominate the crop.
I have heard of farmers to whom pay-night was a sore trial; one such
was frequently known to mount his horse and gallop away just before
his men appeared: how he settled eventually I do not know. Some
farmers will pay out of doors on their rounds, having a rooted
objection to business of any kind under a roof; and one small farmer,
I was told, always passed the cash to his men behind his back so that
he might not have the agony of parting actually before his eyes.
A labourer is supposed to come to work in his master's time and go
home in his own, thus sharing the necessary loss, and, as a rule, they
are fairly punctual; but one defaulter in this particular will waste
many moments of a whole gang working together, as it seems to be
etiquette not to begin till they are all present. I have often heard,
too, sarcastic comparisons made between the day-man and "the
any-time-of-day man."
The cottagers have their feuds, and the use of joint wash-houses or
baking-ovens between two or more adjoining cottages is a frequent
source. I have had excited wives of tenants coming to me at
unseasonable hours to settle these differences, and I found it a very
difficult business to reconcile the disputants. I could only visit the
_locus in quo_ and arrange fixed and separate days and regulations;
but though the wisdom of Solomon may administer justice in a dispute,
it is impossible to ensure a really peaceful solution that will
endure.
Sometimes feuds, originating in such or similar causes, were
maintained for years by neighbours living with only a 9-inch party
wall between them, and daily meetings outside, to the extent of not
even "passing the time of day." At last, however, in a day of distress
to one, the heart of the unafflicted other would melt, and after an
offer of help, or actual assistance, kind relations would be once more
established. Or a peace offering, in the shape of a dish of good
pig-meat, sent over with a kind message, would restore more genial
conditions, and they would return to happy and neighbourly
familiarity.
I once employed an old Dorset labourer, a tall, slim, aristocratic
figure, with an elegant, refined nose to match; he bore the well-known
name of an ancient and distinguished Dorset family, and I have no
doubt was well descended. He was decidedly a canny, not to say crafty,
man. I gave him a holiday at Whitsuntide to visit his old home, but he
overran the time agreed upon and returned some days late. Before I
could begin the rebuke I proposed to administer, he produced a
charming photograph of a ruined abbey near his old locality, and
handed it to me as a present. "I thought upon you, master, while I was
away, and knowing as you was fond of ancient things I've brought you
this picture." I was completely disarmed, and the rebuke had to be
postponed _sine die_.
As I was talking one day to my bailiff--one of the men who lived a
mile away standing near--he said: "Tom, here, is always the first man
to arrive in the morning; I have never known him to be late." I
congratulated Tom, and asked what time he went to bed: "Oh, about
seven o'clock!" He was, in fact, a lonely old bachelor, and, being "no
scholard," it saved lights and firing to be early to bed.
This man, like many villagers, had very vague ideas of geography. To
save the trouble of cooking, he lived largely on American tinned beef,
and got chaffed about it by his fellow-workers. "How be you getting on
with the 'Merican biff?" Tom was asked. "Oh," said he, "never no more
'Merican biff for me." "How's that, Tom?" "Why, the other day I found
a trouser-button in it!" The point of this story lies in the fact that
the Russo-Turkish war was proceeding at the time. _Tempora mutantur_,
we were then encouraging Turkey against Russia, though the latter had
declared war to avenge the atrocities in Bulgaria of which the Turks
were guilty, while in the recent struggle the position was almost
exactly reversed.
There was then a violent militant feeling here in Britain, and excited
crowds were singing:
"We don't want to fight but, by Jingo, if we do, We've got the ships,
we've got the men, We've got the money too."
Hence the expression "Jingoism," which we often hear to-day, though,
perhaps, the origin is now almost forgotten.
It is not unusual to see villagers, as married couples, complete
contrasts to each other in appearance and character--one fat and
jolly, the other thin and miserable; one happy and contented, the
other grumbling and morose; one open-hearted and generous, the other
close and parsimonious. In matrimony people are said to choose their
opposites, and possibly, as time goes on, the difference in their
appearance and dispositions becomes still more definitely developed.
The labourer understands sarcasm and makes use of it himself, but
irony is often lost upon him. Passing an old man on a pouring wet day,
I greeted him, adding, "Nice morning, isn't it?" He stared, hesitated,
and then, "Well, it would be if it wasn't for the rain!" I only
remember one surly man--not one of my workers or tenants. He was
scraping a very muddy road, and I remarked, for something to say,
"Makes it look better, doesn't it?" All I got in reply was, "I
shouldn't do it if it didn't!"
It is important, in managing a mixed lot of farm labourers, to find
out each man's special gift, making him the responsible person when
the time or opportunity arrives for its application. There are men,
excellent with horses, who have no love of steam-driven machinery, and
_vice versa_; and there are men who are capable at small details, yet
unable to take comprehensive views.
Responsibility is the life-blood of efficiency, and men can always be
found upon whom responsibility will act like a charm, producing
quickened perception, interest, foresight, economy, resource,
industry, and all the characteristics that responsibility demands. Put
the square peg in the square hole, the round peg in the round hole;
show the man you have confidence in him, teach him to act on his own
initiative in all the lesser matters that concern his job, coming only
to the master in those larger considerations to which the latter are
subordinate, and my experience is that your confidence will not be
betrayed, and that he will save you an immense amount of tiresome
detail.
The most difficult man to deal with is the over-confident "know-all";
he is always ready to oppose experience--often dearly bought--with his
superior knowledge, he can suggest a quicker or a cheaper way of doing
everything, and in his last place he "never saw" your system followed.
He is the penny-wise and pound-foolish individual, and his methods are
"near enough." It has been said that at twenty a man knows everything,
at forty he is not quite so sure, and at sixty he is certain that he
knows nothing at all; but there are exceptions even to this rule, who
continue all their lives thinking more and more of their own opinions,
and completely satisfied with their own methods. On the other hand,
the master will always find, among the more experienced, men from whom
much is to be learnt; they are generally diffident and not too ready
to hazard an opinion, but when consulted they can give very valuable
help. I willingly acknowledge my indebtedness to my old hands, their
well-founded convictions that were the fruit of long years of
practical experience, and their readiness to impart them in times of
doubt and difficulty.
Just as bad-tempered grooms make nervous, bad-tempered horses; rough
and noisy cattle-men, fidgety cows; ill-trained dogs and savage
shepherds, sheep wild and difficult to approach; so does the
bad-tempered, impatient, or slovenly master make men with the same bad
qualities, when a smile or a kind word will bring out all that is good
in a man and produce the best results in his work.
I began my farming with four dear old women, working on the land, when
wanted for light jobs; the youngest must have been fifty at least.
They received the time-honoured wage of tenpence a day, and worked, or
talked, about eight hours. They loved to work near the main road,
discussing the natural history of the occupants of passing carts or
carriages. They knew something comic, tragic, or compromising about
everybody, and expressed themselves with epigrammatic force. A farmer
occupant of a neighbouring farm in long-past days, was a favourite
subject of such recollections. After relating how "he were a random
duke," and recalling his habits, one old lady would conclude the
recital with an account of his last days, adding, as if everything was
thereby finally condoned:
"But there, 'e was just as nice a carpse as ever I see, and
I was a'most minded to put his paddle [thistle-spud] beside
him in his coffin, for he was always a-diggin' and a-delvin'
about with it."
One member of this quartet, when ill, had a dish of minced mutton sent
her in the hopes of tempting her appetite. She eyed the gift with
disfavour, and announced with scorn that "she preferred to chew her
meat herself!"
In due course these old ladies retired from active service and younger
women took their places; women were especially necessary in the
hop-yards for the important operation of tying the selected bines to
the poles with rushes and pulling out those which were superfluous. It
was difficult, at first, to accustom them to the fact that the hop
always twines the way of the sun, whilst the kidney bean takes the
opposite course. And there was a problem which greatly exercised their
minds: How were they to reach the hops at the tops of the poles--14
feet from the ground--when the time came? It did not occur to them
that it was possible to cut the bine and pull up the pole. They soon
became very quick and expert at the tying, and their well-worn
wedding-rings, telling of a busy life, would flash brightly in the
sunshine as they tenderly coaxed the brittle bines round the base of
the poles, securing them with the rush tied in a special slip-knot, so
that it easily expanded as the bine enlarged.
Women are splendid at all kinds of light farm work whenever deftness
and gentle touch are required, such as hop-tying and picking, or
gathering small fruit like currants, raspberries, and strawberries;
but I do not consider them in the least capable of taking the place of
men in outdoor work which demands muscular strength and endurance and
the ability to withstand severe heat or bitter cold or wet ground
under foot, through all the varying seasons. Village women have, too,
their home duties to attend to, and it is most important that their
men-folk should be suitably fed and their houses kept clean and
attractive.
On the farm of my son-in-law, in Warwickshire, I have seen something
of the work of land girls, to the number of seventy or more, for whom
he provided a well-organized camp with a competent lady Captain; and I
know how useful they proved in the emergency caused by the War, but I
still adhere to my former conclusion as to the more strenuous forms of
farm labour, without in the least detracting from my admiration for
the courage and patriotism that brought them forward.
I know one woman, however, who quite successfully undertakes very
strenuous garden work, including digging, having been inured to it at
a very early age. If she could be spared from her own work to take the
position of instructress for young girls determined to make the land
their chief employment, they would be saved a vast amount of
unnecessary fatigue and labour by learning the art of using spades,
forks, hoes, and rakes in the way that experience teaches, relying
more upon the weight and designed capabilities of the tool to do the
work than upon their own untrained muscles.
We could always get a supply of excellent maids for house-work from
among the village families; they began very young, coming in for a few
hours daily to help the regular staff, and, as these left or got
married, they were ready trained to take their places. These girls
were quite free from the self-importance of the present-day domestic,
but I remember one nice village girl about whom we inquired as a
likely maid who, it then appeared, was engaged to marry a thriving
small tradesman. The girl's mother, being over-elated at her
daughter's apparently brilliant prospects of independence, rejected
the proposal with some hauteur, adding that her daughter "would soon
be keeping her own maid." I fear, however, that she was disappointed,
as the course of true love did not run smooth.
We preferred a married man as shepherd, because, when I had only a few
cows, he combined his duties with those of cowman; and, bringing in
the milk and doing the churning, he was much about the back premises.
On one occasion, however, I engaged a young bachelor, partly because
he replied, with a knowing smile, to a question as to whether he was
married, that he dared say he could be if he liked--which I
optimistically took to amount to an announcement of his engagement.
Time went on and he remained a single man, but it was observable that
he lingered on his milky way, and was more in evidence in the dairy
than his duties appeared to warrant. We concluded that he was
attracted by the cook. One day my wife said to another maid: "I can't
think why the shepherd spends so much time in the house. I suppose
cook is the attraction?" The girl blushed, hesitated, and looked down,
but finally courageously murmured: "Please, mum, it's me, mum!" They
were married in due course, and we lost an excellent servant.
Some of the village women and girls filled up spare moments with
"gloving"; the large kid-glove manufacturers in Worcester supplied the
material, cut into shape, and a stand, with a kind of vice divided
into spaces the exact size of each stitch, which held the work firmly
while the stitching was done by hand; they grew very quick at this
work, and turned out the gloves with beautifully even stitches, but I
don't think they could earn much at it in a day, and it must have been
rather monotonous.
I was interested to read in Mr. Warde Fowler's _Kingham Old and New_
an account of a peculiar ceremony--called "Skimmington," by Mr. Hardy,
in his _Mayor of Casterbridge_--which took place in Kingham village. I
have known of two similar cases, one in Surrey and one at Aldington,
under the name of "rough music." The Kingham case was quite parallel
with that at Aldington, being a demonstration of popular disapproval
of the conduct of a woman resident, in matters arising out of
matrimonial differences.
The outraged neighbours collect near the dwelling of the delinquent,
having provided themselves with old trays, pots and pans, and anything
by means of which a horrible din can be raised, and proceed to
serenade the offender. To be the subject of such a demonstration is
regarded as a signal disgrace and a most emphatic mark of popular
odium. Mr. Warde Fowler tells me, on the authority of a German book on
marriage, etc., that "the same sort of din is made at marriage in some
parts of Europe to drive evil spirits away from the newly married
pair." Possibly, therefore, the custom among our own villagers may
have originated with the same idea, and they may formerly have taken
the charitable view that evil spirits were responsible for evil deeds,
and that their exorcism was a neighbourly duty.
The holiday outings I gave my men were a _quid pro quo_ for some hours
of overtime in the hay-making, and included a day's wages, all
expenses, and a supply of food. They generally went to a large town
where an agricultural show was in progress, but I think the sea trips
to Ilfracombe and Weston-super-Mare were the most popular, offering as
they did much greater novelty. I have a vivid recollection of the
preparation of the rations on the previous night: a vast joint of beef
nicely roasted and got cold before operations commenced, my wife and
daughter making the sandwiches, while I cut up the beef in the
kitchen, sometimes in my shirt-sleeves on a hot summer night;
mountains of loaves of bread, great slices of cake, and pounds of
cheese, completed the provisions. The rations were wrapped in separate
papers and placed in a hipbath, covered with a cloth, and finally kept
in a cool building, whence each man took his portion at early dawn.
For the sea trips the train took the party to Gloucester and
Sharpness, where they embarked upon the steamer.
Many and thrilling were the tales I heard next day; the sea was fairly
smooth until they reached the Bristol Channel, but then, if they met a
south-west wind, the vessel began to roll, and jovial faces looked
thoughtful. I must not dwell upon the delightful horrors of the voyage
on such occasions; they were accepted with good-humour and regarded as
part of the show, but it was curious that not one of the narrators
himself suffered the fate that he so graphically described as the
portion of the others. Arrived at their destination, they inspected
the town, watched the people on the piers and parades, and the
children playing on the sands. The latter created the greatest
interest, busy with their spades and buckets, or, as one man expressed
it, "little jobs o' draining and summat!"
At Christmas the village children always came in small gangs to sing,
or rather chant, a peculiar and very ancient seasonable greeting:
"I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year,
A pocket full of money and a cellar full of beer,
A good fat pig to last you all the year.
May God bless all friends near!
A merry, merry Christmas and a happy New Year."