Keighley--Men in Pinafores--Walk to Haworth--Charlotte Bronte's
Birthplace--The Church--The Pew--The Tombstone--The Marriage
Register--Shipley--Saltaire--A Model Town--Household
Arrangements--I isn't the Gaffer--A Model Factory--Acres of
Floors--Miles of Shafting--Weaving Shed--Thirty Thousand Yards
a Day--Cunning Machinery--First Fleeces--Shipley Feast--Scraps
of Dialect--To Bradford--Rival Towns--Yorkshire Sleuth-hounds--
Die like a Britoner.
Keighley is not pronounced Kayley, as you might suppose, but Keatley, or
Keithley, as some of the natives have it, flinging in a touch of the
guttural. Like Skipton, it is a stony town; and, as the tall chimneys
indicate, gets its living by converting wool into wearing apparel of
sundry kinds. You meet numbers of men clad in long blue pinafores, from
throat to instep; wool-sorters, who thus protect themselves from fluff.
The factory people were going to work next morning--the youngsters
clattering over the pavement in their wooden clogs--as I left the town
by the Halifax road, for Haworth, a walk of four miles, and all the way
up-hill. The road runs along one side of a valley, which, when the
houses are left behind, looks pretty with numerous trees and fields of
grass and wheat, and a winding brook, and makes a pleasing foreground to
the view of the town. The road itself is neither town nor country; the
footpaths, as is not uncommon in Yorkshire, are paved nearly all the
way; and houses are frequent, tenanted by weavers, with here and there a
little shop displaying oaten bread. An hour of ascent and you come to a
cross-road, where, turning to the right for about a furlong, you see
Haworth, piled from base to summit of a steep hill, the highest point
crowned by the church. The road makes a long bend in approaching the
acclivity, which, if you choose, may be avoided by a cut-off; but coming
as a pilgrim you will perhaps at first desire to see all. You pass a
board which notifies _Haworth Town_, and then begins the ascent
painfully steep, bounded on one side by houses, on the other--where you
look into the valley--by little gardens and a line of ragged little
sheds and hutches. What a wearisome hill; you will half doubt whether
horses can draw a load up it. Presently we have houses on both sides,
and shops with plate-glass and mahogany mouldings, contrasting strongly
with the general rustic aspect, and the primitive shop of the _Clogger_.
Some of the windows denote an expectation of visitors; the apothecary
exhibits photographs of the church, the parsonage, and Mr. Bronte; and
no one seems surprised at your arrival.
The _Black Bull_ stands invitingly on the hill-top. I was ready for
breakfast, and the hostess quite ready to serve; and while I ate she
talked of the family who made Haworth famous. She knew them all, brother
and sisters: Mr. Nicholls had preached the day before in the morning;
Mr. Bronte in the afternoon. It was mostly in the afternoon that the old
gentleman preached, and he delivered his sermon without a book. The
people felt sorry for his bereavements; and they all liked Mr. Nicholls.
She had had a good many visitors, but expected "a vast" before the
summer was over.
From the inn to the churchyard is but a few paces. The church is ugly
enough to have had a Puritan for architect; and there, just beyond the
crowded graves, stands the parsonage, as unsmiling as the church. After
I had looked at it from a distance, and around on the landscape, which,
in summer dress, is not dreary, though bounded by dark moors, the sexton
came and admitted me to the church. He points to the low roof, and
quotes Milton, and leads you to the family pew, and shows you the corner
where _she_--that is, Charlotte--used to sit; and against the wall, but
a few feet from this corner, you see the long plain memorial stone, with
its melancholy list of names. As they descend, the inscriptions crowd
close together; and beneath the lowest, that which records the decease
of her who wrote _Jane Eyre_, there remains but a narrow blank for those
which are to follow.[E]
[E] This stone, as stated in the newspapers, has since been replaced by
a larger one, with sculptured ornaments.
Then the sexton, turning away to the vestry, showed me in the marriage
register the signatures of Charlotte Bronte, her husband, and father;
and next, his collection of photographs, with an intimation that they
were for sale. When he saw that I had not the slightest inclination to
become a purchaser, to have seen the place was quite enough; he said,
that if I had a card to send in the old gentleman would see me. It
seemed to me, I replied, that the greatest kindness a stranger could
show to the venerable pastor, would be, not to intrude upon him.
On some of the pews I noticed small plates affixed, notifying that Mr.
Mudbeck of Windytop Farm, or some other parishioner of somewhere else,
"hath" three sittings, or four and a quarter, and so forth; and this
invasion by 'vested rights' of the house of prayer and thanksgiving,
appeared to me as the finishing touch of its unattractive features.
The sexton invited me to ascend the tower, but discovered that the key
was missing; so, as I could not delay, I made a brief excursion on the
moor behind the house, where heather-bloom masked the sombre hue; and
then walked back to Keighley, and took the train for Shipley, the
nearest station to Saltaire.
It was the day of Shipley feast, and the place was all in a hubbub, and
numbers of factory people, leaving for a while their habitual
manufacture of woollen goods out of a mixture of woollen and cotton, had
come together to enjoy themselves. But no one seemed happy except the
children; the men and women looked as if they did not know what to do
with themselves. I took the opportunity to scan faces, and could not
fail to be struck by the general ill-favoured expression. Whatever
approach towards good looks that there was, clearly lay with the men;
the women were positively ugly, and numbers of them remarkable for that
protruding lower jaw which so characterizes many of the Irish peasantry.
Saltaire is about a mile from Shipley. It is a new settlement in an old
country; a most noteworthy example of what enterprise can and will
accomplish where trade confides in political and social security. Here,
in an agreeable district of the valley of the Aire--wooded hills on both
sides--a magnificent factory and dependent town have been built, and
with so much judgment as to mitigate or overcome the evils to which
towns and factories have so long been obnoxious. The factory is built of
stone in pure Italian style, and has a truly palatial appearance. What
would the Plantagenets say, could they come back to life, and see trade
inhabiting palaces far more stately than those of kings? The main
building, of six stories, is seventy-two feet in height, and five
hundred and fifty feet in length. In front, at some distance, standing
quite apart, rises the great chimney, to an elevation of two hundred and
fifty feet; a fine ornamental object, built to resemble a campanile.
The site is well chosen on the right bank of the Aire, between the Leeds
and Liverpool canal, and the Leeds and Lancaster railway. Hence the
readiest means are available for the reception and despatch of
merchandise. A little apart, extending up the gentle slope, the young
town of Saltaire is built, and in such a way as to realize the
aspirations of a sanitary reformer. The houses are ranged in
parallelograms, of which I counted sixteen, the fronts looking into a
spacious street; the backs into a lane about seven feet in width, which
facilitates ventilation, admits the scavenger's cart, and serves as
drying-ground. Streets and lanes are completely paved, the footways are
excellent; there is a pillar post-office, and no lack of gas-lamps. The
number of shopkeepers is regulated by Messrs. Salt, the owners of the
property; and while one baker and grocer suffices to supply the wants of
the town others will not be allowed to come in. A congregational chapel
affords place for religious worship, and a concert-hall for musical
recreation, or lectures, The men who wish to tipple must go down to
Shipley, for Saltaire, as yet, has no public-house. If I mistake not,
the owners are unwilling that there shall be one.
My request for leave to look in-doors was readily granted. The ordinary
class of houses have a kitchen with oven and boiler, a sink and copper;
a parlour, or 'house' in the vernacular, two bedrooms, and a small
back-yard, with out-offices. The floors, mantlepiece, and stairs, are of
stone. The rent is 3s. 1d. a week. Gas is laid on at an extra charge,
and the tenant finds burners. The supply of water is ample, but the
water is hard, and has a smack of peat-bog in its flavour. A woman whom
I saw washing, told me the water lost much of its hardness if left to
stand awhile. Each house has a back-door opening into the lane; and
every stercorarium voids into the ash-pit, which is cleared out once a
week at the landlord's cost. The pits are all accessible by a small
trap-door from the lane; hence there is no intrusion on the premises in
the work of cleansing. The drainage in other respects is well cared
for; and the whole place is so clean and substantial, with handsome
fronts to the principal rows, that you feel pleasure in observing it.
The central and corner houses are a story higher than the rest, and what
with these and the handsome rows above referred to, there is
accommodation for all classes of the employed--spinners, overlookers,
and clerks. After building two or three of the parallelograms, it was
discovered that cellars were desirable, and since then every house has
its cellar, in which, as the woman said, "we can keep our meat and milk
sweet in hot weather." What a contrast, I thought, to the one closet in
a lodging in some large town, where the food is kept side by side with
soap and candles, the duster, and scrubbing-brush! And though the stone
floors look chilly, coal is only fivepence-halfpenny a hundred-weight.
No one is allowed to live in the town who is not in some way employed by
the firm. Most of the tenants to whom I spoke, expressed themselves well
satisfied with their quarters, but two or three thought the houses dear;
they could get a place down at Shipley, or Shipla, as they pronounced
it, for two-and-sixpence a week. I put a question to the baker: "I isn't
the gaffer," he answered.
"Never mind," I replied; "if you are not the master, we can talk all the
same."
He thought we could; and he too was one of those who did not like the
new town. 'Twas too dear. He lived at Shipla, and paid but four pounds a
year for a house with a cellar under it, and a garden behind; and there
he kept a pig, which was not permitted at Saltaire. There was "a vast"
worked in the mill who did not live under Mr. Salt; they came from
Bradford, and a train, called the Saltaire train, "brought 'em in the
morning, and fetched 'em home at night."
The railway runs between the town and the factory. You cross by a
handsome stone bridge, quite in keeping with the prevalent style of
architecture. The hands were returning from dinner as I approached after
my survey of the colony, and the prodigious clatter of clogs was
well-nigh deafening. My letter of introduction procured me the favour of
Mr. George Salt's guidance. First, he showed me a model of the premises,
by which I saw that a six-story wing, if such it may be called,
comprising the warehouses, projects at a right angle from the rear of
the main building, with the combing-shed on one side, the weaving-shed
on the other. In that combing-shed 3500 persons sat down in perfect
comfort to a house-warming dinner. The weaving-shed is twice as large.
Then there are the workshops of the smiths, machinists, and other
artisans; packing, washing, and drying-rooms, and a gasometer to
maintain five thousand lights; so that in all the buildings cover six
acres and a half. Include the whole of the floors, and the space is
twelve acres. Rails are laid from the line in front into the
ground-floor of the building; hence there is no porterage, no loading
and unloading except by machinery; and the canal at the back is equally
convenient for water-carriage. In front the ground is laid out as an
ornamental shrubbery, terminated at one corner by the graceful
campanile.
Then I was conducted to the boilers, a row of ten, sunk underground in
the solid rock, below the level of the shrubbery. They devour one
hundred and twenty tons of coal in a week; but with economy, for the
tall chimney pours out no clouds of dense black smoke. The prevention is
accomplished by careful feeding, and leaving the furnace-door open half
an inch, to admit a full stream of air. I was amazed at the sight of
such a range of boilers, and yet they were not enough, and an excavation
was making to receive others.
Then to the engine-room, where the sight of the tremendous machinery was
a fresh surprise. Here are erected two separate pairs of engines,
combining 1250-horse power, by Fairbairn, of Manchester. You see how
beauty of construction consorts with ponderous strength. Polished iron,
glittering brass, and shining mahogany, testify to the excellence of
Lancashire handicraft in 1853, the date of the engines. The mahogany is
used for casing; and here, as with the boilers, every precaution is used
to prevent the escape of heat. As you watch the great cogged fly-wheels
spinning round with resistless force, you will hardly be surprised to
hear that they impart motion to two miles of 'shafting,' which weighs in
all six hundred tons, and rotates from sixty to two hundred and fifty
times a minute. And this shafting, of which the diameter is from two to
fourteen inches, sets twelve hundred power-looms going, besides
fulfilling all its other multifarious duties.
Then we went from one noisy floor to another among troops of spinners,
finding everywhere proofs of the same presiding judgment. All is
fire-proof; the beams and columns are of cast-iron; the floors rest on
arches of hollow bricks; and the ventilation, maintained by inlets a few
inches above the floor, and outlets near the ceiling, where hot-water
pipes keep up a temperature of sixty degrees, is perfect, without
draughts. The top room in the main building, running from end to end for
five hundred and fifty feet without a break, said to be the largest room
in Europe, is an impressive sight, filled with ranks of busy machines
and busy workers.
In the weaving-shed, all the driving gear is placed beneath the floor,
so that you have a clear prospect over the whole area at once,
uninterrupted by the usual array of rapid wheels and flying straps. Vast
as is the appetite of those twelve hundred looms for warp and weft, it
is kept satisfied from the mill's own resources; and in one day they
deliver thirty thousand yards of alpaca, or other kinds of woollen
cloth. Multiply that quantity, reader, by the number of working days in
a year, and you will discover to what an amazing extent the markets of
the world are supplied by this one establishment of Titus Salt and Co.
Some portions of the machinery do their work with marvellous precision
and dexterity,
"----as if the iron thought!"
and it seemed to me that I could never have tired of watching the
machine that took the wool, one fringe-like instalment after another,
from assiduous cylinders, and delivered it to another series of
movements which placed the fibres all in one direction, and produced the
rough outline of the future thread. Another ingenious device weaves two
pieces at once all in one width, and with four selvages, of which two
are, of course, in the middle of the web, and yet there is no difference
in appearance between those two inner ones and those on the outer edges.
The piece is afterwards divided along the narrow line left between them.
Even in the noisome washing-room there was something to admire. The
wool, after a course of pushing to and fro in a cistern of hot water by
two great rakes, is delivered to an endless web by a revolving cylinder.
This cylinder is armed with rows of long brass teeth, and as they would
be in the way of the web on their descent, they disappear within the
body of the cylinder at the critical moment, and come presently forth
again to continue their lift.
In the warehouse, I was shown that the wool is sorted into eight
qualities, sometimes a ninth; and the care bestowed on this preliminary
operation may be judged of from the fact, that every sorting passes in
succession through two sets of hands. There, too, I learned that the
first fleece of Gimmer hogs is among the best of English wool; and,
indeed, it feels quite silky in comparison with other kinds. The quality
loses in goodness with every subsequent shearing. The clippings and
refuse are purchased by the shoddy makers, those ingenious converters of
old clothes into new.
Where alpaca and other fine cloths are so largely manufactured, the
question as to a continuous supply of finest wool becomes of serious
importance. Mr. Salt has done what he can to provide for a supply by
introducing the alpaca sheep into Australia and the Cape of Good Hope.
On my coming, I had thought the counting-house, and offices, and
visitors' room too luxurious for a mere place of business; but when I
returned thither to take leave, with the impression of the enormous
scale of the business, and the means by which it is accomplished fresh
on my mind, these appeared quite in harmony with all the rest. And when
I stood, taking a last look around, on the railway bridge, I felt that
he whose large foresight had planned so stately a home for industry, and
set it down here in a sylvan valley, deserved no mean place among the
Worthies of Yorkshire.
I walked back to Shipley, and there spent some time sauntering to and
fro in the throng, which had greatly increased during the afternoon.
There was no increase of amusement, however, with increase of numbers;
and the chief diversion seemed to consist in watching the swings and
roundabouts, and eating gingerbread. Now and then little troops of
damsels elbowed their way through, bedizened in such finery as would
have thrown a negro into ecstacies. "That caps me!" cried a young man,
as one of the parties went past, outvying all the rest in staring
colours.
"There's a vast of 'em coom t' feast, isn't there?" replied his
companion; "and there 'll be more, afore noight."
"Look at Bobby," said an aunt of her little nephew, who had been
disappointed of a cake; "Look at Bobby! He's fit to cry."
"What's ta do?" shouted a countryman, as he was pushed rudely aside;
"runnin' agean t' foaks! What d'ye come poakin yer noase thro' here
for?"
"Ah'm puzzeld wi' t' craad" (crowd), answered the offender.
After hearing many more fragments of West Riding dialect, I forced my
way to the railway-station, and went to Bradford. Few towns show more
striking evidences of change than this; and the bits of old Bradford,
little one-story tenements with stone roofs, left standing among tall
and handsome warehouses, strengthen the contrast. Bradford and Leeds,
only nine miles apart, have been looked upon as rivals; and it was said
that no sooner did one town erect a new building than the other built
one larger or handsomer; and now Bradford boasts its St. George's Hall,
and Leeds its Town Hall, crowned by a lofty tower. But what avails a
tower, even two hundred and forty feet high, when a letter was once
received, addressed, "_Leeds, near Bradford!_"
Your Yorkshireman of the West Riding is, so Mrs. Gaskell says, "a
sleuth-hound" after money. As there is nothing like testimony, let me
end this chapter with a brace of anecdotes, and you, reader, may draw
your own inference.
Not far from Bradford, an old couple lived on their farm. The good man
had been ill for some time, when the practitioner who attended him
advised that a physician should be summoned from Bradford for a
consultation. The doctor came, looked into the case, gave his opinion;
and descending from the sick-room to the kitchen, was there accosted by
the old woman, with,
"Well, doctor, what's your charge?"
"My fee is a guinea."
"A guinea,--doctor! a guinea! And if ye come again will it be another
guinea?"
"Yes; but I shall hardly have to come again. I have given my opinion,
and leave the patient in very good hands."
"A guinea, doctor! Hech!"
The old woman rose, went upstairs to her husband's bedside, and the
doctor, who waited below, heard her say, "He charges a guinea. And if he
comes again, it'll be another guinea. Now what do ye say?--If I were ye,
I'd say no, like a Britoner; and I'd die first!"
Though very brief, the other illustration is not less demonstrative. A
friend of mine, whose brother had just been married, happening to
mention the incident to a friend of his, during a visit to the town, was
immediately met by the question:--
"Money?"
"No."
"Fool!" was Bradford's reply.