_Skilled Mechanic of Old School loquitur_:--
It's a nice pretty state of affairs, if you look at the business
all round!
If someone don't alter it somehow, Old England must come to the
ground.
I've thought it all out a good bit, for it touches us home, don't
you see;
It puzzles the swells, so, no doubt, it's too much of a twister for
me.
But I look at the thing from a side which they can't have their eye
on,--not close,--
A fair forty year at the bench ought to give one the tip, I suppose.
If me and my mates and the masters, the Book _and_ the Bench, could
combine
To take the job fairly in hand, I suppose we could strike out a line.
Odd luck if we couldn't, at least; but we _don't_ pull together, you
see:
Pull devil pull baker's the game,--it's a mad one, as most will agree.
The Book and the Bench! There's the nip. And a fellow will see--if
he'll look--
That although the three R's are good value, a man cannot _live_ by
the Book.
True, Bench without Book may be blindish, but Book without Bench may
be worse,
To read penny papers won't feed you, if you haven't pence in your
purse.
Men can't live on cackle not nohow, the bulk of 'em that is to say;
A few gassy spouts can, of course; for _they_ prate, don't you see,
and _we_ pay;
But _that_ rule will not work all round, thanks be!--a skilled hand,
a sharp eye
Are the artisan's proper rig-out; and as for the rest of it, why
Mr. Schoolmaster there does his best with his 'ologies, 'isms, and
things,
But if a man's lot is to trudge, it is small use a-fitting him wings.
No, I 'm not against learning, not me; but life's battle means
gumption and tools,
That is for the general ruck, and the saps who deny it are fools.
I remembered my father, old Millwright, in days as no more will be
seen,
When a man put his soul in his work, a mechanic was not a machine.
It would take lots o' "technical" teaching to bring our lads up to his
trim,
Or make our mere chippers and filers a match for such workmen as
_him_.
He _had_ been through the mill, a rare grind, for apprenticeship
then meant it's name.
I have known him take ten quid a week, only wish I could earn half the
same.
Times altered? Of course; so have systems, and not for the better some
ways.
I've read, for I _can_ read, you know, of the wild old apprentices'
days,
When the shout of "Clubs! Clubs!" roused the town, and political
feelings ran high,
And the stiff Spanish courtiers went weak in the hams at the ominous
cry.
Wild blades!--but the youngsters could work, knew their craft; but you
pale, loose-limbed lout,
The sort of crammed hobbledehoy that the School-Board appears to turn
out,
Who can spell out Sedition in penn'orths, and howl it out hot in the
Square,
If you give him the "Work" that he yells for with so much wild blather
and blare,
What sort of a fist will he make of it? Which of the blustering band
Has a really sound head on his shoulders, a really skilled craft to
his hand?
And Capital wrangles with Labour, each hating the other like snakes;
And the Foreigner creeps in and up, and the Board Agent comes and he
takes
Our boys, and he crams 'em with kibosh as makes 'em too big for their
breeches;
But real true bread-winning knowledge--the stuff that the Bench only
teaches--
They don't find set down in their books, with their 'isms and
'ometries--no;
But the nipper's turned out in the world, and then what shall he turn
to?--where go?
Cheap clerking, or rule-of-thumb drudgery, bands, and black flags, and
that rot?
They may give it what fine names they like, but it simply means going
to pot!
And the swells snarl and sneer, and the bobbies are bid to be sharp
with their staves,
And the dupes who get all the cracked heads are informed if they don't
they'll be slaves.
[Illustration: THE SCHOOLMASTER OF THE FUTURE.
(_And the sooner we get him the better._)
BRITISH WORKMAN: "BOTHER YOUR 'OLOGIES AND 'OMETRIES, LET _ME_ TEACH
HIM SOMETHING USEFUL!"]
Seems to me all a muddle all round. Half the Masters are grinders and
grabs,
And the men, when not cynical churls, are too apt to be shirkers and
blabs.
I don't see it's a lively look out for my mates, in the country or
town,
With "Standards" and School-rates still rising, and most other things
going down.
Nice thing for the nippers too, ain't it? The boys may be stuffed at
both ends,
Without "technical" knowledge they're wasters; them as tells 'em this
truth are their friends.
There 'aint no true "Apprentices" now; seven years of sound teaching
don't please.
But the masters and workers appear to be sweet upon freedom and ease;
Old "Indentures" are too long and tight, so they just shuffle on and
slop through,
And it's diamond cut diamond all round, till Trade seems just a
regular do.
I was trained in a different school, and my motto's good work for good
wage;
But the sweaters and spouters between 'em spoil _that_ in this
book-learned age.
Mister School Teacher just take my tip, I can tell you you're on the
wrong lay;
You get paid, so I've heard, by results; the results, Sir, are bad,
and _don't_ pay.
Boys learning to read, and then spending their pence upon "Highwaymen"
trash;
Lads knowing the _pons asinorum_, who can't make a door or a sash;
Louts lolloping round on the loose, spouting fragments of Socialist
stuff;
Mobs of "workmen," played shuttlecock with by the ranter, the "red,"
and the rough;
True hands by the thousand left idle, poor mouths by the myriad
unfilled,
Because Wealth's so hard upon Labour, and Labour's so often unskilled;
These are rummy "results!" See this lad, now; he's pale; he's
well-packed, I suppose
With the stuff that your "Standards" require; well, his schooling must
come to a close;
To stuff him, and lots of his like, rate-collectors must put on the
screw.
Well, when you have done with the nipper, the question comes, what can
_he_ do?
Will his bag of books stand him in stead, when he ought to have tools
in his bag?
Are your "Standards" quite up to the mark, if they lead to the Black
or Red Flag?
Oh, bother your 'isms and 'ologies! Excellent things in their way;
But bread-winning wants something else, and the 'isms without it won't
pay.
Yes--"Technical Knowledge" they call it--means practical gumption and
skill,
Or used to when I was a youngster; it may be a sort of a pill,
But if you'll stand aside and let _me_ teach the lad something useful,
my friend,
Old England may yet hold her own, which some think a desirable end!
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