THIS TAPE HAS BEEN RECORDED ON THE 26TH OF JULY 1978 IN THE ENGINE HOUSE AT BANCROFT SHED, BARNOLDSWICK. THE INFORMANT IS ERNIE ROBERTS, TACKLER AND THE INTERVIEWER IS STANLEY GRAHAM.
So, we’ll start at 1930 again tonight Ernie.
R-OK.
So you’ve just left school and you are looking for your first job. Tell me about the first job you ever got.
R-Well, I don’t think there was much difficulty finding work, young lads. They had a foundry at Skipton, King’s Foundry and they used to employ boys, slaves they were, two pence three farthings an hour doing a man’s job. I had a job there, me first job were buffing rough edges of [cast iron] manhole covers. No wonder I’m bloody bow legged, lifting them things and it were twopence three farthings an hour and I just lasted a week or two, that’s all. And that didn’t add up to much, six days a week that were, Saturday mornings, four or five bob a week and I used to bring about six bob home for me mother. So, like th’Old Girl says, Finish, see if you can get a job in weaving.
Why do you think they were keen to employ young lads Ernie?
R-Well, they were employing them for next to nothing, that’d be why. In later years, all the lads that stayed there and served their apprenticeship, they were sacked when they came into being qualified for full pay. It were a right bloody slave shop, it must have been. Dewhurst’s [Mill. Sylko Sewing Thread] not far away at Skipton, they employed a lot of young girls on the same lark. That would be about 1930.
So in other words, you can nearly say that as school leavers went in, somebody else had to come out.
R-Oh, more than likely, aye. There’d be one or two, well, they were gaffers, bullies really. Anyway I got the order of the bullet. I think I buffed some edges off flanges, I buffed the flange off, that were it, instead of t’rough edges. I thought, I’ll have the bloody lot off here and get out. So out I went and then I must have come up to Bancroft learning to weave with me aunt Louise.
Aunt Louise, that were it. And how long were you here at Bancroft Ernie, let’s get the jobs sorted out first.
R-Oh I couldn’t have been here a long while because I were weaving at Calf Hall when I were sixteen. So I must have learned to weave up here, I might have been here about, oh I could have been here two years and then I went to t’Calf Hall weaving because me mother were a weaver there and me brother. Trade must have bucked up and they’d be short of weavers. So th’Old Girl must have said I’ve seen Edward, she called the boss Edward, Edward Holden, and you can come weaving here. That’s where I had that bloody four shillings to draw, two shillings and ninepence to take home.
That were Blackburn Holden’s? And you went down there on two looms?
R-Six looms, so they must have been short of weavers.
How many looms did you have up here?
R-Well, I might have had, I wouldn’t have above two or three.
So how long did you stop at Calf Hall Ernie?
R-Oh I were there a bit. Well, I couldn’t have been there so long either, they wove out [stopped manufacturing] and I were at Cairns and Lang’s at Fernbank Shed when I were eighteen, so I must have been at Calf Hall about two years. I went to Cairns and Lang’s at sweeping, twenty seven shillings a week. We had a bit of a strike, there’d be seven sweepers there I think and we wanted a rise. So after consultations and meetings and bollockings he gave us a rise, a shilling a week. It were like an incentive bonus that, we were to load t’bloody cloth and do other jobs that turned up so we had twenty eight bob a week then. Now not long after that they did away with sweepers, they were kaput, they went back on the four loom system and I got four looms and I were making £2 a week. I were like a bloody millionaire, two pounds a week! I’d never been as well off in me life up to then. I used to give th’Old Girl a pound and I’d have a pound for meself, I were a right weekend millionaire I were. I’d have a fancy hat and oh it were a good do that were.
So that were at eighteen years old, how long did you stop there Ernie at Fernbank?
R-That were at eighteen. Well, I must have been about nineteen, I left there out of work, they wove out, it were like that. I used to go standing for work at Pickles’s at Bouncer [Barnsey shed] . You used to go, as they started, they started at seven then I think. Well you’d get there about quarter to seven, twenty to and stand in’t warehouse, because I were signing on then you see [on the dole, unemployment benefit] when you went to sign on then, the little Hitler behind the counter says If you have no work, say no work before you sign your name. They’d ask you if you were looking for work and where you had been. Well, we used to tell him then that we were standing for work at t’Bouncer. Tacklers used to go round the mill and see if all the weavers were in and then t’manager would come out, not just for me, there’d be fifty or sixty of us, fellers of all ages stood there and he’d say ‘All Up’! So you buggered off then, that were another day to ponder on. And t’funny thing about it were, when I was making this two pound a week I bought a brand new bicycle, half a dollar a week, [12 ½ p.] a Hercules. And this particular morning when I’d been standing at work, I’m stood on the bridge [Long Ing Canal Bridge] and I were thinking of joining the army, I were that bloody desperate, I must have been out of work a bit then. And Alf Peckover, I’d known him a long while, he were only a young chap then, he were t’manager at Long Ing. He must have been to t’Bouncer on business and he were coming over. He says Hello Ernest, aren’t you working? I says no, I can’t get in. He says Would you have a do at sweeping? I says I’ll have a do at owt, I’ll start right now. He says Right, come on and I worked there until going in the army at twenty three years old. That were at Pickles’s at Long Ing.
Right, that’ll do us nicely, that takes us up to the army. I’m dodging you about this week but I want to dig into one or two things that are of particular interest. When you were weaving up here with your aunt Louise, now you tell me if I’m wrong. When you came up to learn to weave here, after you’d been at the foundry, you’d be what, about fourteen and a half, sommat like that. You didn’t get paid until you’d actually learned to weave and got on to two looms, you were put on two looms.
R-Oh aye, that’s true, oh we got nothing.
This is the thing I want to get at. The contrast between then and now is so enormous, with education, training schemes and all the rest of it and yet it seems to have worked. It seems to have turned weavers out.
R-Oh aye, oh it turned weavers out then, you mean in my day?
Yes.
R-Oh, you had to be a good weaver in them days.
Yes, now the thing I’m trying to get at Ernie, can you tell me, or give me an opinion, why that system turned out good weavers, which it did, there’s no doubt about that. If somebody had it in them, it turned weavers out.
R-Oh it did. Well I mean, it were survival. There were nothing else. If you didn’t learn to weave you were on the bloody scrap heap, or in the army if you were a man, a young man. And it were a case of take it in or else. And in my case it were ‘or else’. There were no really bad weavers, they just didn’t survive. If that cloth weren’t acceptable in the warehouse, out! And you’d got to earn money because the tackler’s wage was based on what the weavers earned and every week there’d be someone sacked. They used to put the averages up on the door, Joe Bloggs bottom – Kaput! Get t’bullet.
Now eventually the union stopped that didn’t they?
R-They did, they did.
Can you remember when?
R-No.
No, but that counted as harassment of weavers.
R-It would be harassment but they had to accept it you see?
Yes, and when the union stopped that, well, obviously the union must have been strong enough to stop it.
R-Oh aye, oh well, they’d been struggling a long time then had t’unions to get some capital so that they had like a fighting fund.
When you came to work here at first, how strong were the union at Bancroft in 1930? When I say the union, I mean the weaver’s union in particular.
R-Couldn’t say, couldn’t say for certain. You’d have to go to Nelson to find that out, to be certain.
Yes. Were you ever approached to join the union when you went on to two looms?
R-No. I did join the union eventually when I realised that it were the only chance for workers. But when you’ve been knocked about it takes years, a few years, to realise and accept these facts. When you see with your own eyes what’s going on, bloody terrible it were, bloody terrible. When I were sweeping at Long Ing I were having me breakfast at t’table in’t warehouse and there were these two tacklers sat there and they were sacking a chap and he had three kids. Ah well, we’ll get rid of him. I says I’ll tell him when I go in’t mill and one of these blokes says, Thee tell him and Tha’ll be out. I mean, I were only a bloody sweeper. Well I says, I’ll bloody tell him whether I’ll be out or not! And I told him and he didn’t get sacked that week, he got sacked the following week. Aye. I thought The bloody lousy swines, he wasn’t earning enough you see, might have been about ten bob a week less than someone else. I think it [tackler’s rate] was about one and six in the pound. [of weaver’s wages] Tacklers in them days were making double a weaver’s wage. So if we were making two pound, they’d be making four. Oh it were a right bloody vicious circle, terrible when you think about it that things could happen like that. I mean it were a working man exploiting a working man weren’t it? Talk about Love Thy Brother, they were vindictive and nasty. Thank God them days have gone and they’ll never come back.
And would you say Ernie that that was general?
R-Yes I would. And them tacklers I’ve just been telling you about they were both bloody Methodists, going to the same church or chapel. They’re both dead and gone now. What did they call ‘em? I was just going to say ‘Hello’ but I don’t know whether to look up or down to say hello to you two buggers. Harry Ormerod and Walter Broughton. Aye.
So the tackler in those days, he really was the weavers boss, he was the overlooker?
R-Oh aye, oh aye he were. Yes, if you got on the wrong side of t’tackler you’d had it. Well, I was sweeping there at the time, I was sweeping for this Walter Broughton and he had a hernia.
When you say you were sweeping for Walter Broughton, you were sweeping on his set?
R-Well, I were sweeping his looms, 144 looms. He worked hard you know. They did work hard, 144 looms he had and fairly heavy sorts so you didn’t get much length on a beam so they were coming out regular you know. But sweepers worked very hard. A sweeper in them days, a weaver downed a warp and t’sweeper went and cut it out and swept the loom and oiled it and then t’tackler fetched a new warp.
So you didn’t work like we work here, with them going round and sweeping under looms while they were running and the warps in?
R-Oh yes, that as well, this was an extra.
So the warp come out and you swept the loom and oiled it.
R-And cut it out. Well, tacklers cut ‘em out now.
Aye, and t’weaver herself cut the pieces out?
R-Oh aye.
You only cut it out when the warp were finished.
R-That’s right.
So when t’tackler went to it it were an empty loom , clean and swept?
R-That’s right. T’beam would be in the broad alley ready to be carried out. I think I were telling you that this Walter Broughton had a hernia. And he were off work you see. When he came back he asked me would I take these empty beams upstairs for one and six a week. So I said yes, one and six were one and six but I didn’t realise what I were taking on. I’d been at it one or two weeks and I got this mysterious lump. Bugger me, I had a bloody hernia! Hospital, and I had this hernia repaired and back at work. And I told Broughton what he could do with his one and six a week. Aye.
You say these were fairly heavy sorts coming out quick, [The thicker the warp thread, the less length on a beam and the shorter the time it was in the loom.] A tackler with a 144 loom set, how many warps would he gait in a week?
R-Oh, he’d average, Friday used to be a big day for downing [Downing is the term for finishing weaving a warp.] but I think he’d average about thirty a week, knocking on that way. Then they worked Saturday mornings as well you know. Yes, they worked hard. Thirty a week, they’d be lasting….
R-Three week happen.
Aye well, at that they’d be lasting over a month wouldn’t they, 144?
R-Thirty a week, four threes is…. Oh they didn’t last that long, They might have lasted a month. Four thirties is 120.
So thirty would be a fairly light week at that, aye.
R-Aye it would. Oh they might have put more than that in.
Aye, I know Jim [Jim Pollard, weaving manager at Bancroft] was saying the other day that he’s seen the down in this shed, when they had 11000 looms in, be four or five hundred warps a week.
R-I can believe it, aye.
Yes, if they were on heavy sorts.
R-Because all t’looms were crowded in you know. They weren’t like they are now, respaced to a point. So they’d only have little beams, they wouldn’t pile them up. So maybe they’d last a fortnight, three weeks happen.
Back at Bancroft now. When you were weaving here there were 1100 looms in. So that means these looms ‘ud be right up to the wall?
R-Oh every corner, every corner. I’ve seen lumps chiselled out of the wall so they could get an extra loom in. So t’box and t’bolt were like running in the wall, oh aye, they were crowded in. And then they used to carry warps in on their shoulders, tacklers, aye.
Was that because there wasn’t enough room for the truck?
R-Aye, that’s it, no room for the truck. And every mill were alike because I worked in four mills and I must have been in all the mills.
When you were weaving did you have any contact with the office, management or anything like that?
R-No, I think they called the manager Tom Rigg. I seem to remember when I’d been running two looms, there used to be a warehouse lad you know. And when I took a piece in I’d be like apprehensive, worried in case I’d missed owt and I saw this warehouse lad coming down where I were working and I thought, Where the hell is he going you know. He were coming for Ernest, You’re wanted in the warehouse! Oh I thought, disaster has struck at last. Anyway, he were very nice about it. I had too many ends in a heald and when this piece were finished it had bursted and he explained to me why this had happened. Now he says, Go back to your looms and make sure you don’t do it again.
What do you mean when you say that, too many ends in a heald?
R-In’t selvedge, it were in t’selvedge. You were only meant to have two and I must have had about ten in. Well it made like a thick selvedge and seemingly the cloth went through presses and t’pressure bursted this selvedge and I were fetched up.
What were they weaving here in those days Ernie, what sorts, what was it going for?
R-Well I don’t know, I weren’t really into it, I mean it’d be going to India to cover t’nigger’s balls up I suppose, there wasn’t much weaving there then was there?
No, I shouldn’t think so.
R-We used to weave, at Blackburn Holden’s, we used to weave turbans. We knew they were turbans like because they used to have a fancy gold heading in. You got a copper extra for weaving them in, on a little gold bobbin.
You got a little shuttle?
R-That’s right, wi’t peg bent and it fit on like that and you had so many picks of gold and so many picks of white and so many picks of gold and it made a pattern.
Aye I’ve seen one of them shuttles. And that was for stuff like turbans?
R-That’s it, aye.
And did you do that right through the piece?
R-Oh aye, right the way through it.
So that’d mean changing….
R-Well, about every five yards you put these headings in and you got an extra copper for that.
And all the weavers then, working on the two and four loom system, they were carrying their own weft?
R-Oh aye.
And where were they carrying it from?
R-From out o’t warehouse into the mill, to t’looms.
Were they winding here then?
R-R-Yews, they were winding but they weren’t winding weft, they used to make their own beams to go into the tape.
So there weren’t any rewound weft at all?
R-No, I never saw any.
It’d all be cop weft, it would be coming straight off the mule? Paste bottoms and paper bottoms.
R-Well, if you got paper bottoms that were all right that were. It were a good do but mostly there were no bottoms, you’d just to find the hole best way you could.
That’s it, stabbed cops, yes. And so really, the weaver was nailed down from all sides.
R-Oh aye, they were, they were nailed down all right.
What were the condition of the warps coming down and going into the looms then? When I say the condition of the warps, I mean healds and reeds. Was it fairly common for there to be a fault in the warp when it came down to the loom?
R-Oh no. They used to be all right. I mean, they wanted the looms running. There were odd times when you got healds broke but not very often. I mean, if that loom were stopped t’boss wasn’t making any profit.
So healds and reeds would be in better condition than they are now?
R-Oh aye, they were. But we’re talking about Bancroft now, this bloody place has been running downhill for years. That’s it, yes. We’re talking about Bancroft at this moment. But in these days we’re talking about, when cotton weaving were at it’s highest ever I suppose, stiff ‘ud be fairly cheap, reeds and healds, ‘cause labour ‘ud be cheap. So everything ‘ud be like, good quality.
And what do you think of the way they come down now?
R-Oh, they’re disgraceful now. In them days, in t’1930’s, oh there was always somebody ready to jump into t’job you see so they were …. I think workers really, must have been more conscientious from fear. I mean, nobody cares now. I’m not saying they don’t make decent cloth, they do up to a point, but not like it were then. And then, same as comparing now with then, now they have ten looms running at t’same speed and then they had four looms, a very good weaver’d have five, six wi’ a tenter. So take this type of textiles, it’s just, well, dying. It’s been dying since about twenty years ago when that first government scheme came out, to shut down.
So, they are carrying their own weft, there wouldn’t be any sweepers here either?
R-No, t’weaver used to sweep. Well, learners ‘ud sweep for’t weaver that they were learning with and she might give you a tanner if you were lucky. I think I used to get twopence, she were a skinny bugger were me aunt Louise.
How often in a day would they sweep their alleys out?
R-Before every break. That’d be half an hour at breakfast time, half an hour at dinner and just afore they went home at night.
Was it stipulated that they do it at that time or did they just do it then.
R-Well, it’d be an unwritten law.
That’s it. So what would happen if somebody say, would anyone go round say after t’shop had shut and find someone hadn’t swept their alley just to their satisfaction, would that ever happen to your knowledge?
R-Not to my knowledge. But if it did happen and one of t’bosses went round, then you can reckon they’d be told about it.
Something you said the other day about going out and laiking football in t’yard with a rag ball.
R-Dinnertime, yes.
Dinnertime, aye, that’s it. You said when t’engine started you came in and ‘knockers on on’, what did you mean by that?
R-Well, to start a loom from a belt, you have a knocker on on’t loom. We called them ‘knockers on’ and they’re still knockers on. And you’d be stood there, t’shuttles shoved up into t’box and as soon as the engine started and you got a bit of speed up, two at once on, every pick counted you see. You could, most pieces you could weave two a week, within a yard or two. They had it worked out to a fine art to get the last drop of blood out of the bloody workers.
So you’d say that the size of the warp were governed so that, so that the weaver knew that if they really got stuck into them, they could get that last piece off that week, for making up time on a Friday.
R-That’s true, They were…..
So if a piece had been slightly longer?
R-That’s right, you’d had it then.
And a hundred yard were just about right here?
R-It ‘ud take you 48 hour to weave two hundred yards, they were all one hundred yard pieces in them days. And you could weave two.
So if you had a really good week and everything going well, I mean of course you’d never get them I know, but if you did, off your loom, it would theoretically be possible to get eight pieces off four looms.
R-Oh aye, aye.
Would you say that was ever done?
R-Oh aye, done regularly. Oh it’s amazing how some of these weavers could move, they were like flashes of lightning, they never went out to pee, only when t’mill stopped. In fact I’ve heard Roy Wellock talk about a bloke, not long since, that used to pee in a Nuttall’s Mints tin, he wouldn’t go out.
Aye, at the loom instead of going out. I can understand that.
R-Every second counted. They’d fill up with weft afore they started in a morning and there’d be very few people knocking about. I know if you wanted a smoke you had to go to the toilet and rattle the chain and blow t’smoke down th’hoil. Frightened to death of someone coming in, with authority. Unbelievable isn’t it. And yet they were happy somehow. I mean, ‘nobody like the boss, oh a wonderful man, marvellous man’. They used to speak very highly of him and I used to think and ponder you know. I thought, There’s something bloody wrong, he’s driving up and down wi’ a big fancy motor car, living in a big house and here’s me wi’ me britches arse out! There must be sommat wrong. That’s why we started listening to Jimmy Rushton and his Communism and getting a bit interested in politics. What did they call that first member of Parliament, Labour man, Hardie or something?
Kier Hardie.
R-Kier Hardie, yes. Well, I used to read the papers and get a bit interested in politics and I realised what were going on. The same people were exploiting the British working man that were exploiting the bloody niggers when they were getting niggers from Africa to America, just exactly the same class of people. Only we didn’t realise. That’s one thing, they didn’t drag you away from home and country but we were bloody slaves without a doubt. Worse than slaves really, they did get fed regularly and clothed, we didn’t. There were some bloody poverty in them days you know, real poverty. Mining districts were exactly the same, working hard for nothing and they were risking their necks.
You mention risking their necks, that brings another thing up. Now, 1100 looms all shoved in right up to the wall. How about accidents Ernie?
R-Well, there were a lot of minor accidents, but I never, oh, there were a young woman killed up here you know [Bancroft] with a fire door falling on her. But that must have been a million to one chance.
Did that happen while you were here? I’ve heard about that, this bottom fire door.
R-Well, it might have done. And then there were one or two tacklers went round the shafting at different mills. I’ve never known it in my experience but they did used to talk about it.
That would be putting belts up while the engine was running?
R-Aye. One bloke went round t’shaft at Bouncer mill and a fortnight later they found his clog, with a foot in it, smashed to smithereens.
Aye he would be. Th’engine wouldn’t stop.
R-And then there were a bloke got caught in the hoist, he were killed. That were at, what do you call that mill, past Bankfield?
Coates.
R-Coates, aye. There must have been a few accidents.
Can you remember anything ever stopping the mill while you were here? While you were here at Bancroft for them two years, can you ever remember the engine stopping for owt. Or industrial trouble, anything like that. Did th’engine ever stop when it shouldn’t have done?
No, no, we used to wish it would but it never did.
Aye, clockwork. Who were running the engine then in 1930, do you remember?
R-I think it were a feller called Grace, Billy Grace’s father. You daren’t come in here you know, [the engine house] you’d have been hung drawn and quartered.
That’d be him that put that notice on the wall, it’s nearly gone now, ‘Silence is Golden.’
R-Is that what he says? Well, it is golden.
Aye, Silence is Golden. Aye, that’s right, Martin Grace, he did run it about then. We’ve already been on about the holidays. There were just a week for t’Feast then weren’t there? Aye, and they’d have a holiday club then?
R-Oh aye, nearly certain but I were never in one.
How were you paid then Ernest? When I say how were you paid, tell me about pay in the mill, not how much but nowadays somebody fetches your packet round but how did you get paid then?
R-Well, t’tackler used to come round with a tray wi’ little tins on and your wage were in that tin and a little wage ticket and t’loom numbers. Here, everybody had a loom number, I forget what my loom number were but I wouldn’t be Mr Roberts, I’d be number 123, bloody dead loss he is, get him out. And it’s only lately we’ve dumped them you know, well, happen four or five years ago, that’s all. We used to go round with the trays with the wages in so the bloody nosey tackler could see what wage we were earning, that’d be part of the plan. And then once they got this wooden tray and all the little tins that were it, finished, no expense, no wage packet to buy.
And even in those days, you’d be paid in paper money?
R-Oh aye, if you were lucky.
If you’d got enough pay to get a pound, that’s it, aye. Well, there were half bars then weren’t there, there were ten bobs?
R-Oh of course, there were ten bob notes then, aye, you’d have a ten bob note surely, even off two looms. Aye, what colour were they, pink?
Well, they varied didn’t they. They were pink at first and then they were brown, well, a red colour.
R-I know I saved up one year when I were working at Pickles, working regular, no short time. I saved twelve ten bob notes and went to Blackpool for a week. I lived like a bloody millionaire but it took me twelve months to save it. I must have been stopping in every week. It makes a nice little wad, twelve ten bob notes.
When you say you lived like a millionaire Ernie, what would living like a millionaire, what would you describe in them days, well, let’s split it up properly, you said first that you were a ‘weekend millionaire’. Now, in 1934, in Barlick, what would a weekend millionaire do? What made him into a weekend millionaire.
R-Well, if I were going to be a weekend millionaire I’d go to Greenwoods first and buy meself a front for one and ninepence, a nice piece of striped cloth wi’ a collar that went over your tattered shirt you see. And then you’d put your best tie on, and t’best clobber you had and set off at Saturday night ‘cause the weekend didn’t start while Saturday night then. Instead of having one bottle of OBJ you’d have happen four. [OBJ was a bottle brown ale brewed by Dutton’s at Blackburn. It stood for Oh Be Joyful.] Then up to the dance and then if it were a right good jollification you’d treat your girl to a cup of tea and a bun.
Which dance were that?
R-There were four dance halls in Barlick then, there were the Queen’s Hall, Majestic, Albert Hall and Co-op hall.
Now then I know where the Majestic is. Queen’s Hall, where were that?
R-Where the Conservative Club is now. Albert Hall were where the National Assistance is now.
Oh that’s under the Liberal Club.
R-That’s it, aye. Co-op Hall were over the railway crossings. [On Cooperative Street. In 2001 it is the Mayfair School of Dancing.] That building is still there. It’s a , what do you call that game where you knock a ball up against a wall?
Squash?
R-Aye, squash court. It’s where Billy Grace has his squash court.
I didn’t think there’d be a squash court in Barlick, is that right?
R-Of course it is. I’ve no intention of going but yes, there is one.
Aye, it shows, I’m living in the town and I don’t know what’s going on. I tell you, I’ve got that mixed up with what was going on in 1930 I don’t know what’s going on now! I might be missing out on sommat! So, that’s a weekend millionaire. What would you do in Blackpool living like a millionaire?
R-Now, nearly every week there were a trip to Blackpool from Barnoldswick. Half a crown return and including a ticket into the Winter Garden.
When you say trip, that’d be a day trip?
R-Aye, day trip, get into Blackpool about seven or eight o’clock, happen a bit earlier.
This ‘ud be by rail?
R-Aye, it were about half a crown return and a ticket to get into the Winter Gardens. [Half a crown is two shillings and sixpence. Twelve and a half new pence] Leave about half past eleven, midnight. We used to do that sometimes.
How about a week in Blackpool, you know, annual holidays, Feast?
R-Well, I only remember having that one week when I had twelve ten bobs. But we used to go there every year of course. It used to be a red letter day that Saturday when the Feast started. We’d be running round looking for people with cases and carry ‘em to the station. Get a bob. Oh aye, people used to set off but they’d led a very narrow life for a year for a week in Blackpool.
Can you ever remember anyone taking their own food with them?
R-Oh aye, that were, most of ‘em would do that. I told you when I was young and the whole family went to Blackpool me mother went and four kids.
That’s it I remember you telling me about that.
R-All t’food in a tin box.
How about sea bathing, when you got there did anybody go in the sea?
R-No, I doubt it. Well, people would be in the sea but I never did. I don’t know if the weather were any different than it is now but the last time I went in the sea were at Fleetwood. I wouldn’t say that was a long time since, about ten years since and it’s filthy you know, t’sea at Blackpool. Bloody hell. French letters and turds and God knows what floating about. I thought bugger this, so I went to shore and that were it.
I’ll tell you a little tale bout that. We once went to Wallasey and we had a reight grand day, went swimming you know and all t’rest of it. And about four or five years later, me working life had started like, and I were at Birkenhead with a wagon and I found out that if you worked for the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board and you fell in the river or were partly immersed in water you’d got to go and have a tetanus injection.
R-Oh, it were that bad?
It was so bad. And if you didn’t go, you couldn’t claim. The only way you could claim for anything you had to go for that tetanus injection. They said it was the slaughterhouses on the river. They said the water was loaded with tetanus and I thought at the time, there was us, swimming at Wallasey and it’s the same water.
R-Aye, it is, it is.
Anyway, we’re building up a fairly grim picture of weaving at Bancroft in the early 30’s.
R-Well, it wouldn’t be just Bancroft, it’d be everywhere.
Oh yes, but as I said, just at the moment we’re talking about Bancroft. Now Bancroft’s always had a reputation of being on the verge of shutting down. Was it the same then?
R-Oh no, it’s only since the war. How long is it since the war finished? Thirty three years, they’ve been shutting down now for thirty three years.
Yes, and in those days would you say that as mill owners go, the Nutters used to look after the mill, you know, that they’d keep up with stuff?
R-Well, I don’t suppose I were very observant then. I doubt it. They built it and as long as it stood up and everything went on going that’d be it. I never remember anybody being employed as a maintenance man, it’d be an extra wage you know.
In those days Ernie, when the mills were working hard, how much smoke did they make? Did they run fairly smokeless?
R-Oh no! Smoke? Used to come out in clouds. As you went up Brown Hill during the working week you had to get up high to make the town out. There were a lot of chimneys you know and they were all going full blast, all the tapes running, they wanted a lot of steam and I don’t suppose they had these modern methods of smoke control.
Well, they did but in the old days there used to be a saying, ‘You can’t make steam without smoke.’ Actually it just isn’t true, but in those days….. The coal consumption figures for some of those old mills must have been fantastic, coal were that cheap.
R-Oh well, it’d be cheap in comparison, like everything else.
Well, in 1890 and 1900, coal were eleven bob a ton. [55p.]
R-Incredible isn’t it. And they were getting it the hard way.
Yes, which makes it interesting for me when you mention the miners. Because you’re getting down to the roots of the system there, it was based on cheap, plentiful labour.
R-Oh it were, aye, it were. It were either work or you didn’t survive because you couldn’t really live on relief, whatever it were in those days.
When you say ‘you worked or you didn’t survive’, I find it very difficult to ask this question in a way that won’t bias you. Would you say it was possible then to die of hunger?
R-I honestly think so. I mean in a town like Barnoldswick, in the middle of an agricultural area, bags of food everywhere and there were millions of rabbits, I’ve told you before. If you were old, I’ll bet there were lots of old folk died of hunger and Hypothermia. Well, they’d just say then that they were found dead, there’d be no mention of hypothermia. There must have been, I mean, how can a human being survive on ten bob a week [the Old Age Pension] With rent to pay and coal to buy and food, even in them days they couldn’t do it. They must have been on the verge of starvation all the time.
What year did your mother die?
R-73 or 74.
What age was she when she died?
R-73 or 74.
So really you can say that the last twenty years of your mother’s life in many ways would be the happiest years of her life?
R-Oh they must have been, they must have been.
Well, that really is the indictment isn’t it?
R-Aye, how things have improved over the years.
But I mean, that’s the terrible thing about it. When they were young and fit and able to really enjoy themselves it was left until……
R-Till she were knocking on, before she had a bit of ease.
Aye, she’d be about 55 before she got what you would call an easy sort of life, like after the war.
R-Aye, yes.
SCG/05 July 2001
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