THIS TAPE HAS BEEN RECORDED ON THE 9TH OF JULY 1979 AT 16 COWGILL STREET, EARBY. THE INFORMANT IS HORACE THORNTON, TAPER AND THE INTERVIEWER IS STANLEY GRAHAM.
79/AD/07.
Right, we'll carry on Horace with some questions on the neighbourhood. If someone was ill, or died, or was confined, did the neighbours help?
R - Yes, they all wired in, not same as it is today, nobody does anything now, they leave it all to the health service, they don’t do anything that I can see on around here, it’s just left to the doctors and the nurses. But when I were a lad everybody mucked in and did their bit staying up with people and taking the meals and looking after the kiddies, and it were a right village life, they all looked after one another.
What do you think the reasons were for that Horace?
R - Well, there were nobody else to do it. And they did their own doctoring as far as they could do with children. People used to call an elderly 1ady and say what do you think is the matter with them? and she’d say, Oh, it’s such a thing and such a thing and give ‘em this and give ‘em the other. But nothing of that now.
Do you think part of it was the fact that people realised that it was
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only by helping others that they’d stand any chance of getting any help themselves if they needed it?
R - Well I don't think it were that. It were just good nature, you help anybody, you see they knew them, you were neighbours and in a village, a lot of the people are your relations.
Why do you think things are different now? You say that you think things are different now.
R- Well, when the National Health Act came in and you pay so much a week and they said you’d pay so much more money, everything voluntary finished then. There’ll be no collection, there’ll he no giving, there’ll be no twopence a week for the hospital. Everything’ll be paid for, ambulance service, everything, and people think that’s the case now, everything’s paid for and there’s no need for anybody else to bother.
If somebody had to go to the hospital from Carleton how would they get there? You know, I mean, whereas now you’d ring up and your friendly local ambulance would land at the door, what happened in those days?
R- Well, there were a carrier, a local carrier, he ran a cab at weekends, Saturday afternoon, from Carleton to Skipton and they’d be taken in that to the hospital. And then, if they had to go to Leeds, well he were taking them to the station and on the train.
I’ve had old people talking in Earby about taking people on a handcart to the station and putting them on the train and taking….
R – Yes, what they called the litter.
Litter?
R- I’ve never seen it but that what they did and it were the St John’s Ambulance, that were volunteers and they called the ambulance man from their work, and they took them to the train and then I suppose they took the litter with them. They’d be in the guard’s van and then they’d get it out at Burnley and wheel them up to the hospital on that through the streets.
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Yes, that's from Earby. Yes, you’ve heard about that have you?
R- Yes, from Earby. I’ve heard about it but I’ve never seen it.
And was there much borrowing went on? Among neighbours?
R- Well, oh well if you ran out of anything and the shops were closed you could borrow something then but not otherwise.
What sort of things were borrowed Horace?
R- Well, if you found out you’d run out of salt and flour, anything like that, because you could easily do that, forgetfulness, but I can’t over remember much of it you see? I can’t. And never borrowing money.
Never?
R- Well, I don’t suppose people had money to lend, that were where it were.
Did neighbours visit often? Did thy visit you often?
R- Yes. In our street we wore related and intermarried, we went into one another’s houses. And we’d relations all round the village and my mother used to go from one to the other and they came to our house.
(5 min)
Were they invited or did they just drop in?
R- They just dropped in, they just went in, it were open house. They tapped at the door and walked in, it were “Come on in!”
Do you think that applied in other streets as well?
R- Yes, they would.
Yes. And neighbours, what did they do, come round and have a drink of tea?
R- yes, of course they would. But there's quite a lot in Earby now, that’s done. Though we don’t, we're not Earby people.
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Aye, ‘off comed uns’. Aye.
R- Yes, we are not related to anybody here.
That’s it. Did they talk on the doorstep Horace, was there a lot of…?
R- Summer time they might sit out. They’d sit out and talk, but adults, well, the men, they used to congregate at what they called the Swan Corner in groups and stand and talk. And ever what they called ‘over t’town’, that were over the other end of the village. They’d go over t’town and there’d be always a group on the bridge there, over by the mill dam.
And a thing about that, for instance, Barlick, on a Saturday night, Church Street used to he lined with stalls and they used to keep selling until there was nobody about. It used to be ten or eleven o’clock on a Summer’s night. Was there anything like that
In Carleton?
R- There were no stalls in Carleton, you went to Skipton And there were that at Skipton, up Skipton High Street. And they were selling stuff up cheap, herrings at twenty for sixpence. People’d come from Leeds, fish market you see, twenty for sixpence for herring and selling the meat off.
And is this Saturday night?
R- Saturday night, and vegetables. But you see, at Saturday now everything is dead turned five o'clock. When the shops began to close at five o'clock, the people come home. And the stalls clearing up and taking the stalls down, everything’s clear by six o’clock.
Yes it is.
R- Only the rubbish left.
Yes you are right. And in the old days that wouldn’t be so. They’d carry on as long as there were people about.
R- Yes. The shop assistants were in while eight and nine o’clock. My wife worked in a dress shop at Colne then, and everyone had to he capable of sewing, what they called alteration hands. And after the shop was closed at Saturday night, six or seven o’clock, they stay and [work]. And mourning orders, any night for mourning orders they used to stay while nine o’clock until they’d finished altering the black dresses. Or any night if they sold a coat that wanted shortening or letting out a bit they’d to stay and do it, nine o’clock.
Of course, a lot of people would work all Saturday in those days wouldn’t they.
(10 min)
R- Yes. And then they come home and did the cleaning up, half past twelve at Saturday, and they did their cleaning up and then they rushed off after tea to Skipton, walked it to Skipton, do shopping and have a look round to see if there’s anything cheap.
Aye. Can you over remember any quarrelling or fighting in the village about anything;
R- Well, it used to he Friday night or Saturday night when they’d had some money and they came home, they were fighting wanting to get in the house and if they’re a family, fighting one with another.
Drunk presumably?
R- Yes. And the village policeman’d hear it and he’d stand round the corner listening to them till they’d quietened down and see if it were getting out of hand, and if it were he’d go in and try and quieten them.
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Can you remember the name of the constable when you were a lad?
R- Yes, I remember three. There were Garside, and then he were followed with a man called Spencer, and then the last one while I were there was Hughes.
Hughes, yes.
R- He was a big rough beggar. He’d come from up Slaidburn way. He’d had to deal with poachers up there. But he were all right. They’d sent him to Carleton to finish his time out, and [he was] most unlike a policeman.
Can you remember any really poor children at school?
R- Well, we were all poor, we were poor.
Was there anybody there, did you know anybody, any children of your own age that you regarded as worse off than yourself?
R- Well, children don’t study those things. We were all children together and you didn’t say to them, and even if you did, “We haven’t had any breakfast today.” But some were worse dressed than others you see.
Were they treated any differently do you think?
R- No, you were all pals together.
Right. And what kind of families .. did you think of any kind of family as a rough family?
R- No you didn’t.
There you are. How about a respectable family. What would your definition be of a respectable family?
R- Well, the policeman and his wife, they only had one boy. Well, he didn’t mess about with the boys in the village didn’t the policeman’s son. Though the postmaster, he had two lads and he were one of them that got a scholarship, a foundation scholarship, he went to the Grammar School and he got into a bank und finished up as Mayor of Keighley, a lad called Wilfred Dale.
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Dale? Yes.
R- Dale, they kept the post office.
Yes. Did you have to have position or money to be respectable?
R- No. There’s decent people you know, that can be decent without having money or good clothes. You can he respectable without that.
Yes. And what do you think are the hallmarks of being respectable in that context?
R- Well, you wouldn’t think of stealing, only a few apples. But village life’s different, it was when I were a lad. You all went to the same school, you all played together and .. some got various jobs but there wasn’t much you see. A few went out of the village, same as the people that got scholarships. Quite a lot of people left Carleton and went over to Barnoldswick you see? It were a poor paying shop were Carleton, well they paid what they liked and it were bad work, not so much poor pay, bad work. If it’s bad work you can’t make anything.
That’s it. Can you remember any soup kitchens?
(15 min)
R- No.
Anything like that?
R- No, nothing.
What do you know about the workhouse?
R- Nothing, only the tramps that came through and they were going to the workhouse, that were what we were told. And, morning, I don’t know, happen between eleven and twelve o'clock there’d he two or three coming through and they’d be going over the tops to Colne and do a bit of begging you see.
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Did you over hear anybody talking about the workhouse? I mean because in those days, if somebody was destitute that was where they’d finish up, the workhouse, wasn’t it?
R- Yes.
And I’ll be right in saying that people didn’t really want to go in the workhouse did they.
R- But if they’re on their own there were nothing else. But they didn't send the parents to the workhouse or any relations.
Did you ever know anybody that went to the workhouse?
R- No I didn’t.
How did you, well, really that’s a superfluous question that “How did women manage to make a living?” We know that very well from what your mother did. And you did have relations nearby because the street was full of them.
R - Yes.
This is a question I hate but, if you were forced to put your finger on it Horace, what social class would you say that your family came from?
R- Well, my grandfather was in business, Whiteoak, and they’d be considered wealthy people, there were nobody else in Carleton had a business like them. They had, there were no other business in Carleton only the shoemaker and the tailor and the people in the Post Office and one or two small shops. Well my grandfather’d be one of the top men. There were a big woodyard and they did all the joinery work all round the area up to Lothersdale and any house building, they were in at it. You see, these houses that I were talking about, they wouldn’t do the building work but
it’s been a joint effort between this mason that were called Smith, and Whiteoaks
the joiner and that’d be Whiteoak’s share for house building, you know.
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[They built] Chapel Street. And those houses were built and key delivered for £90
and they're being sold now for £9,000 with a few new windows in and a bath set and electric light.
So what would you say, what class would you say you were then, your family?
R- Well they were working class, they all had to work.
Yes that’s it, but top end happen?
R- Yes, but there’d be no one else in Carleton that was as well off as Whiteoaks.
What kind of jobs did the other men in your street have?
R- Well there were spinners and weavers and card room hands.
They all worked at the mill?
R- Yes.
If you lived in Carleton, were there; there’d be very few chances of anything else if you didn’t, if you weren’t farm manning it’d be the mill or nowt would it?
(20 min)
R- That were it. There was Slingsby were waiting for you when you came of age.
Aye, yes.
R- And when there got to be a shortage they used to import them out of Lancashire, spinners and weavers. You see, quite a lot of people left Carleton and went to Barnoldswick, you’ll know lots of people in Barnoldswick that came from Carleton. There were Smiths and there were Kays and various other names, quite a lot of Smiths. And there were ever so many Kays. Oh yes, quite a lot. They used to always come over for Carleton Feast. Harpers, they were Carleton people, Bill Harper .. He got to be Secretary of the co-op wasn’t he?
Something like that, aye. [Craven Herald 25/01/1929. Short biography of W E Harper with picture. He was a member of BUDC for 23 years and was Chairman of the Finance Committee when he died. Retired from the post of Secretary of the Barnoldswick Cooperative Society in 1928. Born in Carleton 1865.]
R- And on the Council. And another Harper had something to do with that picture house, one of the Harpers, one of the picture houses .. Yes.
They could have had. Aye, Palace were it? Aye.
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R- Yes, there were Harpers confectioners, Mary Harper, about my age.
Yes. And you say they used to bring, used to bring men in out of Lancashire?
R- Yes, and Slingsby used to have a lot of houses you see. They’d put them into these houses.
What was thought of as being the rough end of the town?
R- Well, you didn’t dare go into New Street because it were full of tramp weavers and they were drinking and fighting there. “Don't go up there, there's bugs!” See, that were the cry, “Don't, .. keep away from New street!”
Aye. And which’d be the better end of the town.
R- Well, there were different types of houses, some houses were newer than others. But there were only one row of houses built in Carleton during my time there, and it were Louvaine Terrace and you can tell what year that were built, the sacking of Louvaine during the First World War, that were where the man got the name from.
Aye, Louvaine, I’ve seen that name, I've seen that name and I've never realized where it came from. Who would he considered the most important people in the village.
R- Well, the parson and then the people at the big houses. But the parson were in with everybody you see. But there were a family called Empsons, they were wealthy people but they were more down to earth, mix with everybody, very nice.
How do you spell that Horace?
R- E m p s o n, Empson, yes.
Empson. Aye.
R- They’d been out in America. They had a ranch there. They retired and came back to Carleton. And there son, he’ll not be living yet, Tony Empson, he had the ranch out there but he’ll be dead by now. He’d be ten or fifteen year older than I am. I don’t know what happened
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to them because when they died that were the finish of them you see as far as Carleton were concerned.
Did you ever come into contact with them?
R- Oh yes, they were right church people. Yes.
(25 min)
Aye. What did the children, what did you kids think about the police? I think I've asked you that before .. Anyway I’ll ask you again, what did you think about the police?
R- Well, you were frightened of them, you didn't let them see that but the only policeman had been there a bit. They didn't bother us. They were always there you see, the police were always there either morning or afternoon or night and you hadn’t to stray so far before they were around. But when the war finished, at Carleton, they started recruiting policemen and they sent a new one, it were his first place, send him to Carleton. And the people when they turned out at the Swan Hotel, Swan Inn, they used to come outside and stand about on the causeway or anywhere. And Sagar they called him, this policeman, he used to come along, and “Come on, move on there!” Not a soul about wanting to get past “Get off this causeway, get along!” And he kept doing this. Well, all these fellows straight out of the army ... someone who went the day war was broken out and come through it all. And then being moved on with a young policeman! There was a fellow called Arthur Higgins, he just simply got hold of him and up-skittled him. They were going to arrest him and another went across home into the road and brought a revolver out, fully loaded, on him. A chap called Walter Middleton. And there were a right hullabaloo, but he’d asked for it you know. Just fancy being out there, being shot at, and they'd had enough of being ordered about. And there were a right hullabaloo. And they had him down on the ground and were punching [kicking] his helmet round, and there were a fellow across the road and he came to the door and stood there, and this policeman said “I demand you to help me in the name of the King!” And he says “Bugger the King!” and went in. And so he were fined £5 were Arthur Higgins for assaulting the policeman and he were sent to prison for a month and I don’t know whether Walter Middleton got time or not. But Sagar were moved immediately and they sent Hughes then, an old man you see, they had a bit of sense. But who were going to stand for that, in a village, there weren’t a cat about, they weren’t rowdy or anything, but they just happened to come out of the door and stand…
And stand about. Yes.
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R- Stand about, “Move on there!” Just move a bit and then stop again. “Go on, move!” and then started pushing…
Would there have been anyone living in the village that your mother would have preferred that you didn’t marry?
R- No, mother never interfered in any way. She never interfered what we did. Never any “Don’t do this and don’t do that.” We didn’t disobey her and she didn’t give any orders but we respected her. Not one of us did anything to upset her.
Yes. From your knowledge of her is there, would she have been upset if you would marry somebody… I don’t know what to say really you know. Would anything have upset her? Would it have upset her if you’d married a certain person?
R- Well .. my brother married a girl from up in Durham, the oldest brother. My wife came from Colne, me youngest brother married a girl from Skipton. And I have a brother and sister that didn’t get married. She wouldn’t have said anything, not a word, you make your bed and you lie on it. That’s the sort of thing, but she’d help you any way she could.
Yes. Can you remember anyone being called a real gentleman or a real lady?
R- Well, there were lots of people .. they'd call then ‘Gentleman Jim’. Silver mounted stick and kid gloves and spats. But you just used to think… I realise now they were pansies see. You thought like they were a bit blown .. but you see, dressed up and fancy ways and a silver mounted stick and .. but you didn’t know, you didn't know anything about that when you were a lad.
Aye, can you ever remember anybody saying, say, your mother saying “So and so’s a real gentleman.” or “A real lady.”
(20 min)
R- Well Empsons were because they’d come and, come to your house and come in and sit down. And I can remember them talking about when Empsons first came to Carleton. The Slingsbys were Conservatives and Empsons were Conservative and all the rest of the well to do people would be. And they were having a meeting, my father didn't tell me this but it were repeated, what me father said. If there were anything wanted doing to the Conservative Club, any decorating or painting or repairs, they’d have a whip round amongst the committee and the members. And Slingsbys, all living in big houses, it’d be half a crown for one and happen 5/- for another. Now Mr Empson, the first meeting he were at, he said “I’ll start it off.” £5. And they were nice people, he were a gentleman. Wherever you were he’d raise his hat to you, men or women, “Good Morning Mr Thornton.” or Mrs Thornton. And Miss Empson, we always called her Miss Empson, the daughter, well, they had two daughters, one of them got married and went to live away, but whenever she came over she always come to visit me mother, “Come in and sit down.” Now whether it was because she’d been left so poor… but she did.
Very good. We’ll get on to health then Horace. Now then, this is where we always have a laugh. Did your family nave any special cures for illness?
R- Me mother only had, whatever we ailed, she had a thermometer. Whatever we ailed she took our temperature. If we’d a temperature we had the doctor immediately and if we hadn’t she’d set to and cure it herself. A cold, anything else, but no temperature, no doctor.
Aye. Did you have the doctor often?
R- Well with children .. well you can’t really tell and they didn’t put it down in a diary. But we had one doctor from Skipton, a Doctor Kitchen. And in our front room we had an old fire guard round. You know, used to fix them round the fire with a hook in them. And it had a brass rail on top. And he used to come to our house and he always used to sit on this. Mother used to go mad after he’d gone, bending this brass rail, but he always used to sit on that. And when he left .. there used to be a skating rink at Skipton, roller skating, and when he left he had a farewell dance and supper for all his patients. Now it were a right affair were that, everybody were invited, all his patients from all round the district. I know my father and mother went and it were to Doctor Kitchen’s farewell. And he wasn't an old man retiring, he might
have been there eight or ten years but I never forgot that. It was such a big event you know, going to a ball.
Did you have to pay the doctor Horace?
R - You had to pay him something, I don’t know what. But I know they used, people used to dread the doctor’s bill coming. Well the doctors here in our time, they employed a man to go round collecting sixpence a week.
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but we were healthy when we was first married, we’d only one doctor's bill before it came in free doctoring and it were for £6 for our daughter. That were the only doctor’s bill we ever had and it looked a lot of money.
Did your mother, you know, the family, belong to any Friendly Society. You know, for the bills you know, doctor’s bills?
R- Well there were the Ancient Order of Foresters but you didn’t get your Doctor’s bills paid. If you were ill you got a few shilling a week. Course it’d be ten shilling a week probably. And that was the sick club in Carleton. I suppose the main of Carleton would be in it. Then when the National Health Service came in it all dropped off.
Was your mother in that?
R- No, they hadn’t women, it were all men.
Oh I see. Something like the Buffs. [The Royal Antediluvian Order of Buffaloes founded in 1822 in the Harp Tavern, Great Russell Street, London. It was a self-help society formed by theatrical workers and over the years developed into a Friendly Society. Still active today and seen by many as the working man’s Masonic society]
R - Yes, but Buffs are a drinking club, Foresters hadn’t to.
Oh, Foresters are TT?
R- Well, not supposed to be but it you'd, if anything happened and you had been drinking there wore nothing for you. But I know my uncles were in and me father’s been in and when we come old enough we were in. And as time went on there got to he fewer and fewer members so it wore closed down and all the money were shared out among the living members. And there were a man called Ira Whitehead, he was the secretary, he used to come round paying your sick money when you were ill and if you happened to be caught, seen about carrying a parcel or anything you weren't ill. And [if you were] out after, I think it were seven o'clock in Winter or ten o'clock in Summer, that was taboo.
It your dad, when you dad was weaving…
R- Spinning.
Spinning, sorry spinning. If he was off sick did to get any sick pay?
R- Out of the Foresters?
Apart, yes, but from the firm?
R- Oh no, that were known thing, unknown thing.
No. I don’t think I’ve asked you Horace, what killed your father? Because he weren’t very old when he died were he?
R- Pneumonia and there weren’t a cure for pneumonia then.
That’s it, you did tell me Horace.
R- It were a very hot job spinning, terribly hot you see. And working with bare feet, and cotton trousers and cotton shirt probably, and then coming out in winter time. And there were no cure for it, it were just congestion of the lungs and that were it.
That’s it. Your dad’d he covered by Lloyd George? When it came in were your father covered by Lloyd George?
R- Well, it came in in 1912 and he died in 1916.
That’s it aye.
R- I think it were 1912 when Lloyd George started.
[ National Insurance Act (1 &2 Geo.V, c.55) established health and unemployment insurance to be paid for by contributions from the State, employers and employees. The health insurance, which came into operation on 15th July 1912, provided sickness, disablement and maternity benefits, a medical practitioner service and free treatment for tuberculosis, for all insured people but not for their dependants. The scheme, administered through existing friendly societies, trade unions and local insurance committees, was compulsory for all employees earning less than £160 per year (raised to £250 in 1919, and to £420 in 1942). The unemployment scheme applied only to industries where unemployment was recurrent. The act permitted a small sum of money to be spent on research. ]
R- So he’d four years. And well, there’d be death benefits out of the sick club but it wouldn’t he much.
Can you ever remember anybody drawing any money for workman's compensation?
R- Yes, there were a man killed at Skipton Rock, a stone fell on him ..
When was he….
R- He were a quarry man. Probably it’d be about the time I got married.
What year about?
R- Well, I were married in 1936 and he were killed with a fall of stone. His wife got £400.
You can’t, you don’t know of anything earlier than that?
R- No..
Compo.
R- I remember that because he lived near to us you see. And he’d one or two children.
Yes that’s it. You mentioned earlier paying twopence a week to the hospital. Did you belong to a hospital scheme?
R- It were a voluntary scheme but they stopped it out [of your wage] at work. You started at a penny a week and then …
Did you pay this while you were in Carleton?
R- Yes. And then it got to twopence a week and if your wife had to see
(40 min)
a specialist, you went to the mill and the cashier would make your paper out. And then there were another thing .. they used to ..well I don't know how it happened but a Mr Eddie in Carleton and Slingsbys, and Mr Empson, they could give you a recommend they called them. “Going and getting your recommend” from these people to go into hospital, to Skipton or to Leeds. And they must have been subscribers to the hospital and then
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be able to have so many, well I call, I look on 'em as free passes but they called them recommends..
Yes. I wonder if that would be anything to do with, would Carleton come under Skipton Rural District Council? Or would it come under…
R- Rural District, yes. But it were people that had money and they must have given we'll say £5 or £10 a year to the hospital. Because they were all voluntary hospitals then.
Yes. And of course Skipton would be your nearest hospital wouldn’t it?
R- Yes, Skipton Cottage Hospital.
Where about was that?
R- Up Sackville Street, you know where Gargrave Road is?
Gargrave Road, yes.
R- Going up out of Skipton to, well, Sackville Street lies between there and Dewhurst’s Mill down .. you know where Dewhurst’s Mill is?
Yes.
R- It were a street in between there, fairly high up it were and they built this as a hospital and now it’s the Rural District .. well, it’s part of the Council Offices now, but the Rural District Council Offices before this last [reorganisation]...
Aye that’s it, before the boundary alteration.
R- Aye, it were a right mishap.
And I think I remember you saying earlier that you didn’t have any funeral insurance did you then, any funeral insurance? No?
R- No.
Did anyone in the family ever have an operation at home?
R - No, never.
No. Have you ever heard of anybody having an operation at home?
No never, but I remember I had one at home. We used to get tallow in barrels. It were running through the bung as liquid and then when you wanted some more tallow you chopped the barrel top out with a chisel. And t’labourer had done it one time and left it all jagged edges, and I were mixing and we had a narrow shovel to dig it out and I dug in you know, like that and one of these spikes stuck in here and it came up just like a little pimple and bled. And all I did I just went like that, went on with me work you know, wiped the tallow over it, went on with the work. And after about a couple of days started throbbing and me hand come up, and I went to the doctor and he were a drip, “It’ll be all right Mr Thornton. Put this bandage on.” So I did and it didn’t go no better and then .. “Try some kaolin.” So I sent to the chemist and got some kaolin and started poulticing, and ... no better. And it were paining all up me arm and an awful head ache and I were going on working. Well, I came home one night and showed me wife
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it’d red lines right up here, and a big lump under me arm. And there were a
District Nurse lived down here and my wife went for her and asked her to
come and look and she said “Oh it’s serious, I’ll get on to the doctor” I won’t
mention his name, he’s dead. And she said “I’ll get on to the doctor, I’ll see if 1
can find him.” And she rung him up and she come up again and she said “No, nobody knows where he is.” And I was in a state and finally he landed in, a
knock come at t’door at midnight, he weren't quite with it. “Let me have a
look Mr Thornton.” And I showed him. “Oh, it’s in a bit of a mess. I’ll see what I can do.” And he just put his hand into his pocket and pulled a pen knife out, and
opened it up. “Where’s your finger?” He just got it on the kitchen table lied down and started ramming this knife into it, just turn it up, and my wife says “For God's sake leave him alone!” And he says “Well, I can't seem to get anything to move. It’ll have to be the hospital. And, well as soon as I can get you in to it, he says, right away if I can. I says “Nay, leave me while morning, if I’m still alive!” And this other doctor landed next morning about eight o’clock, took me to Burnley, and the doctor looked, “Oh he says – that’ll have to come off!”
Aye.
R- “Oh no, you mon’t take that off.” I said. “My living depends on that” you know, it’s your main finger. Anyway he says “We’ll try what we can do.” Anyway he put me out, I came round and I was in a bed and I were 26 weeks and I’d to go on every day. And the first time they took the bandage off, well I’d to go in on the Sunday. It were just like egg yolk, a mass of egg yolk all round, all round here. And they cut that open and cut that open these two fingers right up. It were just like egg yolk, thick egg yolk. And I were 26 week off me work through that lot.
Yes, and what year were that about?
R- Nineteen forty eight.
Well you’d be, obviously you’d be covered by Lloyd George then. Aye.
R- Yes. Well I were covered by Lloyd George before 1948.
Oh yes.
R- But it were when the right hospital service came in.
Yes, that's it, aye. But still, six months is a long while to he off with a poisoned finger isn’t it.
R- Yes, that’s the operation I had on the kitchen table.
Aye
(900)
SCG/06 March 2003
6,075 words