by Charles Egan
The last few months had convinced him that his analysis of the situation and the opportunities were correct. Week after week, he saw the hungry Irish, thin and emaciated, desperate for work at any wage. He knew the English contractors found it difficult to deal with them. Few had the patience to wait for starving men to build up their rate of work, and fewer still had the patience with men who could not speak English. Yes, the opportunity was there, but only for a man who could bridge the divide between two cultures.
He himself was still a Mayo man in so many way. He spoke the language of the West of Ireland, and understood their way of thinking; not only from his childhood, but also from working with his own people on the railways. He was used to negotiations with Englishmen and English managers and contractors. He knew the way they thought, the way they spoke, the way that money was accounted for and profit made. He had anticipated that he would deal with the English side of the business, while Luke would help in bringing workers from Mayo. But Luke would not join him, so he would have to deal with the Mayo men in his own way, and he knew he could do it. It would involve more work, that was all.
He was thinking again about Stockport. From his previous visit he knew the names of the main contractors who were working on the line. He knew their requirements, and he knew what would be expected from any subcontractor working for them. He had already decided that he was going to revisit Stockport, but this time it would be with the set determination of negotiating a contract in any way possible. Before he left he wrote letters to banks in Manchester and Leeds.
Once again, he made his excuses to Farrelly, who was not suspicious. This time he mentioned cousins of his mother in Manchester. There were none that he knew of, but there was no reason to worry about that. He told Farrelly though that he would be gone for a longer period – a week or more perhaps. This all mystified Murtybeg even more, but again he could get no answers from Danny.
Danny walked into Leeds, and again he travelled to Sheffield and Manchester. But this time he did things different in Stockport. Rather than staying in a cheap lodging house, he found the best hotel in the centre of town. If he was going to be successful, he would have to act successful.
The next morning he left his hotel well before dawn and took a cab out of the town. Then he walked out along the Works on the Stockport & Warrington line. He had a small notebook with him. As he went, he noted all the different sections that were being worked on, the type of clay or shale or rock that was being moved, and the distance it was being moved between cuttings and embankments. Again and again he measured out distance by the simple expedient of walking and counting his steps. He had experimented many times in secret, and he knew that his own estimates were nearly as accurate as any tape measure. Sometimes he made rough sketches of the Works, sometimes he spoke to some of the navvies, enquiring into conditions on the Works. None of the foremen or gangmasters seemed to be very concerned.
That afternoon he had the luck to meet with one of the subcontractors. He pretended to be acting for a main contractor, and over the next half hour he found out the prices that were being bid in the area. They were very much as he had suspected, and he was certain that he could under-cut any other contractors on the railway.
It was late that evening when he got back to the hotel. He had walked over twenty miles, but his work was not over yet. In the light of a candle, he worked far into the night; calculating distances, tonnages, volumes, wages and costs. It was two in the morning before he slept.
He rose early again after only five hours sleep. His first task was to buy new clothes. He spared no expense. It cost him two pounds, but appearances were essential.
Then he visited the local branch of the Manchester & Salford Bank. As he had expected, cash had been transferred from his own bank in Leeds, and everything was in order.
He walked into the offices that the main contractor had rented in the town, and asked for one of the directors by name.
‘And who should I say is calling, sir,’ the clerk asked.
‘Daniel Ryan,’ he said. ‘Managing Partner of Edwardes & Ryan.’ Edwardes was a name he had once seen on a shop in Bristol.
‘Yes sir,’ the clerk said.
‘That’s spelt with ‘-es’ at the end of Edwardes.’
‘Yes, sir.’
A few moments later, he was ushered into the contractor’s office.
‘Edwardes & Ryan. Not a name I’ve known before,’ the man said.
‘No,’ Danny said. ‘We’re not so well known in this area.’
‘You’ve worked elsewhere then?’
‘Indeed. We’ve handled many contracts in other parts of the country. At the moment, most are small. A year or so ago, we held a contract on the east side of the second Woodhead Tunnel, but that was minor. We’ve also been active near Carlisle. We’ve had some larger contracts on the Great Western around Box Tunnel too, though that was a few years ago.’
‘Do you do tunnelling then?’ the man asked.
‘No, our speciality is in excavation and earthmoving. Cuttings and embankments represent most of what we do. Viaducts and tunnels we leave for the men who are professional in those areas.’
‘Most sensible. As it happens, we’re looking for sub-contractors in excavating, but only at sensible prices. Your speciality, you say.’
‘Indeed. Both Mr. Edwardes and I have had considerable experience over the years.’
The man nodded.
‘You’re Irish, I would say, Mr. Ryan.’
‘Yes. It is an advantage in certain ways. I handle the labour and operations. Mr. Edwardes works on the money and banking side.’
‘An excellent combination. Just now, we have a small contract we are trying to let out at Gatley, about five or six miles from here.’
‘The one just beyond the main line, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. You’ve seen it already?’
‘I have,’ Danny said. ‘Mainly shale?’
‘Yes, indeed. We reckon a total of ten thousand cubic yards to be moved.’
‘I had reckoned on nine thousand, but that was by eye.’ He said nothing for ten seconds. ‘On the basis of ten thousand cubic yards and for the distance to be shifted, I would reckon a cost of two hundred and thirty pounds for labour at fivepence ha’penny the cubic yard.’
The contractor’s eyebrows rose. That hit home, Danny thought, but this fellow is a professional. He won’t comment on the price, he’s too smart for that.
‘You reckon fast, Mr. Ryan.’
‘It’s part of my business.’
‘Of course.’
‘But there would be additional for tools and moving spoil to the embankments. That would bring the full cost to no more than three hundred and seventy five pounds, all told.’
‘Implements and carters at actual cost?’
‘Yes. And completion would be within sixteen weeks from date of starting.’
‘Sixteen weeks. That is fast.’
‘It is. We are all under time pressure, and we aim to assist our customers through fast and accurate work. That way, we can handle more work, and both sides can make more profit.’
‘There’s just one final thing. Since we do not know your company, we may require a small performance bond.’
‘Would ten per cent be sufficient for the main contract? Say thirty seven pounds?’
‘That would be excellent.’
Tea had arrived. For half an hour they discussed more detailed aspects of the contract. Then Danny rose to go. The other man came around the desk to shake hands with him.
‘It’s always a pleasure to do business with a professional, Mr. Ryan.’
‘Likewise.’
‘Robert Anderson is the name. My friends call me Rob.’
‘Danny so, Rob.’
Danny walked back to the Manchester & Salford Bank, arranged the bond, and
left the details back to Anderson’s office.
Then he wrote a letter to Farrelly, explaining that he would not be returning. He was committed now. There was no way back.
The only remaining detail was to find workers. The next day, he took a train to Liverpool.
Edwardes & Ryan was in business.
When he arrived in Liverpool, Danny found a different city to what he had known before. He saw at once that the city he had explored as a younger man had disappeared under an enormous flood of Irish immigration. He had expected this, but the extent of it still surprised him. England’s second city – the world’s greatest port – had become an Irish town.
He found Buckley’s lodging house at the bottom of Scotland Road, but it was a busy evening, and it was impossible to get near the door.
‘Two hundred’s the limit,’ a man beside him said. ‘They won’t take any more. The peelers would close them down if they did.’
‘Two hundred!’
‘They’ve them sleeping on the floor, under beds, hanging over ropes, every which way.’
He left. Two hundred! The house only had ten or twelve rooms. He walked back towards the centre of the city, and found a room more appropriate to the Managing Partner of Edwardes & Ryan.
He reconsidered his situation. It could be that the new situation in Liverpool could be turned to his advantage. Irishmen would be even more desperate for work than he had first thought. He decided to take one whole day to get to know Liverpool again.
The next morning he walked back by the bottom of Scotland Road, noting the packed tenements on either side. He walked into Buckley’s, and explained his plans to Mrs. Buckley, leaving ten shillings with her as a deposit.
Then he walked back down the docks. There was still all the frantic activity that he had noted years ago; cargoes, sailors and passengers, coming and going without cease. He walked to the dock which specialised in the North American passenger trade. There seemed to be a constant flow of ships leaving – Charleston and Savannah; Philadelphia, New York and Boston; St. Johns, Quebec and Montreal. Long, long lines of humanity – groups of single men, groups of single women and large family groups with all their belongings beside them. He noticed that most of the accents were Irish.
He walked down the George’s Dock, but he already knew what he would see. When he reached the dock, two ships had just arrived in, one from Waterford and one from Dublin. There were hundreds of people coming off among the cattle and pigs, many of them confused and frightened. He walked among them, questioning some about to their intentions. Some seemed to be going to America, but most had not got the fare, and intended to stay in England for some weeks or months. Many who were frightened of travelling too far intended on settling. That evening he ate on his own, considering his next move.
The following morning he was back at the George’s Dock early. There was a ship in from Westport. He walked through fresh crowds of Irish, listening. He saw a group of eight or ten men and heard them speaking Irish. He recognised the accent as west Mayo.
He walked a few yards away and studied them. They were of varying ages. He guessed the youngest might have been fifteen, but most were in their twenties or thirties. One was much older, fifty or sixty, Danny guessed. If they had left families behind, they would be desperate to earn money fast to remit to Mayo.
The real problem though was the rate of work he could expect. They were far more emaciated than most on the quayside, the stark effects of hunger etched into their hollowed faces. He could see from the grime that they had not washed for many weeks. Their clothes, ragged and patched, hung loose about them, their trousers tied fast with rope. Their shoes were in tatters, though he knew they had been more expensive once, good shoes from Castlebar and Galway, sold cheap and second-hand along the west coast.
He walked across to talk to them in their own language.
‘Just come in, have ye?’ No one said anything. Then the older man came across to Danny.
‘What’s a man like you doing in English clothes?’ Danny was surprised by the question, but decided to turn it to his advantage.
‘We all dress like the English when we’re here long enough.’ He decided to raise the stakes. ‘And feed like them too.’
‘We’ve little enough money to be feeding like Englishmen.’
‘When you’ve enough money, you’ll feed any way you want.’
One of the younger men came up to him, aggressive and angry.
‘Aren’t you the great fellow, mocking us because we have no money and no chance of getting it.’
‘There’s money enough for anyone who wants it,’ Danny replied ‘and I can tell ye how to get it.’
‘How’s that?’ one of the other men asked. ‘How does a man make money so easy here that he cannot make at home?’
‘On the railways, that’s how he does it. Aren’t they just screaming out for men to build the railways? Anyone who can handle a shovel or use a pick, they’ll pay money for that.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Over by Stockport.’
‘Where?’
‘Stockport. It’s a long way from here, sixty miles or more.’
The men formed a huddle, and talked low among themselves. Danny walked away, knowing better than to press matters until they had a chance of thinking about things. At last the older man walked over to him.
‘We don’t know if you’re here to help us or mock us, but if there’s money we must follow it. God knows our families need it.’
‘I know that,’ Danny said.
‘But this Stockport place, how can we get there? We lost two men getting to Westport and another on the ship. We’ve no way of getting there. We have to go to the Workhouse first and get food inside us to give us the strength to walk.’
‘There’s no need to do that,’ Danny said. ‘If you’re willing to work, I can get you to Stockport on the train. And if it’s food you’re looking for, I know where a man can eat.’
‘And where would the money for all this come from?’
‘You needn’t worry about that. If you want to work with me, I’ll pay for everything. And I’ll pay you working on the railway too. There will be no need to go without food there either. I want strong men, and it’s for me to give you the strength to work.’
The old man looked at him, still suspicious.
‘So how much will you pay us?’
‘Tenpence a day,’ Danny said, ‘and your food and lodgings with it. And more when you’ve the strength for it.’
The man nodded, thinking. Again Danny said nothing, waiting for him to draw his own conclusions.
‘So how many do you want?’ he asked at length.
‘Twenty,’ Danny said. ‘Twenty men who are willing to work, and able to work hard when they’ve food inside them.’
The other man nodded. ‘Twenty ye’ll have so.’
He walked back to the other men. Danny was surprised by what happened next. Four of the younger men were despatched in various directions. Over the next few minutes, others came over to join them. Within a few minutes he had his first gang.
Danny would remember the next few weeks as the hardest he had ever worked. He had to deal with twenty hungry men, none of whom had ever been outside West Mayo in their lives.
He led them out and along the Docks. Their reaction to the enormous port with its incessant activity was not one of astonishment, but of fear. They clustered together, following him wherever he led. His first stop was the Public Baths. This caused confusion, but having explained the necessity of it and the procedures involved to the older man, they did what was expected of them, and shaved afterwards.
Then he brought them to a second-hand clothes dealer. There was protest now from the younger men, who wanted to know when they would be fed. ‘I’d feed you at once,’ Danny replied ‘But I can’t bring you anywhere, looking lik
e that.’
Docile again, most changed their clothes. There were few enough who had any worth keeping. Danny paid the owner extra to have their own clothes burnt.
Back on the road, Danny had them gather around him. ‘I know you’re all tired and hungry now, so I’m going to bring you on to a place you can eat and rest. And then I’ll give you money to send home to your families.’
As they walked on towards Scotland Road, one of the men collapsed.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Danny asked.
‘Fever.’
He called the old man over.
‘We won’t be allowed to go anywhere with him. You know that.’
‘Must we wait till he dies?’
Danny thought fast. He knew the man was not in the final stages of fever, but it was clear he could not walk, and there was no question of him being allowed into Buckley’s either. He turned back to the old man.
‘We’ll have to get him to hospital, but we can’t do that unless he’s standing.’
‘For what reason?’
‘Never mind.’ Danny said.
With difficulty they got the man to stand. Then Danny stood out on the road and called a cab. He managed to get the sick man inside it, together with one of his friends. Then he pulled himself up front with the cab driver. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ the cabby asked.
‘Too much to drink, he’s always at it.’
‘Better not vomit in my cab.’
They continued the last few hundred yards towards Buckley’s, the cab going at a walking pace, as the other men followed on the pavement.
‘Can you just wait here a few minutes,’ Danny said.
‘I charge for waiting.’
Danny nodded. He brought the rest of the men inside. Mrs. Buckley led them into the rough dining room, where he addressed them all.
‘Now I’ve got to take your friend to hospital, so I have to leave you here a while. Mrs. Buckley will feed you. But just remember, you haven’t eaten well for many days, so eat slowly and not too much. I’ll be back in an hour.’