“Nor me!” growled several men in chorus.
“Arnold said they was losing, and had to economise,” observed someone doubtfully.
“Aye, they look like it,” said Milner sarcastically, amid ironical laughter. “I notice they still run a car. Why should we have less to tek home every week, to pay for their petrol?”
Why, indeed? thought Harry resentfully. He thought of Jessie, Dorothy, the baby, his mother, and the brother who was still out of work. Now that trade was so slack and Valley Mill not running full time, Jessie had a tight enough squeeze already to manage, and if he and Milner were both to drop several shillings a week, well!
“I suppose we should be sure to come out less on the time rates?” suggested another man diffidently, whose thoughts had obviously taken the same turn as Harry’s.
An ironical chorus greeted this remark. “What do you suppose Lumbs wants to change for?” demanded several voices sarcastically, while Milner merely smiled his contempt.
“Arnold’ll never do it,” mused Harry. “Not he! It’s just a try-on. He’ll get rid of a few instead.” And unconsciously he reflected: “It won’t be Milner and me.”
The president now put the question to the vote.
All present voted against acceptance. They did not see why they should be made to suffer the financial loss, especially in these hard times when so many of them had unemployed relatives whom they had to help. They thought Arnold Lumb’s threat altogether too unprecedented, too outrageous, and too harmful to the firm, to be carried out. And, besides, the working class ought to stand together solidlike. It was only too true what Milner said—if wages came down in one place, the employers took the opportunity to push them down a bit further somewhere else. Once go back on the principle of collective bargaining, and where were you? This agreement under which they had worked with the Lumbs was made between several employers’ associations and their own large union. They weren’t going to be held up to the opprobrium of their fellow unionists as having made a breach in the solidarity of the union by accepting cuts, not they; they weren’t going to stand any nonsense from Arnold Lumb.
To analyse how much of these feelings they owed to Milner’s leadership, how much to the contemporary conditions which Milner called world forces, and how much to permanent human impulses of self-preservation and self-fulfilment, with resentment at their thwarting, would be difficult. After all, Milner himself was a product of the interaction of the other two causes, and the world forces were the product of ill-regulated human impulse.
Accordingly, two days later Arnold Lumb received a further communication from the union. His hand shook a little as he opened it, and his plain square face was haggard and lined. It was Wednesday morning; only the day before, in his weekly journeyings round and about Leeds, he had been met by a demand for cut prices from an old and valued customer, who told him with a shamefaced air that at Heights he could get the same finish at a much lower rate. The slump continued, trade seemed to ebb and ebb, yet owing to the complex nature of the processes of his business, he could not dispense with any more workmen. Unless he could economise further, and the only place left for further economy seemed to him to be the wages bill, immediate ruin stared him in the face.
He tore the sheet of paper in his anxiety to get at its contents quickly, at last managed to unfold it, and read:
Dear Sirs,
Following our interview at your works on May 6th., you forwarded to us your letter of May 10th., and in reply to which, on May 11th., you were assured that your letter would have the consideration of your employees.
Your employees have now considered that matter, and I am requested to advise you that they confirm their previous decision, as expressed in interview and correspondence, of being unable to accept either your proposed modified piece-work scheme or reversion to day-rates. Under all the circumstances they think that if economies have to be effected they should be met between the staff and the heads of the firm.
“Do they, by God!” exclaimed Arnold in a fury. He threw the letter over to his father, saying: “What do you think of that?” Then he strode into the outer office, pushed the astonished typist off her stool, and, without hesitation, began to type out a notice to the firm’s employees.
After a moment, his father followed him, enquiring weakly: “What shall you do about it, Arnold?” He seemed suddenly to have turned into a very old man. His voice quavered, his large face drooped, his very bulk seemed to have shrunk, he dragged his feet heavily; his whole personality expressed intense consternation and dismay.
Arnold was silent till he had completed the notice to his satisfaction, then he ripped the paper out of the machine, took his father by the arm, walked him to the inner office, and put the notice into his hand.
It ran:
We hereby give every employee of this firm a week’s notice.
On Thursday next, June 3rd., the works will reopen on full Union Time Rates. Will any employee willing to work on Time-Rates give in his name to the office on, or before, Saturday, May 29th.
After that date if insufficient men have given in their names we shall have no option but fill up such places as are vacant.
“I should like you to sign it with me, father,” said Arnold in a stern tone.
“Very well,” agreed the old man feebly. He took the pen his son offered him, and signed William Henry Lumb in a weak sprawling hand. “There’s nowt else to be done, I suppose,” he said.
“Nothing,” agreed Arnold, adding his own signature with vicious emphasis.
Mr. Lumb arose, stumbled over to the branched hat-stand, and, breathing heavily with the effort, began to struggle into his coat.
Arnold remembered his threat to walk out if the men were dismissed, and understood that his father simply had not the courage to stay in the mill while the notice was posted. His heart swelled with grief and rage. A life-time of honest effort, and this was what you came to!
He helped the old man into his coat and handed him his hat; then, thinking whom he could get to drive his father home, from force of habit called out: “Walter!” The moment the word had passed his lips he knew what he had said. The blood rushed to his face in an angry flood, and he gasped out a savage exclamation. Mr. Lumb looked at him sadly, then shaking his head as if renouncing this new generation and all its ways, slowly walked out of the building.
Arnold snatched up the notice, rushed into the mill, and posted it up with his own hand.
Consternation immediately spread throughout the building; and the lad who rushed up to the Schofields to give them the news shot a very uncomplimentary glance at Milner.
“By gow!” exclaimed Harry, standing stock-still, crimsoning. “I never thought he’d do it! Well, that’s a cufter!”
In spite of himself, he, too, looked sourly at his brother. “Did you ever think he’d do it, Milner?” he asked doubtfully.
“No, I didn’t,” replied Milner with truth. But he could scarcely keep out of his face the elation which stirred his blood. The mere thought of a conflict with the employer class was a trumpet-call to him; he longed to be in the forefront of the industrial battle. With an effort he recalled himself to everyday realities, however.
“He won’t do it yet, if we all stand firm together,” he said with decision. “Nobody must give in their name. It’s all a bluff. We’ll have a meeting at dinner-time, and one of them as goes home then can slip up with a message to the union.”
The informal meeting in the dinner hour was stormy, and much angry criticism was levelled at Milner’s conduct of affairs. Epithets flew, and he was accused in round terms of bad leadership, swelled head, being too fond of the sound of his own voice, stirring up trouble, and putting the case badly to the union and the Lumbs. At one moment there was almost a vote of censure proposed against him, and several men hinted that a new shop-steward wouldn’t be amiss.
Milner, his black eyes gleaming, his sallow face quivering with excitement, defended himself with passionate eloquence. It
was chiefly the older men who attacked him, and the younger men soon rallied to his support.
Why should they be expected to accept every reduction an employer chose to offer? Why should they be suddenly asked to abandon an agreement which had been in force for more than ten years? Why should they tamely agree, without a word of protest, to dock themselves of several shillings a week? They’d a right to put up a fight against a reduction, hadn’t they? It was only human nature to stick up for yourself, wasn’t it? Other men in other mills would still go on earning the piece-rates they were asked to give up—this from Harry. And why should any one man have the right to decide how they should live? demanded Milner fiercely. In any case, the vote had been unanimous the other evening; surely they weren’t going back on their own vote now?
“He can’t do anything if only we all stand together,” repeated Milner with passion. “Nobody must give in their name, and then we’ve got him in a band.”
“He can’t just sack the lot of us like that,” protested another man uneasily. “Why, it’s as good as a lock-out!”
There was a chorus of agreement, and a voice shouted: “We won’t accept his notice!”
“Aye, that’s right,” said several men approvingly; and one added: “We’d best get th’ union to write and tell him so.”
Accordingly on the second morning after the posting of the notice—during which period no names had been given in—Arnold received a letter from the union informing him that the employees concerned had considered the posting of his notices regarding a week’s notice to terminate their employment, and the conditions of reëngagement, and had asked the union to advise Messrs. Lumb that they confirmed their previous decisions, as expressed in interviews and correspondence. They will decline, continued the letter, to act upon your notice, and cannot accept either your modified piece-work proposals or the reversion to day rates.
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Arnold impatiently. “Decline to act upon my notice! They must be mad!”
He wrote a hot reply to the union, pointing out the perfect legality of his proceedings, and referring them to his previous letters, then went down into the mill to try to make the position clear to his employees by personal conversation.
He approached one or two whose age, skill and personality made them prominent, and told them sternly that they could put any nonsense about not accepting his notice right out of their heads. The notice was perfectly within his right to give, and he had formally given it. Either they gave in their names by Saturday as willing for re-engagement on the new terms, or their employment terminated when the buzzer sounded next Wednesday evening.
“And what guarantee have we that you’ll tek us all on at new rates?” demanded one man. “T’ notice didn’t say owt about that.”
“Aye—or keep us when you’ve got us?” demanded Harry Schofield, who had joined the group. “What guarantee have we o’ that?”
“None,” said the harassed Arnold sharply. “You know what trade is just now, don’t you? I shall do the best I can for you; that’s all I can say.”
“Seems to me we’re going to be done out of a job either way,” commented one man with a sniff.
There was a murmur of agreement, and Harry observed: “I reckon we’ll do best to do as Milner says, and stick out together for the piece rates.”
Arnold exclaimed in exasperation. “Now look here, Harry,” he said in a tone he strove to make conciliatory. “Don’t be a fool about this—don’t let yourself be led by the nose by Milner. Of course he’s your brother, so I don’t want to say anything against him, but you know yourself that the chaps chosen for shop-stewards are always the most inflammatory gas-bags in the place.”
This offended Harry both in his pride of family and pride of class. “We choose them as looks after our interests best, I reckon,” he said stiffly.
“Well, you made a mistake when you choose Milner, then,” said Arnold drily. “Don’t you realise, Harry, that you mayn’t even get the dole? You’re refusing to work at full union rates of pay, you know, all the lot of you.”
“Of course if you’re trying to bully us into it,” said Harry, indignant: “That’s intimidation, that is, Mester Arnold.”
“Aye,” said one of the older men: “Mester Lumb wouldn’t talk that like, if he was here.”
This allusion to his father’s continued absence stung Arnold to the quick. “Very well,” he threw out hotly. “I’ll say no more. Have it your own way. Do as you like. Make fools of yourselves to your hearts’ content. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He walked away with a hasty step, and made no further attempts at persuasion. Indeed they would have been useless, for the men were now thoroughly alienated and angered; their blood was up, just as Arnold’s was, and they were determined not to be beaten. In a word both sides were spoiling for a fight.
By Saturday noon only six men had given in their names as willing to re-engage on the new terms, and none of these held key positions. Messrs. Lumb were working that morning—the first time for months that the mill had run on a Saturday. This was, in fact, a last minute rush on Arnold’s part to get work through before the fatal Wednesday; but the men did not realise this, and were cheered by what they took for a sign of trade revival. They felt more than ever certain that Arnold could not afford to lose their services if Valley Mill was going to grow busy, and dispersed to their homes at noon in some jubilation.
Milner spent the afternoon in and about the Municipal Library. He changed his book, studied some weekly newspapers in the reading-room, and then sat down on the terrace outside—it was a lovely day—reading and thinking. He felt a warm glow of satisfaction with the progress of the Lumb dispute; he had led the men to triumph, warded off a brutal attack on the living standard of his class, made a striking demonstration of trade union solidarity. He had no doubt at all that now Arnold Lumb had seen the unshakable determination of his men, he would resume negotiations with them through the union; the notices would be suspended for the duration of the negotiations; there would be lots of meetings and letters; and, finally, after a good deal of grumbling, Arnold Lumb would give in, making, to save his face, some silly stipulation which after a few weeks would be allowed to drop and remain forgotten. Yes, Milner was well satisfied with the part he had played. He had struck a firm blow in his great cause. “The world should be managed primarily for those who work, not for those who own,” he reminded himself intensely, and went off home to tea.
The day was so warm that many members of the Thwaite Street households were sitting out on their yellow-stoned steps; several of the old people, whose bones needed softer care, being accommodated with chairs on the pavement. None of the Schofields were visible, however; and this surprised Milner—for the sociable Harry and the sun-loving Jessie were fond of sitting thus—until he reflected that he might be later than he had thought, and his family already at tea. He quickened his step, passed through the open doors into the Schofields’ living room, and found the household sitting there in silence. Old Mrs. Schofield was rocking herself steadily in an ominous kind of way; an open newspaper lay on Harry’s knee; Jessie had the baby standing on her lap, but was gazing over his shoulder and responding only mechanically to his caresses; Dorothy, playing silently on the hearth-rug, looked up at her uncle with a subdued and timid air; there was no sign of a meal on the table. Obviously something was wrong.
“What’s up?” asked Milner briefly, hanging up his cap behind the door.
“You’ll soon find out what’s up, my lad,” said Mrs. Schofield in a menacing tone.
“Tek a look at that,” said Harry, passing him the newspaper (which proved to be the evening issue of the Hudley News, bought by Harry for the cricket scores) at arm’s length, and pointing to a place on it with his thumb.
Milner read the item. It was an advertisement from Arnold Lumb for experienced scourers and cloth-finishers, concluding: full union rates paid.
Milner turned pale.
“It’s all bluf
f,” he said hoarsely. “It means nowt. He can’t manage without us.”
“Well, I hope he can’t,” said his mother with a sarcastic cackle, rocking herself vigorously to and fro. “If he can, tha’ll hear summat tha won’t like about it, I tell thee straight, my lad. I didn’t bring nine childer into the world to be left without a man to addle for me in my old age, Milner Schofield.”
“You’ve got your pension, mother,” said Harry irritably.
“That won’t go far wi’ six on us,” said Mrs. Schofield with a practical air.
“Well, Milner and Harry’ll be on the Labour Exchange at the worst, Mrs. Schofield,” put in Jessie soothingly, smiling and nodding at the child on her lap, who kicked and gurgled in reply. “They’ll sign on all the week now, instead of three days, that’s all.”
Milner and Harry exchanged a quick glance. Each read acute uneasiness in the other’s eyes, and turned away his own lest it should be visible there too.
“You’re very quick to tek it that this’ll put us out of a job,” said Milner. (He could not bring himself to use the word unemployed in connection with himself and Harry.)
“The union’ll have a lot to say about it first. It’s more like a lock-out to my way o’ thinking. It’s a dispute, anyway, so we shall get strike pay.”
“Well, if that’s so, we ought to put a notice in t’ paper, warning other men off,” said Harry in a more cheerful tone.
“Aye, we did—I’ll go see about it now,” said Milner eagerly.
He took down his cap and rushed out at once in search of the branch secretary, disregarding Jessie’s suggestion that he should wait for his tea, glad to have something to do, or at any rate to appear to himself to have something to do, to ease the situation of his fellow employees.
When he returned, an hour later, hot and disheartened, he found his family sitting about in the same attitude of expectancy as before, the meal having meanwhile been eaten and cleared.
“We didn’t wait for you, Milner,” said Jessie in a tone of apology, rising at once and filling the kettle.
A Modern Tragedy Page 23