Rough Clay

by Chrissie Loveday

  ‘Not such an easy ride then, your posh job in the factory,’ his mother said with some amusement. ‘Not as fit as your Dad, are you?’

  ‘I’ll get used to it,’ Archie replied as normally as he could.

  ‘Come and play with me, our Archie,’ demanded William, his little brother.

  ‘Get lost. I’m not playing with you,’ the weary boy retorted. ‘Go and find someone your own age.’

  The child began to cry.

  ‘It’s not fair, Mum. Our Archie never plays with me any more.’

  ‘He’s much too grand for the likes of us, with his posh job at a factory. Leave him be, lad. Why don’t you go and see if your mates are playing out? You’ve got an hour before supper time.’

  William ran out and Archie dimly heard the gate bang shut before he fell asleep. He awoke to the sound of his mother clattering pots down on the table. He jerked awake and almost fell off the straight chair. His limbs felt like lead and it was all he could do to stand.

  ‘Your Dad’ll be home any minute. Get yourself washed. You’ve got more clay in your hair than your Dad gets coal dust. Strikes me you haven’t quite got the bargain you were looking for. I bet your Dad’ll stay healthy a good bit longer than you ever do.’

  ‘Don’t keep going on at me, Mum. You’ve made your point. I’ll go and wash before me Dad gets home and wants the sink.’

  He caught sight of his reflection in the window. He gave a wry grin. No wonder Mum had gone on at him. His dark hair looked completely grey and he was covered in a film of dust. Good job he’d had them overalls, he thought to himself. And it wasn’t as if he’d always be working at the clay end. A couple of months, Mr Draper had said, then he’d move to the casting shop. He liked that idea. There was something amazing about the way the pieces of ware came out of the moulds, all soft and fragile. It didn’t take long for them to dry enough to be handled and then it was fettling and sponging to get all the rough edges off and make them smooth and ready for the kilns.

  ‘You finished yet, Archie? I need to get to the sink for the vegetables.’

  ‘Almost,’ he called back, making a start on his ablutions. When he had his own big, grand house, he’d make sure there would be a proper bathroom so that anyone could get washed without the benefit of vegetable preparation. Hot water as well. He’d insist on having plenty of hot water, just like the Drapers had.

  ‘Let’s be ’aving you, lad,’ his mother chided. ‘Daydreaming again I suppose. I’d hoped as working hard would knock a bit of sense into you. There’s plenty of space in that head of yours for a bit of sense.’ He wiped himself dry and went into the living room. ‘And give our William a call. Don’t know where the lad’s got to.’

  Archie sniffed. There was some meat cooking. It was good to think he was helping out with money. At least it meant there’d be some decent food on the table again. However hard the work was, he had made a start on where he wanted to be. He watched the grey sludge as it swirled down the sink. He was a working man.

  The next few months flew by. The new apprentice worked hard and was quick to learn. The hard, manual labour was gradually building up his strength and he could manage a bit more each day. He toiled round the yard on the days when the plaster was delivered, hauling the hundred weight bags off the cart, while the horse stood quietly chewing something in a bag hung over its head. The plaster was in hessian sacks, all of which had to be returned when the plaster was emptied. It was a dry and dusty job, folding the bags, and Archie was gagging for a drink of water by the time he’d finished. He carried buckets of slosh, the waste plaster dregs, to the factory’s refuse area, called the shraff. The two heavy buckets had to be carried down at the end of the morning and in the evening. It was an exhausting process at the end of a long day, especially for a skinny lad like Archie. He was growing taller and his lanky frame was only just beginning to develop a bit of muscle.

  He gradually made his progress through the factory, always willing to listen to the various managers and workers alike. He sweated with the stackers in the bottle ovens, tipping buckets of water over himself just as they did when emptying the huge kilns after firing. Even after two or three days, the ovens retained heat greater than most ordinary people could sustain. It was hard, grim work and only a few of the men lasted out till retirement age. When he was a boss, he would never make people work in these sort of conditions, he promised himself.

  ‘Pass us your can, lad,’ said Joe, the man he was working with, one lunch time after he’d been working the kilns for several months.

  ‘It’s got tea in it,’ Archie replied.

  ‘The lid’ll do,’ the man told him. He passed the lid over, wondering what was happening. Out of his can, Joe spooned some of the most delicious looking stew with meat and vegetables, piping hot. ‘There you go. It’s lobby, lad. It’s lobby. The mainstay of all of us blokes working the kilns.’ The boy had seen the cans standing round the sides of the ovens. He’d stood his own tea there to keep hot for during the day. The men all had the local stew in their pots. It simmered away all morning and they had a good hot meal to eat at lunch break. It was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. He described it to his Mum that evening.

  ‘All the potatoes mix in with the juices and thicken it. It tastes of all the vegetables at the same time. I think lobby’s just about the best thing I’ve ever eaten.’

  ‘Course I know what lobby is. Everyone in the Potteries knows what it is. I’ll make you some one day. Now we can afford a bit of decent steak and kidney. Best cooked overnight in the oven, when the fire’s got low.’

  ‘Great,’ Archie replied, but when it came, it tasted nothing like that first lobby, shared with his mate Joe. Maybe his own mother hadn’t quite got the hang of it.

  Archie reached his eighteenth birthday and was beginning to feel more like the working man he truly was. Through the years, Archie and his old school friend Ernie had got into the habit of watching the Saturday football matches at the Vale. William always begged to accompany the two young men but Ernie always met his friend straight from the factory to save time. They called in at one of the local pubs for a half pint of bitter and a pork pie. Ernie was attending a course in art at one of the local colleges and learning about the industry from a different angle. His heart wasn’t truly in the business but it was expected of him and he was still somewhat in awe of his father.

  ‘Me Mother’s been complaining that she hasn’t seen you for ages. She asked if you’d like to come for your tea one day soon? What d’ya think?’

  ‘Tell the truth, I’d feel a bit awkward now, working for your Dad an’all. Wouldn’t do for me to be seen socialising with the boss’s family.’

  ‘Dunna be daft. We’ve been friends for years. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Being friends with you is different. When you come to work at the factory, we’ll have to be very careful not to alienate everyone. I could never work with the lads if they thought I was some sort of spy. That Miss Baines made it tough enough at the start. Treating me special, she thought your Dad was doing. He should never have got her to make me a cup of coffee on me first day. She’s never forgotten it, you know.’

  ‘I see. Well, just get this straight. You’re me friend and I’ll never forget that. I won’t make things tougher for you but I’m not giving you up just because the factory girls might tittle tattle. Now, are you coming for your tea tomorrow, or do I have to thump you?’

  ‘All right. Ta. It’s not because I don’t want to, you realise. I like your Mum. And your Dad of course. But he is my boss you know. Makes things more difficult than when we were just kids.’

  Archie’s mother sniffed her disapproval, when he announced he’d be out for tea the following day.

  ‘Your Aunt’s coming over to see you, special like,’ she told him. ‘You’ve no right to make plans without telling me. It’s not convenient.’

  ‘But, Mum, I can’t just not turn up. They’d think I was ever so rude.’

  ‘And what ab
out your Aunt Clarrie. Don’t you think she’d think you were ever so rude?’

  ‘You should’ve told me, Mum. I didn’t know she was coming. I’m sorry but I’m going to see the Drapers. I have to.’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told me, lad. I say you’re stopping here. I suppose you think you’ll get a better tea at the Drapers’. We’re not good enough for you nowadays. You and your smart friends and their posh house. China on the table. I don’t know who you think you are. Summat better than your own parents? You’ll be here for tea tomorrow or you can realise you’re not too big for a good hiding.’ Archie stared at the woman standing in front of him. He realised that he felt no real affection for her. He did as he was told because she was his mother and that’s how he’d been brought up. She was jealous of everything he could do that she couldn’t. Burning with anger, he went up to his bedroom, where his little brother was fast asleep. His Dad would be home late tonight. He usually went for a pint with his mates after he finished his long shift. His supper would be kept hot in the oven for him for when he came in, usually well before closing time. His mother usually sat glowering at him, jealous because he’d been out enjoying himself and she’d been stuck at home with the child. Maybe Archie was being too hard on her. She didn’t have much of a life, after all. He glanced at the sleeping child. He wasn’t strong, not like Archie. He was tall and very skinny. He needed to build himself up and get plenty of good food inside him. Somehow, there must be a way out of all this poverty. His family were better off than many around here. Two men earning. His own wage packet had more in it now and he was promised another rise soon, when he started in the decorating shop. He was to be given time to do some of his own designs as well as learning some of the intricacies of painting on plates. He was going to work with one of the master painters, the one who painted beautiful pictures directly onto special plates. Fruit, flowers, animals and birds were all in his repertoire. He was even allowed to sign the plates himself and it was said that people from all over the world collected his work. Archie sighed. His mother would never understand his need to experience colour and shape, not only with his eyes but with his hands too. He needed to feel, to touch and to smell. Looking at a finished object, he could begin to sense the processes and skills that had gone into making it.

  ‘Archie? There’s tea on the table. Your Dad’s home.’ His mother’s voice held a note of impatience and he knew that to fail to appear downstairs would only bring recriminations the next day. Besides, he needed to enlist his father’s support for the proposed outing the next day.

  ‘Hallo, Dad,’ Archie said as lightly as he dared. ‘Good match today. We won one nil.’

  ‘I’d ’ave liked to see that,’ Ralph said wearily.

  ‘Maybe you can come with us, one day when you have a different shift.’

  ‘Maybe, son. Work all right this week?’

  ‘Yes. I’m moving to glazing next week. Then after that I go to the decorating shop. Can’t wait for that.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re getting a good grounding in all departments. You’re a lucky chap. Strikes me that knowing the boss isn’t a bad thing. The Drapers have certainly done you proud.’

  ‘You’re right, Dad. They’ve asked me for me tea tomorrow. I haven’t been for ages ’cos I didn’t want to make things awkward. But Ernie says his Mum thinks I’m avoiding them.’

  ‘Good for you, son. I’m proud of you. You always knew what you wanted to do and you’ve stuck to it. Enjoy yourself tomorrow.’

  ‘I would, only Mum says I can’t go. Auntie Clarrie is coming for tea.’ Archie sneaked a glance at his mother. Her mouth was clamped together in a tight thin line. She was glaring at the teapot and stirring tea at the same time.

  ‘Clarrie’s coming here? First I’ve heard of it. When did you hear from her?’

  ‘You remember. You must. She said she’d be coming round in a week or two when we saw her after church the other Sunday.’

  ‘I didn’t know she meant this week.’

  ‘Course she did. You should know your own sister. Anyhow, it isn’t right that the lad goes trying to socialise with the likes of some company boss. Getting above himself, he is. Not right at all. Looks down on us, his own parents.’

  ‘That’s not right, Mum. You know it isn’t. I just want to make something of myself. I don’t want to settle for some dirty back street and a no hope job.’ He glanced at his Dad as he spoke, hoping he didn’t take it badly. He wasn’t meaning to criticise. His Dad had always done his best to provide for the family. It was never his fault that things went so wrong. Ralph was looking down at his feet and trying to hide the look of defeat that swamped his feelings. The boy was right to try and better himself. Somehow for him, it had never been worth the effort. Whatever he’d done, Frances had criticised him. Even when he’d worked like stink to take home a decent wage, she grumbled that it was a pity it wasn’t a bit more so they could make the house half decent. Her so-called improvements doubtless meant a few extra fags at the end of the week.

  ‘Good luck to you, son,’ Ralph said wearily. ‘I hope all your wishes come true. Enjoy your tea with your friends.’

  ‘But . . .’ began Frances. ‘Oh, please yourself. You’ll do what you want anyhow. Doesn’t matter what I want or think.’ She took Ralph’s dirty plate and dumped it noisily into the kitchen sink.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ Archie said softly, turning to go back up the steep wooden stairs. His mother’s discontentment with life was something to be overcome rather than challenged.

  He changed into his Sunday best ready for church, before they had breakfast. The family attended church regularly now, not through faith but more from superstition. The dangers of mining were always present in their thoughts and somehow, a weekly church visit seemed to lessen the odds against an accident. Most of the other miners in the area felt the same way and divided their loyalties between the Church of England and the Methodists. Archie preferred the church they attended as he was able to sing in the choir. He enjoyed the singing much more than any of the service and he had developed a good tenor voice. His early instincts for harmony had stayed with him and now it was a more controlled, structured sound. He had also progressed in his piano playing, since the early days at the Drapers’ house. Though he never managed to practise since he started work, he did sometimes stay behind after church service and was beginning to learn to play the organ. He still couldn’t read music but developed his ability to play by ear, once a tune was firmly fixed in his mind. Today, he was hoping to impress his friends with his progress.

  ‘What are you doing all dressed-up before doing your mucky jobs?’ Frances demanded. ‘I suppose you think yourself too grand to help with the fire and fetching the coal up.’

  ‘I thought our William could maybe help out,’ Archie said defensively. When he’d been William’s age, he’d been fetching and carrying for several years. His younger brother did nothing at all to help in the family home.

  ‘Don’t be soft. He’s not well enough to do the chores. You know what his chest’s like. One puff of wind and he’s in bed for a week.’

  ‘Maybe he needs to toughen up a bit,’ Archie suggested hopefully.

  ‘His time will come,’ Frances said impatiently. ‘Now go and get your work things on and fetch up the coal. I want to get the breakfast cooking. We’re having a few rashers today.’

  As soon as lunch was over, Archie helped stack the dishes in the sink and went back into the living room.

  ‘You can help Mum with the washing up today. I’m going out.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ moaned William. ‘What about me weak chest, hanging about in the scullery?’

  ‘Won’t hurt you. It’s about time you started helping a bit. I go out to work, don’t forget.’

  ‘But it’s your job to help out. Mum says so. She doesn’t like me getting cold.’

  ‘You’re keen enough to play out, and it’s even colder outside.’ Archie was determined to off-load some of his chores onto the b
oy. Besides, William would grow up expecting everything to be done for him all the time. Archie had no intention of staying here at home forever and his Mum would be left with everything to do if William didn’t begin his training pretty soon.

  ‘Give my love to Auntie Clarrie,’ he called, as he left the house.

  ‘Is Auntie Clarrie really coming?’ William asked.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Frances replied bitterly. She was getting her own way in absolutely nothing these days.

  The welcome Archie received at the Drapers’ was enough to dispel all his remaining bad humours.

  ‘You’ve been depriving us of your company for too long,’ announced Mrs Draper.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Archie replied shyly. ‘It’s just that it seemed a bit sort of wrong to come round. Mr Draper being the boss, like. But I did miss seeing you. Honest.’

  ‘I quite understand, but let’s make sure it isn’t so long next time. Now, come and sit by the fire and tell me all about everything you’ve been doing.’

  Tell her, he did. He talked about the pottery, the workers, the factory and how he coped with all the jokes they played on him. She laughed with delight.

  ‘You know, Archie, you’ve told me more about my husband’s business in half an hour than he’s told me in all the years we’ve been married. Now I think it’s time I rang for some tea. You must be parched.’

  He sat back in the comfy chair. Why couldn’t his mother show such consideration? Show such interest in the things he did? She could hardly bear to ask if he’d had a good day. He looked round the room, feeling at ease, at home, as if this was the sort of place he was meant to be.

  ‘After tea, I’ve got something to show you,’ Ernie told him. ‘I think you’ve gassed long enough to my Mother.’

  ‘There was a lot of catching up to do. I do like these plates. They’re Mr Stafford’s work, aren’t they?’

  ‘I think they are,’ Mrs Draper replied. ‘Seconds of course. When did a manufacturer ever get the best for his own home?’