THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 3... Part 9.

A continuation of my book.

Gruel was served twice a day, a thin watery soup, while a bucket was passed round at the same time and emptied by a tall thin woman whose job it was to ‘Slop Out’ the bucket when it became filled.
“They like to keep the cell clean of our waste in case we all die of some infectious disease and can’t pay for our crimes!” laughed Bertha as she squatted over the bucket.
There was no sense of privacy or time for shyness and this was the first lesson learned by those of a more gentile nature. What Bertha had told Beth was depressing, although Beth was more determined in nature than some of the women who sat and cried, the moans and tears rising to a shriek of despair which had Bertha threatening to stop their crying for good if those who cried did not give others a sense of peace.
The next morning the cell door was opened with a crash.
“Who wants to work?” asked the Warder.
“Me and Beth. We want to work!” shouted Bertha, holding up her hand.
“Have your food first and then I will come and get you.” returned the Warder as he moved aside so another Warder entered the cell to leave a pot of the same watery gruel they had the day before.
The women each took their turn to lift the pot and take a large gulp of the gruel before settling down to wait for the Warder to return and take them to work.
When the Warder returned, he asked the same question.
“Who wants to work?”
Three other women also held up their hands and the five women were ordered to follow the Warder down a long green-walled corridor which led into a large workroom that seemed to have the air full of flying cotton. Beth held a hand to her mouth as she coughed.
“Here’s the makings.” said an old woman, handing over some rough sacking, a large needle and sewing hemp.
“Sit down over there by that wall and get to sewing. That girl there will give you a showing as to what is expected from you and mark me words, if it aint done in correct fashion then you aint getting the payments.” said the old woman as she pointed out the young girl who walked between the women who sat with their backs against the wall.
The young girl inspected their work with tired eyes, though quick to point out any mistakes.
“Don’t you be taking too much notice of that old crone.” said Bertha as she sat heavily on the floor. “She’s been here for years and don’t ever want to leave.”
It appeared that this was not the first time that Bertha had served time in the prison.
“No, it aint, Beth.” she informed. “This is the fourth time as I’ve visited and I aint ever paid in full. Some of them guards is ever so pleasant with their money if they has a fancy for you. But each time is the harder, seeing as I age a bit each time. But you Beth, you has the beauty of youth and it won’t be long afore one of the Warders offers you a ticket out.”
Beth shook her head.
“I’d rather work my way out of here.” she affirmed with another shake of her head.
Bertha had laughed while her fingers moved at speed, the needle stitching the material of the potato sack till she held it up for inspection and received another sack to sew.
“Then.” said Bertha, starting to stitch again. “You’ll be here for a long time, me girl. There’s some like old Martha there who sits next to Jilly Jackson. She’s been here for years. That’s all cause she refused to knob along with old Walter Squires, the Chief Turnkey, him who has the wooden leg”
Beth said nothing and set about sewing, even though it was hard with the large needle slipping and pricking at her fingers.
“It’s in the wrist, Beth. Here, let me show you.” said Bertha, taking the sacking away and setting out the stitches.

 

The working day was filled with hours of non-stop stitching and sewing. For Beth, the time passed quickly and she was not happy to be taken back to the squalid cell conditions when the whistle blew to end the working day, especially when the cell door opened later that night.
“There’s two more as to fill the cell and use the air.” shouted the Warder as he pushed two more women into the already crowded cell.
“And a fine stink two more will make!” shouted Bertha, rising and going to the door.
“It aint my fault if you aint into paying as what’s owed to honest folks.” returned the Warder.
“Where’s Walter? Why aint he in workings as normal?” Bertha asked, her foot jamming the cell door open. “Does he know that big Bertha is here and waiting on his custom?”
“Walter is on serving them as can pay their way and does quite well on the duty given.” replied the guard with a sneer.
“Then you tell him as a message that Bertha is here with a big heart for loving.”
“I’m sure to tell him and now, if you’ll be getting your foot away, I’ll be closing you in for the night’s sleeping.”
With that the Warder pulled at the cell door so that Bertha moved her foot out of the way.
The cell door slammed shut.
“Don’t you forget to tell Walter!” Bertha shouted at the door, to hear the Warder laugh as he walked away.
“Damn his hide!” said Bertha, seating herself alongside Beth and squashing others up along the back wall.
“Who? The Jailor?” asked Beth, feeling the squeeze.
“No Beth. I mean that skinny little man as I served each time I dwelt in here. I mean Walter! He’s done moved up in quality as to become a private man as serves a rich family in one of them fine rooms in here.”
“A rich family? How is it that rich people can be in here?” asked Beth in surprise.
“They has reasons and might be waiting to pay off creditors when there’s enough monies to pay.” explained Bertha, continuing. “And meanwhile they lives a good life in rooms as befit royalty, in private quarters and all cared for by a flunkey Warder and other servants, the likes of which my Walter is one of them!” announced Bertha with spite.
“What will you do now?” asked Beth. “I mean, as now your Warder has risen himself in position?”
“Then I shall put me person to labour and find me another suitor.” promised Bertha stoutly.