THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 3... Part 32.

A continuation of my book.

The rest of the girls had already run down the stairs and out of the house, hurrying to join the workers who streamed into the main gates of the match factory. Beth followed Fanny down the stairs and joined the rush. In the entrance to the factory stood two men who watched as the workers crammed into the building, where they took their time-cards and clocked on.
“Get in that office and you’ll set eyes on Mr. Rather. He aint sweet, he’s a nasty piece of work but it’s best to be to his sense of fancy to have an easy ride and I’ll have an eye on you at work.”
With that, Fanny ran off to join the others who climbed the stairs to the first floor. The air seemed to be thick with fumes that made Beth gasp at first, seeming to burn her throat and which Fanny had promised her she would get used to.
Mr. Rather was a balding, middle-aged man who smelled rather badly and had no teeth, which was the cause of pulling his lips into his face and almost losing his mouth under a large nose that was made all the more conspicuous by the large red growth at its end and which seemed to draw Beth’s eyes however much she tried not to stare at the spot.
“I’m Mr. Rather.” he began, leaning in towards Beth as he spoke so she caught full volume of his breath. “Better remember that name if you want to keep your job here.”
Beth bobbed a curtsy.
“My job is to keep you girls in line and to see that the company rules are obeyed, you understand?” he said.
Again Beth bobbed a curtsy while using the motion to move away from his breath as she did so.
“We are very strict here. If you’re late, you lose a day’s wages. If you damage the property or cause any stoppage of a machine then you will be sacked and all wages forfeited. Do you understand?”
This brought another curtsy from Beth, along with a nod.
“If you are caught talking or dropping the matches, you will be fined a day’s pay. If you go to the buckets to urinate without permission, no matter how much you need to go, you will be fined. These are the rules.”
Beth listened as Mr. Rather continued to rattle off a list of rules, all of which meant a loss of pay.
“You will be working up on the first floor, on the line and dipping the matches into the phosphorus and expected to work all day with a quarter hour break midway. And…little girlie.”
Here Mr. Rather lifted Beth’s chin to look into her eyes.
“If you work well and look to me for direction, I will be kind to you.”
Beth tried not to shudder, keeping her eyes down as Mr. Rather smiled to expose gums of a greenish hue.
“Alice!” he suddenly shouted.
A young girl of some twelve years old ran into the room. Her face seemed to be pitted with sores, her teeth black with receding gums.
“Take this girl to the first floor and tell Stanbridge to set her to work!” he ordered.
Then turning back to Beth he leered into her eyes and put his arm round her shoulders.
“Go with Alice and I will be seeing you from time to time.” he smarmed.
Beth bobbed a last curtsy and moved away, hurrying after Alice who had begun to hurry out of the office.
“Don’t have his grease on you.” whispered Alice as they hurried through the aisles of machines which clanked and ground in a racket of noise.
“His grease?” asked Beth.
“His fancy for your favours.” replied Alice.
Workers seemed to be immune to the caustic smells and fumes which made throats sore and breathing hard.
“He takes any girl as is afraid to lose their job. He has his way as to take liberties with them as he did with me when I first has me start. That was till yon phossy-jaw took me teeth and gives me face a disfigurement.”

“What are you doing here?” came a loud voice.
A small hunch-backed woman with no hair snarled the question at Alice.
“I aint to malingering. I’m in bringing the new girl to work.” offered Alice before running back the way she had come.
“Don’t stand there gawping, girl!” snarled Stanbridge.
It seemed that Stanbridge could not talk without snarling because her lips did not open properly. Beth noted that she also had no teeth, the gums tinged in green. She spat as she talked but Beth did not attempt to wipe her face.
“My name’s Stanbridge and you’d better watch out for me in a sharp way.”
Suddenly she turned fast, her small eyes instantly widening.
“You! That girl with the black hair and yellow apron. Yes, you! I saw you talking to the girl next to you. Fall out and report to Mr. Rather!”
The girl began to cry and hurried out of line.
“You.” she said, turning back to Beth. “Go and take her place and no talking. Watch the girl next to you till you see what she’s doing then get on with it. Hurry now!”
Beth hurried to join the line of girls who bent over a dip which was sending fumes high into the air, pungent fumes which made her feel sick. Along a conveyor belt came rows of small sticks of wood which the girls snatched up and dipped the ends into the white mass of chemicals that sludged in the dip. No-one spoke or looked up, solely concerned with getting so many matches done in a day. Beth watched the girl next to her, seeing her douse the wood ends then lay the matches in a drying tray. Everything seemed to be run like an efficient machine. At the end of the run the matches were being packed into boxes by little children, some looking like they should still be at their mother’s knee. The boxes where then put into larger crates, these crates carried off on the heads of older girls, each seemed to be near bald through the continuous carrying of the heavy crates on their heads which rubbed away the hair roots. Behind her, Beth felt the eyes of the supervisor Stanbridge watching her so that she dipped in the sticks all the faster.
“Don’t put the ends in like that, girl!” snarled Stanbridge, coming up behind her and pushing Beth’s arm so that her fingers went deep into the phosphorous, burning like acid so that Beth reacted quickly by pulling her hand arm away.
“If you can’t do the job then go down and tell Mr. Rather!” continued Stanbridge.
“Tell me what, Stanbridge?”
The supervisor spun round to see Mr. Rather behind her.
“I was just telling this girl if she can’t do the job…” began Stanbridge somewhat softer.
“I know what you said, Stanbridge.” replied Mr. Rather. “You’d best study your own job. Now be off with you and find the real troublemakers and slackers!”
Stanbridge coloured up and with eyes narrowing she turned on her heel and walked awkwardly away. It was then Beth saw that the supervisor had a club foot and supposed that her ailments caused her to be sharp with others.
“Just do your job, girl.” smoothed Mr. Rather, his hand touching at Beth’s rump so that she jerked away.
“I told you before, you be nice to me and I will see you get special privileges.” he whispered, putting his mouth to her ear.
Beth moved to begin carrying on with her work, bending over the dipping tray and once again jerked away as she felt his hand touch her upper thigh through her dress. Mr. Rather walked away.
“Watch him, dearie.” whispered the girl next to her. “If he aint to get his way then he’ll have you out of here to stamp the streets. It’s best you play his game, play him along till he finds a girl more willing. He’s tried his fancy with most of the girls, all except them as who works down in the boiler-room and underground, them as lost their looks to the phossy-jaw. It’s them as lost their faces to the phosphorous and aint got long to live is left alone.”
Stanbridge was on her rounds again and the girl next to Beth said no more. Beth worked through the day, thinking that what the girl next to her had said was simply to frighten her although many of the girls did seem to have their teeth missing, with receded gums and faces pitted with sores.

 

At midday a loud hooter blasted over the noise of the machines and the machines came to a halt as the girls stopped working, hurrying to collect bowls of thin soup from a trolley which came round. Beth noticed the children were not allowed to stop work but came round the dip, collecting any spoiled and dropped matches from the floor, while Stanbridge made a note of the numbers of the workers where the matches were found. Beth guessed those workers would be fined heavily for their mistakes. The hooter sounded again after twenty minutes and the machines started up while the conveyor belt moved as the white phosphorous fumed its deadly smoke to pollute the atmosphere. The girls went silently about their work and as the day wore on Beth began to work routinely, dipping the sticks into the chemicals while her mind played on imagined scenes between her and Nat. Beth knew that later tonight she would be creeping down the stairs with Fanny, past Mother Bellamy who Fanny hoped would be dozing on a chair by the door. Fanny would lead her round the back of the building and round to the back alley to where Nat would be waiting.

There was a smell of decay, of hopelessness and of rotting flesh which even the stench of sulphur could not overpower. Beth did not raise her eyes but there was no need to see what went on around her. The match factory was a choice for most of the girls. It was either working there for the wage of three to five shillings a week or earning a less amount, working out on the streets as a Night-Girl. Either way, a girl might be lucky and find a pimp who might not beat her to death or to work in the factory and be lucky to live to an age of thirty, perhaps forty if one was really lucky, dying in agony from inside out with the flesh rotting from the bones due to the phosphorus which was inhaled.
The day droned on for Beth in an automated sense with her simply keeping her head down and praying for the hooter to bring the day’s work to an end. When the hooter did blast its days ending it made Beth jump and quickly follow the other girls who hurried away from their workplaces as fast as they could.

 

“How was your liking to the day’s work?” asked Fanny as they climbed the stairs to their room.
“I certainly did not enjoy it.” answered Beth briefly. “I have a headache.”
“Oh, that’s to the taking of the gas.” explained Fanny. “Most new ‘uns get that to the start but it takes off a wearing as you gets used to it.”
The room was a jumble of girls and clothes as they fought to tidy themselves, exchanging bonnets and shawls in an effort to look different as they talked of places they might be visiting that evening. Beth livened up with the thought of meeting Nat. With the days work behind her she did what she could to tidy herself up.
The old door-keeper, Mother Bellamy, sat on the chair near the door opening and watched as the girls went out and saying the same thing to each girl as they hurried out of the house.
“Don’t you forget. I lock the doors at ten o’clock and if you aren’t in by then you will have to sleep in the street and won’t be allowed back in after that.”
“Don’t you be taking any notice of the old slack-back.” said Fanny as they hurriedly made their way to the back of the house. “She’s always ready to crack the door if you gives her a few pennies. She’s a crafty old bag.”