The flowers are out in full bloom that spring, but the London morning weather is still dense and heavy with the fog coming in from the Channel. Its like any day in her routine for the last twenty years, as she drags herself halfway across the city to reach her place of work. Today is an exception on her route as she diverts into the market for a glance at the roses. Its her anniversary but he is not there anymore to celebrate with her. He died in the mines which collapsed five years ago, causing her to work extra hard to maintain the placing of fresh bread on the kitchen table. Her family of five needs their nutrition although two are at work in the factories but they still need to know love and care in the home. She does her best to provide but her health is of calling nowadays. If he is still alive, he would say a run to the tavern and the shilling would put them joints to work like new. I wished it was true but the shilling can buy more at the market for my family. I can take the odd calls on the body as I am still able to move. My biscuits ( means the knee ) can still get the apples ( the stairs ) to my bed. He would be happy to follow me rump as his roving eyes never missed a sight off it when I get the apples. But that is now a dream for the cold nights as I hold onto the tatters I used for cover.
"Had a butcher ( meaning looking ) on my flowers. They plucked fresh this morning." I smiled at her as I know when its fresh from the ground. I used to have my own garden where these carnations grew well, but now the plot is a vegetable ground. I took a whiff of the flowers and took off on my bacons ( meaning legs ) for the factory. Its about time and I don't want to lose my pennies to them daft rules the management impose.
"Hurry, you old hen. I am to close the gate if you don't get those bacons to run." I thanked Harry as he lets me in before he latched the gate. He is a fine man and a widower like me. But his pain for his lovely wife still aches although she has lain for over two years now. They are childless and I been pinning my hopes he would see to my bosom for comfort but he finds the pint a relieve for his loneliness. I went to the changing room and removed my shawl and bonnet. I heard a sound rustling in the rear among the lockers. It may be the rats or the thieving couple of Rosie and Brett for a moment of steamy rubs and dabs. She a bit daffy ( meaning silly ) to think that man would provide for her. He has a hound at home who will take his wick ( meaning for prick ) for meat if he tried to declare his independence. If there is one unknown colonization of the Kingdom, then its here in this loaf ( meaning head ) in Brett. I best be at my table or I will get my pennies reduced by the numbers.
"You made it in time, Sal. Old screw Peter has not made his rounds as yet." That's my good friend, Madge who sits opposite me in the production line. She is ever early as she stays not far from here. We are here from dawn to dusk to produce them matchsticks for the management. We got our schedule and allocation for each day, but none can make up for the men who comes to inspect those sticks They are a petty lot on the quality and wastage which they take to deducts us for the pennies we break our backs for. Somehow the girls knows the score and we hid them bad ones in our skirts and barnet ( meaning hair ) when they come inspecting. When its near to end of the day, we take it out to add to the weight. Once, Molly our other associate jammed some of hers in the lot, and what a pen ( meaning stinks ) it gave. It was Madge who asked of her; 'did you put it in your Khyber ( meaning arse ) before you lay it out?' But Molly said it not the Khyber but in her bodice. We all have a good laugh and said better you not have him opened your bodice or his wick would go a sleeping. That's our body odor after our twelve hours of work here in this steamy hot hall. We are filled to the walls with rows of benches and tables, all cluttered with them needed materials for a match stick. Many of us knows the risk we are taking but the weigh of feeding a family makes us ignore what risks we are facing. The concerns tells us of the deadly phosphorus on us but starvation would kill us and our kids. So we think one to come would be a negligible consideration of all to die within a week of starvation.
"Sal, you heard of the complaints by the lady on our work condition. Annie Besant; her name is petitioning the Management for better terms. She done some damaging words to the press on our plight but I doubt them Lords ever read the lines she taken to bring up. All they cared on are the races and obituaries." Madge is one of the rare ones among who could read as her father insist she does.
"I heard of Annie Besant. She is an the homing beacon for our cause, but like many before her, this would be turned to ashes soon her fight. We got to keep on stoking the fire so it will burned on. I been praying very Sunday for her success." I met Annie in one of her talks but the rhetoric cannot challenged the harden loafs of these men. They still ruled over us women like they did on the ones brought in a century ago. We are akin to slaves and banished to homes and birth.
"Thank the Lord, but I hope she does get her way,. But I doubt so. Since Clementina ( referring to Clementina Black ) gave her memorandum sometimes back, we ain't see any changes to the conditions. So what do you think this other lady, Annie can do what others had tried." Madge is close to one of the few who are in the secret committee for our rights and betterment of works. I heard last the Committee has decided to form a Union called the Matchgirls Union.
Our conversation was disrupted by the Supervisor Peter the Wick, as we called him.
"Madge, your name is called to the Management Office. I take it they found out about your 'union' thoughts. Well, they going to remove you lots and you can have all the reunion in your own cots at home from now." Peter the Wick is a nasty guy who bullies on us in the line. Madge stood up and stepped off her bench. She followed the Wick up the stairs to see the Management. It did not take long as we see the line of ladies waking down the stairs, with some in tears.
"I be damned. Madge, did they kick your Khyber?" I shouted to my co-worker and friend. She just nodded back and lowered her head as she walked out of the Hall.
"Sally Petridge! You sit down and do your work or I would deduct your pennies for the insubordination." I looked at the Supervisor who wield his baton like his wick.
"Up your Khyber, you Wick. I am telling as I am not going to do a single stick for your Management. Do you hear me, girls? I am stopping work. I had enough of this raspberry ( meaning fart )." I point my finger to Peter. "He can take his wick and light up the fire by himself."
I threw my apron on the table. Molly took hold of my arm and asked if I was daffy. I looked at her and smiled.
"Never been more but this time I mean it. I said Cobblers ( meaning balls ) to the Management. Pay us our Oxford ( meaning dollar ) or we be walking." I left my bench but Peter has to stand in my way. I took hold of the small man and pulled him to my face. "The day you can mount it in me would be the day Hell turned cold. So strike your own matchstick by yourself." I threw him to the table with all my force. I marched to the locker room and walked out to the gate. I can see the earlier lineup of girls which formed the Committee standing there.
"Wait for me. I am coming too." I walked on without a second thought of my coming days, but I know I had regained my pride as a human being. When I reached the gate, Harry was pulling the gate wide open. "Thank you Harry, but I don't need a bigger exit than the one I came in."
"It ain't for you. Its for them." I looked behind to see the scores of ladies who are marching out of the factory. We have finally come to our senses in our loaf. I stood there before the gate to wished everyone I could as they passed by me to walk out of the factory. I see on the second level office the fuming looks of the men but who cares about them now. They can take a whiff of our Khyber for all I care as their Khyber is over the fire now.
Facts:
1400 of the women at Bryant & May went on strike. William Stead, the editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, Henry Hyde Champion of the Labour Elector and Catharine Booth of the Salvation Army joined Besant in her campaign for better working conditions in the factory. So also did Sydney Oliver, Stewart Headlam, Hubert Bland, Graham Wallas and George Bernard Shaw. However, other newspapers such as The Times, blamed Besant and other socialist agitators for the dispute. Annie Besant, William Stead and Henry Hyde Champion used their newspapers to call for a boycott of Bryant & May matches. The women at the company also decided to form a Matchgirls' Union and Besant agreed to become its leader. After three weeks the company announced that it was willing to re-employ the dismissed women and would also bring an end to the fines system. The women accepted the terms and returned in triumph. ( Extract from http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/TUmatchgirls.htm )
Fiction
The three ladies mentioned here are fictitious persons made up by me. Sally Petridge speaks with a Cockney slang, hence some of the words used here.
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