Matchstick Girls 1888.
Author's Note:
This is a tale based on the British first strike in 1888 by the ladies who are
known as the Matchstick Girls.
Contests rules:
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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. It's 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. It's 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 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 my rump as his roving eyes
never missed the sight of 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 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 bacon (
meaning legs ) for the factory. It's about time and I don't want to lose my
pennies to them daft rules the management imposes.
"Hurry, you
old hen. I am to close the gate if you don't get those slices of bacon 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
relief 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 a thieving couple of Rosie and Brett for a moment of steamy rubs and
dabs. She is 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 it's 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 on the production line. She is ever
early as she stays not far from here. We are here from dawn to dusk to produce matchsticks
for the management. We got our schedule and allocation for each day, but none
can make up for the men who come 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 know the score and we hid them bad ones
in our skirts and barnet ( meaning hair ) when they come inspecting. When it's
near the 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 the needed materials for a
match stick. Many of us know the risk we are taking but the weight of feeding a
family makes us ignore what risks we are facing. The concerns tell 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 has done some damaging
words to the press on our plight but I doubt them Lords ever read the lines she
has taken to bring up. All they cared about are the races and obituaries."
Madge is one of the rare ones who could read as her father insist she does.
"I heard of
Annie Besant. She is the homing beacon for our cause, but like many before her,
this would be turned to ashes soon in her fight. We got to keep on stoking the
fire so it will be burned on. I have been praying very Sunday for her
success." I met Annie in one of her talks but the rhetoric cannot
challenge the hardened loaves of these men. They still ruled over us women as
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 on the
secret committee for our rights and betterment of works. I heard last the
Committee has decided to form a Union called the Match girls Union.
Our conversation
was disrupted by 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 cots at home from now." Peter the Wick is a nasty guy who
bullies 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 walking down the stairs, with some in tears.
"I will 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 wields his baton like his
wick.
"Up your
Khyber, you Wick. I am telling you 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 at 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 are 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 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 who 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. It's 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 wish everyone I could as they passed by me to
walk out of the factory. I saw 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 Match girls' 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.
Fiction
The three ladies mentioned here are fictitious persons made up by me.
Sally Petridge speaks with Cockney slang, hence some of the words used here.
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