Tales of the Unknown

Episode 4

Episode 4

Morla thought about Clonmel on summer evenings. The air had been calm and clear and sweet-smelling, the houses and shops unblemished by soot and dirt. Of course there was poverty; there were families like Jasnah's, but even they didn't live like this in a world of noise and dirt, the very air rank and noxious. This was poverty and squalor on a scale she had never thought possible. She was jolted out of her sober reverie by Jasnah's announcement that they'd arrived, and looking up she wondered how such an ornate and imposing building, with its scrolls and cornices and stained-glass windows, could exist in such a wasteland.

She followed Jasnah through the door marked 'Ladies' and along a corridor of coloured and moulded tiling that opened out into a large room partitioned into small cubi cles. A hefty woman, reddened arms below the rolled-up sleeves of her uniform, came towards them.

'Have you both the money?" "That we have! Here, sixpence each.'

The woman took the money and led them towards two cubicles in each of which were a stoneware slipper bath, a wooden stool and a wooden platform raised off the cement floor. From the pocket of her smock-like garment she extracted a spanner and turned two bolts set into the wall at the head of the bath.

 Obviously they didn't trust you to have taps and even the two brushes - a long-handled back brush and a hand brush - were attached to the wall by brass chains and had 'Corporation of Glasgow' burned into their backs. The bath was half full and the attendant reversed the ritual with the spanner, tested the water with her hand and then shut the door with the parting instruc tion of, 'No longer than fifteen minutes!'

Standing on the wooden platform, Morla stripped off her clothes and placed them neatly on the wooden stool. Then she stepped into the hot water and easing herself down, let it lap over her. The warmth made her drowsy and she began to relax, slowly going over the events of the last hours in her mind. Jasnah was right. She'd always had Jasnah and Mary-Kate to take care of her, but now she was alone. 

When she thought about it she realized what a whining little fool she must have sounded. 'Expect nothing and you'll not be disappointed.' Well, she wasn't going to live by that maxim. From now on she'd take a grip of herself, as Jasnah put it. No more blubbering like a baby, no more moaning. She couldn't go on being afraid of everything for the rest of her life. She'd have to grow up. If she was going to stay here she'd have to stand on her own two feet and grab what she wanted and hang on to it!

Morla was taken on at MacFarlane's on the understand ing that she would be a 'temporary seasonal worker' and that when the spring rush was over she would be laid off. But, she was told, if her work and time-keeping proved satisfactory, she might be taken back on again. That was the way the system worked, Robbie Frazer, the Under Manager, told her. She could take it or leave it. She took it, but by six o'clock on the first day the firm resolve with which she'd left the baths on her first night, had gone. Her head was aching, her back and shoulders were aching and she'd never been so exhausted, not even after a day at Dunlop's. MacFarlane's was a nightmare of heat, noise and frenetic activity. The room where she worked was like a huge barn with rows of sewing machines set in double banks facing each other, the motorized belt that drove them, running on wheels slung from the ceiling. In the middle of the rows of machines was a shallow, wooden trough. The work was 'piece work' which accounted for the frenzied activity. Each worker relying on the others to keep the line going; stoppages or slowness resulted in a loss of pay for everyone.

At first Morla couldn't keep up with the others and there had been curses and black looks cast in her direction. She'd tried to ignore them, remembering Jasnah's warnings issued on their walk to the factory. Accidents often happened. The most common being the machine needle piercing the tip of the finger and often breaking, leaving half embedded in the nail. One girl had once had her hair caught and but for the prompt action of one of the pressers who had cut her free, she would undoubtedly have been seriously maimed.

As the day wore on Morla became more proficient, forcing the material under the drumming head of the needle, her head nt, shoulders hunched, her eyes burning and smarting from the effort of concentrating on the straightness of the seam.

'Now that wasn't so bad, was it? And you'll get faster and the more you do the more you earn!' Jasnah comforted her at the end of their shift.

'I feel terrible.'

Jasnah was also tired and stiff. 'Oh, for God's sake, Morla, stop moaning. Didn't I tell you to grow up.' I'm trying,' she replied, gritting her teeth. 'But it's not easy. What is? All you've been used to is O'Leary's and that's not work.' In the light of the day she had just put in, Morla silently agreed with her.

They arrived home to find the table set and the smell of cooking issuing from a pan on the range. Jasnah sank into a chair. 'Eileen, put the kettle on, done in.' we're

The girl didn't answer but continued stirring the pan.

I'll do it,' Morla offered wearily, placing the kettle on

the hob, but she received no look or word of thanks. 'It's going to be a grand evening, if I can find the energy maybe Archie and me will go for a walk later."

'Our Archie'll be too tired.' 'Who asked you? He'll do as he pleases!'

Eileen slammed two plates on the table and ladled out a watery stew. 'Aren't you going to have any, Eileen?' Morla asked. 'I've already eaten.'