WITH THE " CO-OPS."

Press, Volume LXIV, Issue 13188, 7 August 1908, Page 7

WITH THE " CO-OPS."

THE WORK CURE. (specially written ron "thr press.*) When tho tedium of city life becomes well-nigh insupportable; when tho brain recoils with nausea from its accustomed genteel tasks; when the sunshine is dingy and soiled; when present existence must be tolerated only on account of tho future's uncertainty—when such symptoms as these manilest themselves, try the work cure. Not the diluted, tinted, sweetened tonic of a merely pottering occupation; but tho fullstrength, unombroidercd extract of hard, grinding, manual toil. Tho medicine is difficult to swaliow at first; but it comes with healing virtues, a veritable balm of Gilcad. . . . Once on a time, not long ago, tho writer cast aside the habiliments conforming with the city's measure of the stature of inconspicuous respectability, donned blucher boots, moleskin continuations, a drill shirt, rusty coat, a frail felt hat, shouldered his swag, and attached himself to a band of co-operative workers. Ho merged his identity with tho intcrencc to bo drawn from the moleskins, felt on a moleskin plane, and viewed the world and its affairs from a merely moles-m standpoint.

Thus circumstanced, an analysis of one's feelings yields curious results. It is the instinctive discipline of clothes perhaps, but ho feels, or is made by sumo occult thought force, to feel, the interior of all who may chance to bo better dressed and more prosperously disposed than he. Jack may bo as good as his master, but so long as Jack looks tho wholo world in tbe face clad in moleskins, and tho master in broadcloth, a great gulf will continuo to be fixed between them, which neither will attempt to bridge. One instinctively steps aside for his (sartorially) superior, and meekly stands and waits until bo shall have been served. A sense of humiliation is a necessary ingredient in our prescription. For a time the rough clothing iriis and galls, tho blucher boots are inflexible anu unyielding in their purpose to mould the feet to their ungainly lines; but by-and-by ono settles down to the new rote as to the manner born. His capacity for entertaining or oxprossing resentment becomes limited and dwarfed, and ho is made to realise that there are snubs and bulfctings awaiting which he must accept as the guerdon of his new station in life, 'lhe writor once tin-toed with infinite respectfulness into tho office of a certain public departmont away out in the wilds. Tho veriest understrapper was m possession, and ho was immersed "talking horso" to an acquaintance. Tho thread of his discourse was broken but for a moment, and then only to. command, "Wait outside,_l'm not ready for you yet!" On another occasion, after tho work euro had fulfilled its purpose, ono vontured, wet, miserable, and perished with the cold, to request tho privilege of purchasing a cup of tea at a waysido houso of refreshment. A pert young wench enquired one's business, and conveyed it to the proprietress of tho establishment in contemptuous tones: "A man hero wants a cup of tea." Tho lady mado a rapid survey of -ono s appearanco through the kitchen porthole, and returned aciduously, "Tell him he'll havo to wait till after tho coach como in." a mere matter of three hours! And who shall say that clothes do not mako the man? But all this by the way. Ono associates with men who regard work as a i«ii disease, for which no remodv has yet been discovered. Tho most optimistic regard it as an interruption to the exorcise of their normal activities. But all have long since become innured to the arduousness of purely manual occupation, and their bodies havo grown, or been twisted, into conformity with tho needs of their employment. The sense of freedom at being out in tho open air far from evidences of any savo tho most primitive beginnings of civilisation, impresses most at first. The vision ranges uninterruptedly over huge distances. On the flat, half a mile below, ono espies someone splitting wood. Tho axo descends with velvety impact, Tmd as it is raised again for another blow the faint thud of ,its first crash is borne upon the oar. Little specks, busying like ants, claw and peck at the hiilsido away across tho forge. Little pinches of earth are ung into toy barrows and wheeled with ridiculous leisure to tho pigmy tip. This is a gang ot co-operatives two miles distant as the crow flies. Nothing looks simpler than effectively wielding tho pick and shovel. But there is an art to bo acquired that lends dignity to the labour. Anu it seems to require so little effort. . . . The handle of tho pick is thick, and every blow jars and strains the wrists. Tho point is flighty and insincere. It will glance off a hidden stone ami menace tho safety of one's pedal extremities upon the smallest provocation. Moreover, at first a maximum of effort is expended upon a minimum of result. One leels that he is attacking a mountain with a hat-pin fastened to the end of a railway sleeper. And the long-handled shovel 1 Its business end rebels at unexpected moments. It stops short wlieu wo confidently anticipate its kind progression, and his whole frame reels and shudders from the impact. A large stove on ono side of the blade will disturb tho balance of tho portion of spoil being lifted, and an ignominious scattering of fragments of rock and earth results. One quickly comes to appreciate the virtuo of *'bowyangs" or ''knee-irons"—the straps or cords to l>e seen encircling the navvy's limbs just below the knees. These ensure greater freedom of action for tho legs, which axe constantly bending under the stress of lifting and heaving, and besides provide'an extra thickness of material for the shovel handle to rest upon when the lift is made. At first the thudding pick is brought into action, loosening tiehtly-paoked earth and boulders, and when the ground upon which one is operating is sufficiently cumbered, the loner-handled shovel comes into play. One pants and sweats beneath the unaccustomed toil and strain. His back feels as though ii had been bruised and beaten to a pulp; his arms ache and his wrists swell; his hands blister and sting, bU bead reels and aches, and the hours drag by on leaden feet. A consciousness of overpowering hunger and exhaustion is. the only sensation experienced when work for the day has oeased. He eats ravenously and longs for the solace of his humble stretcher, his rourh brown blankets, and his sacking'coverlet. Sleep comes to him in a new cruise, for it brings merciful oblivion, absolute and complete. AA"ith the dawning of another day ono nlies his pick and shovel with v certain rough dexterity. Hk> envies the ease with which his companions, some of them mere of nmuanity. Accomtheir tasks. They aro highlyfinished labour machines, insensible to fatigue, delvine. lifting, hurling with rythmic stolidity. Tl«ey set the *t:indard pace at eight- o'clock every morning, and finish, (strong and lusty, at tbe same sneod at five o'clock in the evening. Theirs is a level monotony of inflexibly regulated effort all through the chapter. From the sheer lust of muscular exuberance tr.e labouring neophyte snurts rrnllantly for a sr>aee. but soon falls back b*von'd the ruck tired and jaded. By the third day he has mastered more mysterifs of th*» craft, and by the fifth or sisih. provided his physical condition is to the strain, ho lacks only the finish tuting him a complete navvy. In so short a space the allurements

of city life fall away from him. His existence is governed by rules of the frankest simplicity. Ho works that he may sleep and cat, and sleeps and eats that ho may work. He works while it i» light, and slumbers whole-heartedly whilo it is dark. In a week or more he is a new man. His mentality has rested luxuriously, and he has builded up a vast store of bodily vigour. He returns to his accustomed haunts like a giant refreshed; he dons the full measure of his former self-respect with his normal clothing; lie has eorno back into lik own half of the world, but he has {=<x>n how the other half contrives to live, and tho horizon of his sympathies i-i widened accordingly.