BIG-HEARTED JIM.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 18, 6 March 1917, Page 2

BIG-HEARTED JIM.

THE DELIGHTFUL STORY OF HOW A TRUE BRITISH TRADESMAN EXTENDED A KINDLY, HBLPING V HAND. Big Jim !. That was what they called him in the great munition factory where he . toiled. • And his heart was as big as his body. They don’t give the V.C. to a munition worker, Otherwise Jim would have won it, Those in authority would have given it him fop “an act of humble heroism." Not a spectacular deed of daring wrought within the focus of the colonel’s field-glasses amid the battle’s din, hut for one of those simple self-sacrifices to an unfortunate fellow creature which earn for their performers the glorious epithet of' "white."

Yes, Big Jim was white. White through and through. Yet he could fight to a finish any one of the two thousand men whose brows and bodies willingly sweated day and night in the big works to turn out ammunition for the khaki-clad, mudstained lads on the fields of France and Flanders. The nature of a gentle child enwrapped the frame of a

giant. This was splendidly illustrated in a little happening, about which Big Jim’s work-mates still talk. A' wellknown professional wrestler came to their local music-hall, and, of course Big Jim went to see him. The man of mighty sinews stood on the stage in an attitude o! careless strength, while his manager offered the sum of five pounds to any member of the audience who could throw him.

.Wrestling was one of the joys. of JBig Jim’s life, and he promptly took up the challenge. with a supreme effort, he threw the astonished wrestler over his head, the din nearly raised the iteof. Big Jim left the building richer by five pounds—and lent it all next day to a fellow’ workman in domestic difficulties. &

Came there to the works one day a new hand. For that matter new hands were always coming and going. But this particular one appealed to Jim. Besides, he was put to ‘work in close proximity to the Her.culoS of the factory.

He was bordering on sixty. His frame was tall and gaunt. The

shoulders stooped ; the arms were thin and pitiful looking. Now and then a hacking cough mingled with the clash of the machinery. The hands were unscarred by toil. The voice was weary j the whole being reminiscent of a man who had fought life’s bitterest battle—and lost.

Big Jim was touched. He knew the man had no right to be there. Only the crying need for munition workers skilled or unskilled, could have caused the foreman to employ him. Big Jim’s heart bled with pity as, gradually, he gleaned in haltingly-spoken sentences the story of the man to whom he had taken such a firm, strange liking. Until now he had never done any manual work in his life. His wife lay sick unto death. "Wearily he had tramped from place to place, trying to get work. Oh, yes ! He had heard and read the story of men being wanted everywhere for everything, but —well, he at any rate had been unlucky !

There had seemed no niche on earth into which a derelict like himself could fit. Munition work had been his last desperate throw. And that was how he came to grasp eagerly at work which really required a man of Herculean strengthlifting tremendously heavy shells after they had been drilled, but before they were sent away to the powderfactory to be filled, Big Jim saw the man writhing under the constant strain, Every movement seemed to agonise him. Yet he stuck to his task like grim death. And Big, Jim knew that he was bearing the body-wracking ordeal for the sake of the sick wife of whom he had spoken in such loving terms. Small wonder that the strong man admired the weakling for his pluck. But the big fellow knew that collapse was imminent. Sheer, physical incapacity, absolute exhaustion, one day spread a sickly look of pain over the features of the new hand. He went down with a moan.

Big Jim was the first to reach hia side/ With the tenderness of a woman, a gentleness seemingly utterly out of keeping in so massive a frame he kore him to the gates with a muttered explanation to his charge-hand. There was no cab. So the giant carried the weakling to the miserable tenement where he lived. It was two miles distant.

The poverty of the place, the thin, pale-faced woman who’ started up from the sort of truckle bed on which she lay, shot like a shaft to the heart of Big Jim. He spoke little , rather he acted. Behaved like a man of sound common sense. Going out, he soon returned laden with all sorts of nourishing foods. And, really, good food was all both husband and wife needed.

Yet during his absence,Big Jim had done a lot of thinking. He knew that the man he had befriended—a piece of human wreakage, who had drifted into ,the great shell-factory via a labour exchange—was as yet entitled to no sick benefit and nothing in the shape of compensation. Unless somebody provided him with sustenance he must inevitably starve. His sick wife, too !

"I’ll save ’em !” gritted Big Jim

His own responsibilities were heavy enough. But he could not help his nature. He must do it by overtime. It would mean extra work for his great frame, the putting in of every hour he could snatch, the denying of' himself little luxuries—in short, keeping two families instead of one. He told them. Promised to send in a doctor, a woman to clean up and cook, to pay their rent, to buy their food ; in short,,to see they wanted for nothing until the husband could in the distant future, get other work.' They tried to thank him. But the words would not come. Big Jim escaped, and emerged into the street just in time to allow a dazzling ray of glorious golden sunshine to lighten up his joy-transfigured face. I don’t know. Perhaps I’m wrong. But, somehow, I think I’d rather he Big Jim than—well, many a man of greater wealth or renown !