SHORT STORY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17188, 3 November 1923, Page 4 (Supplement)

SHORT STORY.

THE CHRONICLES OF MARY’N HURRELL.

“ BRAEMAR.” No. 5. (Written for the “ Star ” by Mrs K- Baizoen.) Surrounded by some very line dwellinghouses on the Richmond Hill, Braemar itselt looks more like a huge private residence tnan a stone clothing factory. Hue it is a factory, and for that reason my parents gave a very reluctant consent when I pleaded to be allowed to swell the big ranks of workers there. li was now three years unce T had left Miss de Drew and the dressmaking trade behind forever, and I was now earing my living by machine working. 'lnal is to say, t had became a machinist because you got on quicker by that trade and by a far loss intricate method—and because Dora Curtis, with whom 1 had never lost touch, had become a machinist also. But, so far, 1 had not been employed in any other than small workrooms, for a weekly wage ul ten shillings. It was equal to one pound a week in these times, and not the worst wages in those days for a girl of seventeen ; but 1 yearned lor a position at Braemar. where the machines were worked by steam power, where the wage system was piecework —and more especially because the machine next to Dora ( urtis was vacant post then. When ! 1 told Dora about my father’s pre.iudices concerning factory workers, she laughed scornfully. and she said. “That’s nothing, Mary’n. ni.v people had a bug in their bonnets about them, too- But I .iust had a friendly quarrel with them about the dignity of labour and nil that sort of thing-and they’re quite all right about it now. You come to Braemar and enjoy life,” she added, cheerfully. Dora was always enthusiastic about Braemar and her workmates there’. But my people were not so well off. financially, as Dora's; and T was, therefore, forced to consider the monetary sid© of the question besides my own wishes, so I said: “ Well, I’m earning ten shillings a week where 1 am now. Mould I get as much at Braemar, do you thinks Dora was certain that I'd earn more, the wage system being piecework ; the harder you worked the more you earned. This idea appealed to my democratic principles at once—but, dear Bod! How hard l did have to toil, subsequently, for the first fifteen shillings that 1 lilted from the money tray at Braemar. But there was more than dignity cf labour practised inside those four great walls at Braemar; divine virtues sometime. and a spirit of splendid comradeship which mode the hardest day's work lighter, the sad days shorter, and the joyous days sweeter. Dear girls of Braemar! Dear Braemar days! How 1 w ill enjoy living through your quaint customs, your pageant of busy movement. or strange vicissitudes, in these chronicles, who can tell ? The best days of niv youth were spent inside those dear walls; and I feel an impulse of pride at the thought of once being numbered as an intimate associate of the host girls there — L who have since enjoyed the smile and favour of patricians. At Braemar you found the humane pulse life—in society but Hie trappings of it. . . . JJut, Mary’n, you surely don’t want to be a factory girl r” sain my mother. '' Yes. 1 do.’’ 1 answered decidedly. The situation seemed beyond her, so she called mv father in from his little kitchen garden, to deal with it. I met his grave look with some defiance, and 1 repeated: “ 1 want to work at Brae- [ mar,” and 1 added, “ 1 went to school with some of those girls, anti they are all very good girls.” lie could not say otherwise himself, so he gave me a conditional consent at Inst - 1 must leave if l saw any roughness in their midst. “ T want my daughter to be a lady.” he added, glancing rather pathetically at his own work-roughened hands. 1 can only hope that his wish has been fulfilled although 1 could not say that, f lacked many examples of the order at Braemar. if it lias notl stepped inside the portals 1 of Braemar one morning in early spring, when 1 was seventeen and a half eager and happy to begin my work there, where so much experience of a Certain kind lay before me on no narrow scale. Of the five hundred persons who worked at Braemar, more than half were machinists who were in the same room as Dora and T. At first the hum and roar of the machinery was disturbing-—but we soon got used to it. as we do to most other things when novelty has faded into custom . . . Mrs Roper, the forewoman, was a rather plump person of forty-five: blit time in touching her face had also stooped to kiss it. She had a genius for managing a big army of working girls, and was, therefore, the right woman in the right place. It is very unusual to be quite fond of those placed in authority above you in a factory, but it was so at Braemar—we all loved Airs Roper, and more especially did the little apprentices. She invariably “ mothered ” the new girls until the shvness wore off; and sometimes' an extra timid little girl would be seen hanging around her for dnvs before she cvmld be induced to lake her proper place rn the factorv—. fetching and carrying for the - niachinAfy sister. Tootsie, came to work at Braemar soon alter T did : anti she always felt grandly exalted because Airs Roper kept her to assist with the management at her own special table, an envied position which went by oersonal favour, and an instance which shows how varied the fate of even the members of one family can be. Tootsie had been destined from her cradle to ’ tread on velvet." it would seem—• she was far more beautiful than I. and she earned her living with far more leisure and wages ; but there was never any jealousy or envy between us—only much mutual lor© and respect I am sorry that this chronicle must of necessity he so confined to introducing and introductions, because I know that we never like these things either in fiction or reality, but I hope your patience will have its due reward as these records proceed. One of the first pleasures you begin to look forward to at Braemar is the ' lunch-hour gossip—and tea ! Never a , cup of tea so welcome as that which came after three or four hours with heads bent over a sea of yokes, and gussets, neckbands and seams. \nd never a gossip go delightful as that, when, with our backs against the ma- i chine troughs and tables, we would

tell each other of our mutual joys and woes, our triumphs, and sometimes our love stories or our tragedies. Indeed there was a very morbid tragedy recounted to myself about the machinist who had occupied my place, next to Dora, just before I came- Poor little Jessie Moore had lost her reason because her lover had jilted her—and 1 had read the account- of her horrible suicide in the “ Ago.” little thinking that I would so soon take up her workburden where she had left it. at Braemar. Dora was furious with the girl who had told me—-but 1 assured her of my absence of superstition regarding the matter, and all was well again. Of course we selected our own friends, and with them clustering here and thera all over the room it. groups we took our lunch Our special group consisted of Dora. Curtis, whom you know; ATareia .Mead, who will later have a chronicle all to herself; Ethel Dove, a pretty girl who dressed in good taste and was engaged to marry the workroom mechanic. Peter Power; and Tootsie, with her friend Alaggie Russell ; and myself. ... There was an unusual stir of excitement in our midst, one day after I had been at Braemar si few months, and Dorn was telling us the cause of it : “There’s a new cutter downstairs, to-day : s'vh a sma’’t-looking Johnnie—smarter than Jim ” she added with a me r ry twinkle in her eyes. Jim Bowen was Dora’s “boy” (as we invariably called our own particular gentlemen* friends in those days) and whether Jim wished for it or not he had our unanimous sympathy. AYe knew that Jim Bowen was only one of Dora's boys —and we have seen him

looking very much as if lie wasn’t even that, what time young Dora would bt. twirling around a ballroom in all her glory-Jim forgotten. AY© were at once, curious about the new cutter. “ Did you see him. Dora?” “ AATiat’a. he like, dark or fair?” Dora said he was fair—and a “ per. feet dream of a boy.” A\ e laughed at her then: and 1 also, who have not yet ceased to see his face in uiy dream*. But so do tli© events of our lives creep around and very soon they silently envelop us so that we almost forget what, our lives were like before their advent. AYe- all expressed a desire to see him except Tootsie and Alaggie. and they said, “ How mad grown-up girls were!” “ 1 suppose, then, you will make poor Jim jealous at the cutter’s ball ntx- week?” I said to Dora. “ AVliafc do you mean, Mary’n?” “ AA'hy -with the new cutter. You’ll monopolise him for sure.” Dora shared, with everybody, an objection to home-truths, and she always resented any implication that she was a flirt. “ Monopolise him yourself, then,” she retorted grimly. ‘•'That’s not very likely,” T replied “ AA'hy isn’t it ?” ‘ ’ i “ For many reasons— I won’t bo there for one.” ‘‘ AA'hy. Mary’n P” It wasAlarcia who asked this time. ‘ I’ve not been invited.” ” Oh, yes, you have,” said Dora. “ T helped Jim with the invitation cards last night, and when you get home this evening you will find a card for your- , self and Tootsie and your escort—so “I too?*’ cried Tootsie. “ T—and I've never been to a ball in my life! I can dance though—and I love dancing ! 1 wonder if anybodv will dance with me? I’m fifteen and a good few months—they might dance with me. Oil, Dora, you darling, for getting me ii'.vited!” Tootsie put her arm around Dora’s neck and kissed her impulsively on the cheek. “I'll make Dad dance with me—l suppose he'll bo cur escort, won’t he. Alary nT” “ Yes T—suppose- -so,” I said slowly and without any of Tootsie’s enthusiasm. 1 was thinking about- that hardest part of poverty’s sacrifice to a woman - -that of not being able to dress as she would like. If I went to the cutter's dance T wanted to be uicelv dressed before it con la be any pleasure, and [ would sooner have been without food any time than without nice j clothes “ I’ve got nothing to wear—and the cutter's dance is such a swell affair,'* I objected “Pooh!" said Tootsie, “our clothes are all right I can w-eqx my white muslin with a pink sash, and I'll bo row Alaggie's white shoes and stock mgs if she's not invited." Alaggie said she wasn’t and that Tootsie"would be welcome to her Nellie Stewart bangle as we ll , as the shoes and stockings; so Totsie was settled to her own entire satisfaction, hut not I. Tootsie was refreshing company, for they all laughed at her, heartily., as she added : • You borrow some fine clothes, too. A 1 arv" ll ■ ■ The l»u vs will d.-.noe with vi. u. a nvliow. because vou’re old enough. Will vou let Alurv’n have the bangle instead of me. Alaggie? Nobody will look at me, you fcuow. ’

Dora was looking at me and I could not help feeling her sympathy. Dora was always beautifully dressed herself, because she might take her earnings for clothes but mine were needed tor a y living as well. Both Marcia and Dora were tho youngest members of their respective families—always a great advantage in vorking men’s homes over the elder children, and I was the eldest, of course, iu mine " I want you to come. Alary’n." said Dora quietly, but. she meant it- ever so sincerely, and I teit glad because outside my own family she was still my best love "Spotted muslin is cheap enough.” said Marcia ' Get some. Alary’n. and we’ll make it up for you in the lunch hours.” Dora, was crelighted with this suggestion, and so was I. I thanked them, my kindly friends—and the whistle. Mew for us to start our w-ork again for the last half-day of ihe working day, with our hearts happy, and our minds filled with plans Mid youthful antioip i lions fur the. ruining glorious advent of the cutters' dance. Which 1 will tell v<»u al.oui in the next chronicle. (To be continued.,