In the 1990s, I was a local history publisher with a business commissioning, creating and selling many thousands of books, nationally and internationally. My roles were commissioning editor, editor and proofreader, along with all the pre-press work. I absolutely loved it, not least because I saw projects through from start to finish, idea to product. The Marxist theory of alienation did not apply in my office!
We sought out local history titles with a twist, something which made them just a little different, more of a story, pertinent and relevant to others, too. Sometimes, we took a punt on saleability, relying on our sales team to be at their most persuasive, simply because I liked the subject matter and felt it deserved publication. This was one of those titles, the whim of a capricious editor, but it was reasonably popular so exoneration was mine.
A local academic from Bolton, Christine Kenny, contacted me in 1994. She had written a book narrating the recollections of women cotton workers in Lancashire. Later, in another (academic) book, Christine considered the problematic nature of writing an accessible title, using others' voices while still trying to claim academic credibility, and no, it doesn't work too well. Christine had herself worked briefly in a cotton mill, so wanted to give voice to women she felt were generally not heard. Yet, academia set little store by work of wider relevance to the community, if it was not 'research and evidence based' according to set rules and criteria. This debate could become an academic essay in itself!
Christine recalled the smell of Christmas, as she knew it, the aroma of cotton in the mill. The cotton mills are no longer functioning as such. Many are now warehouses, but they still have a real presence in some areas of Bolton and other parts of the north west. Though the author wanted her book to be called 'The Smell of Christmas' this was not going to happen because a Christmas title has a very limited shelf life. We called the book ‘Cotton Everywhere’ because it was best fit, and the publisher usually gets their way on titles.
One woman in the book described the cotton mill thus:
"When you were at work you'd think you'd got all the cotton off you, then you'd come home and you'd look at the carpet behind you and there would be a trail of cotton. You could never wear anything outside that had been worn in the mill because it smelt of stale cotton. You could never have a nice hairdo in the mill, your hair was full of this cotton."
I recently revisited the book (now out of print) based around interviews with 14 Bolton women, all of whom had spent their lives in the cotton mills. It was, at the time, a small attempt to help redress the historical balance, to provide some herstory, giving working class women a voice, something which felt important at the time, though women now have many more avenues to express themselves with the massive growth in social media. Yet, there is still something wonderful about a tale told by someone else, using information gleaned from frank and honest interviews, and woven into a series of tales.
Some of the material the women shared was poignant, and reminiscent of women everywhere. They were not dullards, they had dreams. Why wouldn't they?
Many had wanted to enter nursing careers, but found their aspirations were never realised, often due to money shortages and the traditional nature of family expectations. It led to understandable disappointment and dissatisfaction among some about working in the mills. Nursing required qualifications, and the ability to pay for books and uniforms, which was outside the reach of many of the women. Families were poor and the wage of a young adult was an essential part of the family budget.
Two of the women interviewed never considered anything other than the mills because of strong family connections and, in some cases, strong textile union connections, too.
There were obvious dangers to working in the mills with the fast, heavy machinery, but most of the women talked more about the noise and the heat, which was probably more of an everyday experience than losing some fingers or worse; this happened often, but less frequently than sweating through a shift. They focused on the factual rather than the dramatic, though the lives of some obviously changed forever when they lost the use of their hands.
Conditions, environmental and social were not good. The workers also had to clean the machines which was greasy work. Industrial deafness was normal. Many also developed byssinosis from inhaling cotton. The young women were kept under the stern eyes of the older ones, and any young girl who 'got into trouble' soon lost her job. Being down the mill was not an easy option; nor were the women particularly submissive, though most supervisory positions were held by men, as was normal in all walks of life at that time.
As an editor, their lives hooked me and reeled me in to publication.
Courtship and romance
When it came to romance and marriage, their recollections were also rather matter of fact.
One said:
“Courting is pretty boring. We learnt about courting from the telly. What you do is, you stare into each other’s eyes - this means you’re in love. To be honest I’d finish with him except that if I do he might not break his heart, which would make me look a right fool. So, I suppose I’ll just have to put up with it.”
Christine did find, in her interviews, that the narrative of touch was important. One woman of 86 fabulously recalled a kiss from her youth, laying to rest the idea that older people lose their sense of sexuality and need for touch:
“Oh, I often think of that kiss. I think of him constantly, and within an hour of giving me that kiss, he was dead”.
Christine noted the ideas of French writer, Roland Barthes, who, put very simply, suggested that romance had become the modern day taboo. Whereas, in the past, sexual language was considered obscene, and romance was acceptable, the tables had turned, and sexuality/romance reversed. Sex talk was/is now acceptable and romance something to be avoided. So, let's see how the women talked about their love lives/courtship.
The women in their 80s (remembering that this retelling was in the mid 1990s) had been quite strictly controlled by their parents. They would have to be in before the pubs closed, often by 10 pm, and woe betide the young woman who broke society’s rules imposed on ‘nice young women’. This reminds me of a story my late mother once told about getting home after hours. The door to her home was locked by her father, so she spent the night in the outside privy with the rats scuttling around. In the book, at the age of 26, one woman had recalled being slapped on the face by her mother for being seen out with ‘lads’ (merely walking home from the cinema). Such punishment is unthinkable now.
Yet most of the women interviewed expressed affection towards their parents, and did not indicate any resentment about the curtailment of their social activities.
Entry into a woman’s home was a very serious step in the relationship. This reminds me of my father's tale of being invited to tea when stationed in Blaenau Ffestiniog. He quickly realised that marriage was close to the next step on the agenda! Courtship was often a lengthy business with the young woman playing ‘hard to get’ and the young man ‘ bashful’. The women took pride in being 'shadowed', admired from afar before being approached, usually via a friend. It reminds me of A Kind of Loving by Stan Barstow.
Despite the women largely playing by the rules, every mill had its ‘Jezebel’, the young lady who flouted conventions. Regardless of the negative comments these more adventurous women attracted, they also courted plenty of attention from the envious young ladies who listened agog to the tales woven and secretly wanted some of the excitement. The conventional women seemed to like the errant and wished they could be more like this, yet knew this was not how 'respectable' women behaved. One wonders which of them had the most fun. Depends upon outcomes, probably.
Men were also guided by social manners, for impeccable behaviour and character was required from potential suitors. Swearing and drinking were not good signs in a man, if you were seeking husband material. The ideal man was gentle, shy, teetotal and hardworking, handing over his unopened wage packet at the end of the week without complaint. It was understandable that courtship was prolonged and young men were properly vetted, for if a woman made a ‘poor choice’ then she was well and truly trapped. There was no escape from an unhappy marriage and women were at the mercy of the goodwill of their husbands. Not all men were actually ‘good providers’. Some drank their wages away, or gambled, or both. Some were violent. Presumably some changed during the course of their married lives but most interviewed seemed to have had happy, loving relationships.
Motherhood
Christine recalled women coming into her house to chat when she was a child, while she quickly scampered under the table to listen in to their conversation. I remember this activity well. Women’s chatter when no man is present was incredibly interesting to me then, and remains so now, though I no longer have to hide under the furniture to hear it.
The role of the child was to be hidden, almost unthinkable today, when they often take centre stage.
Knowledge of contraception, and indeed, menstruation, was improving but limited, yet women tried to limit their families. Additionally, items we now take for granted were simply not available. Effective contraception (French letters) was seriously unavailable. Backstreet abortion was an option. Sanitary towels were home made rags which used to be soaked in a bucket, something men never asked about. There was nothing very romantic about periods and childbirth.
Middle class women were expected to lie in bed after the delivery of their baby for a month. Working class women got two weeks, if lucky, but even so postpartum haemorrhages and other difficulties were much more frequent than today. Childless women were not encouraged to be present during a home delivery but other women (the woman’s mother and sisters) were. Often, neighbours would wait in the street for a news update during a home delivery.
Only one of the mill women reported leaving work when she became a mother, indicating that being a stay at home mum was more of a recent, middle class phenomenon. Children, however, were generally bathed daily to reduce the risk of infection, despite a shortage of bathrooms. Personal hygiene for other family members was not so easy.
Table manners
There are many other women's memories within this narrative, but I'll end with the table. Most homes had the table at the centre of it. Pre-television, families would gather around the (often) badly marked table, which was covered by a clean cloth when it needed to look good. Chatting, sewing, reading, would all take place at the table. Eating, too, of course. Whenever I visited my grandmother, the table positively heaved with food. It was the central and focal point within the home, something which, in many families, with instant meals and variable meal times, is no longer the norm. My father got in from work at 6 pm. Dinner was at 6.30 pm, come what may. We all sat at the table for it. The television was switched off. We had what we were given and were either grateful or went hungry. That part wasn't great. But it was the working class norm even in the 60s/early 70s, and stems from earlier times.
There's something to be said for it.
As an editor, I felt Christine had something saleable, new and different in her book. IT had wider appeal to anyone whose parents worked in factories. I knew it would not help her ambitions to be an eminent academic, for that requires academic papers and peer-review, yet it felt important to publish this book, to create something for people (especially women) everywhere to engage with, at a reasonable price, written in understandable prose.
Academia certainly has its place but if you want to get a story out, really out there, with a wide readership, then the academic route, I still believe, is not the place to go.