Free The Desperate Journey by Kathleen Fidler

sighed.
    Kate, too, was not against the idea of the children going to work.
    “Ye canna keep children indoors all day,” she said, “especially stirring bairns like ours, and I dinna like the notion of them wandering the streets. There’s no knowing what accident or wickedness might befall them there. Besides, we’ve never brought up our children to be idle. They’d be better to learn a useful trade.”
    With misgivings, James Murray took his children to a cotton mill at Bridgeton. It was a building on two floors with many long windows. From it there came such a clatter of machinery that Kirsty shrank back.
    “Whatever’s that terrible noise?” she asked.
    “Just the machinery, Kirsty, that’s all,” Davie told her.
    “Do we have to work with that horrible din in our ears all the day?”
    “We’ll get used to it,” Davie said lightly, eager to see the new machinery.
    The clangour increased as they went up a flight of steps into the mill. As they entered the room a blast of hot dust-laden air rushed out at them and the noise of the machinery almost deafened them. The fine fluff that rose from the machines set Kirsty coughing. Children, thin, pale and tired, stood by the machines, darting at them constantly to do some operation. James Murray felt a pang of misgiving as he looked for the overseer.
    A grim-faced man stepped forward. “Weel, what is it? Do ye wish your bairns to be taken on?”
    “Yes –” James hesitated. “I – I wondered if you’d got work for me too?”
    “No! Only for bairns. What’s their age?”
    “Ten, rising eleven. They’re twins.”
    “Is their health good? The mill doctor will have to give them a certificate to say they’re fit for work.”
    “They’ve never had an illness in their lives,” James said.
    “Right! They can start at once and bring me a line from the doctor before the end of the week. No wages for three days while they’re learning, and after that, twa shillings the week, each. That’s as good wages as ye’ll get anywhere in Glasgow.”
    “What time do they start in the morning?”
    “Six o’clock sharp and no nonsense! Lazy bairns feel the weight o’ my hand. An hour off at twelve to eat their dinner and half an hour in the afternoon to eat their piece and they finish at half-past seven.”
    “It’s a long time for young children to be standing by theirmachines.” James looked troubled.
    “Hoots, man! They soon get used to it. Ye’re lucky to get them taken on here, for the boss doesna let bairns do nightwork. Other mills do! The sooner they get started, the better. Hi, Maggie!” he called to a child smaller than Kirsty. “You take the lassie and show her how to piece the threads, and Tom, you find this lad a job alongside you.”
    The children hurried away to the long lines of whirling spindles. The overseer turned to James and took the children’s names, then turned away. “Hi, you, Ben Guthrie!” he shouted. “What d’ye think ye’re doing, sitting down when my back’s turned?”
    There was a frightened wail from the luckless Ben as the overseer advanced towards him, arm raised, and there was the sound of a strap descending. James Murray went away with a heavy heart.
    Maggie took Kirsty towards the whirring spindles and shouted in her ear above the din of the machines, “Ye watch the bobbins for the thread breaking as it’s twisting on the spindle. If it breaks, ye stop the spindles with this lever, then twist the threads together again like this, and then pull the lever and start the machine again. That’s all there is to do, but watch ye don’t get your hand caught in the machinery.”
    “What a lot of bobbins to watch!” Kirsty shouted back, bewildered.
    “Aye, ye’ve got to keep on your toes all the time! There’s a thread snapped!
You
piece that one together like ye saw me doing.”
    Kirsty fumbled and managed to twist the two ends together and start the frame spinning again. “Och! It makes me dizzy!” she