Free The Desperate Journey by Kathleen Fidler Page A

cried.
    “Ye’ll get used to it,” Maggie told her.
    Davie was set to lift the bobbins from the machines as they filled and to set in new bobbins. His was a job of constant watching and fetching and carrying. All the time the overseer kept his eye on thechildren all over the factory floor, and woe betide any who flagged in their efforts! He kept his strap in his hand, and it came down heavily on their shoulders.
    When the whistle blew at twelve o’clock the machinery slowed down to a standstill and the children, jostling and shouting, poured out of the mill into the yard and found places where they could sit on the hard-trampled ground with their backs to a wall. Many of them wolfed down their “pieces” as fast as they could and fell asleep as they swallowed the last mouthful.
    Davie and Kirsty had brought “pieces” with them of cheese and oatcake. They were unlucky in that they had not found places in the sun and the chill wind curled about their shoulders. Kirsty shivered.
    “It’s awful cold after the heat inside the mill,” she said.
    “Aren’t you going to eat your piece, Kirsty?”
    “I – I just couldna, Davie. My mouth feels full o’ the fluff from the cotton, and my head aches so with the din o’ the machines.”
    “Och, Kirsty, you must take a mouthful or two. It’s a long time to go without food till we get home tonight.” Davie looked anxiously at his twin. “Try, now!”
    Kirsty took a bite or two, then stopped. “I can’t, Davie! It just chokes me. You eat it for me. If – if only I could have a drink –”
    Just then Maggie Hunter came along. When she saw Kirsty’s white face, she stopped. “Are ye no’ weel, my lassie?” she asked.
    “She might feel better if she could get a drink,” Davie said.
    “You her brother? Here, then, take my cup!” Maggie produced a dirty cracked cup from her pocket. “There’s a pump near the boiler house if ye can get near to it.”
    There was a queue of children waiting to draw water, but at last Davie got the cup filled and carefully carried it to Kirsty who drank thirstily.
    “Will ye be able to go on with your work, Kirsty?” Davie asked.
    “Of course she will! It’s the first time that’s the worst,” MaggieHunter declared. “It’ll no’ be as bad tomorrow. Ye can lean up against me, Kirsty, and shut your eyes for a wee while when the overseer’s at the other side o’ the mill.”
    Somehow Kirsty managed to struggle through the rest of that day, though at times she was almost asleep on her feet. Maggie saw her through the day’s work, though every now and again she gave her arm a jog. “Wake up, Kirsty! Tak’ care ye dinna fall into the spindles! Here comes Mr Murdoch! Watch or he’ll lash at ye wi’ the strap!”
    When the whistle blew at seven-thirty, Kirsty gasped, “Can we go home now, Maggie?”
    “Not till we’ve cleaned the machinery and swept the floor. Come on, lassie, you get awa’ wi’ that brush while I take the dust off the spindles.”
    At last they were free to go and Kirsty stumbled along from Bridgeton to the Trongate, helped by Davie. When at last they reached the close and the stair leading to their room, she sat down weakly.
    “Oh, Davie, my legs willna carry me up all those stairs!”
    “I’ll get my father to carry ye up,” Davie said.
    By the time James Murray set her down on the bed, Kirsty was already fast asleep. Kate was unwilling to waken her at 4.30 next morning, but it had to be done if the children were to be at work in time.
    “Your porridge is ready, Kirsty, but will ye manage to get to the mill today?” Kate asked anxiously.
    “Yes, I’ll manage,” Kirsty said in a weary voice. “Maggie Hunter says you get used to it as ye go on. Besides, you’ll need our wages.”
    “Aye, my lassie, more’s the pity!” Kate said unhappily. “It’s a sad day when we’ve got to depend on our bairns for our bread. It was never like that at Culmailie.”
     
    In the months that followed the