Love on the Dole by Walter Greenwood

stole upon her; she murmured: ‘Vicar can get y’ job, if y’d ask.’
    ‘Yaah,’ he replied, impatiently: ‘Ah know… . Tart’s job. But not for me,’ staring up into the sky and adding, fervently: ‘I want proper man’s work,’ with a shrug: ‘Besides, I’ve left choir. Voice is broke.’
    ‘It isn’t,’ she cried, accusingly, suddenly animated; ‘You know it isn’t.’
    ‘Oh, yes it is. It’s broke. Ah tell y’. Ah know,’ obstinately, and with finality: ‘An’ Ah’m goin’ to Marlowe’s.’
    Appealingly: ‘But look at fellows y’ll mix with, Harry…. Swearers like Ned Narkey, and … and …’ hotly and with impatience: ‘Oh, it’s Bill Simmons and his crowd as’ve put y’ up to this … ‘ her eyes sparkled.
    He stared at her: ‘What’s it to you?’ he asked, incredulously: ‘Ah can please meself, can’t Ah? Ah knows what Ah’m doin’.’
    The impudence; the manner of her assumption! Oh. aye. she’d have him go to office work! And the way she referred, disparagingly, to BUI Simmons and the rest His nostrils dilated; he glared at her: ‘Mind y’r own business,’ he said, indignantly.
    She stared at him; her spirits froze. Could this really be the Harry Hardcastle around whom she had woven an ideal? ‘Oh, Harry,’ she murmured, appealingly: ‘Let’s not fall out.’
    He brimmed with self-confidence: ‘What d’y’ mean, us fall out? Ha! Ah like that’
    ‘Oh, Harry, I never meant…’
    A loud voice came from the open door at Helen’s back, her mother’s: ‘Hey, there. How much longer are y’ gonna stand there argefyin’? Dinner’s goin’ cold here.’
    Harry muttered, impatiently: ‘Aw, Ah’m goin’ home for me dinner… . Girls mek me sick. S’long.’ He stamped away, moodily.
    She watched him with sinking heart until he disappeared through the door of No. 17, then she turned, eyes shining, and went into the child-infested rowdiness of her home.

CHAPTER 6 - OVERALLS

    HIS initiation was disappointing.
    Visions of being conducted to a bolted and barred room where, in hushed whispers, he would receive careful instruction concluded by a solemn adjuration to keep the knowledge a sworn secret, proved to be entirely without foundation. There was no painstaking instruction, no enlightenment of the ‘mysteries’ of the trade as had been promised in the extravagant language of the indentures. That was pure bunkum, evidently. What a fool he would have made of himself had he apprised the boys of his silly expectations.
    Instead of being set to work on a lathe he found his duties consisted in running errands for the elder apprentices and the men.
    There was only one whom he knew would be sympathetic; instinctively he unburdened himself to Larry Meath; though Larry’s was cold comfort.
    ‘You’re part of a graft, Harry,’ he said: ‘All Marlowe’s want is cheap labour; and the apprentice racket is one of their ways of getting it. Nobody’ll teach you anything simply because there’s so little to be learnt. You’ll pick up all you require by asking questions and watching others work. You see, all this machinery’s being more simplified year after year until all it wants is experienced machine feeders and watchers. Some of the new plant doesn’t even need that. Look in the brass-finishing shop when you’re that way. Ask the foreman to show you that screw-making machine. That can work twenty-four hours a day without anybody going near it. Your apprenticeship’s a swindle, Harry. The men they turn out think they’re engineers same as they do at all the other places, but they’re only machine minders. Don’t you remember the women during the war?’
    ‘What women?’ Harry asked, troubled by what Larry had said.
    ‘The women who took the places of the engineers who’d all served their time. The women picked up straightaway what Marlowe’s and the others say it takes seven years’ apprenticeship to learn,’ a wry smile: ‘Still, if you want to be