Window gazing

MULE Spinners were always considered to be tight fisted and their trade was always noted for being "Dead Men's Shoes."

It should be understood that in a mill employing 250 workpeople, there might only be positions for 36 Spinners, and their assistants, therefore, would have to wait years until one retired or died before gaining promotion. Hence when they did become spinners, they wanted every penny they could get out of their mules.

Now Harry Clayton was considered to be the meanest man in Middleton, and it was said "Yon wouldn't gi' thi droppins from his nose.

"Harry worked at the Apex Mill and it was there, one Monday morning, that the manager and mule overlooker were walking round the mill. They arrived in the middle spinning room, where Harry worked on a pair of mules in the centre of the room, and what do they see but Harry gazing out of the window.

"By gum," said the manager, "that's a bad example for the other work people in the room."

"Ah'll go and tell him," said the overlooker. "Nay, we'll give him one more chance," said the manager. And with that they walked out of the room.

An hour later they returned, only to catch Harry once again gazing out of the window.

"By bloody hell," said the foreman. "Now ah'm going to tell him his name for nowt."

"Nay wait a bit," said the manager. "Yon mon has worked here, man and boy, for forty year. We'll give him one last chance." So out they went again and returned half-an-hour later to see Harry once again peering intently through the window.

The manager, beside himself with rage, almost ran down the room, and when he reached Harry screamed: "What art doin? Thar't not paid to look out o' t' winder!

"Ah know," Said Harry. "But tha sees, t' wife deed yesterday. and ah didna want to miss t' funeral passin."

Yon's getting time to read t'newspaper

IN the nineteen thirties, the Tower Mill at Oldham was said to have the worst spinning in all Lancashire.

The manager and his father, the managing director - a man deep in his seventies - were crossing the mill yard before going around the mill.

"Tha mournt come in t' spinning rooms dad," said the manager. "Ah don't want yon union man setting on to thi."

"Don't fret," said the old man, "Ah've getten t'Daily Herald with me."

The old man led the way to the top spinning room where he knew the shop steward to be. On the very first pair of mules was an ancient old spinner, as old as the old man himself; whose name was Gabriel Sidebottom.

"Hello Gabriel," said the old man, "Did't goo an' watch Latics o' Setdi?" (did you see Oldham Athletic play football on Saturday?)

"Nay," said Gabriel. "Ah were busy in't garden all Setdi afternoon."

'Pity, " said the old man. "Thi played reight weel, won four nowt thi did, and it were champion. It's all on t' back page o' t' Herald. Here, tha can have it. Keep the paper, I've done wi' it."

And with that, father and son walked down the room where, when they reached the sixth pair, the shop steward was waiting for them, eyes blazing, daggers drawn.

Without any preamble he screamed: "What art gooin te do about this bad spinnin'? T lads can't keep th' ends up." (What are you going to do about this bad spinning? The men can't keep up with number of broken threads.)

Before the old man could reply he added: "You'll have to pay compensation, that's all."

"Compensation!" said the old man. "Look theer," and the men followed his gaze to old Gabriel at the other end of the room. The old spinner had one leg up on the frame end, deeply engrossed in the Daily Herald. "Compensation?" repeated the old man. "Thart talking about compensation, and yon mon's getten time to read t' newspaper!"

And father and son walked away smiling.

The camel geet fast in t'hoist

THE moor Mill at Rochdale spun fine counts for a firm of Franco-Egyptian weavers in Cairo, all of which was used for winding cloths for rich Hindus. to be cremated in.

One Monday morning, the spinning master was told to tell the spinners to sweep up because a mixed French-Arab delegation were coming to look around the mill which supplied their yarn. And here the trouble began; an agreement going back half a century decreed that sweeping would be done as follows: Back half, Tuesday. Front half: Wednesday. All round: Thursday. All round: Friday. No provision was ever made for Monday.

After much argy bargy it was agreed that the mules would be swept and the firm would pay a quarter of an hour's stopped time for the work, which in effect meant a few extra pence in the spinners' pockets because, in fact, the mules would not be stopped at all.

Well so said, so done. And the delegation came, looked in the Card Room, and one Mule Room and departed, leaving the mill with full order books for three years ahead.

This should have left everyone well pleased but in fact, everyone was not well pleased, as you shall hear. As is well known, mills had two lifts, one at each end of the building - one for taking work in progress up and one for bringing spun yarn down.

The spinning master on Tuesday morning used the lift to take him from one floor to another. In mill parlance, these lifts were always known as hoists, and on one of these he rode to the top floor, there to be collared on the last pair by a cantankerous old spinner called Thomas Henry Marsden. "What happened to t' delegation?" demanded that worthy. "Good mornin' Tom Henry," said the master, hopefully.

"Don't thee Tom Henry me," said the spinner. "What happened to 'em?"

"Well, tha knows how it is, Tom Henry," said the master. "They hadn't time to go everywhere!"

"Ah'll tell thi what happened," said the spinner. "T'camel got stuck in t'hoist."