Chapter 16: Class Distinctions

One evening, Gordon returned home from one of his meetings quite late, very excited. Taking off his coat, he stood in front of the fire, warming his hands and his backside.
"I know that I said I'd be home early tonight," he told Margaret, "but I met the most amazing bloke at the meeting and we went for a drink together afterwards -- Jack Matthews. He's a teacher at the Grammar School and he's a Socialist."

"Well that's funny, in fact quite a coincidence," said Margaret, "Sheila, Rob's mother's name is Matthews. I don't know much about him except that he's a teacher. We never discuss politics. It could be him you've met. I doubt it though, because I get the impression he's not very friendly with people. If it is him, he must be an anti-social sort of Socialist!"

Gordon Watson considered himself to be working-class through and through. And proud of it. After he joined the Labour Party, he dare not advertise it at work, nor did he tell his mother, when he still lived at home. His mother was an active Liberal supporter and very grateful that Gordon had been given a good apprenticeship at Liberal Lord Ashton's factory. Now that Gordon was married and independent he was more open about his politics. He was helping to form a trades union branch in his department at work..

He had really enjoyed the chat with Jack Matthews, who had liked hearing Gordon speak at the meeting about the opposition to trades unions at Williamsons.

"The trouble is," Gordon had said, " There are so many people frightened of their own shadows. It's hard to get support. They're frightened of the bosses. We're not asking for the moon. Most are frightened of asking for anything."

Jack had invited him to have a pint in a pub in Moor Lane, after they'd walked that way together on their way home.

"I live up by the Park," he told Gordon, so neither of us will be going out of our way." Gordon had already told him he lived in Edward Street.

Jack was a bloke who liked the sound of his own voice. He was a little man, with a head of blonde hair and a short bristly moustache of the same colour. He spoke with a southern, educated accent. Once you got him onto politics, there was no stopping him. He tended to lecture rather than converse. Gordon didn't mind because he agreed with everything he said.

"The trouble is, we're so divided amongst ourselves," he told Gordon, after he'd taken a swig at his pint.

In his view, the subtleties of class division in Lancaster were multifarious. They were being exacerbated by the breaking up of old communities, by slum clearances, by the aspirations of higher-paid workers to better themselves. Then there was unemployment and the apathy of others. There was much irritation, stress and envy amongst the workers -- often stronger than between master and employee!

Although a harsh boss could make life very difficult, there was often a pathetic meek acceptance of the 'Them' and 'Us' in factory and mill. Most in work, remembering hard times, were glad of a job. They did not want to rock the boat. Worst of all were those promoted to minor positions over the rest: they often gave their former mates a hard time. Brian Howson, Gordon's best friend and workmate said, "Working-class corporals! Give them a couple of stripes and they think they're generals! Some of them are power mad and only on a few more bob than the rest of us!"

Jack told Gordon about local factory history. It didn't occur to him that Gordon might already know it backwards. It was typical of a newcomer to the area that he thought he knew more than the natives, thought Gordon, but he didn't mind. It was marvellous to be talking to someone who had had a good education and could put stuff across better than him.

Jack had hardly touched the rest of his drink by the time Gordon's glass was nearly empty. He just went on and on about how at the turn of the century, there had been some demonstrations organised by the Trades Council. Meetings, he said, were held in the Co-operative Hall. He'd heard there was a thriving Independent Labour Party.

He described how just before the Great War, disgruntled Jimmy Williamson had cleared off to St. Anne's to get away from the town he'd come to hate. It was mainly because of what he considered to be ingratitude and unnatural opposition to himself personally and politically. A radical Mr Wall was a specific target for his hatred.

"A good lad, that Wallie. He must have had real guts!" Jack tried desperately to broaden his accent and use words that he would not use in the classroom. His aim was to try and identify with the workers and be one of the lads.

It was a bit phoney. Gordon didn't mind. Jack seemed to be a well-meaning, decent man.
Gordon had finished his pint. At last, Jack noticed and went to buy his round.

"Mustn't let you think I'm a temperance man!" he said.

When he came back with the pints, he started on about how Lancaster's drinkers and abstainers had often been very hostile towards each other. Once, there was a confrontation between the Temperance Society members outside the Temperance Hotel and several pro-drinkers were arrested.

"That isn't all!" he laughed. "You can dream up any feeble excuse and some folk will have a go at those who should be their comrades!" Jack liked using words like'comrades' and 'brothers' when he spoke about workers.

According to Jack, a slight difference in accent would have you labelled as 'common' or 'snooty'. The Co-op 'divi', and shopping at 'cheapo' Woolworths was sniffed at by some aspirant working-class wives. Marks-and-Spencer's was acceptable. Regular soldiers, Irish labourers, tramps and Roman Catholics were viewed with suspicion or downright hostility. Did you go barefoot, wear clogs or Wellingtons, pumps, boots or shoes? Did you have any socks on? It all counted!

Gordon was still mainly silent as Jack became serious again and went on about how manifestations of real poverty could invite ridicule.

There were the slum clearances, from China Lane and Bridge Street, for example, and social-engineering in the placing of 'respectables' and 'disreputables' as neighbours on the new council estates at Ryelands, Hareruns and Beaumont. It was causing a lot of ill-feeling.
Accusations of snobbishness or snootiness carried on into the schools amongst the kids. As for those who were starting to move out of town and into private houses on pub-free Scale Hall, Morecambe Road, Cross Hill and Torrisholme Road, they might as well have gone to a foreign country.

At last, Jack seemed to have exhausted his pet themes. He finished by saying, "Sorry Gordon, once I get started, I don't know when to stop."

"That's fine by me. I've really enjoyed listening to you."

They drank up and left the pub.

"Goodnight lads!" called the landlord, "See you again!"
"Goodnight all!" Jack shouted back.

It was not far to Edward Street. They paused on the corner and shook hands. Then Jack said,
"Would you like to come to a meeting at my place tomorrow night? If you like discussions, about what's really going on in this world, you'll enjoy it."

On the spur of the moment, his head dizzy with words and a couple of pints, Gordon agreed. Jack told him where he lived, near Christ Church, up Wyresdale Road. The two men shook hands again and departed for their separate homes.

Margaret was not over-impressed by Gordon's recounting of the evening's events. She was positively displeased to hear that Gordon would be out again the next evening.

"That's a bit much," she protested, "two evenings on the trot!"

When Gordon told her where Jack lived, she was convinced he must be Sheila's husband. She wondered what Sheila would think about the two men meeting.

She was a bit uneasy. She and Gordon were leading quite tranquil lives, all things considered. She saw no reason to complicate things. She did not like his increasing interest in trades unions and politics. Politics were all right up to a point. So long as you didn't start taking them too seriously. Politics, like religion, could lead to trouble if you weren't careful.

Margaret considered herself to be rising quite quickly from amongst the 'disreputables' into the ranks of the 'respectables'. It was a case of helping yourself to get on, she thought. She knew that Gordon took a different view and that he was in the business of trying to be helpful to others as well as looking after himself. Not that they were going to fall out about party politics because Margaret voted Labour too. But you didn't have to spend all of your spare time thinking about how to change the world. There was still plenty to do nearer at home!

Gordon went to bed happy. He thought he had met someone who saw things the same way as himself, someone who liked people in general and thought they were all okay, unless they went out of their way to prove otherwise. He'd enjoyed the absence of small talk and gossip. It was no good judging the quality of a coat by its colour! Wear it for a while and see if it fits properly. He was really looking forward to going to Jack's place the next evening.

Comparing notes with his wife, after he arrived back, it was obvious her friend Sheila was Jack's wife. Gordon confirmed that the house he had visited for the meeting was the one Margaret had been denied entry to even when it rained.

That never happened again. The men, women and children became family friends and met at each other's houses quite frequently.