The women mostly dress the same, and
there are no stylish shapes in the men's 'oils' and guernseys. Then,
they call no man 'master.' God is their employer, and from His hand they
take their daily bread. And they don't set themselves up against Him,
and grumble about their small wages and their long hours. And if the
weather is bad, and they are kept off a sea that no boat could live in,
they don't grumble like Yorkshire men do, when warehouses are
overstocked and trade nowhere, and employers hev to make shorter hours
and less pay."
"What then?"
"The men smoke a few more pipes, and the women spin a few more hanks of
wool. And in the long evenings there's a good bit of violin-playing and
reciting, but there's no murmuring against their Great Master. And
there's no drinking, or dance halls. And when the storm is over, the men
untie their boats with a shout and the women gladly clean up the stour
of the idle time."
"Did you ever see a Yorkshire strike?"
"To be sure I hev; I had my say at the Hatton strike, I hed that! You
were at college then, and your father was managing it, so we could not
take the yacht out as expected, and I run down to Hatton to hev a talk
with Stephen Hatton.
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