CHAPTER FIVE

Paul Enters Adult Life

Morel was always a careless man. He was often hurt at the mine. About a year after William had left for London, Mrs Morel heard a knock at the door. When she opened it a young boy was standing there.

"Is this Walter Morel's house?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mrs Morel, "What is it?"

"It's your husband. He's been hurt. They have taken him to the hospital."

Mrs Morel came back inside.

"It must be serious if they have taken him to the hospital," she said to Paul.

She started to get ready to go to the hospital, packing a small bag with what her husband would need. In a few minutes she was out the door, headed for the train station. Paul watched her go along the road. His heart went out to her. It was more pain and trouble for her.

"Is it bad?" he asked, as soon as she returned.

"It's bad enough," she replied.

She sat down. Her face was white with worry. The three children knew that it was bad for their father. The house was silent. Annie started doing the housework, Arthur went outside to get some coal, and Paul returned to his painting.

Morel survived his injuries and so did the family. Mrs Morel had to be very careful with money while he was off work, but in the end they made it through. In their hearts they wondered when all the troubles would end. They seemed to appear one after the other.

Paul was fourteen now. He was looking for work. Still, he suffered very much from dealing with new people or places. He was a good painter for a boy his age and he knew French and German quite well. Yet none of these skills were very useful in finding a job.

He didn't really want to get a job. He thought it would make a prisoner out of him. But his mother wanted it, so he looked hard and wrote many letters.

At this time William's letters told of all the fun he was having in London. He also told of a girl he was seeing. Mrs Morel warned him to be careful, as it is easy for a young man to lose himself in a pretty face.

One of Paul's work letters was answered. It was from a company in Nottingham that made hospital supplies. They wanted to see him the following Tuesday.

On the day in question, mother and son took the train to Nottingham. Mrs Morel was excited but Paul was miserable. They found the address they had been given. It was at the end of a dirty street, which the sun never touched. At the top of some old stairs was a sign that read, Thomas Jordan and Son—Hospital Supplies. Paul's heart sunk.

They met Mr Jordan. He was a short little man. After telling Mrs Morel what Paul's job would be, he handed the boy a letter written in French. Paul took the letter but could not read most of it because the handwriting was very bad.

Paul was so nervous he could not explain about the handwriting. Mr Jordan became angry.

"Well, what school did you go to?" he asked.

Paul could say nothing. He hated the little man. Mr Jordan looked at the mother.

"When could he start?" he asked.

"As soon as you want. He has finished school now," she replied.

In the end Paul was hired as a junior clerk. He felt sick to the stomach thinking about his future.. But his mother was pleased that her second boy was also going out into the world.

On the next Monday morning, he got up at six o'clock to start work. He had his train ticket in his pocket and his lunch in a bag. Mrs Morel came to the door to see him off. She was proud of her son.

"Good morning, mother," he said, smiling but feeling unhappy.

She felt, as she stood watching him go, that where he wanted to go in life, he would get there. She thought of William and how different her two boys were. But now both were out in the world, in London and Nottingham. They had come from her and now their works and their lives would also be hers. All morning long she thought of Paul.

At eight o'clock, he climbed the stairs to Jordan and Son. He stood just inside the door, not knowing what to do. Only two other men had arrived. Paul thought that being on time must not be very important. One of the other clerks came up to him.

"You must be the new boy," he said.

"Yes," said Paul.

"OK, follow me," the clerk instructed Paul.

Paul was shown where he was to work. The whole place was dark and dirty. The light came through a big window on the top floor.

"You'll be with Pappleworth. He's your boss. He usually doesn't get here till half past eight. So you have time to get the day's orders," he was told.

Mr Pappleworth arrived at nine o'clock. He was a thin man with a red nose. He was about thirty-six years old.

"Are you my new boy?" he asked.

Paul stood up and said he was. Mr Pappleworth spent the next hour telling Paul all the things he had to do. He showed him the other parts of the factory and introduced him to the ladies working on the other floors. It was a lot to learn in such a short time, and Paul felt confused.

He was left to make copies of the orders. His writing had always been bad so it took him a long time to finish each letter.

"Come on boy," said Mr Pappleworth, "we'll never get anything done if you keep this up. Can't you move a little faster?"

Paul worked away. But the harder he tried, the worse his writing became.

The day was very long. All morning people came to talk with Mr Pappleworth. Paul was busy writing or learning to make up packages and prepare them for the midday mail. One o'clock was lunchtime. Paul ate his lunch alone. At two, Paul was back at work. Mr Pappleworth did not return until almost three. When he did he sat and talked to Paul as if he were his equal. Paul enjoyed this very much; he was beginning to like Mr Pappleworth.

In the afternoon there was not much to do. At five o'clock all the men went down to the bottom floor to have tea. After tea, all the lights went on and there was work to do. This became Paul's favorite time of day at the factory. He liked the feeling of being part of something larger. It was as if the whole factory became one animal. Men became the job they were doing. There was a sense of a shared goal.

At the end of the day, Paul took his bag and headed for the eight-twenty train back home. The day in the factory was twelve hours long.

His mother sat waiting for him. He had to walk a long way from the train station, so he did not get home until about twenty past nine. He had left before seven in the morning. Mrs Morel worried about his health. Yet her life had always been hard, so she felt no need to protect her children from work.

Paul came in looking very tired.

"How was it?" she asked.

"They say my writing is bad, but other than that it was fine," he answered.

Paul got used to working at the factory. He came to like the factory girls best. The men seemed rather stupid after a while. It became normal for him to eat his lunch with the girls. He was naturally shy and quiet, but with them he seemed relaxed. The girls all liked to hear him talk and would sit in a circle around him while he told them about books and painting. They thought of him as a strange boy. So serious, yet always laughing when he was around them. They all took him into their hearts.

So the time at the factory went happily enough. The factory had a comfortable feel to it, and there wasn't too much work to be done. Paul did, however, like it when work sped up. He liked the sight of all the men and women busy at their jobs.

From the train at night he used to walk home looking at the lights of the town. He felt rich and happy in life during these times. He would see the town settling down for the night and think of all the lives that it contained. People were doing their work, being born, growing up, getting married, raising their children, growing old, and dying. He felt as if he was part of something much bigger than himself.

He came to the corner where their house stood. It too was a small part of a bigger world. His mother stood up, happy to have him home. He put all his pay on the table.

"It will help a little, mother," he said proudly.

"There is not much left, after the price of your train ticket and your lunches," she said.

Yet she was very pleased with her son, and the little money that he made meant far more to her than what could be bought for it. He was a man now. That's what mattered.

Then he would sit and tell his mother all about the day at the factory. She came to know about Mr Pappleworth and the factory girls. In this way she shared in the life of her son. It was almost as if it was her own life.

(end of section)