OLIVER. Yes, that is true. Even twenty years ago the place was
still jolly.
MR. BARLOW. And then, when Gerald was a lad of thirteen, came the
great lock-out. We belonged to the Masters' Federation--I was but
one man on the Board. We had to abide by the decision. The mines
were closed till the men would accept the reduction.--Well, that cut
my life across. We were shutting the men out from work, starving
their families, in order to force them to accept a reduction. It may
be the condition of trade made it imperative. But, for myself, I
would rather have lost everything.--Of course, we did what we could.
Food was very cheap--practically given away. We had open kitchen
here. And it was mercifully warm summer-time. Nevertheless, there
was privation and suffering, and trouble and bitterness. We had the
redcoats down--even to guard this house. And from this window I saw
Whatmore head-stocks ablaze, and before I could get to the spot the
soldiers had shot two poor fellows. They were not killed, thank
God---
OLIVER. Ah, but they enjoyed it--they enjoyed it immensely. I
remember what grand old sporting weeks they were. It was like a
fox-hunt, so lively and gay--bands and tea-parties and excitement
everywhere, pit-ponies loose, men all over the country-side---
MR. BARLOW. There was a great deal of suffering, which you were
too young to appreciate.
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