Everyman's England Read Online Free PDF Page B

appeased its majesty not so long ago. Over the chimneys drifted tiny plumes of smoke, thinning in the wind down-valley.
    Mixed with the stacks are the church steeples and, at the lowest point of the valley stands the beautiful square tower of the parish church, not at all out of keeping with the industrialism that surrounds it, for the Church has always been a great ally of industry, in many places preparing the ground for its advance.
    The buildings of the town are constructed from the dark brown local stone. The back-ground of hills to the rows of streets and the thrusting chimneys give a feeling of immensity. Halifax is the embodiment of industry, holding all its melancholy power and strange, compelling beauty.
    Halifax, I found, was a town of surprises. My first view of it coming down the hill gave me a pleasant surprise. I had expected the usual monotony of an industrial centre, and the same sordid litter which characterises most large woollen towns. I discovered instead a town which had wrung dignity and beauty from such things as stacks, gasometers, canals and mills, and, if the stone of the houses was smoke-blackened the windows and doorsteps were spotless as though every wife was house-proud.
    The distinction of Halifax arises, I think, from its honesty of purpose. It pretends to no more than it is and, by its frankness and because of its unique position in a deep-valley, it has achieved a definite beauty.
    There were few signs of depression in the town and unemployment, I was told, was comparatively low. A Halifax man I talked to advised me, if I knew any family man who was unemployed and worrying about work for his children, to urge him to come to Halifax.
    â€˜There may be nowt for t’ old man,’ he said, ‘but there’s plenty to be found for t’lads and lassies.’
    How an unemployed man was to transfer his family to Halifax he did not say, but he was emphatic about the ease with which young people could find employment. And he was probably right, though it is not in Halifax alone that it is easier for young boys and girls to find employment while the older folk must stay idle. This preference for young men and women in industry would be a good sign if it were correlated with some system for the maintenance of their elders. Most men and women are not so fond of work that they would not be glad to give up their posts at forty and devote the rest of their lives to doing the things they have always wanted to do. It may be the rearing of bantam fowls or a study of football coupons, and there are many who, like Richard Jefferies, would be happy to stuff their pockets full of seeds and roots and walk the countryside planting bare patches or barren corners. In ten years of such leisure as this England could rival the hibiscus and bougainvillea of the West Indies with its roses, canary creeper and periwinkle. I am afraid the Great North Road will not flower with altruistically planted rows of giant hollyhocks for any of us to see them!
    The man I spoke to was a typical working-class Yorkshireman. He was of middle height, with enormous shoulders and hands of a size which made the cigarette he held look ridiculous. It was Saturday and he was dressed in his weekend finery: a black bowler hat, white collar and a navy-blue suit from the pocket of which protruded a folded evening paper.
    Halifax, he told me, was becoming more like Birmingham every day. I said I hoped it was not. He did not hear me. Although Halifax was primarily a woollen town, making worsteds, and carpets, other industries were springing up. There were – and I had only to look around me to confirm his words – toffee factories, silk factories, machine-making shops, brickworks, toy factories, mills and a brewery. As he spoke he was emphatic, but courteous. He often swore, yet was careful to add each time: ‘You’ll excuse me swearin’?’ which I gladly did, for he was better than any guidebook, and his oaths