Live the Dream. Josephine Cox

      With a sly little grin, Sylvia took a step sideways, then, gripping the edge of the door, she slammed it shut with all her might. The shuddering impact rattled the nearby shelf, sending ornaments crashing to the floor.

      For a long, nerve-racking moment both women stared at the broken china.

      Suddenly, the silence was broken with what sounded like a child sobbing, ‘Don’t punish me … please. I didn’t mean it.’

      Before Edna could stop her, Sylvia had picked up a long shard of broken glass, crying out in pain when the sharp edges cut into her flesh. ‘Oh, Edna, look what I’ve done.’ All sense of reason had gone and in its place was the innocent fear of a child hurt. Holding the offending arm up for Edna to see, she began wailing. ‘I’ve done something bad, haven’t I?’ She appealed to the older woman with sorry eyes, ‘What’s wrong with me, Edna?’

      Her cries collapsed into sobs and Edna’s heart went out to her. ‘It’s all right, my dear,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll be all right.’ But she would never ‘be all right’. Both Luke and Edna knew that, and maybe, deep down in the darkest corner of her mind, Sylvia knew it too.

      The tears of remorse were genuine, as Edna knew all too well. ‘I’ll take care of it, child,’ she soothed, leading her away. ‘Once it’s washed and cleaned, it’ll be good as new.’

      A swift examination told her that this time the wound was only flesh deep, thank God.

      It was Luke Hammond’s father who had started the brush-making factory. Twice it had almost gone under and twice he brought it back to profit.

      Luke grew up with it. He learned the art of business at an early age and had been groomed to deal with men on all levels. Like his father he respected his workers and was well trusted. Also, like his father he had a tireless passion for the business.

      After his father was gone, he had taken up the reins and developed the business further. Now it was two businesses rolled into one. On the one side was the production of brushes: scrubbing brushes; horse brushes; yard sweepers, and anything that cleaned as long as it had bristles. Brushes of any kind had been the original backbone of the Hammond business and they still were.

      But now there was another business growing alongside; a business started by Luke and which served others. There were many other companies in industrial Lancashire – some small and just starting out, and which had neither the capital nor premises to store the goods they produced. This was where, only a few years back, Luke had seen an opportunity.

      Thanks to his father, he was fortunate to own a warehouse and factory premises of sizeable proportions, with room to spare for the brush-making business. ‘I have ample space,’ he told the owners of the small businesses at various meetings he’d arranged. ‘And I intend purchasing a fleet of wagons, so if we can close a deal, I’ll not only take your goods for storage, but I’ll deliver them as well. We can agree a long-term contract, or a short one that will let you out should you decide to expand your own concern.’

      His intention was to provide such a good service that they would have no reason to sever relations.

      Just as he had hoped, the idea was well received. Terms were agreed, and deals made, and it had turned out to be the best thing Luke had ever done.

      News of the success of the arrangement spread, and it wasn’t long before larger, more established company men were knocking on Luke’s door. ‘We need to diversify,’ they said. ‘Our factory space is desperately needed for production and right now we have no wish to purchase other premises, but if we could utilise our present storage area and sell off our wagon fleet, we could grow our businesses overnight.’

      Deals were struck that allowed Luke to take over old wagons, which had since been exchanged for newer ones.

      Luke’s distribution business prospered, though its downside was that whenever one of his customers took a wrong turn and went under, Luke lost a sizeable slice of his business’s turnover. This had happened a few times, and on each occasion it threatened a serious step back.

      This was what his employees now feared: that there had been others who had taken that ‘wrong turn’ and now it was themselves who were about to lose their livelihoods.

      And so this morning, when they would learn their fate, they gathered from all parts of the factory: from the brush-making side, where the machines clattered all day and both men and women worked them with expertise, some cutting out the wooden shapes that would make the brush-tops, some feeding the bristles into the holes that were ready drilled and cleaned, and others fashioning and painting the handles.

      When the production line produced the finished articles, the packers would neatly set them into boxes and the boxes would be carted away for delivery.

      By nature, this was a dusty, untidy area, with the smell of dry horsehair assailing the nostrils, and the fall of bristles mounting high round the workers’ feet. Yet they loved their work and many a time the sound of song would fill the air.

      The other side of the premises was cleaner, with mountainous stacks of boxes and parcels from other factories as well as Hammonds, all labelled and ready for delivery, and the four wagons in a neat row outside waiting to be loaded.

      For the past few days, however, there had been only two wagons waiting, with the other two stationary further up the yard. Rumours had circulated, unease had settled in, and now, the mood of worried workers was so palpable, it settled over the factory like a suffocating blanket.

      From his office at the top of the factory, Luke watched the workforce gather in the front yard. ‘They’re in a sombre mood,’ he told the clerk.

      ‘Aye, they are that, Mr Hammond.’ A ruddy-faced Irishman with tiny spectacles and tufts of hair sprouting from his balding head, old Thomas kept his nose glued to his accounts book.

      Luke had some fifty people in his employ, and seeing them gathering in one place like now, it made a daunting sight, which filled him with pride and a sense of achievement, and also with apprehension. ‘They’re a good lot,’ he told the clerk.

      ‘Aye, they are that, Mr Hammond.’ Licking his pencil Thomas made another entry in his ledger.

      Luke turned from the window to address him. ‘I expect they’ll be wondering why I’ve called them together like this.’

      This time, Thomas glanced up. ‘Aye, they will that, Mr Hammond.’ The old man had been with Luke’s father before him, and was a loyal, trustworthy man who knew everything there was to know about the Hammond business.

      Looking away, Luke smiled. ‘You’re a man of few words, Thomas.’

      Thomas gave a long-drawn-out sigh. ‘Aye, I am that, Mr Hammond.’ Now as he glanced up, he smiled a wrinkly smile. ‘A man o’ few words, that’s me, so it is.’

      Realising all the workforce were now gathered and waiting, Luke straightened his tie and fastened the buttons on his jacket. ‘It’s time,’ he said, opening the door. ‘I’d best tell them why they’re here.’