At a distance of almost sixty years, it is a bit difficult to recall, with absolute clarity, how it all happened. Perhaps for the benefit of modern generations it would be as well to spell out the basics. The early thirties were not the best time to be leaving school and looking for work. Today it is called a recession. In those days it was called a slump. All too often the compulsory school leaving age of fourteen meant that youngsters (like myself at that time) HAD to find a job in order to bring in a few shillings to help in buying food for the others in the family. Those who moan about Social Security today have little idea of the hardships of that period.
In line with the existing pattern, a youngster had to have a family member working in a particular industry if he wanted to stand any chance of employment. After trying a few possibilities, like the paint works on Bath Road , applying for work in sign-writing and so forth, my father decided that he would approach his employer, Price, Powell & Co to see if they could give me a job. I had no say in the matter.
My father worked (when work was available) as a kiln man, setting the kilns, firing the kilns. He was not the only kiln man. My uncles Jim and Ted, Dad's brothers, also did similar work. My elder brother Joe, ten years my senior, had "served his time", seven years as an apprentice and had attained the status (?) of a journeyman potter. So I too became an apprentice, the indenture having been duly signed.
I cannot recall all the details, other than work started at 8.00am and we "knocked off" at 5.00pm . That was five days a week. On Saturdays the hours were 8.00am to 12 noon . During the week there was a one-hour break for lunch, from 12.00 to 1.00pm.As there was no premium levied on my indentures (My father did not have to put any money up-front) my "wage" was very low because I was receiving "free" instruction. Eight shillings a week, less two pence for the health stamp, for the first twelve months, then ten shillings a week for the next twelve, and twelve shillings for the third year. In today's money, that is 40 pence, 50 pence and 60 pence, less slightly less than one penny for a stamp!!! From this magnificent sum, I was permitted to keep a whole six pence (2.5p) for my "pocket money"!
Although trams ran past the end of the street where I lived, and passed through Radcliffe Street, adjacent to St.Thomas Street, there just wasn't the money available for even the concessionary "Workman's return" ticket, so it was walk to work, walk home, five and a half days a week. Rain, snow, ice, whatever. Most of the time I had no topcoat, so I got cold and wet at times. Summer was fun! The pottery itself was quite a big factory, even by today's standards. The main building lay at right angles to the street and contained on the ground floor, the boiler / engine house, the clay pans and the various clay mills. The first floor had the heavy potters shop (for the larger 2-10 gallon jars etc) the glaze mills , the basket shop, ware storage and the various ware drying racks. The second floor consisted of the lighter potters shop and the third floor contained patterns, samples, oddments of ware, storage and so forth.
The actual factory premises were hardly the last word in modernity. The electric lighting in general was pathetic by modern standards. There was no such thing as fluorescent tubes in those days. And of course, winter in the 1930's could be very unpleasant. In the winter, it quite common for the potters to have to break the ice on their water pots before being able to start work and handling ice -cold clay hour after hour WAS a most unpleasant occupation. The other extreme was inflicted upon men firing a a kiln, where quite often, the intense heat from the fires would have them stripped to the waist - in the middle of winter - with deep snow just outside in the yard. In the summer, it was next door to hell itself. There were, from memory, six large kilns. Some were never used, other used very seldom. Those most used were number one and two - but don't ask me why this was so.
There were many processes involved in converting a hard lump of clay (from Dorset , Devon or Cornwall ) into say a ginger beer bottle for a particular customer. The clay first had to be broken, crushed into reasonably small pieces before being loaded into the soaking pans and covered with water. When soft enough, it was then put through the mills and a number of mesh screens to remove any stones or grit that would damage the potter's hands. Clay consistency depended upon the end use. Light ware required a fairly soft clay whilst the heavier ware needed a stiffer clay. The millers were well practiced and were able to deliver the right clay for the chosen purpose. After the ware was thrown, it would be placed on a board ( a plank roughly a foot wide and about twelve feet long) and when the board was fully occupied it would be carried away to be placed in the drying racks where the ware would then dry to the "white-hot" or biscuit stage. It would be at this point that the identification of the particular customer would be applied. This was often done by the "black - stamper" (Fred Woodrow) a man who, using a rubber stamp made to the customers design, would first apply the stamp to the ink pad, then roll the stamp onto the ware. He always seemed to use a particular rhythm ; bump, bump, bump then roll. The ink pad was a mixture of Tate & Lyle Golden Syrup and something else that I cannot recall. It could have been carbon black.
From this stage, the ware would then go to the "dippers". These were men who, often working as a team, dipped the ware into the glaze. The bottles (jars, whatever) were first filed with glaze, which was then quickly tipped out again, then dipped into the glaze vats to the desired depth to coat the outside. When the ware was completely dry, it would be taken to the kiln area and loaded into the saggars. From there, the saggars would be loaded into the kiln. "Setting" was the operative term, and when the kiln was completely "set", the doorway would be bricked up, the bands adjusted and it would then be ready for firing. After firing, the kiln would be allowed to cool, it would then be "drawn" and the ware would be just about ready for despatch. Tests would be done by submerging the individual items into a huge vat of water and blowing compressed air into the bottle. If bubbles were observed then obviously that particular item was useless and thrown away.
My father was a kiln man. The work he had to do was heavy and hard. In setting a kiln, the saggar was lifted onto his head, then he had to maintain the balance whilst he ducked through the doorway and then climbed a ladder inside the kiln in order to place the saggar. He did not complete the entire job on his own. There would be a team of five or six men taking part. If he was chosen to be in charge of the actual firing, it meant that he would be required to work through, around 30 hours without a break. Some kilns had ten fire holes and each "heating" ie stoking of the fires, would take about one-hundredweight of coal per hole, which meant half a ton per beating,and that amount of coal would last less than one hour, so the work was virtually non-stop. If the ware in the kiln was not brought to and maintained at the correct firing temperature, it could mean the lot could be spoiled and worthless, so there was lot of skill and responsibility involved. After such a non-stop effort, it can well be imagined that when my father did get home he was hardly in the mood for fun and games. As younger children, myself and my siblings saw very little of our father. How he survived as long as he did is still a mystery. The "killer" was the coal dust. It clogged my father's lungs until he couldn't breathe; silicosis, the miners disease. Within his powers he was a good father. We had very little but that was not his fault. If anything, it was the fault of the times, which makes me cross when I hear people moaning about the hardships they are "suffering" these days. We sometimes had the task of carrying some cooked food in for my father. A hot meal would be prepared at home then placed in a basin, which in turn would be placed inside a large white-spotted red handkerchief. This was then tied in a double knot to form a carrying handle and we then set off for the pottery to deliver dad's meal. It would be re-heated by the kiln before being consumed. Sometimes, Dad might also get an egg-custard and a standing joke between my younger sister and myself was how she used to have the job of delivering Dad's sandwiches - egg custard sandwiches! Instruction in the "art" of throwing was virtually nil. As the journeymen were on "piece" rates and their wages were determined by output, none could afford to devote time to teaching. All that I could do was watch a particular potter, study the technique, then, using a vacant wheel, grab some clay and have a go. Sometimes the end result was recognisable. More often, it was disastrous. Gradually, and over a very long period, I became capable of " trueing" a ball fairly quickly and forming the ball into a ginger beer bottle, ink bottle, cream pot, rennet jar or whatever. Sometime when the potters were on short time, the apprentices (there were three of us, myself the youngest) would be given all sorts of strange work to do. Things like helping out in the office., writing names and addresses on pre-printed postcards. The object of the exercise being to canvas past or possible future customers for orders. Another task might have been the cleaning of windows in the potters shops or even collecting long stored ware from rat-infested storage bins in the depths of the unused kiln area ..
In the mid-1930's, glass bottles were making inroads into what had been the almost sole preserve of stoneware and the order books soon showed the decline in demand. As a result, the potters were forced to work part-time. Instead of five and a half days a week, they were forced down to four days, then three days, then two. Then perhaps three days a fortnight, three days a month. The other workers, the kiln men, the "yard" boys, the clay millers, the dippers, block stampers, basket makers, all suffered the same fate. Glass was sounding the death knell for the stoneware pottery industry. That was progress! By this time, I was in the third year of my apprenticeship and it was becoming obvious to me (and I wasn't all that bright) that there was very little future in being a journeyman potter, even if I DID finish my time. My father was persuaded to approach Mr Price with a view to cancelling my indentures. Maybe he to, had realised the futility of "flogging a dead horse" and was consequently somewhat relieved and happy to comply with our request.
Was it worth the effort ? Well, I can still throw a ball of clay. Something learned is never forgotten - but I would not ever have wanted to become just another slave to a potter's wheel.
Copyright Ken Bull.@1993