If I hadn't seen the terrible working conditions in 1919 at Maddocks Foundry I would have been ready to believe that I had had a nightmare. Lads serving moulders, either 2, 3 or 4. The more you served greater was your earnings. To see lads struggling up about twenty steps to the Cupola landing, with heavy riddles full of scrap iron, then back into the burning sand, the choking fumes, the molten iron, then the knocking off the castings from the sprays. Using the greatest care, all this was done with speed, no hanging about. Hurrying to get cores from the core shop then at casting time helping to carry a ladle of molten iron. lads have often come over our side of the works next morning or else there would be a terrific row. The working hours varied, sometimes from 7 a.m. till anytime in the early evening. Many lads toiled, lathered in sweat, this even showing through their moleskin trousers. But the driving force was necessity - no work no pay. The moulders shared in the most exacting of tasks, making well nigh perfect castings in far from perfect conditions.

How these men sweated, toiled, fretted. How some have lived to a good old age, that is a miracle to me, some are alive today. There are those though, whose story will never be told, old broken men before sixty. While over in the departments with which I was very familiar, Silicosis proved the ultimate killer. The dicipline which these men worked under made them some of the finest moulders to be found anywhere, but the conditions - Lads in the mines tell much the same story as the lads in the foundries. I've never been down a mine, I can only speak for what I have seen, and what I know.

Maddock & Co., had a fine reputation for producing the finest malleable castings. They also have, in my opinion, produced some of the most endurable relationships. Annie was a sweet young lady, she worked on a small grinding stone, occasionally she would leave her machine to stand behind Eddy, who worked on a huge grinding machine. There she would watch her lover, manipulating some big casting on the grindstone, showered in sparks and half choked with fumes. After a short while, he would drop the casting, now too hot to hold even with handleathers, and gaze about him. There was Annie his sweetheart gesticulating. "I've got something in my eye", gently he would lead her to some convenient window, at the same time taking a sharpened matchstick out of his cap. Then he would go through the motions of removing the instrusion from her eye - but oh, the gleam of desire how it sparkled, it didn't deceive we 15 years old, we thought or knew they were daft.

This was quite a common occurance in the grinding department. There were others equally as amorous. At times when the machines were shut down you could hear someone singing this, and other ballads of the day.

When you and I were seventeen
And life and love were new,
The world was just a field of green
Neath flaming skies of blue,
That golden spring when I was King
And you my wonderful Queen
Do you recall, when love was all
and we were seventeen.

Each of the four romances that I can plainly recall lasted, with one exception, until one of the partners died. The remaining one, is still going strong even after 60 years.

MADDOCKS MALLEABLE IS BEST

Nothing remains today of the Maddock Nail Foundry situated in the C.W.R. Station Yard, now the site of the Cement Silo. The stone boundary wall still exists, that is directly opposite the Caledonia Hotel. What a sweat shop this was. I used to take dinner to one of the moulders so was priviledged to go straight into the rnoulding shop. At times you could barely see the men for dust, the noise was awful. There, little boys a bit older than me were dancing about on the sand beds in order to make the moulds hard and so produce good nails, boot studs, hob nails, brattice nails, heel tips for shoes and many other small articles. Two cupolas served this small works. On dark evenings or late afternoons there was a free firework display. The flames fit up the town and showers of sparks descended on the building. A tall bearded man was in charge, he wore a "Top Hat" typical of overseers of that particular time. The concensus of opinion of all who worked there and who recall past memories of it was that as I said at first it was a real slave hole. How I dreaded the time coming if I should find me working there. Still, it was something to get a job in those days, however menial. The girls sought jobs in 'service'. To apply for a job, there was a servants registry office in Stafford Road - a matronly lady was in charge here. Her name, Mrs. Dudley.

I often see a fellow about my age in Oakengates. I seemed to know him when he was about 8 - 10 years old. This lad used to lead a blind man about. Yes, it was he, he told me that the Midwife of the day a Mrs. Beddall was his grandmother. She used to tell a story of how one day she received a most unusual visitor, with an equally unusual request. Would she, the midwife, accompany him to a certain house where a certain lady was expecting a baby. Outside her cottage was his horse and trap ready to convey her to the ladies house. Now he had one stipulation, she had to be blindfolded. Seeing how earnest the gentleman was she agreed, although feeling a little apprehensive for all that. Arriving at the house where the pregnant woman was waiting, the blindfold was removed. The lady was a stranger to her, but what a magnificent bedroom. It seemed that she had been brought to a mansion. She stayed to deliver the baby, and returned home, blindfolded again. The gentleman was most generous, giving her five sovereigns for her services.
The only romantic job which ever came my way was to hide in the coal cellar of a house "for the lady" a bottle of gin which my mother used to get from a nearby public house. The woman's husband was a well known dignitary, a very strong supporter of the temperance movement. No such things as alcohol were allowed in his house. The lady was a lovely person, very kind and thoughtful, but seemed fearful of her husband. So down the cellar was kept the gin. 1 knew where it was and so did my mother. When this lady said "Mose, will you fetch some more coal" 1 knew what she meant. (A drop O'Gin).

A drink of water from "under the tap" was enough to slack the thirst of we kids. Fresh water taps were placed in convenient places to serve as many as six houses. In some public places, iron drinking cups fastened to the end of a chain were provided, as putting your mouth directly under the taps was not encouraged.

FORGES AND FURNACES

The Snedshill Forge is now the site of Maddocks Work Foundry. This is now closed and will form part of the new road development. To watch the "Puddlers" at the Forge was always a thrill for us youngsters. The men were stripped to the waist with just a sweat cloth round their necks, facing a red hot furnace on which various materials were thrown together with scrap iron. We boys used to earn a copper and sometimes a bite of lunch by fetching drink and pop for these sweating individuals. The furnace was a brick affair fired by coal and the heat generated was terrificthe men, using long iron bars with a kind of foot on the end, would keep the materials moving constantly around in the furnace until it was in almost a molten state. They would dip their long bars in a big "bosh" of water to cool them down lest they melted with the rest of the iron. Then, after "balling the iron" (bloom) it was ready to be taken by a "Bogie" to the steam hammer to be stamped and shaped into ingots, which were then ready for the Rolling Mills.

The Steam Hammer was a tremendous affair, the noise of which could be heard all around the district. The men who worked the hammer wore masks and metal coverings over their bodies and to watch them engulfed in sparks was better than any fireworks display. The scrap yard of the forge was happy hunting ground for boys. Old bikes, old shot guns, were eagerly sought after. With these ramshackle affairs we would live in a romantic world of make- believe, cowboys and indians. The old bikes held together served as our horses and we would ride them down some of the nearby pit mounds much to the annoyance and distress of our parents.

The Hydraulic Bank was noted for its Clay Pit, but also for the group of eight houses consisting of School Row, and a small type of farm house which is still there, A family named Walker lived in the latter and the owner used his horse and cart to draw bricks and other materials for the Snedshill Brickworks. There was also a few cows for 1 remember going there for milk. In the vicinity were other cottages and two small barrack houses. This place was known locally as the "Dollick" and provided a short cut between Oakengates and St. Georges. This part is now the Canongate housing estate.

A Mrs. Barrow lived in one of the cottages and her husband was killed in action during the 1914/18 war. When he was home on leave, however, he had told his family many tales about trench warfare and what conditions were like out in France. So, of course, his boys together with their friends, dug trenches in the garden and had mock battles. A rest from our efforts of destroying the enemy meant a meal of potatoes, freshly dug out of the garden, and homecured bacon. If the 'battle' had taken place in the afternoon then it meant we had to clean the floor of the cottage before having damson jam for tea. The skirmishes finally ended when, much to our horror, the trenches were invaded by a horrible type of creature, something like a black beetle. Quickly we buried this enemy alive, and the garden was once more restored to normality.

Copyright:  Estate of  Moses Evans