"In 1937, I despised the empire, the monarchy and the whole rotten system that held it together."

The Harry’s Last Stand project which I worked on with my Dad for the last 10 years of his life was an attempt to use his life story as a template to effect political change by making the left remember and celebrate their working class heritage. His unpublished history- The Green & Pleasant Land is a part of that project, along with the 5 other books written during that time period, and the one written after his death I have been working on the unfinished Green and Pleasant Land, for the last year, refining it and editing it to meet my dad’s wishes. It should be ready for a publisher in May.

The chapter selections from it tell a true story about the lives of working- class people, who lived during a time of political and economic extremities during the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s. So many of our ancestors lived that life, and the trajectory neoliberalism has taken means present and future generations will live those same lives, unless we fight against the tide of fascism consuming our democracies.

Chapter Twenty-Four:

I began to look for full-time work in earnest the day after my trip to Blackpool with Alberta. To better ensure my chance of landing a full-time job, my sister lent me enough money to get kitted out at a used clothing store called Copley's located off of Halifax's High street. Initially, the clothes did not do me much good because I soon discovered a small army of other 14-year-old school leavers with better connections than me were taking all the help-wanted positions.

I was terrified at the prospect of not finding work and being forever in the orbit of my mother and her boyfriend Bill. My choices of work were already predetermined by my class and the limited education provided by the state. At fourteen, I could read, write, do sums, and most importantly was indoctrinated by my teachers to believe that Britain had an eternal imperial destiny. However, it didn’t work on me because I despised the empire, the monarchy and the whole rotten system that held it together. Sadly knowing that you are being oppressed doesn't end the oppression just makes you conscious of whose boot is upon your neck.

At first, in misguided optimism, I applied for low-level clerical work in offices and banks. But I was laughed off their premises because I wasn't even a grammar school boy. I was only thought good enough for rough, underpaid labour like I had been doing, as the saying goes since I was in short pants. There was no hope of becoming a clerk's apprentice in 1930s Britain for someone like me. There was a pecking order, and I was at the bottom of it.

I decided to try my luck finding an employer in Halifax's arcade because I reasoned I knew how to work in off-licenses and grocers. It wasn't work that appealed to me, but ever since the Great Depression struck, I was a member of the unskilled working class deemed less essential than a pack animal.

I went to the arcade and noticed Grosvenor's Grocers had a help wanted sign on a post beside their booth. I talked to the owner about wanting to work for him.

He hired me as a barrow boy to transport meat and cheese from his main shop to the arcade stall throughout the day. When not pushing a cart, I was expected to push a broom to keep his shop clean.

Mr Grosvenor was a Quaker but not one of quiet faith. He stressed that all his employees must have a similar commitment to god as he and his wife had. Reverence to god was proved through working as hard as one could for the financial betterment of Grosvenor's grocers.

 I pretended to agree and politely nodded my head because I was grateful for the work and the chance to show someone I was able, intelligent and determined to do what it took to make a living for myself.

My mother was pleased with the news of my full-time employment, and to show her appreciation upped the cost of my room and board I paid each week from my salary.

Everything seemed to be moving me away from the past, from Barnsley, from Bradford from digging through rubbish bins for my evening tea when the Great Depression was at its worst.

Shortly after I began working at Grosvenor's Alberta told me that she was moving out of the house. Alberta had found better employment at a textile mill, in Low Moor, near Bradford. My sister said she wanted to be rid of her life with us. She couldn't stomach another minute living with our mother and Bill.

I was sworn to silence until Alberta found a room to let in Low Moor. She wanted to slip from our house on Boothtown Road as easily as a boat leaves its moorings for calm seas outside the harbour.

“I will be gone by the following Friday.”

 Alberta said it with the dreaminess and selfishness of the newly paroled. On the surface, I pretended to be happy for her. But deep down, I resented her for moving away. Alberta's leaving filled me with dread.

I was gutted by the prospect of her departure from my everyday life. Together, my sister and I shouldered the same burden and the same memories of years spent fleeing debt and hunting for food. We were the only two who remembered our dad or spoke about our long-dead elder sister Marion.

 I also had a creeping uneasiness about what would happen to Alberta once our mother learned about my sister's irrevocable departure for new pastures.

Thanks for reading and supporting my Substack. Your support keeps me housed and also allows me to preserve the legacy of Harry Leslie Smith. A yearly subscriptions will cover much of next month’s rent. Your subscriptions are so important to my personal survival because like so many others who struggle to keep afloat, my survival is a precarious daily undertaking. The fight to keep going was made worse- thanks to getting cancer along with lung disease and other co- morbidities which makes life more difficult to combat in these cost of living crisis times. So if you can join with a paid subscription which is just 3.50 a month or a yearly subscription or a gift subscription. I promise the content is good, relevant and thoughtful. But if you can’t it all good too because I appreciate we are in the same boat. Take Care, John.