We have lost so much, including our democracy because capitalism insists that poverty is necessary for wealth creation

So much potential, so much happiness, so much living is lost through capitalism's insistence that poverty is necessary for wealth creation. We became the broken eggs for the 1% omelette of excess. People are living the nightmare of lost hope in the 21st century because of neoliberalism's response to COVID-19, the cost of living crisis, the refugee, and the climate crisis. We live in bleak times. Before my father died in 2018, he wanted to demonstrate through talking about the history of his life and that of his working-class contemporaries born in the early 20th century -that unless we embraced a socialism fit for the challenges of our times, fascism and wealth inequality would destroy not just our society but civilisation itself.

His unpublished history- The Green & Pleasant Land is a part of that project, along with the 5 other books written during that time period, and the one written after his death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.

Chapter Twenty-Five:

The following Friday, true to her word, Alberta informed our mother she was moving out. The parting wasn't amicable, and it became acrimonious because years of harsh poverty don't make a family more united but more resentful of the other members in it.

Extreme poverty- just like extreme wealth makes for dysfunctional, unhappy families and individuals. It generally manifests itself as narcissism in the rich and self-loathing and a lack of confidence in those from poorer families..

Alberta left home on the day our room and board was to be paid to our mother. Weekly payment for board was a ritual my sister and I had done every week since we became child labourers,  which began at the age of seven for me and Alberta when she was ten. My sister would have been pressed into work outside of our home at an earlier age were it not for my mother's need to do domestic chores in the many temporary lodgings we occupied until evicted for rent arrears. The extent of my family's poverty and millions of others in Britain during the 1920s and 1930s was so immense that even kids forced into child labour to earn a few pennies to help their parents make the rent was sometimes not enough to keep a roof over their heads.

When our rent was due, my mother always sat in a rocking chair and waited for my sister and me to put our coins into her hands.

Normally I paid first, and then Alberta would follow. But on the day she moved out, my sister tarried to build the courage to confront Mum.

Mum enquired where my sister was. I pretended I didn't know.

Moments later, Alberta appeared and walked into our small parlour. She held in her right hand a small bag which contained the little clothing my sister owned. She didn't have photos of our father or dead sister because- as a family, we never had the money to afford them.

“What’s this then?” asked my mother suspiciously. “What are you up to?

“Nothing, Mum,”

“Come on then, give me thy wages,” my mother demanded impatiently.

“Can’t, Mum,” Alberta replied defensively, almost meekly.

“Can’t? “Why can’t thee? Why the bloody hell can’t thee?” Mum said with rising anger.

“I am moving out,” Alberta said defiantly.

My mother rose from her chair. She lurched forward to within inches of my sister. She raised her right finger and began wagging it as she ranted.

“Like hell you are… How dare you move out.”

I can do what I want. And there’s no one to stop me. 

“You ungrateful bitch, screamed my mother.

Me, ungrateful?  Since I was four, I have been working like a fucking dog, for you. I was always by your side cleaning, cooking, or stealing food for our tea when Dad was let go from the pits.. I was there for you even after you chucked our dad out on his ear and took up with Bill. I stood up for you when Bill tried to beat you after he came home pissed from the pub.

It’s was always, dependable bloody Alberta that's been by your side, I’ve had no bloody life because of you. I’ve gone to bed cold and fucking hungry because of you. I took care of Harry and Matt because you were not fit to help. Look at you now with another wee bugger on your tit.

Our mother panted with rage.

You know nowt about what I’ve done for thee. “Without me, you’d be in the workhouse or on the streets. Your dad, with his high ‘n mighty family; was no bloody help to me or to you. Did any of them raise a finger when we were starving?

 I’ve got blood on my hands, lass, from scraping and fighting for food for you and your bloody brothers,” Lillian retorted, her anger rising. “And now you come to me and say here’s the thanks; I am moving out. Mark me, Alberta, life will soon have you sorted- well and good.

“Good bloody luck; cause you’re going to need it; because nowt is coming your way but misery. Bugger off then, leave your bloody mother, and leave your bloody brothers and good riddance to thee.”

Alberta looked at me and said with a weary smile,

Never mind, Harry When you’re ready, you can come live with me. Take care of yourself because Mam will be no bloody help to you.

My sister was seventeen and thought a better life was there for the taking if she moved out on her own. 

 Sadly, Mum was right, my sister leaving home didn't emancipate her; it just chained her to a different misery.

After Alberta left my mother returned to her chair and rocked angrily back and forth, nearby Bill's infant son, and my half brother wailed from hunger.

When Bill returned home from work that night, we dipped fried bread into fried eggs for our tea and ate in silence.

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.