The smell was revolting. I inhaled the fumes, filling the brick factory like morning fog. It was my first time being in a factory like such, and it was horrible. The walls were lined with both men and women covered in grease and oil. There was a subtle hum to the machinery, all working in unison. Those who were not covered in grease were working on the machines.

I waited patiently with the other kids for my assignment. All of us had left school behind to help our parents provide for our younger siblings and ourselves. Having such a big family yet a lack of money, I became accustomed to mending my families clothes. I always loved sewing, but this was different.

As I took a step closer, the sounds coming from the machines were dreadful. What started with a passive mumble turned into a waking roar. All of the machines spitting out fabric so fast I thought they were going to explode. All of the needles and gears moving mechanically were frightening. It seemed that at any given second the machines would swallow the workers whole. Each of the gadgets tumbled out fabric, rolling it over and over again until it reached perfection. All of the twisting and turning, pushing and pulling and not a single one of the workers flinched. Most of the women working looked like they were going to pass out from exhaustion. When was the last time they ate anything?

I sulked back next to the rest of the girls, all watching in horror. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a hefty woman approaching us. She was tall and large, wearing a flowing dress made of fabric scraps. Her hair was tied up in a pristine bun, safe from harm’s way. She walked with a limp in her left leg. I guessed she must’ve been a worker before this.

“Hello! My name is Mary. You guys must be here for the new shift?” She said it with a fake smile plastered on her face. None of us moved a centimeter, but she kept talking. “I’ll get you nippers started.”

She shuffled us around, maneuvering through the crowds of men working on the first floor. She started to walk us upstair to where all of the women and children were stationed.

“This is where you guys will be working. All of the machinery here is used to produce a majority of the thousands of meters of fabric used in all of Birmingham every day. Each of you will be assigned as an apprentice to one of the women who are also working in textile production. They will teach you how to work the machines and answer any questions you have. Today’s shift has eight hours left so all of you should know how this factory works before tomorrow’s shift.” She called over six random women and handed us off individually. Her smile faded rapidly as she disappeared down the stairs back to the factory entrance. The worker I was assigned to was petite, dressed in male trousers that were two sizes too large and tattered from all of the factory work. By the look of her face, she was worried about something. She was constantly scratching her head and looking around as if someone was watching her. After standing there for a few minutes, she looked down at me as if she forgot I was right in front of her.

“Oh hi sweetie! You must be here to work on the fabrics.” I nodded, waiting for her to speak again.

“My name is Emma. I am supposed to show you how to work these things, but I am really behind today. If I don’t spin another 50 meters of wool before lunch, then I won’t have a job to go back to tomorrow. I am very sorry, but I promise you that as soon as I am finished, I will show you how to work the cotton machine, it will be the easiest.” Before I could respond, she walked away to the back of the factory.

I was left horrified. I crept up to the nearest machine and stared at it for a couple minutes. A lanky man in a plaid suit was circling my station, so I pretended to work. I started pulling levers and moving string. I was afraid he would start yelling at me, but I knew I needed this job. My parents would be furious if I lost my job. I would be forced to sleep outside again without dinner for a week.

It had been a couple of hours and there was no sign of Emma’s return. I couldn’t take it anymore, the thought of eating out of the dumpster was still stirring in my mind and it wasn’t fading. I watched the lady next to me and tried to learn. Her fingers were bandaged, from what I assumed were pricks from the needles. She worked fast manipulating the machine; Pulling on the fabric until it was straight and stepping on a pedal to change the speed of the spinning cotton.

I tried to reciprocate it, but it wasn’t working. My hands were fumbling across the machine like baby trying to eat with silverware. Nothing I could do was working. The machine wouldn’t spin and no one was going to show me how to work it any time soon. It made me angry. Angry that Emma refused to teach me. Angry that I had to quit school. Angry that I had to sit in this factory all day. Angry that at the age of eight I already knew I would be working in this very spot until the day I die.

I slammed my fist down on the machine, clobbering the rotating fabric into a ball. The machine wheezed, frantically trying to soothe out the string, and it started to sputter. The gears were restricted. They tried to rotate, but they were stuck moving back and forth like two shoes tied together.

Everyone around me looked up, trying to locate the ear shattering screams coming from my machine. Nervous and reluctant, I tried to fix it. I started to pull on the fabric myself to get it back rotating again. Nothing happened. As I began to yank harder and harder I could feel the cotton ripping under my hands.

In a split second, the machine started again. It pulled quickly on the cloth, trying to make up for all of time it missed. I tried to let go, but at the last second, the sleeve of my oversized shirt was caught along the rotating threads. I tried to pull away, but I wasn’t strong enough. The machine was chomping at the bit to tear my shirt to shreds.

I started hysterically crying as I was caught in the machine and everyone around me was watching. My hand moved closer and closer to the needles, angrily pulling me in. All I could do was watch to my own horror. The only thing was, the machine didn’t stop at my hand.

January 13, 1872

Mary Wollstonecraft

“Baron, we need to talk,” I said frustrated. Everyone in the town was whispering about poor Abby and Mr. Montesquieu was acting like it never happened. He’s one hell of a boss.

“There is nothing to talk about,” he mumbled while shuffling through a stack of papers.

“Nothing to talk about? One of the workers in your factory yesterday was killed!” I cried out.

“That had nothing to do with me, nor the factory; It was the girl’s fault. That stupid knacker did not know how to use the machines and she was met with the consequences.”

“SHE WAS A CHILD. I saw her myself. It could’ve happened to any one of these girls you have working on these two ton machines for twelve hours straight. Both you and I know we need to put an end to this.”

I had met the girl earlier yesterday morning. Darling she was, but quiet. So are most kids when they step into a factory of this size so I shrugged it off. However, I couldn’t stop my mind from replaying the scene in my head over and over.

I had gone downstairs again waiting for the next set of girls to come in. Like usual, I gave them my little tour act and assigned them upstairs to one of the other workers. She was stuck with Emma Wallace, and I should have known better. Emma has always been a slow worker and Mr. Montesquieu was talking about firing her. I told him to give her another chance, and he did. I didn’t give it much thought, but I still should have known better. Baron started back up again.

“How am I supposed to end this? By getting rid of the children? You know how much money we save from the children, they get paid half as much as the other laborers and work just as hard. It’s not an option.”

“Of course it is. You are putting their lives in danger. Let them get an education. Become a scholar. Invent something. For the love of christ, let them be children.”
“I'm sorry, but that's not an option. If these kids aren't working in my factory, then they will be working in the one next door, or the one over. Their parents send them to work because they need the money. These girls have no need for an education. I mean look at you! You started working in my factory years ago, and now look what it has done for you! You don't even need to work anymore, all you have to do is walk around and make sure what had just occurred does not happen again.”

“We both know the real reason I got this job Baron. I almost lost my leg to those rancid machines, and I've never been the same since. I can barely get around more or less manage your factory for you. I chose not to speak up when your machines broke me.  The only difference now is that we have the chance to save these girls.”

“I’m sorry Mary, but these girls do not need school, not now, not ever. This was all a silly accident, end of story. Now get back to work.”

I was enraged. How could he care that much about the money? I stormed off from his office and started home. I can’t just keep watching these poor kids slave over those dangerous contraptions for only three dollars each day. I don’t know how I had become so accustomed to this, but now it has to come to an end.

There was no use in trying to convince Baron to change. I need to show him the real cost if he kept this up this atrocious behavior. I needed to hit him where it hurt the most. Show him all of the pain he has caused in a way he could understand. The one thing he cares about the most is his factory and the money he makes from it. Soon, that will all change.

Birmingham Times: Tendentious Woman Lights Factory on Fire

Four days after child is pronounced dead due to factory injury, one of the factory managers was found guilty of lighting the factory on fire. According to the owner of the factory, convicted Mary Wollstonecraft stormed off after a heated argument with her boss. She is thought to have ignited the factory using gunpowder and a cotton string to create a massive explosion. Luckily no one was injured in the factory because it was done after hours. Wollstonecraft turned herself in and will later be charged on one count of arson and one count of minor theft of the gunpowder. After interrogation, Wollstonecraft admits her intent was to put a stop to child labor and the unfair conditions laborers work through on a daily basis. Many civilians and workers have unionized and obstructed multiple other factories in protest of Wollstonecraft’s arrest and to protest against hard labor conditions. In total, three factories have been burned and two have been destroyed as a result of bricks thrown through multiple windows of the factories in Birmingham alone. Now, some owners are increasing the wages and shortening their labor shifts in effort to prevent obstruction of their own factories. No doubt, a revolution has started, the only question is what will it take to end it?