The Potato Factory

Degraves kept Mary waiting a considerable time before he called her into his small, cluttered office. A large cross-cut saw of the type used by convicts leaned against one wall, its blade buckled into a gentle curve. The room smelled of sawdust and the sap of new-cut wood. Peter Degraves was a tall, fair, clean-shaven man, not given to lard as were so many men in their forties. He sat in his shirt sleeves with his waistcoat unbuttoned and his clay-spattered boots resting upon a battered-looking desk.

'Take a pew, Miss Abacus,' he said, indicating a small upright wicker chair. 'What brings you to the sawmill?'

'Sir, I would speak to you about the site.'

'Ah! It goes well, Miss Abacus, the foreman says we are ahead in time and I know our expenses are well contained. You have done an excellent job.'

'Not as excellent as might be supposed,' Mary answered.

Degraves looked surprised. 'Oh? Is there something I ought to know about, Miss Abacus?'

'The pilfering, sir… on the site. It be considerable.'

Degraves shrugged. 'It was ever thus, Miss Abacus. Petty crime within the labouring class is as common as lice in an urchin's hair.' He spread his hands. 'We live, after all, in a penal colony.'

'Mr Degraves, sir, I have an inventory and we are losing materials at the rate o' fifty pounds a week, two thousand seven hundred and four pounds a year. That be a considerable amount, would you not say?'

'Aye, it's a lot of money, but I've known worse in the sawmilling business.'

'We have one 'undred workmen on the site, each earns fourteen pounds a year in wages, that be…'

'Fourteen hundred pounds and, as you say, we are losing nearly double that! Just how would you prevent this, Miss Abacus?' Degraves asked in a somewhat patronising manner.

'The value o' the material what's nicked and sold in the taverns and on the sly be one-fifth o' the market value, no more'n ten pounds.'

'And just how do you know this?' Degraves asked, removing his feet from the desk. He pulled his chair closer and leaned forward, listening intently.

'I took various materials from the site and flogged them,' Mary replied calmly.

'You what? You stole from my site!'

'Not stole, sir, it all be written in the books. It were a test to see what the value o' the materials were on the sly.'

Degraves sat back and laughed. 'Why, that's damned clever! Ten pounds eh?' He paused then said, 'Well, that's the labouring class for you, not only dishonest but easily gulled and stupid to boot.'

'Let's give 'em the ten pounds, sir, or a little more, fifteen. That be three shillings per man per week extra in his pay packet, seven pounds two shillings and sixpence per year.'

'But, Miss Abacus,' Degraves protested, 'that's half again as much as they are paid now.'

'Sir, it ain't all the men what's stealing, most is family men as honest as the day. We make the money a weekly bonus, given a month in arrears and when we've determined no pilfering has taken place.'

'No pilfering?' Degraves laughed. 'Not a single nail or plank or brick or bag of mortar! I think you dream somewhat, Miss Abacus!'

'Well no, sir. I have allowed five pounds, that will be sufficient tolerance,' Mary said firmly.

'Twenty pounds and we save thirty, I'm most impressed! Do you think it can be made to work?'

'No, sir. It will not work with money,' Mary replied.

'Oh? How then?'

'In rations! A food chit issued to the labourer's wife what is worth three shillings a week. We pay the men on Saturdays and most of it be in the tavern keeper's hands by Sunday night with the brats starving at home for the rest o' the week. If there be the prospect o' three shillings worth o' rations from the company shop on a Monday, the family will eat that week.'

'Company shop? May I remind you, Miss Abacus, I am a sawmiller who is building a brewery, not a damned tradesman! Who will run this cornucopia of plenty?'

'I will, sir! There be enough money to pay the salary of a good shop assistant if we buy prudently and sell at shopkeepers' rates, and I will keep the books.'

'And will there be a further profit?' Degraves asked shrewdly.

'Yes, sir, to be used for the purchase of books for the orphanage school, as well as a Christmas party given to them by the brewery.'

Degraves laughed. 'Chits for workers' wives, company shops, books and Christmas parties for orphans, when will these fantasies end?' He grew suddenly stern. 'Miss Abacus, I am a practical man who has worked with rough men all my life. Mark my words, they will take your chit and steal as before. You cannot prevent a labouring man from stealing from his master.'

'You are perfectly right, sir. You cannot. I cannot. But his wife can! It's she who will be your policeman, she who will make her man deal with the thief what thinks to take advantage of all the other men by stealing from the site. Wives will make their husbands punish the guilty, for I guarantee she will let no villain take the bread out o' her little ones' mouths.'

Degraves leaned back into his chair. 'It be most clever, Miss Abacus, but I'm afraid it cannot be done. What of my reputation with my peers? Those who, like me, employ labour? They will not take kindly to the raising of a labourer's annual salary by more than fifty per cent! Let me tell you, there will be hell to pay!'

'Sir, heaven forbid! Raise in wages!' Mary appeared to be shocked at such a notion. 'It be a feeding scheme for the worker's family. The Church and the government will soon enough come out in support of you for such an act o' Christian charity!' Mary, afraid she might lose his support for fear of his peers, thought desperately. 'May I remind you that we have a large community o' Quakers what does not condone strong drink and there is them Temperance lot just started, the Van Diemen's Land Temperance Society. They's already kickin' up a fuss about the distilleries in the colony. But who will speak badly of a brewery what looks after workers' brats and cares about the education of orphans?'

Degraves smiled. There had already been several raised eyebrows in society concerning his intention to build a brewery. 'A model works, eh?' He frowned suddenly. 'Do you really think it will work, Miss Abacus?'

Mary knew she had won, and she was unable to conceal the excitement in her voice so she spoke quickly. 'Better than that, Mr Degraves, sir. We'll end up with the best and most honest workers in the colony on account o' the excellent family conditions what the boss o' the brewery Mr Peter Degraves has put into place!' She took a gulp of air and to this breathless sycophancy she added, 'Thank you, sir, I think it be most clever of you to think up such generous plans for those of us who is privileged to work for you!'

Degraves again looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. He was impressed. 'Why thank you, Miss Abacus, it's not a bad solution, even if I did not think of it myself.' His expression was whimsical when he added, 'You will, of course, let me know when I should reveal this brilliant new plan of mine to the men.'

'And to the Colonial Times, sir. The feeding scheme for workers' brats.'

Degraves nodded as he replaced his feet on the desk. 'Though I see little gain in helping the orphanage with the business of learning. These children are the illegitimate spawn of the island's scum and no good will come of it, I can assure you. Besides there is more ridicule in it than there be praise.'

'Sir, sometimes we may be allowed to take credit where no credit is due, and sometimes we deserve much more than we get. Besides, I were just like them poor little brats once.'