Cor, Strike a Light! In Memory of the East End Matchgirls

 

Striking matchgirls (London, 1888)

 

 

I. 

 

Thanks in no small part to the Danish storyteller Hans Christian Andersen, the figure of the little matchgirl shivering bareheaded and barefoot in the street on a cold winter's day, desperate to sell her svovlstikkerne to passing strangers, is firmly lodged in the cultural imagination [1].

But the matchgirl is not merely a character who lives within the pages of a literary fairy tale; she has genuine socio-historical status and deserves recognition for the role she played within the English trade union movement; for the little matchgirls of London's East End didn't simply huddle in doorways dreaming of warm stoves and roast dinners, they organised and demanded fair wages and improved working conditions.  

 

 

II.

 

The matchgirls' strike of 1888 was an important victory for women and workers alike; for following the strike's success and the creation of a Matchmakers' Union, other industrial workers - male and female - were inspired to organise and take collective action.

 

In the late 19th-century, match making was big business; there were 25 match factories in Britain, employing thousands of workers, mostly female and almost half of whom were aged between fourteen and eighteen. 

 

But match making was also a dirty business, with serious health consequences for those involved in the production of little wooden sticks dipped first in sulphur and then into a composition of white phosphorus, potassium chlorate, powdered glass, and colouring.

 

Although the level of white phosphorus varied, there was enough of the stuff being used to ensure that many working in the matchstick industry suffered from the nasty occupational disease known as phossy jaw - i.e., necrosis of the jaw bone. As a rule, you really don't want to inhale phosphorus vapour. Doing so might only cause toothache and flu-like symptoms at first, but it quickly turns very nasty. 

 

The bosses were not particularly sympathetic or supportive; if a worker complained of having toothache, they were told to have the teeth removed immediately or face being sacked. 

 

So when the matchgirls working at the Bryant & May factory in Bow withdrew their labour, they were fighting not only for more money but for their health and safety; in fact, as phossy jaw proved fatal in around 20 per cent of cases, they were literally fighting for their lives.  

 

 

III. 

 

The match-making company Bryant & May was formed in 1843 by two Quakers, William Bryant and Francis May, who hoped to capture a significant chunk of the British market. It was estimated that 250 million matches were used daily in the UK at this time. 

 

In 1861, by whch time they were selling 30 million boxes of matches a year, they relocated their business to a three-acre site on Fairfield Road, in Bow, East London. Their young workers were mostly Irish girls (or of Irish descent). They worked long hours for shit pay; those under sixteen would be lucky to take home 4 shillings a week. 

The bosses also imposed a series of fines, with the money deducted directly from wages. These fines included 3 d for having dirty feet - many of the girls were bare-footed as they couldn't afford shoes - or an untidy workbench; 5 d was deducted for being late; and a shilling for having a burnt match on the workbench. 

 

The girls involved in boxing up the matches also had to pay the boys who brought them the frames from the drying ovens and had to supply their own glue and brushes. And some defenders of capitalism wonder why there's industrial unrest and so many employees despise their employers ...! It's things like this that justify class war. 

 

IV.

 

The 1888 strike wasn't the first time the matchgirls had taken action; they struck for better pay and conditions in 1881, 1885, and 1886, but were unsuccessful in achieving their aims. But in 1888 they were better organised and more united. After the unfar dismissal of a matchgirl at Bryant & May in the summer of that year, 1,400 of her co-workers withdrew their labour.

 

The management quickly offered to reinstate the sacked employee, but the matchgirls demanded additional concessions, particularly in relation to the unfair fines which were deducted from their wages. 

 

A deputation of women led by Sarah Chapman presented their case to the management, but received an unsatisfactory response. By 6 July the whole factory had stopped work. That same day a large group of the women went to see the social activist Annie Besant to ask for her support (which she gave). 

 

Initially, the management wanted to take a hard line, but the factory owner, William Bryant, was a leading Liberal and nervous about the publicity, so agreed to the strikers' terms, which included the abolition of unjust deductions from wages and the establishment of a canteen area where meals could be enjoyed in a phosphorus-free environment [2]. 

 

The strike has since been celebrated within popular culture and an event to commemorate the 125th anniversary was held in Bishopsgate, in 2013. 

 

This was followed, in July 2022, by English Heritage sticking up a blue plaque honouring the struggle of the matchgirls at the site of the former Bryant and May factory in Bow [3]. In a nice touch, the plaque was unveiled by the actress and East Ender Anita Dobson, the great granddaughter of strike committee leader Sarah Chapman.

 

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Hans Christian Andersen's 'The Little Match Girl' was originally published as Den Lille Pige med Svovlstikkernein in December 1845, in Dansk Folkekalender for 1846.  

[2] In 1901, fearful of more strike action and further bad publicity, Bryant & May announced that their factory would discontinue the use of white phosphorus (replacing it with the less harmful red phosphorus).  Then, in 1908, the House of Commons passed an Act prohibiting the use of white phosphorus in matches after 31 December 1910.

 

[3] The building was redeveloped in the 1980s as part of an urban renewal project (i.e., the gentrification of the East End) and is now part of a gated community known as Bow Quarter in the London Borough of Tower Hamlets. It  consists of 733 one- and two-bedroom flats and penthouses, plus a handful of workers' cottages built around the late 19th century, and is set in 7 acres of landscaped grounds. Amenities include a residents' gym, a convenience store, and a 24-hour concierge service. Price for a one-bedroom flat begins at around £320,000. 

 

 

Readers who enjoyed this post might also like another East End tale: click here.  

Mark Gertler: Merry-Go-Round(el)

Mark Gertler: Merry-Go-Round (1916) [1]

Keith Bowler: Spitalfields roundel in memory of Mark Gertler (1995)

 

 

I. 

 

If you ever take a walk around Spitalfields in London's East End, you might notice a fancy series of cast iron roundels [2] designed by the local artist Keith Bowler [3] and embedded at various sites, commemorating the long history and many different peoples who have called the district home. 

 

At the corner of Brushfield Street and Commercial Street, for example, one finds a roundel decorated with apples and pears; a nod both to the Cockney character of Spitalfields and to the old fruit and veg market.

 

On Brick Lane, meanwhile, there's a roundel decorated with buttons and four pairs of scissors in honour of all those - be they French Huguenots, Irish Catholics, East European Jews, or Muslims from Bangladesh - who have traded in textiles and worked in the rag trade.  

 

Whilst, on Hanbury Street, you'll come across a roundel celebrating the matchgirls who worked in appalling conditions for outrageously low wages at the Bryant & May match factory in nearby Bow [4].

 

Fascinating as these roundels are, the one that really interests me, however, is located outside the house at 32, Elder Street, celebrating the life and work of Mark Gertler who lived at this address ...

 

 

II. 

 

Mark Gertler was a British artist, of Polish Jewish heritage, born in Spitalfields, in December 1891. 

 

He is perhaps best remembered today for a 1916 painting entitled Merry-Go-Round  [5], about which his friend D. H. Lawrence - who had just received a photograph of the work - was to say this:

 

"My dear Gertler,

      Your terrible and dreadful picture has just come. This is the first picture you have ever painted: it is the best modern picture I have seen: I think it is great, and true. But it is horrible and terrifying. I'm not sure I wouldn't be too frightened to come and look at the original. 

      If they tell you it is obscene, they will say truly. I belive there was something in Pompeian art, of this terrible and soul-tearing obscenity. But then, since obscenity is the truth of our passion today, it is the only stuff of art - or almost the only stuff. I won't say what I, as a man of words and ideas, read in the picture. But I do think that in this combination of blaze and violent mechanical rotation and complex involution, and ghastly, utterly mindless human intensity of sensational extremity, you have made a real and ultimate revelation." [6]    

 

Lawrence continued:

 

"I realise how superficial your human relationships must be, what a violent maelström of destruction and horror your inner soul must be. It is true, the outer life means nothing to you, really. You are all absorbed in the violent and lurid processes of inner decomposition: the same thing that makes leaves go scarlet and copper-green at this time of year." [7] 

 

And added as a PS:

 

"I am amazed how the picture exceeds anything I had expected. Tell me what people say - Epstein, for instance.

      Get somebody to suggest that the picture be bought by the nation - it ought to be - I'd buy it if I had any money." [8] 

 

It took some time, but, eventually, Gertler's Merry-Go-Round  - a detail from which can be seen on Keith Bowler's roundel - was purchased for the nation; the Tate Gallery acquiring it in 1984. 

 

And now anyone can buy a fine print of this work to hang on their wall from the Tate Shop, kidding themselves that it's simply an anti-War image, rather than a work which discloses their own coordination - and their own complicity with this coordination - within a great and perfect machine; i.e., "the first and finest state of chaos" [9].   

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Gertler's painting was acquired by the Tate in 1984. Visit their website for more information: click here.

 

[2] Also known as coal hole covers, roundels are sturdy metal plates typically found on pavements in older urban areas. Originally, as the name suggests, they provided access to underground coal cellars, but they are now purely decorative and serve as historical reminders of the past. 

 

[3] For more information on Keith Bowler and the Roundels of Spitalfields click here.  

 

[4] Such low wages and such poor conditions in fact, that the matchgirls working at the Bryant & May famously went on strike in 1888 and formed the Union of Women Matchmakers. The largest union of women and girls in the country, it inspired many other industrial workers across the country to organise and stand up for their rights. For a post on this topic, click here.

 

[5] In some ways, it's a shame that Gertler has become so associated with this one picture - brilliant as it is - for it means the wider body of his work is often entirely overlooked. For the record, I think Gertler produced many fine canvases and was an interesting figure, right up until he committed suicide in his Highgate studio in 1939. I particularly like the fact that he entered a competition run by Cadbury's for a series of chocolate box designs and that his still life design of a fruit bowl was among the winning entries. 

 

[6] D. H. Lawrence, letter to Mark Gertler (9 October 1916), in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II, ed. George J. Zytaruk and James T. Boulton, (Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 660.

 

[7] Ibid. 

      It was by developing such a line of thought - one which unfortunately veers into metaphysical antisemitism ("It would take a Jew to paint this picture.") - that Lawrence (in part) created the character of Loerke, the Jewish artist who features in Women in Love (1920); although, in a letter dated 5 December 1916, Lawrence attempts to reassure Gertler that Loerke is not in fact based on him. See The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. III, ed. James T. Boulton and Andrew Robertson, (Cambridge University Press, 1984), p. 46.  

 

[8] Ibid., p. 661. 

 

[9] D. H. Lawrence, Women in Love, ed. David Farmer, Lindeth Vasey and John Worthen, (Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 231.