EMMA.  Theer’s nowt against thee for that.  Theer’s soom as can be careful o’ theer brass an’ soom as can’t.  It’s not a virtue, it’s a gift.  That’s what my moother allays says.

(Resumes packing.)

SARAH.  She’s reeght an’ all.  We never ‘ad the gift o’ savin’, my man and me.  An’ when Tom Ormerod took an’ died, the club money as A drew all went on ‘is funeral an’ ‘is gravestone.  A warn’t goin’ to ’ave it said as ’e warn’t buried proper.

EMMA.  It were a beautiful funeral, Mrs. Ormerod.

SARAH.  Aye.

EMMA.  A will say that, beautiful it were.  A never seen a better, an’ A goes to all as A can. (Rises.) A dotes on buryin’s.  Are these the next?

(Crosses before table for nightdresses, takes the nightdresses and resumes packing.)

SARAH.  Aye

(Emma puts them in and rests on her knees listening to Sarah’s next speech.)

SARAH (pause).  A’ve been a ’ouseproud woman all my life, Emma, an’ A’ve took pride in ‘avin’ my bits o’ sticks as good as another’s.  Even th’ manager’s missus oop to factory ’ouse theer, she never ‘ad a better show o’ furniture nor me, though A says it as shouldn’t.  An’ it tak’s brass to keep a decent ’ouse over your yead.  An’ we allays ’ad our full week’s ‘ollydayin’ at Blackpool reg’lar at Wakes time.  Us didn’t ‘ave no childer o’ our own to spend it on, an’ us spent it on ourselves.  A allays ’ad a plenty o’ good food in th’ ‘ouse an’ never stinted nobody, an’ Tom ’e liked ‘is beer an’ ’is baccy.  ’E were a pigeon-fancier, too, in ‘is day, were my Tom, an’ pigeon-fancying runs away wi’ a mint o’ money.  No.  Soom’ow theer never was no brass to put in th’ bank.  We was allays spent oop coom wages neeght.

EMMA.  A knaw, Mrs. Ormerod.  May be A’m young, but A knaw ’ow ’t is.  We works cruel ‘ard in th’ mill, an’ when us plays, us plays as ‘ard too (pause), an’ small blame to us either.  It’s our own we’re spendin’.

SARAH.  Aye.  It’s a ’ard life, the factory ’and’s.  A can mind me many an’ many’s the time when th’ warnin’ bell went on th’ factory lodge at ha’f past five of a winter’s mornin’ as A’ve craved for another ha’f hour in my bed, but Tom ‘e got me oop an’ we was never after six passin’ through factory gates all th’ years we were wed.  There’s not many as can say they were never late.  “Work or clem,” that were what Tom allays tould me th’ ould bell were sayin’.  An’ ’e were reeght, Emma.  “Work or clem” is God’s truth. (EMMA’S head in box.) An’ now th’ time’s coom when A can’t work no more.  But Parson’s a good man, ‘e’ll mak’ it all reeght. (EMMA’S head appears.) Eh, it were good o’ thee to coom in, lass.  A bit o’ coompany do mak’ a world o’ difference.  A’m twice as cheerful as A were.

EMMA.  A’m glad to ’ear tha say so, Mrs. Ormerod. (Rises from the box.) Is theer owt else?

SARAH.  A were thinkin’ A’d like to tak’ my black silk as A’ve worn o’ Sundays this many a year, but A canna think it’s reeght thing for workus.