Press. [Writing] “Sews.”  Yes?

Mrs. L. [Holding up her unfinished pair of trousers] I putt in the button’oles, I stretches the flies, I lines the crutch, I putt on this bindin’, [She holds up the calico that binds the top] I sews on the buttons, I press the seams—­Tuppence three farthin’s the pair.

Press.  Twopence three farthings a pair!  Worse than a penny a line!

Mrs. L. In a gude day I gets thru four pairs, but they’m gettin’ plaguey ’ard for my old fengers.

Press. [Writing] “A monumental figure, on whose labour is built the mighty edifice of our industrialism.”

Lemmy.  I sy—­that’s good.  Yer’ll keep that, won’t yet?

Mrs. L. I finds me own cotton, tuppence three farthin’s, and other expension is a penny three farthin’s.

Press.  And are you an exception, Mrs. Lemmy?

Mrs. L. What’s that?

Lemmy.  Wot price the uvvers, old lydy?  Is there a lot of yer sewin’ yer fingers orf at tuppence ’ypenny the pair?

Mrs. L. I can’t tell yu that.  I never sees nothin’ in ’ere.  I pays a penny to that little gell to bring me a dozen pair an’ fetch ’em back.  Poor little thing, she’m ’ardly strong enough to carry ’em.  Feel!  They’m very ’eavy!

Press.  On the conscience of Society!

Lemmy.  I sy put that dahn, won’t yer?

Press.  Have things changed much since the war, Mrs. Lemmy?

Mrs. L. Cotton’s a lot dearer.

Press.  All round, I mean.

Mrs. L. Aw!  Yu don’ never get no change, not in my profession. [She oscillates the trousers] I’ve a-been in trousers fifteen year; ever since I got to old for laundry.

Press. [Writing] “For fifteen years sewn trousers.”  What would a good week be, Mrs. Lemmy?

Mrs. L.  ’Tes a very gude week, five shellin’s.

Lemmy. [From the window] Bloomin’ millionairess, Muvver.  She’s lookin’ forward to ’eaven, where vey don’t wear no trahsers.

Mrs. L. [With spirit] ‘Tidn for me to zay whether they du.  An’ ’tes on’y when I’m a bit low-sperrity-like as I wants to go therr.  What I am a-lukin’ forward to, though, ’tes a day in the country.  I’ve not a-had one since before the war.  A kind lady brought me in that bit of ’eather; ’tes wonderful sweet stuff when the ’oney’s in et.  When I was a little gell I used to zet in the ‘eather gatherin’ the whorts, an’ me little mouth all black wi’ eatin’ them.  ’Twas in the ‘eather I used to zet, Sundays, courtin’.  All flesh is grass—­ an’ ’tesn’t no bad thing—­grass.

Press. [Writing] “The old paganism of the country.”  What is your view of life, Mrs. Lemmy?