The Potato Factory

The Potato Factory.

Mary's Temperance Ale became such a success that the large Hobart breweries decided at once to bring out a version of their own. But here again Mary was not caught napping. With the help of Mr Emmett she had registered the names Temperance Ale and Temperance Beer, and also Pledge Ale and Pledge Beer, so that these names could be used exclusively by the Potato Factory.

This caused great a

The label also caused great a

There was nothing the common people liked more than a poor, defenceless woman, only recently granted her conditional pardon, wi

Late one morning at the Potato Factory Jessamy came to Mary while she was testing the fermentation levels in the hop tanks.

'Mistress Mary, there be an old man what's called to see you.' The young maid looked concerned. 'I told him to go away, but he says he knows you, says he has a letter.' Then she added gratuitously, 'He's most smelly and has a shaggy beard and long hair, but is also bald and wears a coat what you might expect on an old lag what's a proper muck snipe, not ever to be redeemed.'

'Hush, Jessamy, do not speak like that, for all you know he could be a most loving father!'

'Gawd! I hope he's not mine!' Jessamy said, alarmed at the thought.

Mary laughed. 'Old lag what's a drunk, that description could fit half the bloomin' island. So, where be the letter, girl?'

'No, Mistress Mary, it weren't no letter what's for you! It were a letter he said he got from you. He says he comes because o' the letter you sent.'

Mary's heart started to pound. 'Dirty is he? And ragged?'

Jessamy nodded, brought her thumb and forefinger to her nose and pulled a horrid face.

'It's Ikey!' Mary said and her poor, crippled hands were suddenly all a-flutter, touching her hair, patting her apron, her hips, not quite knowing what they should do next. 'Bring my cotton gloves!' she commanded of Jessamy. Then she thought better of this. 'No, I'll get them, you take him into the bottle room and give him a glass of beer, tell him I'll be along presently.'

Mary removed her apron and ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it as best she could in the absence of a mirror. Then she found a pair of clean cotton gloves and, with a feeling of some trepidation, entered the bottle shop.

Ikey crouched on a stool, clutching a glass of ale in both hands. He gasped as Mary entered, and his hands jerked upwards in alarm sending half the contents of the glass into his lap.

'Oh, Jesus! Oh, oh!' he exclaimed, looking down at the wet patch on his dirty coat and the mess at his feet. He wiped his hands on either side of the threadbare coat.

'Ikey? Ikey Solomon? It's you all right, Gawd help us!' Mary laughed, the spilt beer overcoming her nervousness. 'You always were a most nervous old bugger!'

Ikey gri

'Nice to make your acquaintance again, my dear, news o' your remarkable success grows far and wide,' Ikey cackled. He looked around at the barrels of beer, and the racks of bottled ale stacked to the ceiling, as though weighing and valuing the contents to the last liquid ounce.

'Nonsense! News o' my remarkable success goes all the way down Liverpool Street and into Wapping, and not much further.'

'I is most proud of you, proud and honoured and most remarkably touched, my dear, and oh…' Ikey dug into the pocket of his coat and produced a pound. 'This be what's left o' the money you sent in your most kind letter, after the boat ticket and vittles eaten and five shillings paid for a week's board and lodging 'ere in town. That is, only until I can get back into my own 'ouse.'

'Change? You giving me change?' Mary looked incredulous. 'My goodness, we has reformed, hasn't we, then? Whatever could have come over you, Ikey Solomon?'

Ikey gave a phlegmy laugh and shook his head slowly. 'I admits, honesty ain't a habit what's come easy, Mary, my dear.' Mary saw that his back had become more hunched, though now he pulled himself as straight as he was able, wincing at a stab of rheumatism in his hip. Then he jerked at the ragged lapels of his coat and gri

'What you sees here, my dear, is a reformed man, honest as the day be long, reliable to the point o' stupidity and a ledger clerk what's to be praised for neatness, accuracy and the most amazing sagacity, experienced in all the ways o' gettin' what's owed to one quickly paid, and what one owes to others most tedious slow to be proceeded with!' He bowed slightly to Mary, bringing his broken shoes together. 'Isaac Solomon at your 'umble service, madam!'

'You'll need to sign the pledge and agree to take a bath once a month,' Mary said, unimpressed.

Ikey clutched at his chest. 'You knows I don't drink, least only most modest and circumspect, my dear! Bathe? Once a month?' His eyebrows shot up in alarm. 'Does you mean naked? No clothes? But, but… that be like Port Arthur again! That be ridiculous and most onerous and unfair, and 'as nothing to do with clerking nor keeping ledgers fair and square!'

'Once a month, Ikey Solomon!' Mary repeated. Ikey could see from the tightness at the corners of her mouth that she meant it.

Ikey smiled unctuously. 'Tell you what I can do for you, my dear. I could wash me 'ands!' He held his hands up and spread his fingers wide. Mary observed them to be a far cry from clean. 'Not once a month, mind, but every time I works on the ledgers, once a day, even more, if you wishes! 'Ow about that, my dear?'

Mary shook her head and then folded her arms. 'Bathe once a month and take the pledge. I smoked you, Ikey, and I be most reliably informed that you has grown fond 'o the fiery grape!'

'Reliably informed, is it? That be most malicious gossip and not to be trusted at all and in the least! A little brandy now and again to calm me nerves in the most unpleasant times experienced in New Norfolk, that were all it was, I swear it, my dear!'

'Well, then you will have no qualms about signing the pledge,' Mary replied calmly. 'You can drink beer here, and if you works well your nerves won't need no calming with the likes of us, Ikey Solomon.'

Ikey hung his head and sucked at his teeth, and seemed to be considering Mary's proposition. Finally, as though coming to a most regrettable decision, he shook his head slowly and in a forlorn voice said, 'Hot water, mind? In a room what's locked and no soap! Soap makes me skin itch somethin' awful!'

'Soap, but not prison soap,' Mary said, remembering well the harsh carbolic soap issued once a fortnight in the Female Factory which caused the skin to burn and itch for hours afterwards.