‘The Lancashire Factory Girl’ by ‘H. M.’
Preston Chronicle November 29th 1862
This poem uses its four-line stanzas to discuss different aspects of the subject’s life, and different characters from it, and though there is an occasional refrain of ‘all, all are gone’ there is a sense of narrative movement throughout. The speaker of the poem is the factory girl herself, and as a lyric poem we are encouraged to sympathise with the voice. But we have not yet identified ‘H. M.’ so it is not possible to ascertain whether this was written by a man or a woman, or to what extent the author identified with or was familiar with the issues being discussed here.
Faustus’s Paul Sartin has set this poem to music carefully transposing the mood of the original text into a sympathetic melodic structure, and the centrality of the individual voice is emphasised by the harmonic framing. Though some of the text has been altered slightly for musical reasons, the emotional resonance of the original is maintained in full and the use of the first stanza, with its sense of a cri de coeur, is used as a chorus. One of the many interesting things about this text is its affirmation at the end of a positive image of working-class female morality, with the speaker maintaining that she has kept her ‘reputation’ despite temptations. The last stanza explicitly refers to the causal link between the American Civil war and the closure of the mills.
(Simon Rennie)
lyrics
Lancashire Factory Girl
(words: trad; music: Paul Sartin)
Oh, all are gone, I’ve nothing more
To pawn or sell for bread;
And soon ther’ll be no home for me,
No place to lay my head.
Oh, none can tell the grief I’ve felt,
The tears that I have shed,
In parting with some little things
Presented by the dead.
Before my little brother died
He said, “Come hither and see,
I’ll leave to you my singing bird;
Be kind to it for me.”
Then little sister Nelly died,
And, oh, I loved her well;
She left me all she had to leave,
A little silver bell.
Oh, all are gone, I’ve nothing more
To pawn or sell for bread;
And soon ther’ll be no home for me,
No place to lay my head.
I loved my brother, sister, all,
As well, as well could be;
But my poor sainted mother’s death
Was more than all to me.
“My child,” she said, “this is a gift
Thy father gave to me;
A token of his early love:
I’ll leave it unto thee.”
My brother’s little singing bird,
And Nelly’s silver bell,
The golden locket which in life
My mother loved so well.
Oh, all are gone, I’ve nothing more
To pawn or sell for bread;
First went my Sunday clothes, and then
The reliques of the dead!
‘Midst all my trials I have kept
To paths of honesty;
This oftentimes when troubles come,
Is consolation to me.
Oh, Father of the fatherless
List to an orphan’s prayer:-
Help me to keep in virtue’s path,
Shield me from tempter’s snare!
Grant soon that peace may be proclaimed to
Our brethren o’er the sea;
And then our mills will run again,
And happy we shall be!
Oh, all are gone, I’ve nothing more
To pawn or sell for bread;
And soon ther’ll be no home for me,
No place to lay my head.
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