From the lamplight of the factories to the smoke and endless fumes, the workers toiled from dawn until dusk on ever spinning looms, never did these places hear the sound of each bitter tear that was cried, these were the places where some were born and just as many died.

The workhouses and slums of Victoria’s kingdom fare, never saw many smiles although many memories were formed there, painful memories for all but the rich, sat in their office rooms, looking down as poverty brought another fresh face to its doom.

Peas pudding, porridge and gruel was all that they could eat, I guess it’s better than being cold out there living on the street, children never knew their childhoods, old men turned sour, but that’s what you get from England in industries finest hour.

Girls forced to walk the streets, boys forced down the pit, all that waited when they got home was even more of it, fathers walked out on mothers to find work further afield, either that or to lose their life as another British shield.

Only memories of the rich ever shall remain, the history books have never been a poor mans game, if we had a true encounter of what they all went through, the whole of British history would undoubtedly leave it’s scars on you.

(c) copyright Tony Kasazkaja 2015. all rights reserved.