There was black smoke coming from the old workhouse and the air stank of burning meat... again. When they'd learn to clear the bodies from their damned chimneys was a mystery to all and a reminder for the other sweeps that their lives weren't valued, the world would move on without them and they had no-one to mourn them if they slipped up.
Once a year everyone was meant to knock on their chimneys "for luck" and to dislodge any charred sweeps. Few could say for certain that there were bodies in their stacks, most hoped that it was just a bird's nest, please let it be a bird's nest and not the urchin they'd hired three weeks prior, the one who never came back for his pay.
Sometimes it was just a bird's nest and the urchin had just run away to join the circus or been grabbed by a particularly impatient body snatcher. Those were good days for the good folk who owned their own homes. Those were rare days indeed, rarer now than they used to be and practically newsworthy too.
Not everyone had the time nor the heart to care for lost sweeps though, the workhouses went through labourers faster than a dandy goes through snuff. The main difference is that lives cost a lot less than snuff and a missing worker doesn't cause as much fuss as a missing snuff box.
It's where the expression "snuffed out" comes from, you know. Mourning workers making humour from heartache and reminding each other that the wealthy world will never see them as anything more than bones wrapped in rags, begging for too much when they should be begging for more work.
The stench of burning meat becomes a comfort to the labourers, they know there's one less soul to suffer.
Once a year everyone was meant to knock on their chimneys "for luck" and to dislodge any charred sweeps. Few could say for certain that there were bodies in their stacks, most hoped that it was just a bird's nest, please let it be a bird's nest and not the urchin they'd hired three weeks prior, the one who never came back for his pay.
Sometimes it was just a bird's nest and the urchin had just run away to join the circus or been grabbed by a particularly impatient body snatcher. Those were good days for the good folk who owned their own homes. Those were rare days indeed, rarer now than they used to be and practically newsworthy too.
Not everyone had the time nor the heart to care for lost sweeps though, the workhouses went through labourers faster than a dandy goes through snuff. The main difference is that lives cost a lot less than snuff and a missing worker doesn't cause as much fuss as a missing snuff box.
It's where the expression "snuffed out" comes from, you know. Mourning workers making humour from heartache and reminding each other that the wealthy world will never see them as anything more than bones wrapped in rags, begging for too much when they should be begging for more work.
The stench of burning meat becomes a comfort to the labourers, they know there's one less soul to suffer.
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